Chapter 23: Kitt

Saturday, August 25^th, 2023

All I could think about after my conversation with Uma was my brother, Scott. My brother was the man who beat Uma Granger black and blue. My big brother, who punched Michael Stratt in the face for calling me a “meatsicle sucker” when I was in 7^th grade. My big brother, who had lied more than once to my parents’ faces so they wouldn’t know I’d been looking at lesbian porn. My big brother, who was a bit of a prick, a bit of a womanizer, and a bit of an ass, did not seem like the guy to beat up women. The revelation that my big brother had done those things to Uma was unnerving. Other than the usual brotherly teasings, he’d never shown signs of that sort of sadism. But I had no reason to doubt Uma. I couldn’t marry the two ideas in my brain.

My first reaction had been to reach out to him, talk to him, maybe beat the crap out of him. How could he hurt someone like that? But then a conversation I’d had with Scott in his car on our way to a Nuggets game several months ago came back to me. Scott had said something about Uma. Something about her being freaky. When I replayed the entire conversation with my eyes closed, I remembered the words exactly.

“I’ve never met someone who likes rough sex more...,” he had said to me when I saw her picture on his phone. “I couldn’t give it to her hard enough.”

I had put that conversation out of my mind for months because I didn’t want to think about my brother having sex with the woman of my dreams. I’d been jealous. Now, I was just mad.

Things between Uma and me turned awkward after she learned I was Scott’s brother, and his name was Scott Walker, not Christopher Mullin, as she’d believed. I also told Uma I’d known for several months about their relationship—although I had thought it to be a one-night stand.

I stayed with her for four hours. During most of that time, I listened to her and held her while she cried. Before I left, I got up the courage to ask her if I could confront my brother, but she told me absolutely not.

Thus, despite finding out about Scott’s behavior with Uma five days ago, I hadn’t done a thing about it.

I didn’t like Uma’s directive, but I promised not to talk to him about it until she gave me permission. We had planned on watching a movie together and eating popcorn, but neither of us was in the mood. Instead, we took a walk around her neighborhood. She held my hand, but it wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was more like she needed to cling to me for comfort. When I finally left her home after midnight, I was sad, frustrated, and confused.

On Monday, London and I went out to lunch before our work shift started at 1 p.m. She waited until we got our food and then ate in silence. I knew her well enough to know this meant something was on her mind, and she was deciding how and when to broach the subject.

“Just spill it,” I said when I couldn’t take the suspense any longer.

“What?” London asked.

“Whatever it is you are dying to say.”

London squealed and leaned forward. “Okay. I’ll lay it on you. Kitt, I think the time is now to launch Super Schlong. I think you and I should set up a joint business venture, purchase a home in Denver, outfit it with cameras and a sex-friendly atmosphere, and start recruiting women to move into the house with us.

“I’ve been doing research. If the women we bring into the fold are hired as models and performers, we can set clear expectations on diet, behavior, and sexual activity. Instead of being paid by the scene like normal adult film stars, we pay them a salary with vacation and sick leave. After a certain period, we allow them to buy into the business as junior partners. Then, as we grow, we can break away completely from FFE, which is taking 20% of our profit.”

“That sounds awesome,” I said. “I’d love to keep that extra 20%.”

“We may want to continue to use it on a limited basis to continue to grow our brand, but we would ultimately feed those people toward our own platform with a subscription-based model for Super Schlong and Sluts or S³. And we would use our platform to promote ourselves on social media, sell merchandise, and create kick-ass amateur porn that’s raw, unedited, and real while still shooting edited stuff for FFE.”

I loved the idea. I loved the thought of going into business with London.

“Do you think Delilah will be on board for the idea?” I asked.

London frowned. “I don’t think Delilah will want to be under your umbrella. I think she wants to be her own brand. There may be a lot of women who come and go as they gain popularity and want to spin off from us. And that’s okay. Delilah or other women can make guest appearances on our platform on a contracted basis.”

“She gave me my start. Why do I feel bad about doing porn without her?”

London took my hand and rubbed the back of it with her thumb. “Because you’re a loyal guy—nothing wrong with that! But I think this is a perfect idea. I don’t think anybody is doing anything quite like it. And I think it’s your next step organically from what you’re already doing now. Have you seen how your video with Jade is doing?”

“Yeah. We’re killing it.”

“Exactly. Because it’s a new girl, and you two have chemistry. Like it or not, the world doesn’t want to watch you only banging me and Delilah with a little Fanny mixed in. And we need to keep the momentum going. Your strategy with me and Kimmy to boost your brand is paying off. In August, your subscriber base has almost doubled on FFE. You’re about to cross the 2000 subscriber mark! You’re trending on FFE as the #1 male performer on the platform! Between TikTok and Instagram, you have almost 10K followers. That’s incredible, Kitt.”

After our conversation, I was high on life for about an hour before I realized I had another task from Lilly to complete before my whole world came crashing down around me. On Tuesday, I received my first legitimate emails from businesses asking about product endorsements on my socials. I forwarded them all to Kimmy. On Wednesday, right in the middle of my shift in the ICU, my phone buzzed with an unknown number from California. I took the call. An agent from Motley Models asked if I was looking for representation in the adult film business. I told him I would have to get back to him. The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion.

I looked at my watch. It was 10:03 a.m. on Saturday. I had less than three hours to complete my task: steal a specific female sex toy and slip it into Jasmine’s purse without her noticing. Easy peasy. Except I’d never stolen anything in my life. I didn’t even know how to steal. I’d been researching shoplifting methods on the web, which didn’t seem wise if the government was watching me, but I didn’t want to buy a book about shoplifting—it seemed too ironic.

I finally settled on my plan of how to do it ... five different times. First, I decided to hollow out a book. My second idea was to use magnets to hold the sex toy inside my jacket. My third plan was to carefully drop it inside an umbrella. Fourth, stuff it down my pants. Finally, I settled on just being a little more clever than the store manager.

I headed out the door at a quarter to eleven and got to the mall right on the hour. The adult toy store was right next to the Read More Bookstore. The manager looked up at me when I walked in, gave me a nod, then went back to staring at his phone. There was only one other customer in the store: a girl who I guessed to be about eighteen years old with pink hair and lots of piercings. She glanced at me like she’d seen me somewhere before, then looked away. I walked around the store grabbing anything I thought I might be able to help in future scenes with Delilah: a realistic strap-on, several different lubes, two sets of bondage gear, and a few different discipline toys. And, of course, a Satisfyer Pro 2 Air-Pulse Clitoral Stimulator. I knew there had to be one, as I couldn’t imagine Lilly asking me to steal something that didn’t exist. I was amazed at the range and variety of toys that existed in the world to pleasure men and women.

I was about to head to the checkout counter when my phone vibrated. I ignored it, but it buzzed again. And again. And three more times after that. I fished it from my pants.

Bethany: Tell me this isn’t real.

Bethany: Please.

Bethany: [screenshot of my Super Schlong FFE page with my dick buried inside London’s vagina]

Bethany: Janiqua sent this to me.

Bethany: Is this what you’ve been hiding from me?

Bethany: Why?

Bethany: I can’t believe you would do this. I can’t believe our friendship means so little to you.

Bethany: My heart is broken.

“Shit,” muttered under my breath. My heart pounded, and my hands began to sweat. I set down all of the items in my arms. Then I took a seat on the floor. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”

I had known this day would come, but I had been too scared to face reality. I had not gotten ahead of it like I had known I needed to do. An instant later, my phone was blowing up with more texts from other work colleagues.

Dan Smith: Is this really you? Right on!

Janiqua: U are a bad boy!

London: We need to talk. EVERYONE knows.

Uma: I’m getting some strange texts about you, Kitt ... Can you talk?

Those were just the first of many. I looked at the time on my watch—11:38 a.m. I couldn’t deal with it all right now. I powered off my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. Then, I gathered everything I planned to purchase and walked up to the counter. I spilled it out onto the desk messily, making sure some of the items fell onto the floor. Then I stooped down and picked up everything, and trapped the clitoral stimulator between my knees.

“You got enough stuff here?” the manager asked with a smirk.

I forced myself to chuckle. “I think so. My wife just finished reading Fifty Degrees of Gray. Now she wants me to buy all this stuff to explore. I guess that means lucky me, right?”

The manager scanned all the items, commented on different ones, and offered me advice on using or cleaning them. I nodded and pretended to be interested. The total came to over $600. I didn’t feel bad at all about stealing the one toy anymore. Still, my hands shook as I handed him my credit card. A silhouette of my thumbprint remained on the card, caused by sweat and my skin’s heat.

He scanned it, handed it back, and I pocketed it. Done. He gave me my bags. I set them on the ground to adjust my grip, put the pilfered plaything inside, and picked them back up. I was halfway out the store door when the manager stopped me by grabbing my shoulder from behind.

“Hey!”

I cried out in alarm and dropped the bags.

“Your phone,” he said, putting my phone into my hand. “You left it on the counter.”

“Thanks,” I choked, but it sounded like “Ay.”

And then I was done. Home free. All I had to do was walk forty feet into Read More Bookstore and look for Jasmine Tisdale. The store was large, and from the one picture I had seen of Ms. Tisdale, she wasn’t exactly someone who stuck out in a crowd. I looked like an idiot walking around the store with two bags full of sex toys, so I finally stashed them under a reading chair before continuing on my quest.

It wasn’t quite noon, so it was possible Jasmine hadn’t entered the store yet. My mind kept floating back to the texts barraging my phone. I wanted to turn it back on and read them. Did my parents know yet? My siblings? My entire life was about to change, and I was wandering around a bookstore on a stupid errand.

I went to the self-help section and glanced at some of the titles. I’d heard of half the books; the others might as well have been written in Japanese. None of them bore a title resembling anything close to Balancing the Porn Star’s Life or How to Tell Your Family You Are a Sex Worker. I supposed I would have to figure all that out on my own.

By ten minutes after noon, my search became a bit desperate. I knew Tisdale was here somewhere, but every face I looked at resembled Bethany. Tall, skinny blonde: Bethany. Plump, old, redheaded woman: Bethany. Beefy black man: okay, he didn’t look like Bethany, but everyone else did, and it was driving me crazy.

I finally had to force myself to sit down, turn my phone back on, and come up with a response that would allow me to focus on my task. I typed and retyped and erased. Nothing sounded right. Instead, I brought the phone to my lips and spoke into it using speech-to-text.

“Bethany, you have every right to be mad at me. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry. I guess there’s a side of me I wasn’t ready for you to see yet. This side of me loves sex and fulfilling these deep fantasies in my brain. Fantasies I’ve had for a long time. But as my best friend, I should have told you. I thought about doing it so many times. I couldn’t do it because sex just doesn’t seem to be something on your radar. I don’t know. That sounds weird. I guess I don’t think of you as a sexual person. That’s not an insult. I don’t mean it to be. We’re just different. And I thought if you knew about this part of me, you’d judge me or wouldn’t want to be my friend. I’m at the store right now, but if you want to talk about this later, just let me know. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

I read it, made a few minor edits, and sent it. Then, I turned my phone off again and began my second tour of the bookstore. I focused on hair. Long brown hair. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to get a significant hair overhaul. I finally found her in the test prep section. She was looking at LSAT books. It was 12:26 p.m. My deadline was less than fifteen minutes away. She carried with her a large bag. All I had to do was slip it in.

But I was all nerves. My hands were trembling.

“Get it together,” I hissed to myself. “You’re the Demigod of Sex. You can charm her panties off.”

I didn’t even have the toy with me. I’d left it in the bag! I hurried back over to my secret stash, dug through the contents of the bags, and retrieved the toy. Not wanting to be seen toting the thing around, I turned to the nearest shelf and grabbed the first book I saw.

Pegging for Dummies.

I hurried, put it back, and grabbed a random book from the next shelf. Overcoming Sexual Addiction. I rolled my eyes. This was getting ridiculous. I snagged a copy of Harry Potter from two tables away and used it to hide the stimulator. Then I made my way back to the test prep section and found her still browsing the different books.

“Take the LSAT?” I asked quietly.

Jasmine Tisdale turned toward me, noticing my presence for the first time. She was a short woman, thin in a petite way, with long brown hair, tanned olive skin, and light brown eyes. Despite her thin lips, her face was not as forbidding as I’d expected. She did not smile. But one thing that stood out to me was her incredibly smooth skin.

“Yeah. Why? Are you getting ready to take it, too?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” I kept my eyes on the books as I slowly inched closer to her bag. “I think it’s the MCAT for me. But I thought about it. I thought hard about it.”

Tisdale nodded. “I hear Kaplan is good for the MCAT.”

“Me, too.”

Our conversation lulled. I probably shouldn’t have started talking to her because now she was more aware of me than she would have been if I’d stayed quiet. I turned my attention back to the books. Maybe shutting up for a few minutes would allow her to forget me. It was 12:31 p.m.

What if she walked away from the section? I had to keep her here. I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“My parents made it very clear to me that it was either doctor, lawyer, or finance. Math isn’t exactly my forté. So that ruled out finance.”

“I’m an accounting major,” Jasmine said, the same way someone might comment on the weather. She looked like an accountant in her conservative white blouse, green knee-length skirt, and matching business jacket.

“Creative writing,” I said, holding up Harry Potter.

“Never read it.”

That didn’t surprise me. Her tight ponytail hairstyle screamed bland, efficient, and uninspired. “That’s okay. There are movies.”

“Never seen them.”

I chuckled weakly to hide my lack of surprise. “What do you do for fun?”

“Exercise. You look like you do, too.”

A part of me was slightly stunned. That was almost a come-on. And because of my surprise, I didn’t recover as well as I should have. All I said was, “Yeah.”

Jasmine Tisdale watched me for several seconds, and then, when I didn’t say anything else, she just nodded. “Okay. Well, good luck with your MCAT.”

With her book in hand, she left the aisle. I was dumbfounded. She had given me a perfect opportunity to talk to her longer, and I’d blown it. What the hell was wrong with me?

I shook my head to get the cobwebs out. I knew what was wrong with me. Bethany. And everyone else in my life who now knew what I was doing in my spare time. There was no time to worry about that. I had to focus.

“Come on, dipshit,” I muttered. “Just get this done.”

I tracked her movement and went in the opposite direction so I could bump into her again.

12:34 p.m.

I had five minutes. We met again in the biography aisle. Jasmine was examining a copy of one of Ronald Reagan’s biographies. She peered at me over the top of the book.

“Don’t tell me you’re also interested in presidential biographies...” she muttered.

“Not at all,” I said, “but I wasn’t quite done talking to you.”

“Oh?” Jasmine put the biography back where she’d taken it from and made sure it lined up evenly with the rest of the books on the shelf.

“Yeah, I thought you might talk me into taking the LSAT.”

“Why would I do that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to ask me out on a date?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“Er...” Her bluntness again left me momentarily speechless. “Maybe?”

“Name ten U.S. Presidents.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Nope. No president is named Seriously. Although I’m told there is a Harry Potter character named Sirius.” She turned around and began walking away.

“Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Quincy Adams, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Gilmore, Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln, Johnson, Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Arthur, Cleveland ... shit. Harrison. Cleveland.” I trailed off. This was where I always got stuck.

“McKinley.”

“Thank you!” I said, snapping my fingers. “Roosevelt, Taft—”

“I get it. You memorized the presidents when you were in school.”

I smirked. “It was extra credit. Easy A.”

Jasmine’s lips gave me the faintest exasperated smile. “Fine. I’ll go on a date with you. I’ll even pay if you can name ten Vice Presidents.”

“Harris, Pence, Biden, Cheney, Gore, Quayle, Bush, Agnew, Ford...” I knew I could think of one more. “Johnson! Please don’t ask me to name more than two Secretaries of State.”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. “Okay. A deal’s a deal. What are you doing tonight?”

I glanced at my watch—12:37 p.m. Shit shit. I was taking too long and had no way of dropping the toy without raising suspicion. “Tonight? Oh. I can’t tonight. But let’s exchange numbers, and we can get something set up soon, I’m sure.”

Jasmine studied my face, perhaps concerned that I wasn’t that interested. And truthfully, I wasn’t super interested. She didn’t seem like my type, but I could blow her off and get the stupid toy in her bag. I stepped closer to her, my book nearing her bag. Maybe I could drop the book in the bag along with the toy and retrieve it? No. That wouldn’t make any sense.

12:38 p.m.

A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. “Let me get my phone on.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You always turn your phone off?”

“No. But it was blowing up, and I got tired of answering it. You know how family chats can be.”