VULVA MAJOR
by ZEN BRAZEN
Always pictured herself walking a white carpet at the Oscars.
Sun sank over the Tik Tok Theater, and trending on Live wasn’t what she gonna wear, but what that slut up to.
Stretch limos lugging stretched egos dumped their cargo onto the red carpet. Twenty-foot swatch of white carpet next to the red. Extra lights, empty bleachers for fans and paps.
Don’t have to be no genius to know some shit going down here.
Other four noms for Best Actress already paraded typical past paps and screamers into the theater, when her white ‘67 Skylark cut into the cue of black limos and Escalades, the last healthy tooth in the dirty mouth of a homeless Hollywood Boulevard meth addict.
She gone to the AVN Awards few years back in a Siriano RIP gown, thick dildo stitched into it. Showed up at the Live Choice awards two years ago in a wheelchair wearing a bikini, one black eye and smeared makeup, looking like her ex-boyfriend took her on a cheap vacation then beat her. Attended the Met Gala last year with the viber Lil Zontal naked on her back, sucking her neck like a horny little vampire.
This mess gonna top all that.
Couple car lengths away from the white carpet, the Buick started honking.
Annoyed looks. Red carpet interviews cut short. Lights powered on. Security stepped aside and a frenzy of fans filled the extra bleachers. Paps pushed and zoomed in on the Buick, trying to see through the tints.
Buick hit its mark and the honking stopped. No doubt in anyone’s mind it was her gonna climb out. No doubt in her mind this would be some epic, Oscar history content. Decades after the slap, she was about to out-Will Smith RIP this bitch.
“Tell Lily this ain’t nothing. Auntie’s okay, all a show, and I’ll see her next week, kay?” to her sister. “Love ya more,” offing her holo.
“Ready?” from Melvin, in the backseat beside her, looking like the cop from a low-budget pilot never got picked up.
“These fuckers ain’t,” fluttering her eyelashes.
Three doors of the Buick opened, three large men dressed like cops squeezed out, moving urgent to the rear passenger door, scanning the crowd like bodyguards do in streams. Melvin opened the door. Pause, milking the drama.
Paps yelling. Fans screaming. Drones buzzing. She stepped out the Buick onto the white carpet.
White, lavish dress, but the dress ain't the story. Every inch of her body been seen and shot from every possible angle, so anything different was a headline.
Big girl just a lil bit bigger tonight.
She pregnant.
Live and socials hummed with the news. She really pregnant, or this just a stunt?
Dark for three long months on purpose for max speculation, fueled gossip connecting her with some single studs, a pro WFL player, a famous A-list actor, and the handsome, Latin architect of her 17,000 square-foot Calabasas crib. Studied pics of expecting mamas, mimicked her sister with Lily. Cradled her tummy like them.
Turned, smiled for the cameras like a knocked-up, plus-size, black Betty Boop.
“Vulva!” they all vomited. “Vulva, who’s the father?” and “Vulva, when are you due?” and “Vulva, is it a boy or a girl?” penetrated.
Middle of the street, cop one held up his hand and blocked the next limos in line. The Skylark pulled away. Every person and camera had a view to whatever crazy she gonna do.
Cop two grabbed her arms from behind, and Melvin punched her in the stomach.
Told him don’t hold back in rehearsal, should look real. Twelve years they had worked together, and Melvin knew how to make it look like he was hurting her brutal for the camera when he ain’t really.
Over and over. Doubled over, she grunted and gasped, but didn’t scream.
Blood drops dotted the white carpet. One last blow from Melvin and he stepped back, a gush of blood flooded out from between her legs. Grabbed her stomach, looked down. Dead fetus marbled and purple dropped from between her legs onto the white carpet.
Squishy thud and a red splash. Should look real, and it did. Got her money’s worth.
Limos rolled by, rubbernecking. Her arms free, Melvin gave her a sly wink, he and the other fake cops walking away like nothing to see here.
Movement again on the red carpet. Fans cheered. Interviews resumed.
“Who you wearing?” and “How about Vulva Major’s entrance?” and “Must be excited, your first Oscars, being nominated?”. Pretend don’t care, but empty-handed noms with no gold statue at the end of the night ain’t a good look.
Looked up from between her legs, knowing she in closeup. Her face from pained to WTF to self-conscious to embarrassed to I don’t owe you nothing to fuck you to resolved to chill bitch, all in a moment. A Live tour de force performance seen by more eyeballs than the one got her here tonight.
Best Actress in a Red Carpet Arrival, and who you think bringing home that skinny gold pimp?
Big girl smile rented the moment. Dead fetus smearing behind by the umbilical, she walked from the blood-stained white carpet onto the red. Bunch of cheers, impressed grins, side looks, groans and frowns, she slid prime-time front of the main bank of fans and paps.
“Vulva!” in a staggered chorus, each pap trying to make eye contact and get the best shot for their client.
“Vulva, we love you!” and she loved them back.
“Vulva, over here!” rude, and just for that she looked away.
“Venisha!” and it took her off guard.
Venisha.
“Venisha,” her father called again, his voice muffled outside her bedroom door.
She had seen her cake about an hour ago in the pantry. They only had nine candles, so Auntie Ava sent cousin Harold to the corner Amazon on Franklin Avenue to get a pack for six more. Auntie had asked her what kind of cake she wanted, and she didn’t care. Viv told her they had made a vanilla cake with layers of cream and berries, which didn’t sound terrible.
Happy birthday. People expecting you to be happy, or pretend to be. But what if it's your birthday and you aren’t in a happy mood, or don’t have the emotional ability to even be happy? The thought of pretending to be happy and thankful for the next hour in front of her family and Darlene made her want to vomit.
“Nisha,” her father said again. “Everybody’s here now, nug. Everybody wants to wish you a happy birthday.”
Everybody. She was hoping that one person in particular wasn’t downstairs.
“Nugget, if mama was here, she’d want to see you in that beautiful dress, blow out your candles and open gifts, and have a happy day,” her father pleaded from the hallway.
She knew it was only a matter of time before he played the mama card, and there it was. He was an actuary for one of Hartford’s biggest insurance companies. She wondered if he had done a risk analysis when her mother had gotten her diagnosis, if he had tried to predict when she was going to die by some chart with a bell curve on it.
She looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was a hand-me-down from her sister that Auntie had let out, and then some. It had looked stunning a couple years ago on slim, beautiful Viv, but it looked trash on her. Still too tight in some parts, too loose in others. It was a small girl dress on a big girl, which is never a good look.
Footsteps in the hallway made it seem like her father had given up and gone back downstairs.
“Nisha,” Viv said from the hallway. “Girl, you don’t open this door right now, I’m gonna tell Marcus Williams you crushing on him.”
She unlocked the door. Viv pushed into her bedroom, closed and locked the door behind her.
“Fuck,” Viv said, eyeing her up and down. “That dress ain’t doing you no favors.”
“Do me a favor?” she asked, walking to the window and pulling back the curtain. From her third floor bedroom, she could see that a few people had spilled out of the dining room onto the moss-covered back patio. Her grandmother and Gram's new boyfriend were sharing a joint, and her little twin cousins Albert and Allen were chasing each other around the broken swing set. “Can you tell everyone I said thanks, and that they can go home now?”
“Can’t do that. But I can do this,” Viv replied, picking up a pair of scissors from the crafting table. Viv knelt down in front of her and began hacking off pieces of her dress.
“The hell you doing?!” she shouted, her arms raised, looking down at Viv.
“This dress a flop,” Viv exclaimed. “So, let’s turn it into something at least interesting.”
Viv hacked and slashed at the dress, turning her around like she was creating a sculpture. The more pieces of fabric that fell to the floor, the more skin and curves were exposed. When Viv finally stepped back away from her, there wasn’t much dress left.
“Better,” Viv said, nudging her back over toward the mirror. "Actually, okay..."
She looked at herself in the new dress, and for the first time, felt something other than shame and embarrassment when she looked at her body. She felt good. Sexy. She had seen herself in a bra and panties before, even naked, but hadn’t felt like this. There was something about seeing this unique, hacked-up remnant of a dress on her body that made her feel special. Powerful.
She grabbed the scissors from Viv and started cutting off large chunks of her medium-length hair.
“Shit, girl!” Viv squealed.
All heads turned to look at her as she walked down the stairs and into the living room. The dress, the hair, the makeup. She never imagined that she would feel comfortable being the center of attention. Yet here she was, actually enjoying it.
She smiled, said hello to a few people, gave Darlene a hug, and made her way into the dining room.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” her father said smiling, putting his arms around her. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but you look beautiful. Mama would be proud of you.”
“I know,” she replied, and that was the truth.
Auntie emerged from the kitchen with the cake, candles glowing and flickering. She hadn't had any breakfast, so she couldn’t wait to have a piece.
And right as everyone began singing Happy Birthday, the feeling like she was going to vomit came rushing back.
Through the archway of the dining room, at the back of the gathering of people in the living room, he stood with a beer in his hand, looking at her. At all of her. He had that lustful grin on his face that she had seen up close too many times. He took a swig, then turned and walked toward the front door, out of sight.
When they had all finished singing, they clapped and then the room went quiet. They expected her to blow out the candles or say something, but she stood staring straight ahead, frozen.
“Nisha, you okay?” Viv asked.
She felt a tug on her dress near her bare thigh. She looked down and saw her little cousin Albert tugging on the fabric, staring up at her.
“What you wearing?” Albert asked.
“Vulva, who are you wearing?” the paps smeared like horny boys to warm, young pussy.
“T.J. Maxx,” she had waited all day to say. Truth was Christian RIP made it before the old dumb-ass went and died last month. Stitched in plastic sacs of fake blood for Melvin to rupture, the fake dead baby falling out when she pulled the ripcord.
“Vulva, are you seeing anyone?” and it wasn't none their business. Learned years ago people want to know all kinds of personal shit, and they push and get mean when you won’t say nothing. Hard to find someone who wanted the real her, not the fantasy they see in the streams. Easier to suction cup old Bull XXL to the toilet seat, ride that til the doonies beat.
Bull don’t want no talk or dinner after.
“My eyes open, so guess I’m seeing all y’all,” with a bored grin, noticing Melvin back next to her.
“Vulva, was your entrance a statement on what happened to Amber Freeman last month?"
“Next time, somebody's baby ain't gonna be so lucky,” taking the fake dead fetus from Melvin, who had cut the rubber umbilical with a pocket knife, cradling it in her arms. Usually stay out of politics, but if she can cause a scene and say something at the same time, might be worth it.
“Vulva, do you think you’ll win Best Actress tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Vulva, have you met any of the other nominees?”
“Nah, they act good, too?”
“Vulva, can you tell us about your next stream?”
“Yeah, they use a fancy camera, record a bunch of pics. Play em back fast, looks like shit moving,” forgot who said that but always thought it was funny.
“Vulva, is your porn career over?” from some blond think she somebody.
“This legit stream money good,” playing along “and I got a new mouth to feed,” cradling the fake dead baby, fake blood still smearing her hands and dress.
“Your family in Hartford must be proud of you,” the blond bimbo pressed closer.
Too personal, she turned away. Fuck you, next.
“It's a real shame your father couldn’t see you in something respectable before he died,” blondie shouted. “Something where you weren’t on your knees with a dick in your mouth, huh Venisha?”
Took a second. She had a real career now, and some blond gash ain’t worth messing shit up. Might not let her into the Oscars, and she’d worked hard for this epic told-you-so. Nobody thought she’d be anything, but she made it.
Go high Michelle O RIP said once, oh fuck it…
Quick lunge and the bony bitch’s blond hair in one hand, the other mashing the fake baby and blood up in her fake face.
Melvin’s hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her back.
Venisha felt Darlene’s hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her off Olivia Logan.
She had sat through half of AP Chemistry listening to Olivia whisper insults behind her. When she had had enough, she stood up, dragged Olivia out of her chair onto the floor between the rows of desks and sat on her. She blocked Olivia’s flailing arms with one hand and lightly slapped her entitled, moisturized face with the other.
“Get the fuck off me, you huge cunt!” Olivia yelled.
“Please return to your seats. Monitor dispatched,” the instructional avatar said blankly from the front of the classroom. She knew she had about three minutes until a human monitor arrived. She had no intention of moving until she had to.
The girls in Olivia’s clique sat in their seats, helpless. They knew that even together they couldn’t pull her off their friend, and didn’t want to risk serious reprimand in this, their senior year. Most of the other kids sat still, facing forward and uninterested in the drama.
“Venisha,” Darlene said from behind her. “You don’t want to get in trouble. Let’s sit back down.”
She and Darlene had been best friends since they were in elementary school. They had gotten older, friends had come and gone, but her friendship with Darlene hadn’t changed. She had even stayed at Darlene’s house to get away from him when he had come to stay at their house briefly back in freshman year. Told her father Darlene was having family problems and needed support so she could get away from him, wouldn’t have to confront the real issue.
“You should listen to Darlene. Get off me and sit back down,” Olivia said kicking her legs, her high heels tapping against the tile floor. “Though, I feel bad for your poor chair, under all that weight.”
She slapped Olivia in the face, then leaned over her, pretending she was going to spit on her.
"Unh," Olivia grunted, turning her head side to side.
“Please return to your seats. Monitor dispatched."
“Why are you even in this class?” Olivia squirmed. "The only skill you’re gonna need is how to say ‘would you like fries with that?’”
“You should worry about your own skills,” she whispered. “If you were better at giving head, Nate wouldn’t have let me go down on his curved little dick in his car after the game with Hamilton last week.”
“You’re a fucking liar!” Olivia screamed.
But she wasn’t lying. A lot of these high schoolers looked like grown men, but inside they were still just little boys. Insecure, immature, horny boys desperate for touch and intimacy from wherever they could get it. She had found a while ago that with the right words, in the right situation, she could get most any guy to do pretty much whatever she wanted.
“Please return to your seats. Monitor dispatched.”
She figured she had about thirty seconds left before the human monitor arrived.
With all the students in their seats, and their position on the floor between the rows of desks, she was pretty sure that the two cameras in the room wouldn’t see what she was about to do. And either fear or apathy would ensure that any classmate who saw anything would keep their mouth shut.
She leaned over Olivia and looked into her eyes, so their noses almost touched.
“See you when I’m famous,” she whispered to Olivia, as she reached up and scraped her fingernail across her own face, creating a line of blood across her cheek.
The moment the human monitor walked into the classroom, it was as if a director had said ‘ACTION!’
“Ow!” she yelled and pushed herself away from Olivia and fell backwards onto the floor.
“I can’t take it anymore,” she cried. “Every day, someone says something about my weight, how big I am. How my clothes are too tight, or my hair is nappy or I wear too much makeup. Or that I’m ugly. Hearing that day after day, how am I supposed to feel?”
She made herself actually cry and her tears mixed with the blood on her face.
“My Mama used to build me up, tell me I’m special, make me feel good about myself. But since she died, there’s been a big hole in my life. A big silence. I just don’t know what to do. What are you supposed to do when, every day, life just flops so bad that you don’t want to be here anymore? Like it might be better to just end all the pain, and just go to sleep and never wake up?”
Her words were over the top. But she'd delivered them in such a measured, authentic way that the rest of her classmates and the human monitor were stunned into silence.
“At least I would be with my Mama again,” she said, sobbing, wrapping up the scene. “I miss you Mama. I miss you so much!”
She knew that Olivia wanted to yell ‘This is total bullshit, she’s making all this up!’ But after that performance, there was no way for Olivia to do that without looking like the bad guy, the bully. The cameras would show her dragging Olivia out of her chair and sitting on her. But they wouldn’t show Venisha scratching herself, and it would look like Olivia had scratched her, drawn blood.
The monitor and Darlene helped Venisha up off the floor. As she walked with the monitor toward the classroom door, she glanced at Darlene and gave her a side wink.
She had gone to the nurse’s office to get a bandage for her cheek, gotten picked up by Viv early, and had told their father that she had just tried to defend herself after she'd been bullied again. He had hugged her, told her she was beautiful, and gave her the pendant necklace with the pink stone that he had given her mother a few weeks after they had first met.
That night, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
The scratch would heal, but it would be a subtle battle scar, an indication that she had gone through something that people would sometimes notice but be afraid to ask about.
She would have to attend a few mandatory therapy sessions to address her words in the classroom indicating potential self-harm. But that would just be another opportunity to perform, with a captive audience of one.
That night, she could almost see and feel her path forward in the world. She knew that she had the skills, the determination and the intangibles to create a life for herself beyond what she could imagine.
She looked at herself in the mirror, and liked what she saw staring back.
Looking at herself in the mirror at the motherfucking Oscars, that’s what.
Usually cum she wiped off her face and neck after ‘CUT!’ but fake blood lil harder to scrub off.
Changed out of the bloody dress, ditched the fake dead baby. News she pregnant would have spread across Live and socials for a few minutes. News she ain’t really would have leaked to Live a few minutes later, after the fake baby had made its entrance.
New dress lavish, some princess-like shit from the front. Back had MAJOR stitched across the ass in red silk thread, hysterical. Show was almost four hours, so the costume change essential. More comfortable and classy. Cleaned up good, looking like a real Meryl Streep RIP.
“Good luck, slut,” Darlene, slinging a bag over her shoulder.
“Thanks, skank,” touching up her lipstick. “Thanks for always being there. Gonna win this for us.”
Got dressed, cleaned up, fixed her hair all with help from Darlene. Glad the bitch finally divorced that New York asshole, ditched her deadbeat boyfriend a year later and moved out to LA right after and they close again. Best assistant she ever had, one she can finally trust. Big hug, then Darlene opened the door and left the dressing room.
Final look in the mirror, twirling the extensions, then turned back toward the door.
Snuck in, old man standing there, thin and androgynous with thick, wavy, dark and gray hair.
“Bon jour,” the old man, smiling.
“The fuck,” adjusting her tits in the dress. “This a private room, get out!”
“Est-ce que ma belle Lourdes est là?” the old man, eyes wide and blinking.
“Don’t know what kind of nonsense language you speaking,” pointing, “but you better get your skinny ass out my dressing room before I call security!”
“J'ai peur… uh, where am I?” stumbling backward toward the door.
“Your ass speak English?” lowering her arm. “You at the Academy Awards. The Big O. Los Angeles, California. You here with somebody?”
“I don’t know,” whimpered with a frown.
Oh yeah, this old guy an actor, used to be famous. Willy Wonka, some musician, some sci-fi movie hero when he younger. Older, he Howard Stern RIP, and that president freed the slaves, shot dead RIP.
Hit her then like a left hook she ain’t seen coming. Lost, empty look in the old man’s eyes.
Her father looked up at her with empty eyes from the bed as she walked into the room.
The last time she had visited him at Viv’s house, he had lit up at the sight of her. Walked toward her, arms wide open, and given her a huge hug. This time, at the facility, he looked up at her with a smile, courteously returning the smile she gave him.
Then, in one simple and devastating action, he glanced back down at his word-search book and continued circling words. There was no spark of acknowledgement.
It was as if she was nobody.
As if he hadn’t raised her, hadn’t been the father in the family they were both part of. As if all their shared experiences had been erased from his memory. As if she hadn’t flown all the way to Hartford at Viv’s nagging, prompting her to come while he would still recognize her, before it was too late.
Viv had been there to visit that morning, and would be back after her shift ended. Viv hadn’t brought little Lily to see her grandfather in a while, as she didn’t want to upset either of them. Lily might not understand the situation and say something inappropriate, and her father might get confused and frustrated if Lily started asking questions he couldn’t answer.
Not knowing what to do, she took a seat in an uncomfortable chair near the foot of her father’s bed.
Occasionally, he would look up at her with a polite smile, then return to his book. She wanted to break down, throw her arms around him and cry. She wanted to scream, ‘It's me Dad, your nugget. Wake up, it's me!’ Instead, she sat quietly listening to the drone of the old-school, flat TV mounted high near the bathroom door.
The on-duty floor nurse, who she had seen at the reception desk when she arrived, walked in and smiled at her, then her father.
“Hey, handsome,” the nurse exclaimed. “How’s my favorite resident doing today?”
Her father looked up, gave the nurse a polite smile, then looked back down at his book.
“You must be Venisha,” the nurse said, looking back at her.
“That’s me,” she replied.
“Viv told us you’d be stopping by today,” the nurse said, straightening and cleaning up the area around her father. “I’m Piper.”
On the third and last night she was in Hartford, she had said goodbye to her father at the facility, and spent some time with Viv and Lily at Viv’s house. Viv had just broken up with her latest boyfriend, and only stopped talking about that long enough to get on her case about living so far away, wasting her life and not living up to her full potential.
When she had had enough, she gave Lily a huge hug and got out of there.
“Don't worry yourself about what's going on here. See you in another three years,” Viv yelled and slammed the door as she walked out.
She found herself at a local dive bar down the street from her father’s facility, across the table from Piper and two Heinekens.
“Thanks for everything you do for our father,” she said.
“He’s a nice man with a nice smile,” Piper replied. “We get so many residents that are either assholes, or frustrated and agitated for one reason or another, or have no idea where they are. It’s hard. But your Dad's easy. He sits quietly doing his books, and smiles whenever we stop by. I wish all the residents were like him.”
“You like that work?” she asked. “That what you want to be doing?”
“Well, I want to be at my beach house in Cabo and married to Silas Timberlake,” Piper replied. “But until then, I like helping people. A lot of the people at the home are alone and have no one. If I can make their days comfortable and get a smile here or there, it makes me happy.”
“You’re a better person than me,” she admitted. “I could never do that.”
“Your sister says you’re in California,” Piper said. “You like it out there?”
“LA, yeah. It’s a grind,” she replied. “It seems glamorous. But everybody trying to claw their way up on the shoulders of everybody else. I work at two restaurants at the moment. Done some voice acting, nothing big. But…”
She paused because she hadn’t told anyone what was happening next week. In the moment, she figured that she’d likely never see Piper again, and it would feel good telling someone the truth, even if it was a random stranger.
“But?” Piper prodded.
“I have a screen test next week for a…” she hesitated. “To be an actress in a…it's for a, you know…an adult porn stream,” she blurted.
“No shit,” Piper beamed. “I’d probably consider that if I had your body. Wow. Well, you go, girl.”
The two bottles of Heineken clinked together and before she knew it, she was sitting in the window seat on a regular red eye back to LA. The air in the cabin was too dry and cool, and she couldn’t sleep.
And it was then that she cried. She broke down sobbing, remembering the moment she walked out the door of her father’s room, replaying it over and over, knowing it was likely the last time she’d ever see him alive.
She apologized across the empty seat to the man in the aisle seat who said “Aww, no problem,” but turned back to his in-flight stream, not wanting to get involved any further.
She wiped her tears with her sleeve, remembering her father’s empty eyes staring at her as she left.
Old actor guy still staring at her, her father’s eyes, and she ain’t got time for this shit right now.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” turning back to the mirror, gonna be pissed if her mascara messed up.
Dressing room door flies open, people enter.
“My road leads into the desert,” the old man, eyes wide, “I can see it.”
Two women gently grasp the old man’s shoulders, turn him around and lead him out. That sad mess replaced with Melvin and two real cops, come in looking like the start of a gang-bang stream she in once.
“Woman reporter you roughed up,” Melvin looking serious, “says she won’t press charges if you give her a real interview. Say no and they arrest you right now, drag you outta here.”
“No,” but ain’t no choice, not about to fuck up this night. “Fucking fine.”
Cops nod and go and it's just Melvin, his face sour.
“What?” ready to head back out into the spotlight, show this new dress off.
“Nah,” Melvin, with a 'can wait ‘til later' look.
Wondering what now with an impatient growl.
“Rod just hit my holo,” Melvin, shaking his head, “about your contract with XXXRod. Says you owe him two more streams. Gonna sue you if you break your contract.”
Wouldn’t be here without Rodney F. Simmons, the F for ‘fuckwad’. Gave her a shot in the first streams. She spread her legs, he spread her name all over with marketing, time and sweat. Made everybody tons of money, made her kinda famous. But he looking to cash in now she legit, looking to splash that Best Actress Nominee subtitle over two more streams.
Even more money to be made if Nominee ends up being Winner.
So, break contract and pay him off? Break and sue him, but he got deep pockets. Or just do two more streams, who cares. She moving forward no matter. No one taking her talent or future away, or her name. Make Rod a few more bucks then leave the whole mess behind.
“Whatever. I know what I owe him,” the spotlight calling. “But why that pussy holo you and not me direct? Can't even poop out a simple 'congrats' tonight?”
“Don’t know,” Melvin, gently pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “He a pussy, like you said.”
Her holo vibes, unknown caller. Wouldn’t answer any other day. But today special, could be somebody she wants to hear from.
“Yeah?” listening.
“I just wanted to say good luck, Nisha,” somehow got her digits, had the gall to actually holo her.
It was him.
Hanging up, and the past comes flooding in, unwanted, uninvited to this party.
“Nobody,” anticipating Melvin, walking toward the door. “Let’s do this.”
Hanging on Melvin’s muscular arm, she walks from offscreen back out into the spotlight.
The light of the flashlight shone through the car window into her blinking, sleepy eyes.
“Could you please roll down your window, ma'am,” came the muffled voice from the other side of the glass.
She cranked down the driver’s side window about eight inches, and peered up at the police officer. He was black, muscular and had a dark brown mustache that was obviously fake.
“How can I help you, officer?” she replied with a seductive smile.
“Are you sleeping in your car, ma’am?” the officer asked.
“Unfortunately, I am, officer,” she replied.
“Well, that’s against the law, ma’am,” the officer declared. “I’m afraid you can’t stay here. You’re going to have to find somewhere else to sleep.”
“I’m sorry, officer,” she replied. “My boyfriend kicked me out, and I have nowhere else to go.”
The police officer leaned forward, his face close to the gap in the open window.
“Well, he must be a damn fool,” the officer said quietly, “kicking out a pretty young lady like yourself. Listen, my shift ends in a few minutes. If you want to come home with me, I can give you a place to sleep tonight. My wife’s out of town, and I could use some company. Just a warning, though. If you refuse my offer, I might have to handcuff you and bring you home anyway.”
“Promise, officer?” she replied with a grin.
“CUT!” Rod yelled.
Two hours later, she was standing inside an old East LA factory that had been turned into a low-budget stream studio.
She looked at the large bed surrounded by lights and cameras in the middle of the makeshift bedroom set. She felt nervous, but knew deep down that it was the right decision. She could do this, and was certain that it would lead to the things she had always wanted. Validation, maybe a little fame, a stable place to live, and enough money to never again have to worry about how she was going to pay the bills.
Viv wanted her to live up to her full potential. Well, this is what that looked like.
The guy who was in the scene with her earlier appeared beside her, still wearing the cop costume.
“I’m Melvin,” the guy said. “I didn’t really get to meet you before.”
“Venisha,” she replied, and didn’t know what else to say to him.
“This your first time?” Melvin asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, glancing down then back up, with a grin. “Any tips?”
“Heh,” Melvin chuckled. “Well, I got no doubt that you can handle this,” he said, grabbing his crotch. “But honestly, my advice would be, when Rod says ‘action’, be as real as you can. Viewers get off when they believe what’s happening, that the fantasy is real. If you believe it, they’ll believe it.”
She could make anyone believe anything. So, while she appreciated Melvin’s advice, she knew there was no risk of coming across as fake or melodramatic. She could do genuine all day, up, down and sideways.
“Anything else?” she asked Melvin, making real eye contact with him for the first time.
“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze directly. “This business is filled with a few decent people, but mostly users, idiots and fuckers. It's not obvious sometimes who’s who. But you’re gonna be better off if you avoid the fuckers.”
“Which are you?” she asked.
“Let’s give it some time,” Melvin replied, “and then you can tell me.”
They did the corny exposition scene in one take, which gave Rod a hard-on. They then took a quick break as Melvin was fluffed by a skinny white girl with dead eyes, and then started in on the money scene.
“ACTION!” Rod yelled.
About ten minutes later, she was on her back, ankles over her head, as Melvin slid inside her.
Genuine came easy, as Melvin was thick, strong, handsome and an expert at his craft.
On her back, ankles over her head, Melvin dry humping her on their table at the Oscars.
Just long enough for some random to post to Live for the world to see, quick enough to avoid security and getting thrown out the door, like they would even dare.
Laughs, frowns, side looks incoming as Melvin gently pulled her off the table. Sitting down, they straighten the plates and silverware they had pushed aside for the dry hump bit.
Co-stars and Amara at the table, used to her nonsense, so they smile and smirk.
“Vulva, you something else,” from the actress who plays her mom, used to be a twin girl on some old sitcom with Tracee Ellis Ross RIP.
“Aim to please,” hungry, hoping the pre-show food coming soon.
Acting all doze and don’t care, but looking around, seeing actors and actresses she watched forever, and she in the same room with them? Crazy, this her real life.
“You good?” to Melvin, looking like a fish out of water. His idea to keep wearing the cop outfit, his trademark costume from the XXXRod stream series 'Busts and Badges'.
“Yeah,” Melvin, taking a stealthy swig from a flask of mezcal he snuck in. “This some crazy shit,” same as she thinking. “You done all this, Nisha. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Well, you been riding me for years,” borrowing the flask, “ain’t about to let your broke ass off this ride now we made it.”
World disappeared a moment when he smiled, only them together in the magic.
“Vulva Major,” from behind her, and she turned toward the voice. “Huge cunt,” and it was one of her fellow Best Actress noms standing there scowling, but don’t know her or her work.
“Say what?” ready to lay this old bitch and her sparkly gown flat on the floor.
“Your name, Vulva Major,” the actress now with a smile. “It translates to ‘huge cunt’, yeah?”
“Yeah,” smiling back, figuring everyone knew that already, but welcome to the party. 'Pick whatever name you want' Rod said back in the day, and the name made Melvin laugh and spit out his Diet Slay all over the menu, so went with that.
“Well, I just wanted to say hello,” the actress, “and tell you that I loved your performance. I’m sorry, I haven’t seen any of your other work. But I just wanted you to know that what you did was remarkable. Emotional. Genuine. Beyond words. You’re so incredibly talented, and I wanted to thank you for sharing your incredible gift with us.”
“Thank you,” fighting the knee-jerk ‘don’t need validation from some white lady I never heard of’ and accepting the compliment.
Actress leaned in for a hug, and weird as hell but okay, and returning it as the actress smiled at Melvin, turned and walked away.
“Damn, she smiled at me,” Melvin beaming like a boy. “Had a flex of her on my wall when I was a runt, used to jack off to her. She old now, but still fine.”
“Vulva!” fans in the upper balcony.
She gives them the finger, means the opposite. Laughs and groans all around.
“Vulva, we love you!” they insisted.
“You know I love you, Vulva,” Rod said from behind the bars. “Or, I should say, Venisha.”
It was a cool, bright Calabasas morning as she walked down her driveway toward the large metal gate.
“C’mon, babe,” Rod continued, standing with both hands gripping the bars of the gate, wearing a maroon Gucciaga tracksuit, flip-flops and sunglasses, with his hair slicked back, looking like he was trick-or-treating three months early in an adult gigolo costume. “At least let me in so we can talk about this like civilized adults.”
“You’re gonna sue me, try and take my name,” she replied, “and you think I’m gonna let you in?”
She stopped about five feet in front of Rod and the gate, and slid her hands into the deep pockets of her warm, white robe. She noted the black limo parked out on the street just to the right of the gate, and wondered if Melvin was Rod’s chauffeur today.
“Babe, the name is synonymous with XXXRod Entertainment,” Rod declared. “Vulva Major is just a character you play. But before you know it, you’re gonna be old and wrinkled and drooping. No one’s gonna wanna see you spread your legs no more. Wouldn’t it be good if the Vulva Major name could live on? Let some new up-and-coming plump peach carry on your legacy?”
“Good for you, maybe,” she replied, yawning, taking a step forward. “But that ain’t gonna happen. Vulva Major is my name. I legally changed it last year. You asked me years ago to pick a name for myself, and I did. So, now that my streams are piling up millions of views, and people know who I am and want to see me and who I’m gonna fuck next, you think you can come slithering over here and steal what’s fucking mine?”
“CUT!” Rod yelled. “That was a little low energy. Could you try that again and really make me believe it?”
“Fuck you,” she replied, and turned to walk away.
“Well, babe,” Rod said, “I just filed for the trademark to the name ‘Vulva Major’ for use in any and all streams. So, I guess we’ll let the lawyers sort it out. You can use the name for the rest of the streams you’re contracted to make for XXXRod. But after that, I’d be careful.”
She turned back around and walked toward the gate, right up to his sweaty, scruffy face.
“Well, babe,” she replied in a mocking tone, “what your trademark lawyer’s gonna find out is that there’s already a preexisting filing from about two years ago, by one Venisha Jackson, for the name ‘Vulva Major’ for use in any and all streams. So, when your filing comes back rejected, don’t be too upset. And when I’m done with the rest of the streams I owe you, and me and my name walk out the door for good, you’re the one who should be careful.”
“You ungrateful bitch!” Rod yelled, pointing at her through the gate. “Look at how successful I made you. Look at your fucking house, the money I made you. You’d be nothing without me!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Rodney,” she replied calmly, making use of that series of stoicism streams she’d been running lately. “Everything I have, I worked for, I earned myself. The name Vulva Major may get them to click and watch, but it's my talent, my pussy, my personality, my creative choices that keep ‘em coming back for more.”
Behind Rod, she saw Melvin step out of the driver’s side of the limo parked on the street.
“Creative choices?” Rod huffed. “That’s funny. What are you, a comedian now?”
“Your mistake is that you think I’ve peaked,” she replied. “You think all I can do is fuck in porn streams, and that I’ve hit my ceiling. The truth is, this is just the beginning, motherfucker. I’m gonna be soaring in the clouds, while you’re still squirming around in the mud.”
“We’ll see, babe,” Rod replied as he turned and walked away toward the limo.
Melvin opened the door for Rod, who climbed in. Melvin shut the door behind him, then turned toward her, giving her a huge smile and a covert middle finger, which she returned.
As the limo drove away, she walked back up to her house, thinking that she really needed to add four more palm trees along the edge of the long driveway.
About a half hour later, she got a holotext from Melvin: THAT WAS BAD-A$$. YOU MY HERO, BABE!!!
It was only ten in the morning, but by that time she had made herself a smoothie, was out on the back patio and had pulled up her holo playlist.
She danced and sang along to some old Beyonce RIP, her pug Lucifer hopping around near her feet.
Music swells and the Oscars ceremony begins, about fucking time.
Food was decent, co-stars and Amara wishing her good luck. Don’t need luck. Fortune’s expensive smile is earned, someone said, and ain’t that the truth.
Late night comedian host on stage, starts his monologue, had her on his show a few months ago doing press for the project. Polite to her then so she kept it civil.
This star over here and a joke, this star over there and a joke. Edgy content about current events and politics smart people get.
Only a matter of time before she in his crosshairs.
“Vulva Major is here tonight,” the host, and there was more clapping than she expected. Clapping for her nom and performance, grumbles and lewd whistles for the rest of her baggage. She’ll take it all.
“When she heard she was going to the Oscars, she said ‘So, where’s this Oscar guy? Is he who I gotta bang to win this award?’”
Laughter. Funny.
“Vulva is new to roles where she doesn’t have to take off her clothes. To her, Pussy Galore isn’t a James Bond character, it's her day job.”
More laughter. Funny as shit, loving the attention.
“Vulva and I couldn’t be more different, honestly. I’ve spent my career doing stand up, and she’s spent hers doing lay down.”
More laughter, smiling for the reaction shot, and figuring that he’d made three jokes about her and was gonna move on, she gonna force one more.
“Maybe we should switch jobs,” standing up, speaking loudly, “I could probably tell some decent jokes, but I doubt you could bend over and take Melvin here without crying like a baby.”
A few laughs, mostly groans and mumbles. Realizing as she said it the joke ain't gonna land, gonna sound like a try-hard attention whore. Usually the goal, cross some lines for the brand. But read the room, and she in a different room now. Been a minute since she felt any kind of regret for anything, but there is was, nagging.
“Wow, okay,” the shocked host, not expecting her to talk back tonight. “I don’t get paid nearly enough for that, so moving on…”
Looks from around her table, supportive but 'why you gotta open your big mouth and ruin it' looks. Melvin shaking his head.
“What?” whispering to Melvin, but she knew, the attention and lingering shock in the room slowly fading.
“Vulva being Major,” Melvin, hand on her shoulder, by her side until the end of time.
Some producer lady at the next table, still looking extra-shocked due to the bad plastic surgery.
Darlene walked into the kitchen with a shocked expression on her face.
“Um…” Darlene paused, holding her holo in the air in front of her.
“You look like they’re out of Trenta cups at 'Bucks,” she interrupted. “You okay?”
“Amara Jordan’s assistant just called,” Darlene replied. “She wants to set up a meeting for you two to talk. About a potential project.”
“Amara Jordan, the director?” she asked, putting the last of the mango into the blender.
“Yeah,” Darlene replied, the shock slowly replaced by a smile.
She ran around the island, gave Darlene a hug, and the two of them stood bobbing up and down, screaming. Her pug Lucifer blinked at the commotion, but didn’t budge from his kitchen bed near the pantry door.
Two days later, she handed Amara Jordan a glass of mineral water and sat down across from her on the couches in the living room.
“Thank you,” Amara said as she took the glass, “and thank you for talking with me.”
“Course,” she replied. “I know you have a project you’d like to talk about. But I just gotta start by asking, how you even know about me? I mean, I don’t know you, but at first glance, I wouldn’t think you’re my target audience.”
“Interesting,” Amara said with a smile. “Well, just because my partner is a woman and we’ve been married for twenty years don’t mean I don’t like to watch some wet pussy railed by some thick black dick once in a while. Brings back some good memories.”
“Okay, I see you,” she replied.
“I was watching one of your streams about a month ago,” Amara continued. “Have no idea which one, forgive me. But in the setup scene, and even during the sex scene, you had an expression, a look in your eye, and a way of speaking that, for real, transcended the context of the situation. Beyond the fake story, beyond your real existence as a performer in adult streams, there was a genuine quality to your expression and emotion and what you were saying that took me by surprise. Stuck with me for days afterward. Couldn’t shake it.”
“I did all that?” she responded, surprised but also not surprised. “Well, look at me.”
They both laughed and a few minutes later, Amara told her about her next project. It was a feature called ‘Lumen’s Shadows’, based on the #1 LiveList Bestseller by the same name. It was a thriller about a woman taking a long-game approach to enacting revenge on the man who raped her, spending years slowly weaving herself into the lives of his family and friends.
After talking about the project for about an hour, Amara leaned back on the couch.
“So, I’m talking to two other women in the next week,” Amara said, “just so I can say I did my due diligence. It's going to be a tough sell to the suits, but I have a good feeling about you, Venisha. You think you’re up for this?”
She stood up from the couch, and then slowly sank to her knees in front of the coffee table. Her living room had good light and acoustics, so she was confident that her response would be cinematic and carry the weight she wanted it to.
“I’ve waited my whole life for this kind of opportunity, Amara,” she replied. “You don’t understand what it means for someone like me to even be talking with someone like you. I’m ready for this. If you choose me, I promise that it's the right decision and that I won’t fucking let you down.”
“Well, that’s the whole thing,” Amara replied with a smile. “I fucking believe you.”
“In one of the most captivating and believable performances in this or any year, Vulva Major’s portrayal of Lumen in Amara Jordan’s ‘Lumen’s Shadows’ was a thrilling and emotional tour de force,” the presenter, some previous Best Actress winner looking like peacock roadkill with all those feathers.
Intros and scenes from four other Best Actress noms already done, now it’s her turn.
“Her rise from an adult stream actress to a Hollywood leading lady is the stuff of dreams,” the presenter, “and is in itself a story of strength and perseverance from a huge, new and compelling talent.”
“Bitch call me fat?” leaning toward Melvin.
“She said ‘huge’, talking about your talent, not your ass,” Melvin, taking the last sip of mezcal from his flask.
“Better shut her mouth, looking like some Ozempic Big Bird,” looking at her own face on the screen behind the woman, three stories tall.
“Our fifth and final nominee for Best Actress,” the presenter, “Vulva Major in Lumen’s Shadows.”
Lights dimmed, her face as Lumen filled the screen, and it was too much. Her experience as a girl, bullied in high school, lost and directionless for years, homeless and sleeping in her car, losing her mother and father, getting into porn, slowly making a name for herself, being able to support herself, going as high as she thought possible and then breaking through that fucking ceiling to sitting watching herself onscreen at the Academy Awards, she lost it, leaned onto Melvin’s shoulder and sobbed in the darkness.
"There's our nugget," Melvin, squeezing her hand.
Onscreen, the big scene with the family around the dining room table, took her seven takes before Amara called it.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Lumen to her attacker, twelve years after.
Establishing shot, awkward looks around the table from his wife, Susan, and kids Callie and Cody.
“What do you mean, Lucy?” her attacker, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You’re Susan’s friend. Callie’s tutor. You’ve been like a member of our family for years. I think we all know who you are.”
“Do you remember when we first met, Samuel Gurnon?” Lumen, her plate empty, staring at him.
“Simon, who is Samuel Gurnon?” Susan to her husband, medium shot.
“I don’t know,” her attacker, holding the spoon, staring at Lumen. “Didn’t you first meet Susan a few years ago at a Pilates class or something?”
“I did,” Lumen, “but that’s not where I first met you, Samuel.”
“Stop calling me that!” her attacker.
“Mommy, what’s going on?” Callie, blinking.
“Simon, you knew Lucy before I met her?” Susan to him, putting her fork down.
“I don’t know who you think I am, Lucy,” her attacker to her, “but this is my house, my family. I think you should leave.”
“I don’t want Lucy to leave, Dad,” Callie, tearing up. Sitting next to her, Cody slipped a piece of meatloaf under the table to the dog.
“I know who you are, Samuel Gurnon,” Lumen, a slow dolly into her face. “My name is Lumen McAllister. Twelve years ago, I came to look at a small apartment at 2354 Colonial Street in Charlotte. You were the landlord, and I was homeless and desperate. You agreed to let me in to see the place after hours. You had been drinking, I could smell it on your breath, and when I walked in to look at the bedroom, you locked the door behind us and came toward me.”
“Kids, go to your room,” Susan, nervous. Cody slid off his chair, ran offscreen, the dog following.
“No,” Callie, gripping the edge of the table.
Susan looking at him as he sits in silence, stunned.
“He pushed me down onto the bed,” Lumen, shifting her gaze solely to Susan and Callie. “He pulled his shirt off over his head, got on top of me, and pushed his smelly shirt into my mouth. He put his forearm on my neck and pulled my tights and underwear down with his other hand. I tried to scream when he forced himself inside me, but it was so muffled, no one could hear me. He was so heavy and I could barely breathe.”
“Daddy?” Callie, whimpering.
Standing up, her attacker, “Get out!”
Susan, standing up, pointing at him, “Don’t you move or say a fucking word!”
“And then it was over,” Lumen shaking, extreme and close up. “My life was over. You killed me that day, Samuel Gurnon. It took me so many years of therapy and judo classes and surviving suicide attempts to rebuild myself, year after year, to get any kind of life back. Until I felt like a human being again, reborn. Until I finally had the strength to create a new, normal life filled with confidence and intimacy. And track you down.”
“For what?” her attacker. “So you could come here and destroy my life?”
“So I could show you, day in and day out,” Lumen, calm and honest, “that you didn’t destroy mine.”
Lights up and applause filling every corner of the theater, her dumb, jaded heart full.
The sunny backyard filled with kids and adults erupted with clapping, as Lily blew out the candles.
Viv’s house in Danbury wasn’t that big, but her sister had gone all out with the decorations, inside and out. The theme of the party was ThreeYo, Lily’s favorite C-Pop band. Their lyrics were a little inappropriate sometimes, but the music was decent and catchy.
She had brought the ultimate gift for her niece, a personalized ThreeYo signature holo, which she would play for her later, when most of the people had gone and it was quieter.
“Auntie Nisha, you made it!” Lily exclaimed, running across the yard and throwing her arms around her waist.
“Wouldn’t have missed it, nugget,” she replied. “I have something for you later, kay?”
“Okay!” Lily replied, beaming. Two of her little friends appeared by her side and dragged her back toward the cake and food table.
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” Viv said, “but I’m glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t either,” she replied. “There was a break in the project. And someone bought me a LiveJet ticket. LA to Windsor-Locks in an hour. Terrifying, but amazing.”
“Must be nice,” Viv said. “What’s his name?”
“Not a guy,” she replied. “Actually, you’re not going to believe this. Amara Jordan bought me the ticket.”
Viv nearly choked on her vodka-punch. “The hell?” she exclaimed. “Amara Jordan, the director? She bought you a ticket to get here? How the hell do you know her?”
She told Viv about how Amara saw her in one of her adult streams, and came to her house and the talk went well, and then Amara gave her a role in her next big project and they were in the middle of three months of production right now.
“Oh my god, Nisha,” Viv said. “That is everything. I’m in shock. I’m so proud of you!”
She knew that at some point down the road, Viv would be asking her for money again, especially if she started to become legit famous. But for right now, she was glad Viv was proud of her, wasn’t yelling at her and that they were getting along, and wanted to enjoy that for as long as possible.
She was in the middle of telling Viv the ‘Lumen’s Shadows’ story when she saw him.
He had come into the backyard through the side gate at the corner of the house. She continued talking to Viv while monitoring his movements. For a while, he was at the periphery of the yard. Then he was talking to someone she didn’t know. Then he took a small sandwich from the food table, and a beer from the cooler.
A while later, he stepped inside the house and was out of sight for a while.
When Viv left to bring out more food for the table and ice for the cooler, she had gotten distracted talking to her cousin Albert, Aunt Althea’s RIP son, who she hadn’t seen in years. He was a cook at a Peruvian restaurant and taking classes at a college in Bridgeport. He had a girlfriend who worked at a nail salon, which is why she wasn’t there for the party. His twin Allen was in Paris studying at a ballet school, and she commented how amazing it was that brothers, especially twins, could grow up and be so different.
“No shit, huh?” Albert replied.
It was then that she looked up and saw him leaning over talking to Lily over by the swing set.
“No, no, no…” she muttered as she lunged forward and ran across the yard, bobbing and weaving to avoid the party guests. When she reached him and Lily, she body-slammed him so hard, he fell backward onto the dirt of a raised wooden planter and crushed the flowers that had been growing there.
“Don’t you ever touch her or talk to her!” she screamed. “If I ever see you near her again, I will kill you, you hear me you motherfucker?!”
“Nisha,” he replied, his hands in the dirt, pushing himself back to a standing position.
“No!” she screamed. “You don’t get to say my name. Your filthy mouth don’t get to say her name or talk to her. Your sorry ass should be glad my father's dead, or else he'd kill you himself. You ain’t out that gate in ten seconds, I’m gonna grab that shovel and beat you with it until you can’t walk!”
He stared at her with his watery eyes and old, wrinkled, weathered face for just a moment before he turned, walked across the yard and out through the side gate.
As calm replaced the rage, she looked over at Lily who was sobbing, clutching the pole of the swing set.
“Oh, baby,” she said, kneeling to the ground and wrapping her arms around Lily. “Auntie is so sorry for doing that today, on your birthday. I just didn’t want him to hurt you. I love you, nugget.”
She looked up at Viv, whose expression indicated that maybe she knew more than she had ever said.
The backyard was silent as everyone stood still, surrounding her, looking at her.
“And the Oscar goes to…” the presenter, “Vulva Major.”
Applause from the table, from the theater, the whole dusty universe revolved around her.
“Fuck yeah,” Melvin, standing, wrapping his arms around her.
Hug from Amara and the writer of ‘Lumen’s Shadows’, then made her way to the stage, some booing and grumbles mixed with the applause from some fuckers who probably think a porn star don't deserve the statue.
Up the stairs onto the stage, presenter hands her the gold dildo, and up the steps behind her are the other four Best Actress noms. A hug from each, and they stand behind her, hand in hand, as if to say ‘big girl deserves this and if you got anything to say about it, you gonna have to deal with us’.
The ultimate solid, beyond grateful.
Quick turn to show her ass and the word MAJOR stitched across it, pointing, tongue out. Laughs, groans, then a turn back toward the serious.
And the silence.
Thought about staring straight ahead saying nothing until the music played her off and then walking away, funny as hell for Live and memes. But the moment hit different.
Touching the pink stone hanging from the pendant necklace with her free hand.
“Y’all expecting me to do or say some crazy shit up here,” gripping the Oscar statue, heavier than she thought it’d be. “Love putting on this show for y’all, and I’ll continue doing it. You ain’t seen nothing yet. But right now, thank you to the amazing cast of ‘Lumen’s Shadows’. Thank you to the writer, and to Amara Jordan for this chance to prove myself and trusting me to help tell this story. To Darlene, Viv, Lily, my Mama and Dad RIP, uh, Piper, Albert…thank you. Thank you, Rod. And thank you to my BBC Melvin Martin, my big black co-pilot through this crazy-ass life. And…”
Didn’t know how to say it, but had to try.
“If it weren’t for the worst thing that ever happened to me, I wouldn’t be here. How’s it possible that the most awful thing can be the biggest gift? Don’t know where this is going. There’s no thank you or forgiveness for him. Only joy that I can entertain you, be my broken mess of a self and still be loved, accepted, and make my dreams come true. Thanks.”
Applause, and the whole rest of the night a blur of light and sound. Interviews, holo calls, meeting stars, after-parties. New custom Live content celebrating the win, with thousands of new followers, views, likes, loves, yays, all the things.
Exhausted, and Melvin laid her down and tucked her into her own bed as the sun came up.
Photo shoot for VENUE the next day, tried typical poses but she insisted on a setup with her crouching over the Oscar statue like she about to ride it like Bull. Hysterical and epic, hoping that’s the one they choose.
Real interview a week later with the blond bimbo to avoid assault charges. Rough start, but when you appear vulnerable and expose a little about your life and past, people relate. Ain’t just a slut fucking people for money anymore, but a real person just trying to survive, find some luck and love.
That night, private in her bedroom, something that she’d go to her grave never telling anyone, not even Melvin.
Little lube and she crouched over the Oscar and let the gold head and shoulders slide inside her.
Cold, like her Uncle’s gold wedding ring.
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