Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
My mouth drops open, and I blink wildly, trying to process. “What?”
“I know. I know. It’s totally out there, but he’s got this huge following because he has huge…you know, nuts.”
“I’m sorry,” I say slowly, “you’re telling me that people pay him to put things on his balls, the ones between his legs?”
She nods stoically.
“What kinds of things?” My voice goes higher.
“Mostly food items, like whipped cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, caramel…”
I look down at my Frappuccino and push it away. “I don’t understand. I—he—what?” I shake my head. This isn’t making any sense. “Are you sure it’s him?”
She nods again. “You can look for yourself. His site is called Mr. Sticky Nuts.”
Oh no. This has to be a mistake. I grab my phone and type in Mr. Sticky Nuts. A website pops up, and I tap the link.
“He has some clips you can see for free,” Sofie says, trying to get a look at my phone, “but his junk is blurred out. You have to pay a subscription to enter and get the full experience.” She leans in close and whispers, “You might want to do it at home.”
I wince. “It’s that nasty?”
She smiles. “No. It’s kinda hot.”
I stare with disdain.
“Sorry. Sorry. I forgot he’s your new man.” She holds up her hands apologetically.
“How did you even find this site?” I ask.
“I’m telling you, this guy has a huge following. During Covid, people weren’t throwing bachelorette parties in person, so a lot of people started doing these virtual shindigs. You know, get a bunch of your gal pals on Zoom. Everyone drinks, the bachelorette opens gifts sent ahead of time, you play games, and,” she pauses, “they hire exotic male entertainers, like Mr. Sticky Nuts. The party I attended for my friend Sara, her sister hired him to put all her favorite sundae toppings on his nuts. It was quite the show. I nearly peed myself laughing. He really makes a whole thing of it. It was so naughty.” Coco’s cheeks turn red.
“No, no, no…” I drop my head in my hands. “This isn’t happening.”
“I’m so sorry, Mila. But if it’s any consolation, he’s not cheap. I mean, the guy charges a thousand dollars for a private online party. The monthly subscription is two hundred, but that’s not as fun. He just takes suggestions during the livestream, but he usually has a prearranged set of items ready to go. You want your favorite toppings, gotta pay extra.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I mean, I get that people have their fetishes, but I’m not one of them, and I definitely don’t want to date a man who’s showing his nut sack to strangers all day over the internet. Imagine what my mom and dad would say if they found out?
“I just don’t get why he didn’t say anything,” I mutter.
“Not exactly the kind of info you lead with when you meet a woman, Mila.”
I know she’s right, but…ugh. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“You going to check out his act?”
I honestly don’t know. “I think whatever I do, this is the end of the road for us.”
Coco gives me a sad look. “I’m really sorry, girl. But at least you found out now.”
True. But I thought things were finally turning around for me. Carter just turned out to be yet another disaster. Maybe I should rethink buying the house. With my luck, it’ll explode the moment I sign on the dotted line.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER NINE
That night, I’m sitting in my “new” kitchen on a fold-up stepstool I’m using as a chair until I get situated financially and can afford to buy real furniture. And curtains, a full set of towels, coffee mugs, wineglasses, a blender, cooking utensils, and…pretty much everything a grown adult should have in their home.
At the moment, I have a queen mattress (crappy but new) on the floor of the bedroom along with a brown lamp (very used, circa 1970s). My living room has a gently loved khaki sofa, a floor lamp that probably came from Kmart in the ’90s, and a wooden coffee table with what I call character. Meaning, it has tons of coffee cup rings, scratches, and one wobbly leg.
Honestly, I’m happy I scored what I did. Until I get my insurance check, I’m on a shoestring budget. Luckily, I went to a garage sale, and the lady totally helped me out. She threw in this stepstool, a lawn mower, some old but still useable pots and pans, and a rocking chair. I had to say no to the fifty-year-old skis, though. Don’t ski. Either way, I got the impression she didn’t want to pay the junk haulers, so it was a win-win. I paid her one hundred bucks. She avoided having to get rid of all the crap she couldn’t sell.
I stare at my laptop screen and crack my knuckles. I don’t have internet or cable yet, so this is all happening on my hotspot. Part of me is praying I don’t have enough bandwidth to stream whatever I’m about to see for this one-week trial that excludes access to the “Super Sticky Situation Room.” I only get to see recordings of past live streams.