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I have to defend it.
"Hello, everyone," I say into the microphone. "My name is Natalie Vanderhill. And I make sex toys for a living."
Sound familiar?
The reporters are buzzing and the flash photography is going. I know Sloan was probably complaining about this, wasn't he?
For someone who is flashy himself, he really doesn't like cameras. Place a few cameras together and he's talking about a thousand suns or whatever.
Although, I don't know how he handled the bit when he was up here, because these photographers are having a field day.
"I graduated from Stanford University and went to work at Carter Jeffries three years ago," I begin and the crowd starts to quiet down. "But I didn't want to work for someone else. So I began to work in an area that I loved. Sex."
A small murmur, but I think I'm not saying anything new at this point.
"I loved what I did and became successful enough that I began getting large orders, form places like Penny Worlein Toys," I speak into the microphone. "But that kind of scaling on a business needs funds. A level of financing that I didn't have."
People seem to be hanging on my ever word.
And they better. Because what I have to say is going to shock them.
It's going to shock you too. But just stick around. You're going to like it.
"Anyways, I had the good fortune however of having the acquaintance of two men—Drake Carlton and Sloane Hardman, who are ensconced in the world of finance and start-up funding."
The mention of Sloane and Drake gets some cameras rolling.
"I went to both, and at first my goal was to secure the best possible deal for my company," I say into the microphone before looking over at them. "Did I play them off against each other?" I ask, more to them than to the crowd.
"Sure," I answer rhetorically. "But both men were dashing, good looking, and confident. In their own way, both made me feel sexy. No one can blame me for wanting to feel sexy and wanted."
There are some murmurs among the crowd. I'm starting to win them over.
But it doesn't matter.
Because by the time I'm done, this will be all over.
"Did I sleep with them?" I ask, and let the question hang in the air.
"Sure," I say out loud.
You remember those thousand suns I made fun of Sloane about to you a few minutes earlier?
Well, I take it back.
The flashes are blinding.
But I go on.
"Did I have sex with both at the same time? Yes. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. Will I do it again? You bet. Do I care what you think?" I finish with a question and the crowd looks at me with bated breath. "Not one bit."
There's a collective sigh. It's like the air has been let out of a balloon.
"Honestly, if you think this is bad, you need to hold a mirror up to your own lives and look at what you're doing," I say into the microphone. "Explain to me why it's wrong for me to love a man who at one time was married to my mother but is in no way related to me. Or to love a man who had a completely different mother and only knew me or another older man through marriage. Are we saying that's wrong now? Because that sounds pretty silly to me."
I swear you could hear a pin drop.
"Are we saying threesomes are bad?" I ask again, with incredulity. "Because that would mean that everything we prize as a culture is wrong. Or is it just that one man with two women is okay, but one woman with two men is bad?"
