Chapter 1 Three martini lunches. Secretaries that would consent to a quickie in the office bathroom. Trading stories of sexual conquests with the rest of the A&R guys. Cocaine lines on the desks every Friday. Different clubs each week to see different artists. Finding the undiscovered starlet and offering her a golden ticket. Making a truckload of money.
That’s how the music industry used to be, Seth thought. Instead, in the break room, Marilyn said to her friend, and decidedly not to him, “Owl’s Nest tonight?”
“Ugh, I just can’t even,” replied Kate. Marilyn giggled in response. “Like the guys you meet at the Nest all want to read you their poetry and talk about politics. Let’s just go to Rico’s.”
Seth, ignoring his coworkers ignoring him, reflected again on how his uncle Simon had described the music industry in terms very different from Seth’s day-to-day reality. Even though Simon was still at the label, he had no sense of the day-to-day operations. In fact, his uncle had climbed the ladder to become company president, and barely visited the office at all. Sure, maybe back when Simon had been early in his career the label’s A&R department still held that cavalier and chauvinist energy. Instead, Seth found himself working through lunch on a Friday afternoon with two of his three Artists & Repertoire teammates, as they ignored him and planned their night out.
“Oh my God, Kate. Rico’s Tavern is for the construction guys and they all get to the bar at like two o’clock when they leave work. They’re sloppy drunk already if we show up at nine.”
“Good. I need a bunch of brutes fondling me with their eyes, instead of the Nest dorks who can’t even make eye contact, much less stare at my ass,” Kate said.
Marilyn cackled and tilted her pretty head and its blonde bob. “Kate, you sluuuut!”
Seth tracked the conversation from the other side of the break room, but kept his eyes on his phone. Although he wasn’t more than 20 feet away, his coworkers, per usual, talked as if he was invisible.
“C’mon Mare, you know what I mean, it’s been one of those weeks.”
“Yeah? I mean yeah, fuck it. Remember the last guy I took home from Rico’s?”
“Mr. Stamina, right?” Kate asked.
“Hours, babe, and rough,” Marilyn confirmed.
Seth decided to intrude: “We used to call it Retard Rico’s, alcoholic outpost of every HVAC guy in the city.”
Marilyn with her delicate features and Kate with her golden face both gave him stern looks.
“Oh hey Seth,” offered Marilyn.
“Careful buddy,” chided Kate. “Words like that are very offensive. We don’t want HR to get involved.”
Both girls laughed. While Marilyn mostly pitied him, Kate seemed to actively hate Seth. She needled and teased him relentlessly, which was doubly effective because he’d never met an Asian girl like Kate. In his racist mental taxonomy, they were submissive and demure. Kate was boisterous, frank, cocky, and assertive. Even her appearance confounded his stereotypes. The filipina minx dressed provocatively, showing off her curves. In build she was closer to Ayesha, the final member of their A&R foursome, a black girl from Atlanta. All three of the girls were in their early twenties, but Seth had turned 33 recently.
“Yeah, whatever.” Seth returned his eyes to his phone.
“Exiting the conversation as abruptly as he joined it, the man returns to his Candy Crush,” teased Marilyn, who liked to join in the bullying with Kate or Ayesha around, but actually treated him decently otherwise.
“Nah, he’s probably watching porn,” Kate provoked.
“Actually I’m still working.”
He really was working, but Seth realized the truth was more complicated. Ever since Ice Spice blew up, his boss had been singularly obsessed with finding the next great viral female hip-hop star and signing her before she took off. The idea was getting talent on the cheap, before they have a million streams to their name. So all four of them, all day long, combed through low-view Youtube videos and TikTok clips, just scraping the internet for a diamond in the rough. Of course, sex appeal mattered a great deal, and these third-rate homespun “music videos” often had the color of smut. Sometimes Seth would flag a video for later consumption, in the privacy of his home. There were plenty of aspiring starlets, stranded in their public housing projects or trailer parks making very bad music, with a few hundred Youtube views of their ass-shaking attempts to make it big. They had no idea a dozen of those views were provided by Seth, alone in his apartment, his dick in his hand.
“Whatever,” Kate announced at him, turning her attention fully back to her office buddy Marilyn. “Ok so Rico’s. 9pm. Drinks at my place first?”
“Definitely,” said Marilyn, smiling. The blonde’s body owned real estate in Seth’s sexual fantasyland. If Ayesha held down one aesthetic extreme as dark-skinned and well-endowed in the bust and the hips, then Mare (as Kate called her) staked out the opposite pole. Her tight butt poked out just slightly from her rail thin waist and thighs, and her flatness of chest evoked something virginal and innocent for Seth. Even her facial features seemed small, and in his stroking Seth would often imagine pumping his manhood into her tiny mouth then pulling out to unload on her little button nose and her teasing eyelashes. Kate, of course, occupied the perfect middle of these two outlying body types, and owned a mansion in Seth’s masturbatory mindscape.
“Ok cool. Wear something slutty!” instructed Kate.
Some hours later, the coworkers found a brawny plumber who managed to bag both of them. He was flirting with Kate, but he’d previously chatted with Marilyn a few weeks prior at the same bar. “So you two are friends? Are you real close friends? You want to be, like, real real close friends?”
Next thing they knew they were back at Kate’s place. Marilyn felt the heft of his cock through his blue jeans as he pressed her against the wall– she squirmed in arousal under his strength. Behind him Kate dropped to her knees, reaching around and undoing his belt. Becoming “real close friends,” the coworkers shared his pipe between their mouths, but he didn’t come until a few positions later with his pecker buried in Marilyn’s cunt while Kate straddled her face, making out with the tradesman. His cock rose to the occasion for a second round of varied entanglements, this time depositing his load in the back of Kate’s pretty Asian throat. He hulked into the bed, breathing heavily, but the young women continue to titter on the carpet like schoolgirls at a slumber party. Marilyn confessed she’d been rimmed before, but she’d never had anything penetrate her back door.
“Oh honey, oh Mare,” Kate cooed and grinned at her before gently laying the petite blonde facedown on the rug and kissing the back of her neck, her shoulders, tracing her spine with her tongue, and arriving orally at her bottom. Sufficiently lubed with saliva, Kate worked the edges of her friends asshole gently until it invited her in. She wiggled her index finger two knuckles deep into Marilyn’s ass, and heard movement behind her. The whispers about anal play and Marilyn’s soft moans had caused the giant to rise again, both the man and the cock. With the blonde sufficiently pleased by her new experience, she and the man arranged Kate’s body for him to enjoy a third round. Legs spread, back arched, Kate presented her holes from all fours on the carpet. The plumber spread the wetness from her throbbing cunt up to her anus, while Marilyn dropped spit from above to prepare the same site. The milky proof of the stud’s third triumphant nut didn’t entirely leave Kate’s insides until she sat on the toilet the next morning.
Meanwhile, sitting amidst the crumbs of his frozen pizza, Seth fondled his balls watching a white girl from Louisiana rap about how her “pussy’s wetter than Katrina” while her friends twerked in bikinis around an above ground pool that seemed to be empty and had holes in the walls. He brought himself to completion while watching the video that he had dismissed as unmarketable white trash slop earlier in the day.
An hour later he was scrolling a Reddit forum dedicated to women posting their assholes and slits from below. A goth girl with bangs and fat buttcheeks, a fake-blonde bimbo with a spray tan. Serviceable, he jerked it. He stopped scrolling at a picture of a brown-skinned beauty, some kind of South Asian, with a sweetly leaking cunt and a perfect balloon knot of a back door. Her face obscured, he noticed she had the same shiny, wavy black hair as his bitch coworker Kate. He leaned forward and his prick stiffened in his hand. He imagined Kate’s athletic legs apart, inviting him in. Despite all the bullying and abuse, he realized that he’d still give his left nut to have her supple brown bottom riding his face. He didn’t even need to come. Just the memory of her smell, the warmth of her cunt on his face, the sounds of her bucking and climaxing, that memory alone would supply a lifetime of wankings. Leaning further forward he lost control of himself, sticking his tongue out and licking the screen of his Macbook as he ejaculated.
He woke in the middle of the night and considered a third beat session, lazily opening PornHub on his phone. But he didn’t find the spirit to see it through, and rolled over back to sleep.
Chapter 2 The rest of Seth’s weekend passed by in much the same way as his Friday night. The man found himself with increasingly few social engagements as his friends had started marrying off and having kids. Slightly depressed on Monday morning at the office, he pored over the social media accounts of a California woman with some music posted online. She had a not-half-bad single about a breakup, but he decided this lady did not have the looks or the charisma to pursue any further.
“Oh my God,” he heard Kate say across the office. “Oh my God! Damn! Ayesha, Marilyn, come see this!”
She had found, finally, a promising undiscovered talent. She shared with her team (minus Seth) the video, called “kiyah nasty – gas station freestyle” on YouTube: various shots of a curvy light-skinned young girl in a form-fitting leopard print jumpsuit dancing and rapping into the camera. Unlike so many videos the team had suffered for weeks, this was raw and almost unedited. She wore her nappy hair in a natural mini-afro. Whereas most of the content they scanned featured women self-consciously creating images of themselves that they hoped would bring them fame, this girl seemed exactly comfortable where she was at. No pretensions to stardom at all. Hanging out in the hood, gyrating around, and spitting audacious rap lyrics for her mostly male friends, who appear around her but often don’t seem to realize they’re being filmed, she raps into the camera about selling drugs and shooting at rival gangs. It’s that casual. But her voice had an undeniable charm, she looked great, and her lyrics were clever and catchy. There was something especially mesmerizing about such violent lyrics coming through her sing-song girlish tone.
“Yeah this has promise.” Marilyn agreed halfway through the video. “And her name has a ring to it: Kiyah Nasty. Kiyah Nasty.” Seth heard them across the office but decided to stay put unless he was invited into the group.
“Oh damn! Go back, and shut up Mare, what’d ole girl just say?!” Ayesha demanded.
Kate duly scrubbed back on the Youtube clip to repeat the part that had also grabbed her on her first viewing. Kiyah smirks at the camera and sing-raps,
“Yeah I got plenty shooters and they not aimin’ for your head go ahead and double cross me you’ll get a scrotum full of lead."
“Eee!!” Ayesha shrieked, “That’s what I thought she said. ‘Scrotum full of lead’ is cold as fuck. Wow. Okay keep going.”
The three girls bobbed their heads, hanging on Kiyah’s every word. She returned to a similar theme with her final verse, rapping:
“I hate snitchin’ niggas, I hate fuckboy cowards too. But I like the squealing sounds they makin’ when I got their nuts beneath my shoes.”
She breaks her flow to do a grinding motion with her foot, like she’s stamping out a cigarette. She laughs for the camera, “Aight that’s it, I’m Kiyah Nasty and I’m out this bitch. Peace!” as the clip abruptly ends.
“Yeah, Kate. She's good. That song rocks AND she’s gorgeous,” said Mare.
“She’s good? This bitch is on FIRE and she acts like she don’t even know it. Damn, I wanna hear it again!” said Ayesha.
Kate smiled. Their weekly check-in with their boss Denise happened Tuesday mornings. For once they’d have something to show for their efforts.
The head of their A&R unit, Denise had been in the industry awhile. In her forties but still trim, with jet-black hair and red lipstick, she came out of the indie rock scene, much like Seth, and struggled to adjust to the more pop and hip-hop direction that the label was heading. She had actually come across Ice Spice before she blew up, but decided the superstar-to-be wasn’t anything worth pursuing. No one held it against her, yet she had dispatched her team of Seth, Kate, Ayesha and Marilyn to not let the next cute little sexpot urban female artist slip through the label’s fingers.
They played her the video.
“Okay,” Denise said, “I’m with you. She’s hot, and she knows she’s hot. She’s talented, and I’m not sure she fully realizes that part. Which means we can probably get her signed cheap and easy.”
Seth frowned. He was hoping they’d pass on Kiyah. He liked his popstars to be pliant and teasing, but ultimately subservient to male fantasy. His uncle Simon had once signed Britney Spears for the label, in the good old days. Kiyah’s bravado, indifference, and, he had to admit, her threats of genital violence to men, did not sit well with his idea of a female pop star.
“But I’m also not sure how much mass-market appeal we can find for a regional drill rapper. She’s from Memphis? This gangland turf war stuff, it’s kind of a niche thing, very local,” Denise continued.
Seth smiled.
“But you found her, Kate, and I see the potential, so pitch me on it. What’s your vision for Kiyah?”
Glowing, Kate launched into a speech she’d half-prepared in her head. “Okay Denise. We missed Ice Spice. But listen. Ice Spice is nothingness with a pair of big buttcheeks. No talent, no longevity. Just a big fat cake for the world to admire. Kiyah is bigger. Think Cardi B, think Nicki Minaj. Shit, think Lil Kim! Here we have a beautiful, confident, clever girl that can actually rap. And her voice is lovely, she can probably sing too, even though we haven’t found any evidence of that yet. Here’s the plan. We sign her, immediately, and make sure we get a cut of the money she stands to make off just this clip alone. It had 824 views yesterday. Right now it’s 9,304 and growing. That’s exponential growth. We sign her and then we sand away her rough edges with coaching. Lose some of the gun violence, lean into the girlboss energy. Frankly, I say, we lean into her comic low blow lines. The data already shows her two lines referencing male genital injury are, by far, the most replayed portions of her video. There’s even a TikTok trend called the “Kiyah Stomp” where girls are imitating her soon-to-be iconic gesture, pressing and rubbing a foot into the ground before laughing at the camera. The soundtrack for the clips is Kiyah’s last line from the video. We don’t have much time. I want to make her an offer as soon as possible.”
Denise’s look of curiosity had morphed into an eager smile by the time Kate finished. “Bravo! I’m sold. I’ll fly you out tomorrow, Kate. Unless there’s any objections from the team.”
Seth seethed. He had to speak up.
“Right here,” he said. All looked at him and his three A&R teammates sighed and rolled their eyes.
“What’s up Seth?” asked Marilyn.
“He’s just mad because Kate found her and not him,” said Ayesha.
“It’s not that,” said Seth. “I just think it won’t get big with all the… all the stuff about hurting guys’ balls.”
A silence hung over the room. Then everyone was talking at once.
“Seth, you know it’s just a song, right?” said Marilyn.
“Man gimme a break. We got rappers spittin’ about killing people and you think a lyrical nutshot is too far?” said Ayesha.
“Grow a pair, Seth, it’s not that serious,” said Kate.
“Enough!” Denise quieted the argument. “Seth, that’s never stopped America’s Funniest Home Videos, or the Simpsons, or, hell, the Dreamworks movies my kids watch all day. It’s all in good fun, and, most importantly, it sells. Kate, get to Memphis and get Kiyah’s signature on a contract tomorrow. You have my blessing.” She left the table, off for another meeting.
“I think Seth’s got a sensitive spot,” said Ayesha, as the four of them were left in the conference room without their boss.
“I think he’s got two, and that’s the whole problem,” quipped Kate.
Fuming, Seth mumbled something about a doctor’s appointment, grabbed his jacket, and left work early, door slamming behind him. As he sulked home he ran through the morning in his mind, again and again. Under every interpretation he was humiliated, but he didn’t think he could have done anything differently. Sensing the modern world’s hostility towards men made him even more unhappy, so he just fixated, judgingly, on the whoreish way Kate would bag random guys from bars and then talk about it in front of him, that skank…
Back at the office, the girls talked about his dramatic reaction to Kate’s pitch for Kiyah.
“Umm, diva alert!” said Ayesha. “Did you see how he stormed off and let the door slam?”
“It’s like dude– who hurt you?” said Kate.
“Maybe he has PTSD from a bunch of mean sisters,” said Marilyn.
“Yeah, post testicle-smashing disorder,” Kate said, getting laughs from everyone.
“Oh my God, let me tell you about this girl in my high school,” began Marilyn. “In gym class, she would often find a way to rack some poor boy and make it seem like an accident. She’d bump into some guy playing soccer, and they’d tumble to the ground, but somehow her knee would get buried into his crotch. Or like, in volleyball, she’d wait for a set hanging over the net. A boy on the other team would get up in the air to spike it, and she’d jump up to defend it. But her foot would be flying forward under the net and catch the boy on his way down- BAM!”
Meanwhile, back at home, Seth threw his laptop screen open, still angry. He found the Reddit amateur who looked similar to Kate, the one whose asshole he worshipped in his masturbatory frenzy a few nights before. Clicking to her profile, he was pleased to see she regularly posted a variety of nude photos and videos around Reddit. He imagined dealing a swift backhand to Kate’s pretty Asian face and then grabbing her neck and shoving her head to his crotch. Fearful of him, she would take his hard cock into her mouth.
At the office, Ayesha and Kate laughed at the story of high school hijinks. “Sounds like Kiyah’s kind of a gal,” said Ayesha.
“Seth would literally cry if he heard that story,” said Kate.
“I mean that’s only half of it,” said Marilyn. “In the locker room on those days when she managed to rack a guy, we’d be changing after class and having this electric celebration of her success. Girls would imitate the poor kid’s reaction, or re-enact the whole scene with each other. I was still shy then, but I remember getting tingly watching these girls in their underwear with their hands over their groins like ‘Ehh!! Oohh! My balls, you hurt my balls!!’ as we all laughed.”
“Oooh we caught a peeping Tom in our locker room once, damn, I just remembered!” said Ayesha. “It was this lil’ nigga Josh, that was always perving on our booties even when we had our clothes on. Found this motherfucker literally in the shower of the girls’ locker room. Couldn’t let him go without all of us knocking his jewels around a little. I wasn’t shy, and when my turn came I gave him a knee to remember, that’s for damn sure.”
Kate let out a sigh of amusement and satisfaction. These little stories of girl power, comical scenes of pain at the very source of men’s bad behavior, their nuts, always sent a jolt through her spine, and a flush between her legs.
Back at his apartment, Seth grew bored of imagining Kate’s forced blowjob, and he now imagined pulling her head off his prick and grinding it into his bed, pressing her face into the covers with all his might. Mashing her head down with his left, he used his right hand to bring her hips into the air. He smacked his dick against her perfect, gym-toned ass cheeks. He spit on her anus, rubbing the saliva carelessly around her crack and hole. He imagined yanking her head up by her silky black hair and fucking her ass, choking her throat while he came in her colon. “Stupid bitch,” he said as he blew his load in both his fantasy and in real-life, before discarding her and the idea of her, moving, in real-life, his emptied dick still hard, into the kitchen to prepare a TV dinner.
Chapter 3 The next day, in a basement in Memphis, Kiyah leisurely yawned and stretched her arms above her head, still in bed as the clock neared noon. She’d been out late the night before, like most nights, just partying and hanging out with the crew, rapping a little. Jalen lay up snoring next to her and she remembered being pleased with his performance last night. There were a few guys from the gang that she kept on her roster for casual sex, but she had only just tried Jalen for the first time. She’d given him her blessing to get rough, and he’d delivered: all of his eight inches plowing her violently from behind as he stuck fingers in her mouth. Yawning, she idly reached over and felt his heavy cock through his boxers.
Having nothing in particular to do today, like most days, she felt her cunt with her free hand and decided a little morning romp would be nice. She didn’t want Jalen’s huge black wood stretching her out again, so as he became awake and erect at the same time, she lazily shifted her ass onto his face. The compliant thug licked away at her womanhood while she continued fondling his cock and then slid his boxers down to take him in her mouth, using her hands to fondle his balls.
Balls, balls, balls. As Jalen’s tongue brought her closer to ecstasy she savored the fact that she could deliver him to agony with a squeeze, a slap, maybe a punch. Her willingness to go for the nuts, developed as the little sister in a house of boys with a single mother, had served her well. She knew when to seduce and employ her looks to her advantage. She also knew when to threaten and play the male vulnerability to her advantage. Right now she had five young men working corners, selling her product all day long. Sure, she’d tease them and let them enjoy the fantasy that she might one day let them fuck. But what really motivated her workers was the consequences they could expect if the dope came up missing, or if the count was wrong when they brought back her cash.
As a teen she had been inside this very trap house when her older brother was interrogating a worker about a missing kilo. The kid was so disrespectful and smug, she hated seeing her brother’s authority flouted so boldly. Tentatively she said, “Get his nuts on the dresser and use the baseball bat, like Method Man,” referring to the Wu-Tang rapper’s infamous skit in which he threatens to smash a man’s testicles with a bat. Her whole body thrummed with excitement when the men held the punk kid’s legs apart and dragged over a low desk. Before the wooden bat could connect with its genital target, he confessed to everything, and only in Kiyah’s fantasies did the gang members get their batting practice on the boy’s marbles.
“Ohh! Oh my God!!” Kiyah cried with her full, round ass smothering Jalen as she fantasized about her continued power over men and boys. After climaxing she flatly told him, “Okay nigga now roll me a blunt and get gone,” denying him the reciprocal orgasm and knowing that he wouldn’t complain.
The girl gangster and occasional rapper wasn’t halfway through her blunt when there was a timid knock at the front door upstairs. She grabbed her gun. A worker shouted down the stairs, “Kiyah, it’s an Asian bitch at the door and she ain’t from around here. Could be 12. What should we do?”
Kiyah, still naked, threw on a pair of pink Juicy Couture sweatpants and a white baby tee. As she came up the stairs she answered the thug, “Ok. Let her in, frisk. Standard security, you know the drill.”
Kate had agonized over how to dress for her outing to the rough side of Memphis, needing to convey professionalism without intimidating the rapper girl whose signature she needed. She had opted for a form-fitting sweater and tight blue jeans. On the way to her sketchy destination she’d been ogled by the kind of man with whom she normally wouldn’t mix: prison-cut abs beneath white tanktops and sagging pants, lots of jewelry. They leered at her. She felt a combination of fear and pleasure that reminded her of being a teenager, coming into her body but not yet knowing how to manage the attention it brought her.
This didn’t subside when the young black man opened the door, pulled her in by the wrist, and thrust her up against the wall. “No weapons?” he asked, as he patted her sides and her inseams. Kiyah observed the pretty brown girl getting her beautiful body manhandled and knew immediately she wasn’t a cop. She looked totally surprised and at least a little aroused. “I said no weapons?” the kid repeated.
“N-no, n-n-no weapons,” stammered Kate.
“Check her bra and her crack, Rico,” said Kiyah, enjoying her guest’s anxiety. The thug complied, cupping her breasts and squeezing, before bringing his hands together beneath her seat and swiping up, one front and one back. The fear-arousal response in Kate risked crippling her whole approach. She swallowed hard as “Rico” let her off the wall and Kiyah studied her guest. Kate’s outfit had a false modesty that she saw right through. No woman wore jeans that tight with an ass that shapely because they wanted to join a monastery. Even the sweater, a prudish choice, revealed in its tightness the ample size of the Asian girl’s breasts. Still glowing from her morning encounter, Kiyah had quick visions of tying up this fake-chaste slut and making her shake with pleasure.
“Whatchu need?” said the rapper.
“I’m looking for Kiyah Nasty?”
“I think you’re lost. You need directions back to the yuppie district? A pretty girl like you needs to be careful around here,” said Kiyah.
Kate wouldn’t be fooled. She already recognized the face, body and voice of her dream project. In person she was even more magnetic and commanding. She explained herself, telling Kiyah the proposed terms of her record deal and suggesting that time was of the essence. She grew in comfort as Kiyah seemed genuinely shocked that she’d been scouted as hip-hop talent, when she was just “bullshiting with the homies,” as she told her visitor. This would be a slam-dunk, Kate thought. Too easy. Within five more minutes, Kiyah had signed the deal, not even bothering to read it.
With ink on the contract, Kate put her prize back in her bag and provided some closing instructions: “Keep your phone on, because you’ll be hearing from our social media and promotion teams. We’ll fly you to New York in a few months for a song and a music video that we’ll help you write. We’re hoping for some notable guest verses.”
“Hold up, I don’t need no help writing.”
“Just brainstorming stuff, we’ll work together.”
“You wanna smooth me over, leave out the fun stuff and make me a pop star?”
“Well yes and no, it’s just-”
“It’s cause I rapped about hitting them niggas in the nuts??”
“No!” Kate blurted. “God, no! To be honest, that’s the best part. The most raw and visceral part, people hear that and feel it between their legs. That’s where the money’s at.”
Kate smiled to see Kiyah relax and she also noticed that the two big dark-skinned men flanking her, as if her bodyguards, instinctively covered their groins with their hands. Had Kiyah’s nipples been hard this whole time? She obviously wasn’t wearing a bra, but Kate had just now noticed the sharpness of her nipples poking beneath her too-small t-shirt.
“Okay, alright, we're good,” said Kiyah. “But Kate, I need one thing before you leave.”
“Sure, sure what can I do for you?”
“Slip those jeans ‘round your knees and bend over, my nigga C-note here ain’t had pussy since he went to the joint last year. He just got out yesterday.”
“Uh um, I…” Kate stammered, feeling her labia lubricate themselves and getting dizzy at the sequence of fear, arousal, success, arousal, fear, arousal…
“Nah!! I’m just playing girl, I know you would though. Maybe another time. Get on outta here and I’ll be expecting to hear from your people.”
Meanwhile, back in his lonely apartment, Seth had returned from a day at work spent tensely biding the time while all of his colleagues followed the exponential viral spread of Kiyah’s clip, which the freshly-signed rapper didn’t even know about, busy as she was with middle-level criminal enterprise and her constant sexual gratification. Everyone (spare him) tried to manifest Kate’s success in Memphis and the office erupted in joy when she sent the word that Kiyah had signed.
Home now, over chinese takeout he rewatched the viral Kiyah clip, wincing at the nutshot lines and begrudgingly acknowledging her charisma and fresh-faced natural beauty. Then he searched TikTok for “Kiyah Stomp” and scrolled the dozens of girls mock-crushing a man’s organs with their feet, to the tune of Kiyah’s playful freestyle lines.
Seth felt a bone-deep sense of inequity, having testicles between his legs, at being forever vulnerable to an injury that supposedly caused catastrophic pain. But he’d never been hit in the groin before, not really. Maybe he’d dropped a travel mug from a table into his lap and had some discomfort from a partial impact. With a few beers in him, he decided that maybe guys just overreacted for sympathy or attention. He’d once witnessed a skateboarder rack himself on a handrail and he thought the reaction was a bit performative. His left hand started fondling his little boys and then gripped them and squeezed. He couldn’t squeeze very hard, already feeling a gut-wrenching ache. Realizing that his self-preservation would prevent him from really hurting himself, he nonetheless held his hand out and up over his head, making a first. He swung his fist into his crotch as hard as his instincts would allow. OOF! The impact, not particularly forceful, made his knees close together and he keeled over into himself on the couch. Even this tentative strike, tempered by his biologically-coded hesitation, brought him into nauseating all-over pain. Inwardly he raged all the more, at his own stupidity, and at the mean, vapid, heartless cunts that would laugh if they could see him now. Thinking of the smooth mounds between the legs of Kiyah, of Kate, of Marilyn and of Ayesha, of all these TikTok whores, he wished he could yank their ovaries out of their bodies and pulverize them with a mallet.
To be continued 3 more chapters (4-6) and an epilogue...