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Amanda doesn’t blink at my filthy words. I suppose she’s used to hearing declarations like this because she merely shakes her head.
“Like I said, Kimber, you don’t need a breeding party to be treated that way. You could sign up for one of our gang-bang events. It’s fine. Here’s my card—”
I cut her off.
“No, Amanda, you don’t get it. What sets the breeding party apart is the chance of getting pregnant. I love rolling the dice, and playing with fire. I love knowing that multiple virile men are going to ejaculate in my pussy, and that the semen might take. I love the danger, and the risk. That’s why I want to be a part of a breeding party.”
There, my confession is out, but the middle-aged woman still isn’t impressed. What the hell? You don’t get young women in your office claiming to be total sluts every day, so I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.
“Kimber,” Amanda says in a patient voice. “Club Z isn’t about risk. It’s only about the appearance of risk. We run background checks on our male members that would put the FBI to shame. They tell us everything abut themselves, including hidden accounts in the Cayman Islands, illegitimate children, and the mistress that they kept ten years ago. The women are put through a background check as well, although somewhat different in scope – the girls get doctor’s exams, birth control, psych evaluations, you name it. Don’t you see? There’s no risk, not really. Or if there is, we’ve already mapped the odds, and it’s a calculated gamble. This is a tightly controlled environment because our members demand it.”
I stare at her slightly-jowly features.
“Okay, but that’s what I mean,” I whisper. “That’s what I meant to say.”
Amanda shakes her head, suddenly looking very tired.
“I’m sorry, Kimber, but this club isn’t for you. You’re too … how shall I put it? Naïve, yes that’s the word. You’re not ready for the big leagues yet. But in five years? Maybe. Give me a call then.”
Amanda stands then, tucking a loose blonde curl behind one year. She holds her hand out expectantly, and I take it in my own as I stand.
“Thanks for coming by,” she says, her dry, powdery palm gripping mine momentarily. “Let’s stay in touch, okay? Call me in five years, and we’ll talk then.”
I nod, trying to smile, and then turn and exit her office. I walk woodenly down a long corridor before getting in the elevator and descending to the first floor. Then I depart Club Z, and step back out onto the sidewalk.
Everything feels so weird, suddenly. It’s bright out, and birds chirp as people walk by, unaware that they’re passing a den of sin. A couple laughs and smooches briefly on the sidewalk, and a child skips with her backpack in tow. How can these people not know?
I force myself to begin to move so that I don’t look like a crazy person. But inside, my mind is churning. What just happened? I thought that I’d be hired as a breeding party girl because like Amanda said: there aren’t exactly a lot of nubile twenty-year-olds offering themselves up for the position. But I was rejected, and the disappointment stings. It’s incredible, really. I can’t believe that Club Z turned me down in favor of some thirty-five year old hussy desperate to get pregnant.
But that’s how the land lies. So what next? Do I go back to Coleman University? Continue with my classes like everything’s fine? It feels like a giant let-down, and I shake my head, still trying to wrap my brain around today’s events. I have to figure out what to do next because I’m determined to be bred, Amanda be damned.
2
Kimber
Head still thrumming, I step into my childhood home.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
It’s silent, not that I was expecting anyone. After all, I took Friday off for my Club Z interview because I wanted to focus. I wanted to give the interview my best shot, but look how that turned out. An ironic smile crosses my lips as I drop my bag by the front door.
Nonetheless, life goes on. Club Z is conveniently close to the suburb I grew up in, so I figured I’d come home for a long weekend. I didn’t tell my mom or stepdad that I’d be stopping by, but I’m sure it’s fine.
Plus, home looks just the way it always has. We live in a ranch-style house in a middle-class section of Hooper, Wyoming. I think my stepdad bought the house about ten years ago, and about six years ago, he met my mom and they got married. Sandra and I moved in, and I’ve considered this place home ever since.
The kitchen is a pale yellow color with a wooden dining table, and white eyelet curtains on the window over the sink. There’s a living room off to the left, and to the right is a dining room as well as a home office that my stepfather uses on occasion. Then, a staircase leads to the bedrooms upstairs, and I smile. I know my childhood bedroom is just the way I left it. Both my mom and stepdad work, so they haven’t had the time to convert it into a guest office or spare room.
