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Water sports?
Blood play?
Spitting…
Steeling my spine, I begin to enter the finer details and post my first advertisement.GirlXhas to describe everything about herself because she is ‘the product.’ All the way down to the nitty-gritty little bitties.
It asks for descriptions ofeverything.All my—erm, her—parts.Shallow breaths soar through my lips.
This isn’t Kaya.
This is GirlX.
With golden-brown hair and blue eyes.
Fifty-four kilograms and five-foot-three.
Who is going to let a stranger fuck her for the first time for a million dollars.
GirlX is now answering the question:Are you naturally wet or is lubrication needed?
I’m not typing naturally wet—GirlX is.
“You need a photo, Kaya.”
I exhale hard, Kenno’s statement throwing me reluctantly back to the present, on the chair, in his house. I freeze up and think. He’s right. There is a section to uploadevidence.“Do you have a mask?”
“A balaclava.”
I wince, Xander’s blue eyes throwing me into despair, his words from last night, the way he reverently smoothed my shirt down my stomach… ‘It means something.’‘It would mean a lot to me to be someone’s first choice.’
I groan as I stand.Why did he need to come into my life when it was falling to damn fragments?
I press on, saying, “Can I have it, please?”
“Please?”Kenno’s brows weave. “You know, maybe this is a bad idea. You’ve gone kinda white.”
“I am white.”
“No. Like zombie-white.”
“Best put a balaclava on, then. I doubt I’ll get a million dollars if I look like a zombie.”
Now, Kenno, before I change my mind!
Waiting for him, I idle for a few moments, and Kenno shows me his reluctance through his slow actions. He sighs as he retrieves the balaclava from his wardrobe and holds it out to me stiffly.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing it and staring at him with expectation. “Can I have some privacy?”
He edges towards the door. “You need to stop using manners. It’s weird. And it makes me think you got Tourette’s or having a stroke or something.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Better,” he approves, shutting his bedroom door and GirlX inside to take photos of her body. Back on autopilot, I do what needs to be done. This is not Kaya.
Not Kaya’s naked body.
Click.
