Valentine's Day is all about love, romance, sex, and funding the American greeting card, flower, chocolate, and restaurant industries. What better way to celebrate all that than with a dirty story about James Franco's sex life?

Here is one of the fictional tales from Fucking James Franco, a book of erotic fiction by the perverts at Social Malpractice Publishing. They compiled a bunch of smutty stories featuring various and assorted people imaging sexual encounters with everyone's favorite actor slash hipster slash artist slash singer slash film maker slash student slash director slash class sleeper slash Oscar host slash stoner. After a successful Kickstarter campaign (you can tell they're from Portland now, right?) to raise money for the actual printing of the book, you can now buy your own copy. Just don't let the pages get too sticky.

Here is one of the scandalous tales from the book.

Web of Desire, by Carina Louise and Micah Louis

I met him on a movie set. I'm in the industry too and eventually you end up working with everyone and sleeping with half of them. He's in the lucky half, but you must have guessed that already.

It was in the spring of 2006, and we were filming on a sound stage in LA. It seems so long ago now, but the memory of our last intimate moments together will always be there, crystal clear. We're not close anymore, but when we inevitably see each other at parties in the hills, he always gives me that famous, knowing smirk.

It was that same smirk he showed me when Sam called an afternoon break because Kirsten was being difficult. It was his conspiratorial glance that, if you knew how to look at it right, meant, "Let's go back to my trailer and smoke a jammer." When James asks you to get high, you never say no, so off we went, brushing past Kirsten on the way.

That girl, ugh. I could tell she was always jealous of us, the way she glared at me whenever James and I ran off. She tried to invite herself a few times and it got to the point that James wouldn't even make eye contact. Me though? I made eye contact. Hell, I winked at her on the way past, that catty bitch.

His trailer was in its usual state: a desk, strewn with papers from his studies — he was still working on his first degree; a bed, covered in clothing, like some grown up version of a college stoner's nest; a couch, which he had initially hated, now covered by a Mexican blanket to make it more, as he often said, "Jamesy." The couch now also had James on it, shirtless, and lighting a joint.

"Hey, I need to show you something," he said, breaking me out of my trance. He looked at me as he exhaled, smiling again. This was his favorite little joke, his bad line. Everything's an inside joke with him. This was one I was in on, so I smiled back, walked over to the couch and took up my usual position. Straddling him, I grabbed the joint from his fingers, took a drag, and began playfully kissing and biting his neck. Taking the now forgotten joint back from my outstretched hand, he gave a short laugh and took another drag, pushing his hips slightly upward and lifting me forward to kiss behind his ear. I could feel him beginning to grow hard beneath me and began my downward work.

My hands quickly got past his belt, and began unbuttoning his khakis while my mouth teased each of his nipples in turn. Kissing and licking my way down his movie-star-toned stomach, my hands had a mind of their own as they ripped at his pants, pulling them off with his boxer-briefs to reveal his hard D.

Almost instinctively, I leaned forward to take him into my mouth, but only my breath could touch him before he grabbed the shoulder of my costume and pulled me up for a hot kiss, blowing smoke into my mouth. Leaning back and grinning, he pushed me back down to his thick cock.

Looking up into his eyes, I took him into my mouth until I could feel him at the back of my throat. I felt him tense slightly as I reached my limit, then pulled back, coating his shaft in wetness so I could begin slowly stroking him to keep his perfect hardness. I took a moment to blow smoke on his balls and take them into my mouth one at a time, until all three were given the proper attention they deserved.

Keeping his cute little balls in one hand, I moved my tongue up his shaft and licked that delicious hot dog like I was back in Little League, except this time I wasn't on the bench. I was up to bat and by God, I was going to hit a home run. Taking the tip of his now throbbing manhood into my mouth, I felt him tremble and I knew it was time to stop fucking around and get down to business. We only had a few minutes left before Sam would have a P.A. banging down the door to get us back on set.

I lowered my mouth over his entire member, getting him deep inside my throat. Bobbing my head up and down on his lap, I could feel every inch of him. His hips lifted off the couch as I pulled back to lick and tease him. I stroked the shaft of his cock with my hands and swallowed him again. Swirling my tongue around the underside of his dick, I could feel him growing even harder. He let out a low, pleasured moan as I sucked hard up and down the length of his member. As I held myself down on him I let myself drool into his lap, making it drip down around his balls. I loved thinking about him this way when I was back on set, knowing his costume would have remnants of my spit and his cum all over it.

I focused the suction of my mouth and tongue on the head of his dick and tightened my grip around his balls, sliding my fingers around in the spit I had left on them. I could taste his pre-cum dripping out of him, it was delicious – always sweet, like pineapples. James is particular about what he eats and it shows. I looked up at him and watched as he came, his face contorting into an artless, ecstatic snarl as he arced hot white ropes into my waiting mouth. I've given him countless blowjobs and swallowed about a million of his three-balled loads, but this was like nothing he'd ever given me before. His hands instinctively balled themselves into fistfuls of the Mexican blanket and the force of his climax lifted him off of the couch as I struggled to swallow each new mouthful of his torrential cum. Eventually the explosions subsided and the tension ebbed out of him, his tired muscles easing him back down, his face painted with that shit-eating grin you've seen on Letterman or Conan.

As I sat back on my heels to watch him, he flipped the joint around to offer me one last toke from between his fingers. I leaned forward, took a hit, and stood up, turning towards the door. As I straightened myself out for my reentry into the world, I looked back at James and he was still sprawled lazily across the blanket.

"See you back out there, Tiger," he said, as I pulled my Spider-Man mask back on and stepped down out of the trailer.

[Excerpted from Fucking James Franco, Edited by Sean Joseph Patrick Carney, Social Malpractice Publishing, Produced by Container Corps Art Press in a limited edition of 500. Image via Getty]