2. Cherry Mis-Chief
Cherry Mis-Chief
I glance down at my list and cross off another item.
Groceries are done, the kitchen is clean, and the garbage has been dealt with.
There’s still a disgusting amount of chores I should take care of, so I check the time and walk to my entryway.
I’ll have to stop by the dry cleaner tomorrow, and I should add my coat to the pile.
Emptying the pockets, I feel something metallic. The TOP gift card.
I pause, turning it back and forth and watching the gloss shine red as it’s hit by the hallway light.
No. I’m not going to jerk off. Ian expects me to, and it’s just too fucking weird.
But he has a point. With all my cooking sessions with Amelie, the course I’ve been taking, and caring for Sadie full time, I haven’t had a whole lot of time for myself. And I guess it’d be nice not to do it silently in the shower for once.
“Fuck me.” I abandon my coat and step into the living room, moving past the couch and the small dining area.
The kitchen is tucked away just out of sight, hidden behind a narrow corridor.
I walk through it until I reach the kitchen island, its surface scattered with papers and a couple of mugs that haven't been put away.
I grab the laptop and walk back, then settle at the dining table.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of, right? Even though I have a daughter, and technically, a wife, it doesn’t mean I’m not a man. A human being. I shouldn’t have to stop living just because we’re all hurting. And besides, it’s not like I don’t watch porn. This is the same, except... live.
But as I type in the URL, I feel dirty. It still doesn’t seem right.
For months, I’ve put my needs on hold for Sadie and Josie. As ugly a thought as it may be, I feel like a grieving husband. Except it isn’t my wife who died, but the concept of family I’ve known for the past five years.
I stare at the red screen, the small text box asking me to create an account, then press my tongue against my molars. There’s no way I’d enjoy any of it, not with the sense of guilt already washing over me.
“What’s even the point,” I say to myself as I drop the card.
When the doorbell rings, I check the time. Nine thirty. Who could it be?
I don’t have a chance to be curious though because a moment later, I’m met with my brother’s broad shoulders and blue-green eyes. Kyle, standing next to him on my welcome mat, jerks his head forward and moves past me. “Hey. Where’s Sadie?”
I glance at the box he’s holding against his tank top as he heads for the living room, then focus on Logan. “Amelie and Ian are babysitting. Why?”
Logan shrugs. “He got her some dollhouse. I don’t know.”
“I told you guys you have to stop buying her shit. She’ll become spoiled.”
“She didn’t ask for it!” Kyle calls from the living room. “And besides, her mom is a?—”
“ Kyle ,” Logan interrupts, then turns to me with a resigned shrug as he enters the house. “Not that he’s wrong.”
I step aside and ask, “How are the twins? Primrose?”
“Everyone’s fine. And sleep deprived. And sleep deprived—wait, did I say that already?”
“It’s been happening all day,” I hear Kyle say. “He also tripped on a watermelon on the farm. It was awesome.”
“Newborns are fun, aren’t they?” I ask, thinking of Sadie at that age. And he has two of them—two beautiful girls, Harper and Maeve.
“Yeah.” There isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. “They’re really fun.”
“Well, I’m always happy to babysit. You guys want a beer or something?”
I follow him into the living room where he kneels next to the couch, opens the box, and takes out the dollhouse. Kyle returns from the kitchen, holding up two beers and pushing back a lock of his chocolate brown hair. “Way ahead of you, buddy.”
“Get me a screwdriver,” my brother says, and before I can tell him the toolbox is in the walk-in closet, Kyle lets out a loud “Ooh.”
Holding the TOP gift card, he gasps. “TOP, huh? Nice. I thought you were a step away from joining a monastery.”
“TOP? What’s TOP?”
Ignoring Logan, I walk toward Kyle. “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying shit like that. The divorce isn’t even official yet.”
“But you filed two years ago.”
Yes, and since then, Josie has been in and out of rehab more times than I can keep track of. It’s not easy to navigate the logistics around that, especially if you have a young child and a new career. “Two years is not that long.”
“What’s TOP?” Logan presses.
“Noth—”
“It’s jerk-off capital, boss,” Kyle explains. “You can join streams and watch girls do—well, basically anything . Or you can have one-on-ones. Personal calls. Those are...” He rolls his eyes suggestively. “Fuck me.”
“Seriously? You do this shit?” Logan asks. I’m not sure who the question is for, but I shake my head.
“Hell yeah,” Kyle chirps. “Remember last year, when I had chickenpox? I couldn’t leave the house for a month. Trust me, TOP saved my life.” He points at the laptop. “Need help setting up an account?”
“No. I just got a gift card for it, and?—”
Kyle sits at the living room table, laptop open in front of him, card still clutched in his hand.
“Why am I not surprised you would do something like that,” Logan says with a glare my way before turning to the dollhouse.
I open my mouth, then close it. Though Logan and I officially cleared the air over what happened with Josie around the time I asked for a divorce, we’ve made no progress since. He won’t admit it, won’t even let me broach the topic, but he still holds a grudge after all these years.
I get it. I’m his brother. I slept with his girlfriend. But for some reason, I naively thought that once he moved on from Josie, things would be okay between us too. Lately though I worry that’ll never be the case, no matter how much I try.
“You’re a father, Aaron,” he spews. “To a little girl . The porn industry is a sexist, abusive, and?—”
“Oh, lighten up,” Kyle says as he begins tapping keys on my laptop. “It’s not porn—it’s camming. Trust me, these women make more than you or I ever will selling vegetables. Not to mention they have all the control.” He nods at me, then, “Username?”
“No username, Kyle.”
“ Chef , uh . . . 728 .”
I don’t even want to ask what the numbers represent. “Look, my brother has a point, and?—”
“No, he doesn’t.” He types something. “Are you straight?”
I huff out a breath. What kind of question is that? “You’ve met my wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“Whatev—”
“And you could be bi.”
“You’ve known me since you were five, Kyle. I think you’d know if I were bisexual.”
Logan asks about the screwdriver again, and once I point him to the walk-in closet, he disappears.
“So there are men on the platform?” I ask, walking closer.
“There’s everything. Trans, drag queens, couples. Proper porn stars and influencers. You have masochists, subs and doms, and any kink you could possibly be looking for.” He points at the screen. “See? You select what you like here.”
Beneath a circle meant to host a profile pic, there is a series of categories that can be selected.
Orgy , cum play , threesomes . And the list goes on.
“And all of this is strictly online?”
“Uh-huh. Creators upload videos, and the algorithm will only show you shit you’re into. Either you join a public live stream, or have a one-on-one with a girl.”
Yeah, this feels like way too much commitment.
“Is this my account?” I ask as I point at the page.
“Yep.”
“Cool,” I say flatly. “Delete it.”
“What? No!” Kyle turns to me. “Do you know what 728 stands for?”
I wait for the inevitable answer.
“The approximate number of days since you had sex. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
No, not really. Sex might be a big part of his life, but it’s not hugely relevant to me. I’m much more concerned about the number of days since my daughter last saw her mom, which is skirting dangerously close to two hundred. “Delete it.”
“Wait—wait.” He holds on to my sleeve when I motion to leave. “Look, she’s my favorite creator. I had to stop seeing her because, I swear to god, I was falling in love.”
He taps on the keyboard, pulling up the profile of a blonde woman with the largest breasts I’ve ever seen. So large, in fact, that in her picture, she’s biting her own nipple.
“Jesus, Kyle.”
“What? She’s really smart.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s why you kept going back.”
He holds up the card. “This will cover a one-on-one. I strongly recommend stocking up on tissues and contacting Jewel.”
“ Ugh .” Logan emerges from the hall with a nauseated expression. “Why do you always need to be so fucking gross?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Remember that time I caught your soon-to-be wife sucking you off in the stables?” At Logan’s glare, Kyle shrugs and stands. “Come on, let’s get out of here and leave him to it.”
“N-no.” I try to stop them as Logan drops the screwdriver on the carpet and stands. Now three people will know I’m masturbating? “No thank you. Really?—”
I follow them through the house until they pull open the front door. Kyle flashes me a playful finger gun. “Enjoy, okay? And tell Jewel PussyAssassin sends his regards.”
On the echo of a groan from my brother, the door closes.
PussyAssassin ? That’s a whole new level of unsettling.
My shoulders drop as I wander back to the living room, the princess castle box open and the pieces scattered on the carpet.
One more thing for me to do.
I crouch down and grab the instruction manual. It’s several pages long and I’m already fucking tired, but thinking of Sadie’s face seeing it all done gives me the push I need.
I sort through the pieces then begin reading, but halfway through the second page, my eyes dart to Jewel. To the obscene picture staring back at me.
I need to delete that account.
I stand and walk to the laptop, venturing out of Jewel’s profile and back to my own. I tap on “Delete your account,” and patiently wait for the page to load. A pop-up asking me if I’m sure appears, but before I can tap on the trackpad, Mollie lands on the keyboard.