The Stones We Cast

Chapter 1

My heart

Hey Sweetie!

I hope you’re enjoying the Cali sun. Don’t forget to let me know what you want for your birthday, Ez!

Peace. Emotional stability. A remedy for my anxiety attacks—these are just a few of the things I yearned for. Yet, everything I desired remained out of reach, largely because my mother, ironically, was at the heart of my distress. This time, cancer showed her no mercy. It was relentless, leading the doctors to make misguided statements, prognosticating that she wouldn’t live to see another Christmas. I’ve never so desperately wished for time to fly, eager for seven months to pass so she could prove them wrong with the New Year. However, until then, I was tormented by the sight of her suffering.

Hence, the depletion of my peace, for I chose to live in a world of delusion. My chosen career brought her the most grief and heartache. As much as I loved my mom and cherished her more than anything, I ignored her pleas to pursue a different career path. She didn’t care that it was my earnings covering what the insurance companies wouldn’t. She didn’t care that my money paid for every expense that she and my dad had. All she cared about was me making something of myself that my future children and grandchildren would be proud of. At thirty-five, I brought her more shame and grief, and, regrettably, that shame and grief would continue.

“Can I just say that I never knew there were awards similar to the Oscars for the adult entertainment industry?” Against my better judgment and listening to my publicist, I agreed to sit down with Chester and Eric B, Kid, and Play look-alike rejects and hosts of the Bros Who Love The Heaux’s Podcast. Jumping on the bandwagon of purchasing mics from Amazon and setting up a YouTube account, they were two lame-ass dudes who made money by talking shit about people.

Chester admired all nine awards lined up on the table next to us. This nigga looked like a fucking clown wearing a high-top fade that was shaved asymmetrical on the right side, skin-tight jeans that were tighter than the only woman in the studio with us, and wearing a hoodie in ninety-degree LA weather. Again, a fucking clown.

Eric, on the other hand, was seconds away from drooling and catching a sexual harassment charge from staring at Candice so damn hard. Nigga had no game or personality whatsoever. Bragged about the shit he had, famous people he met and was friends with. All fucking lies. I learned a long time ago that dudes who had to speak on their success and life did so because they were lacking somewhere and had to make it up elsewhere.

His life failures at the cost of my annoyance.

“You won not one but nine AVN Awards, man. Best Cinematography, Best Editing, Best Leading Actor, Best POV Sex Scene, Best Romance, Best Soundtrack, Best Star Showcase, Director of the Year, and Male Performer of The Year. Damien, you are the king of porn and have been for the last decade.” Standing, he bowed his head several times, further pissing me off and annoying the hell out of me. Remembering the cameras, I checked my phone while he had his moment of fuckery.

If it’s not too much trouble, do you mind making me a perfect chocolate cake and your lasagna?

I really don’t want anything, ma. I just want to spend time with you when I get back.

Sunnie Mae:

Hey Handsome Face!

I heard through the grapevine that you’re in my city. Make me the happiest girl alive and come see me…pretty please?!?!

Sharp-tipped nails squeezing my thigh and a narrow elbow nudged me, I glared over at Candice. “They’re asking you questions.” She whispered with pinched brows, trying to see what was on my phone.

“Repeat that for me again.” Looking past Eric and at the clock, we had another thirty minutes before this mess was over. My publicist swore these interviews helped our fan base feel like they had a deeper look into my company. That I was human and not just selling sex.

They could categorize me however they felt.

“I was saying that Chester needs to stop downplaying your success.” Eric needed new friends. A burnt orange and lime green sweatsuit with neon pink shell toe Adidas was not a good look… for anybody. “Damien, man, not only are you dominating the sex industry year after year, but you’re also, forgive my French, the dick women want to keep in their side dressers. You got a whole award for having the best and most bought mold of your dick. Who in the hell can do that but you?” Between their laugh and Candice’s wheezing laugh, I felt the beginning pressure of a headache on the horizon.

No matter how many times I hear it, sometimes I forget that my ‘scene’ name is Damien. Funny part of it all, I only choose that name to piss off my dad. He swears creating me is the worst mistake he’s ever made. I’m a disgrace to the family and his bloodline. So, to show him that I honor his legacy, I changed my name to his, so every time I do a video, win an award, the blogs talk about me and so forth, they’re using his name. The first time he found out what I did, he tried to fight me. Physically fight me. My mama didn’t know what to do. Trying to keep us apart and cuss me out at the same time. My brother thought it was the funniest shit ever, but not my dad.

It solidified his hate and fueled the malice that replaced the love in his heart for me. You’d think as a man, he’d praise me for sleeping with so many beautiful women. Some dudes I know, their fathers felt honored that their sons were getting endless amounts of pussy.

Not my dad.

Nigga hated my guts for doing it.

Oh, well.

Polishing off the last remnants of their stale bourdon, I adjusted my tie and marinated on his question. “Nobody can.” Cocky, in every literal sense, and confident, I knew the weight my dick packed. That motherfucker was heavy and worth every million attached to my name. “I’ve been in this industry since I was twenty-two years old. That’s over ten years and I’ve been holding my own ever since. How do I do it? Simple - I don’t let anyone tell me what I can and can’t do with my dick.” They laughed but probably had no idea the in-depth details I was referring to.

Since I was seven years old, I wanted to be a professional athlete playing in the NFL as one of the best wide receivers ever to touch the field. That dream carried me far and further into the beginning years of adulthood. One wrong tackle and collision with a big ass lineman shattered every dream along with my knee. Luckily, I listened to my dad and made sure I always had a Plan B if sports weren’t going to open doors. Graduating with my master’s in film and media studies and a minor in graphic design, I used my knowledge to start the largest Black-owned adult entertainment business globally.

Only thing I never saw coming or expected was that my dick would be the key to my success.

“Outside of who you are as an entertainer, I admire your ambition as a businessman. You aren’t content with having sex with multiple women for a check. You went straight for the jugular and started your own company and website that rivals some of the best that have been out since porn became digital. What made you decide to shift gears and own instead of working for the white man?” And here I thought Chester was going to use the whole interview to stare at my awards.

“As cliche as it sounds, I did it for our people. Black and brown people. I started out how most do with using my social media accounts to grow my following and meet other creatives in the same field. Since I was a young boy getting my hands on my uncle’s magazines and VHS tapes, seeing Uncle Luke and The 2 Live Crew at concerts with naked women. Hearing stories of Freaknik. None of that was portrayed when I started. It felt very, shall I say, boring. What really confirmed how I felt was this woman I was having sex with. We were watching porn, and she asked that I turn it off because it wasn’t turning her on. When I asked her why she said there was nothing stimulating about a man walking in a room, a woman dropping down to her knees, and sucking his dick. No foreplay or anything. So, it got me thinking. Why can the white porn stars have storylines but the Black people are straight savages with it?” Everyone, the camera crew included, nodded in agreement.

“My target audience and purpose will forever be for my ladies.” To add spice to the ratings, I leaned over and kissed Candice under her ear, earning a giggle and rosy cheeks.

“Women are stimulated visually, just as men are. Ninety percent of my management staff are women because of that. Men, we think with our dicks. Women think with emotions. Now, don’t get it twisted, we have categories for every kink and fantasy you want, but the reputation I’ve built for my business is that we celebrate Black creatives, not degrade them. Sex is beautiful. It’s fun and feels fucking fantastic. Why do we, as Black people have to accept degradation in order to express ourselves, but this white dude is a top pick from the start? Why is our pay less? Why do we have to pay for our own health screenings? Why can’t we pick our roles and partners? Why aren’t our videos in 4D on XNXX and Brazzers? Why are women and men being abused and forced to do certain things just to get their names out there? It took one time for me to see the behind-the-scenes to understand that if I wanted to do this long-term, I had to go against the grain and do it on my own.” I sat back grinding my molars, trying not to let the past change my mood.

A past filled with evil and horror.

It never sat right with me to see white men in scenes with Black women. Interracial love, my ass. The directors always spun the narrative that it’s a fetish. Yeah, a sick fucking fetish that I had to be a witness to more times than I cared to count. It sickened me to my stomach seeing white men drink from the sweet blackberry nectar of our women and then turn around and abuse and degrade them. To this day, there isn’t one white woman that can ever in her pale-ass life say she tasted my cum or felt my dick.

“We hear stories all the time, and it’s crazy that type of mistreatment still goes on.” Chester glanced over at Candice with compassion in his eyes. He had nothing to worry about over here. She and all the other women under my company were treated with the utmost respect, regardless of how disrespectful they liked to get fucked on camera. “I also applaud you for being one out of ten Black male entertainers who have not gone the bisexual route for clout and stardom.”

“Can’t forget the new wave of liking their ass ate and pegging.” Eric snorted like he said the funniest joke ever, but Candice and I shared a common look. He was the new wave he was talking about.

“Wow.” Flipping her ombre bundles over her shoulder, Candice wiggled her brows and giggled behind her glass of champagne.

As soon as Eric’s eyes widened, I knew he was about to start with the shits, and I was ready for them. “Wait. Candice, have you ever pegged Damien? Has he sold his soul to the strap?” This motherfucker wanted to die. Had to.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Sensing my anger and legs moving to stand, she sat up closer to the mic and glared at Eric. “Don’t do that, Eric. I get that y’all like to play and shit, but that isn’t cool. For the record…”

For the record, I didn’t need her to speak up for me. “Do you have a problem with a man expanding his sexual palette?”

Eric’s eyes bounced around between Candice and Chester, who looked just as puzzled as him. “I-I… no. What a man does is his business.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He continued to shift nervously under my glare. “Then why make a joke of it or is it that this is your opportunity to segway your interest into the act? Do you like men, Eric Jonathon Benson?”

Chester’s eyes bucked, and Eric blinked a thousand times before answering. “Yo, why are you turning this around on me when I’m the one who asked you a question? Since you’re trying to deflect, then that must mean that it’s true. Just admit that you like men, but the public won’t ever know because you prefer to do it behind closed doors.”

“You’re such an asshole. How…” I held my hand up stopping Candice from speaking.

The loud laughter vibrating through my chest felt good. I loved nothing more than people committing career suicide on their own merit. “To answer your question, no. I do not like men, nor will I ever. Pussy will always be my choice of food. But what I find interesting is that you do but project your insecurities to reveal your truth through antagonizing other people. This new wave kink that you’re talking about, you like it because you’ve reached out to Candice more than twelve times in the last two weeks after finding out we were going to be in town for the awards show and wanted to link up. When she said yes, only if other men were involved, you agreed.”

“That’s a fucking lie. All of it is. Bitch, stop lying.” My chest pumped with pride, seeing his forehead protrude with veins.

“Oh, so I’m the bitch because you got exposed, but technically you are cause you’re the one who wants me to bend you over, bitch.” Reaching into her purse, she took out her phone and scrolled until she found what she wanted. “Now, we can do this the ugly way or you can apologize for disrespecting me and calling me out my name because you and I both know I have the pictures you sent me when I asked you to prime yourself, bitch.” She seethed.

“What… the… fuck… is… going… on?” Chester slouched dry heaving, eyes ping-ponging back and forth.

“Nigga, you think I’m playing with you? Don’t apologize just to me, but to Damien as well. You’ve been disrespectful since we got here knowing I got photos of you booted over. Try me.” Damn. I sat back like a proud parent. Candice listened to one of my many first lessons - always keep a record of your shit. “You like gambling with your career and for what? Likes and thinking it will make you more appealing to women?” She tsked, tapping her nails on the table. “We’re waiting, booty bandit. Hurry up so we can finish the show and leave.”

Too exposed for his own good, Eric accepted defeat and apologized. “Candice and Damien, I apologize for my disrespect.” He looked like he wanted to cry.

“That’s what your ass gets.” And to think this was a live taping. “I still might bust you in your shit for thinking you broke some world exclusive. Ole Pussy ass nigga.” He flinched so hard, he almost fell out of his chair from the cold lethal grit of my words that silenced the room. Her long nails massaging my inner thigh did nothing to stop the murderous venom I bore into him, making him cower like the little fucking bitch boy he was.

“Do you know how many Black men feel like if they want to reach a certain level of exposure and recognition they have to sell parts of themselves, parts of their soul?” It was a truly sad epidemic. “When I started Pyramid Entertainment, I did it because of those reasons and then some. Women aren’t the only ones who get raped on camera, and it’s edited to make it appear consensual. I take pride in the empire I’ve built because it provides safe spaces for our people to do what they love without having to sacrifice their sanity or soul.”

Most might find what I said contradictory and hypocritical to what I did by exposing his secrets, but they’re not the same. Eric thrives by talking shit and bullying others, all the while he’s living the most scandalous life of all. If I wanted to expose his private life, I could. That was just a reminder for him to stop fucking with me. My issue was never with what he insulated. I’m a very confident man. Very. My sexuality being questioned never perplexed me, it was what he was trying to promote, convey, and using me to do it. I can guarantee his question and dorky-ass expression asking Candice that question will be used as the marketing for this episode for those who missed the live show. I guarantee, if I checked Twitter, I’m trending for something else other than my dick.

Scratching his ear and clearing his throat, Chester steered the conversation back to safer waters. “Outside of being Damien, who the lady”s love and men want to be, there is not a picture on Beyonce’s internet of you not dressed in a suit. Brotha, you are one of the sharpest-dressed men we’ve seen in our generation. Tell us more about your brand as The Classic Man.”

“Before he answers, can I just say that everything he is, Damien or the Champion Pussy Eater of the world, he’s what the ladies love.” I swear when she moaned in the mic and bit her lip, these two fools looked like if she touched them, they’d bust in their pants. “Seriously. It’s the well-groomed locs down his back. The four fang VVS’s in his mouth and the tatts and muscles. He smells good as hell. His intelligence and natural domineering abilities.” She shivered and started moaning like crazy, her nails went higher on my thigh, and gripped my dick, giggling when it jumped in her hand.

“Marry me, Candy P.” Chester dropped down to one knee and held up a cherry candy ring pop, her favorite. That tickled the hell out of her ass.

Squealing like she ain’t never had a taste of sugar a day in her life. She kissed his cheek and took the ring. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Of course, she couldn’t be Candy P, the caramel stallion from Vegas, if she didn’t unwrap the ring and give them a sloppy visual of her… skills.

“Behave,” I warned.

Batting her lashes, those hazel fuck me eyes peered up at me. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Wearing suits has always been my thing since college. The coaching staff made it mandatory that we wear suits on game days to present ourselves a certain way. It gave us an added confidence before we stepped on that field. Not only that, but my father also made it known that when you look good, you feel good. The mindset of my role models has been a pillar of the caliber man that I am. People who know what I do for a living respect me more when I’m in a suit versus a Nike sweatsuit, especially when making business deals. Branching out and starting my line of luxury suits has always been in the picture. The hold up has been timing, and now is the perfect time.” That was the exclusive that no one knew about. Not even Candice.

Men of all nationalities ask me where I get my suits from. Women ask too. As I get older and the shifts I make in my career, I often wonder if the creative lane was my game plan all along.

“That’s dope as hell.” Chester held out his fist. “One more question before we close the show.” He rubbed his hands together with this stupid ass grin, Eric shifting with nervousness. “Sunnie Austin.” Candice stiffened, and my chest warmed. “Is she homie or the homieeeee?”

I mastered a neutral poker face years ago and maintained it throughout this interview. However, he mentioned her name and my cheeks pushed back and all fifty-two were on display. “Sunnie is…” I licked my lips, reminiscing about the last time I was in her feisty, sexy ass presence. Such an honor it was. A true honor. “She’s my therapy.” Candice’s hand slipped from my thigh. Her leg started bouncing, her face tight. “Before you ask, no. She and I have never been intimate. Never even shared a kiss. Shit, some days she can barely stand me. But I cherish her more than I can fathom. She’s my earth, my place of grounding. My homie, lover, and friend.”

A mixed energy wafted around the room. Pitied eyes felt sorry for Candice, a complete waste. I’ve never given her the impression that she and I were more than what was played out on the internet - two adults having consensual sex. A few smiles and long looks at the memory of Sunnie’s beauty. They were like me - unashamed victims addicted to the glow of chocolate skin and two dime-sized crescents in her cheeks.

“We’ll that’s it, folks. The GOAT of all time, Damien. And upcoming superstar, Candice.” Chester and Eric finished out their outro while Candice and I stood, ready to take the promo pics and leave. My trips to LA were never relaxing but a hectic schedule that consisted of back-to-back meetings from the time I landed to the time I left.

“Aye, Damien. I didn’t mean any harm.” Eric wanted to save face and apologize. It was way too late for that.

“Yes, you did.” I don’t understand how people can act surprised when you call them out on their blatant shit. “Be honest, you have a podcast centered on gossip and women. How you eat is your business but don’t ever disrespect me like that again.” I walked out with Candice’s heels clacking behind me.

When did women start to assume that men were mind readers? When did God give us that gift and was I left out when it was distributed? Why is it so hard for women to open their mouths and say what’s bothering them rather than pout like a fucking child and sigh so hard that their lungs burn? Candice wanted me to care, wanted me to ask what was bothering her. I didn’t care. Never cared. Never gave a small inkling that I did.

Crystal:

Hey, are you on the way?

Yes ma’am. I’ll be there in 20.

Pocketing my phone, I looked down at the pouting grown, suddenly mute adult. “I got shit to do. You good?”

I wanted to laugh watching her eyes try to widen but those thick ass lashes stopped her greatness. “Are you kidding me right now? No, Damien, I am not good.” Did she really think I’d take her seriously stomping her feet like a damn toddler? “How could you embarrass me like that in front of all those people?”

What the hell is she talking about?

“Refresh my memory. How did I embarrass you, Candice? You had several opportunities to speak on your career before they started interviewing me, yet you choose to sit your ass there like my groupie instead of a grown woman about her business.” Reason two-million-eight hundred- and eighty-six why I’ll always be a single man.

“Wow. So, I’ma groupie now?” The emotions in her voice had no reason to be present in this moment.

“You got selective hearing too, huh? Listen, I’m not about to argue with you over shit that doesn’t make sense or deserve my energy. Be safe in these LA streets.” I hopped in my car and drove off, ignoring all her yells.

Twenty minutes in LA traffic is more like an hour, and that’s how long it took me to reach my appointment with my good friend Crystal Rose. “Hey,” she stood to hug me.

“Hey. You good?”

Red eyes looked everywhere but at me. “I don’t know, E.” She sniffed. “I’m scared and I feel so conflicted and like a horrible person.”

Pulling her into my chest, I held her, wrapping her in my arms, and covering her while she sobbed in my chest. “It’s going to be okay. This ain’t all on you, Crys. You gotta stop blaming yourself. We all played a part not just you. One step at a time. We’re going to take this test and then move accordingly after that, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“I got you.”