Tuesday morning, my plane touched down at Crystal Airport, located in the northwest corner of the Minneapolis, Minnesota, metroplex. I was flying in to talk to a husband and wife team about their idea for launching a site catering to writers and artists of erotic material. They presented an interesting idea and I wanted to hear more about it.

I was part of a consortium that owned a couple of private jets, which gave me access to the aircraft when I needed it. I’d figured out early on that having to rely on commercial flights to get me to and from where I wanted to go added time and complications I didn’t need, and owning my own airplane was needlessly expensive. Buying shares to gain access to a plane when I needed one seemed like a good compromise, and now I was seriously spoiled. Being able to come and go on my own plane made this a day trip, and I’d be back home tonight.

My Uber was waiting for me when I stepped off the plane to take me to Valentines, a local restaurant located near the airport that had good ratings, served espresso. I was meeting Derrick and Emily Harbour, the couple pitching the idea of the website. They also produced an adult comic series, Hero Tales, about amazingly well-endowed, muscled male and female superheroes saving the city of Dhanda—a hindi nickname for penis, I found out—through sexual combat with various equally well-endowed, muscled supervillains. The comics were drawn with a high level of skill and wit, and I was looking forward to meeting the team behind them.

I walked into Valentines and looked around. We’d exchanged descriptions of each other during our initial phone conversations, and they were easy to spot. They had a large table near the back with a stack of papers sitting on the edge, and unlike the other patrons, were dressed to impress. That, and Emily had bright blue hair and Derrick was as bald as a cue ball. I was also surprised by their age. I’d expected kids, but the Harbours appeared to be in their late forties or early fifties.

They stood as I approached. “Mr. Gregg! Nice to meet you,” Derrick said, extending his hand.

“Derrick, Emily,” I replied, shaking their hands. We settled at the table as the waitress appeared.

“Get you anything?” she asked.

I smiled at the woman. She was in her mid- to late-thirties, and though she had a pretty face, she’d obviously enjoyed Valentines’ fair a little too much. “A double latte.” I looked at the Harbours questioningly.

“Nothing for us, thanks,” Derrick said and turned his attention to me. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” he said as an opening.

“My pleasure. So, tell me why I should invest in you.”

I sipped my espresso as Derrick and Emily told me their spiel. They’d obviously worked on it, and it was smooth and well delivered. The crux of their idea came from the fact that websites that claimed to support artists didn’t want porn on their site. Even though their ‘art’ was mainstream pornography, they’d been kicked off a half-dozen sites over the years when the site owners cracked down on pornography for one reason or another.

Their idea was to start a site for people like themselves. They’d even registered a domain name, ‘pornartistry.com.’ They’d operate it like any of a dozen other websites out there supporting artists, but the difference was, instead of shunning erotic artists, such as themselves, they’d welcome and specialize in them. When one artist violated their terms of service, rather than purge everyone, as sometimes happened, they’d ban only the violator.

During their presentation, I probed and asked questions. They had a ready answer for some, others I could tell they hadn’t thought about or had a poor understanding. In a lot of ways, they were like me when I first thought up PhoneBabel. They had a clever idea, but they didn’t have a clue about what it would take to make it work. They were very focused on the artists, presentation, and payment side, but I didn’t think they’d fully considered the technical hurdles they were facing.

We ordered lunch and ate as we talked. When they finally ran down, I considered their proposal.

“Let me start by saying I don’t have a problem with pornography per se, with the obvious exception of kiddie porn, actual rape, and a few other things. I have even less of a problem with it when it’s drawn, like yours. While I sympathize with your plight, how are you going to protect yourself from the various morality laws?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Derrick said. “We’ll have guidelines about what is acceptable on the site.”

I shook my head. They were missing my point. “That’s not enough. What might be perfectly fine in San Francisco might not fly so well here in Minneapolis. For example, I did some research before I came out. In my home state of North Carolina, sodomy, bestiality, and rape, obviously, are all against the law. In your art, in one of the panels, one of the heroes was doing the deed with a chick that looked like a wolf, and the wolf chick clearly wasn’t a willing participant. Now, in the context of the story, it all made sense, and nothing was happening to her that she hadn’t tried to do to the hero a panel before, but does that panel violate all three of those laws? I don’t know.”

Emily shrugged. “How do other sites do it now?”

“I’m not sure. I suspect they don’t, and that’s part of the problem. Let’s say the North Carolina Attorney General files suit because he determines that panel I described violates one or more of those laws. The website doesn’t have much choice but to take the stuff down, and it’s easier to take down everything than it is to try to sift through the weeds to determine what content should be included in the take down order and what shouldn’t.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” Derrick said.

“How?”

“It’s just a technical problem. I’m not worried about those.”

“But I am,” I stressed. “The technical side is where my strengths lie, and off the top of my head, I don’t know how you’d handle a complaint like the one I outlined. Do you remove the one panel, the entire series, what? How do you find all the panels that violate the law? See where I’m going with this?”

Derrick sat back with a huff, his face hardening. “So you’re not going to give us the money?”

“I didn’t say that, either. I think you’re onto something with your idea. If you can figure out how to police it, you might have a winner of a business.”

Emily frowned. “The problem is all the busybody prudes. We’re not hurting anyone. If you don’t want to look at what we draw, don’t. Nobody’s forcing you. We’re just trying to make a living like everyone else.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t change the laws, and you know politicians. They have to look like they care and are doing something.”

“So what do we do?” Derrick asked.

“Here’s what I suggest. Find a web development company and talk to them. Explain your problem and see if they have suggestions. I don’t expect a working prototype, but I need a clear plan on how you’re going to address my concerns.” I paused as I gave the problem some thought. I didn’t have a clear solution, but a couple of ideas immediately came to mind. “I suspect you’ll need to create a database of applicable laws for every location, maybe down to the county, and tag each image against that database. The images that violate a local ordinance would have to be handled somehow, maybe by blurring the parts of the image that violate the law. I don’t know.” I slid my business card across the table. “When you figure that out, call me. We’ll talk.”

Derrick took the card. “So if we can overcome the potential legal issues, you’ll invest?”

“I’ll consider investing,” I corrected. “I don’t think this will be as easy as you think. Even if you manage to overcome the technical problems of displaying the images, someone is going to have to sit down and tag all the videos, pictures, and art, and decide if it violates some law somewhere. That’s going to be incredibly manpower intensive, not to mention expensive, not to mention interpretive. How are you going to pay for all that at the price points you’re talking about?”

Derrick glared at me while Emily chewed her bottom lip. They weren’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. I held all the cards. They wanted my money, but I wasn’t going to throw it away. I needed to have a reasonable chance of at least breaking even before I invested.

“Don’t give up,” I said, giving them a little encouragement. “I’ve been sitting right where you are, doing exactly what you’re doing. I know it’s frustrating. If you can work out how to avoid being dragged into court every week, and still support your user base,” I pointed at my card lying on the table, “call me and give me a chance before anyone else.”

Derrick sighed. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Thank you.”

“It’s what I do. By the way, you two are very good. Which of you is the artist?”

“I am,” Emily said. “Derrick does the dialog and story, I do the art.”

I shook my head. “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler, so I really admire people like you.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I can draw, but coming up with a story and words…” She made a dismissive sound as she slashed her hand over the table.

“And neither of us, obviously, knows how to start or run a business,” Derrick added.

“Lucky for you, that’s something I know how to do.”

We talked for another hour, and Emily presented me with a quick pencil sketch of me in the style of her sexual superheroes. I was shirtless in a heroic pose, sporting bulging muscles and a prominent bulge in my pants, with a suitcase full of money in one hand and a contract in the other. Considering she whipped it out in less than ten minutes while we talked, I was damned impressed.

Meeting over, they gave me a ride back to the airport. I hoped they could come up with a way to solve their technical issues. If they could come up with a plan that I thought would work, I’d probably be on board. They weren’t asking for a lot of money, and I believed the a hundred and fifty grand for fifty percent would probably be money well spent.

The meeting lasted almost four hours. It was three, local time, so it was four at home. I had an almost three-hour flight home, which still gave me time to call Carolyn after I landed. Something was bothering her again. She denied anything was wrong, but I could hear it in her voice when I called her Sunday.

Leaving now. Home in about three hours. Will call when I land. I typed and pressed send. I’d told her I was going to be out of town on business when I talked to her Sunday. I tucked the phone away and shivered. It was colder than pickled damn, and though I’d worn a sport coat, I hadn’t dressed warm enough for the Minnesota weather.

The flight home was uneventful, which was a good thing. I wasn’t a nervous flyer, but I couldn’t think of a single instance of something interesting happening on a flight where it was a good thing. The plane had landed and was taxiing to the hanger when my phone chimed.

How’d it go? She’d probably sent the text while I was in the air.

They need to do some more homework. Just landed. I’ll call in ten or fifteen minutes.

She sent back the lips emoji, and I scrolled until I found a face looked like it was panting in excitement. I smiled to myself as I pressed send. I enjoyed our wordless verbal jousting and the challenge of saying something without actually saying anything at all.

I tipped the pilot a hundred bucks for a smooth flight as I stepped off the plane. Later I’d get a bill for the fuel, hours, and his salary. Because I was part owner of the plane, the flight only cost me about twice what a commercial flight would cost, and it was worth every penny.

I sat down in my car, started it, and dialed Carolyn. “Hey!” I said when she answered.

“Hey yourself. How was the flight?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Doing okay, why?”

“You seemed a little down Sunday.”

“Oh. It was nothing.”

“You’re sure?” I asked as I checked for traffic, pulled out of the airport, and accelerated. As far as I was concerned, hands-free calling was the greatest safety advancement in cars since antilock brakes.

“Positive.”

“How about dinner?”

“Sure. When?”

“Whatever day works best for you.”

“Saturday?”

“I was just going to suggest that.”

“You were not,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “How about my place?”

“We can go out. I know this great little Greek place. You like Greek food?”

“Never tried it.”

“Oh, you’re in for a treat then!”

“Maybe next time. I feel like I owe you meal after you cooked for me.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I enjoyed doing it.”

“Then let me do this for you. I cook a mean chili.”

“I hope you don’t mean ‘mean’ as in painfully hot.”

She twittered. “It has a little kick, but that’s what the beer is for.”

“Then sure, I’d love to sample your chili.”

“Great! It’s a date. Say six?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Looking forward to it.”

We chatted as I drove. We didn’t talk about anything important, which was fine with me. Carolyn was as easy to talk to as she was on the eyes. I’d started dating a little after my life settled down, but Carolyn was the first woman that I seemed to ‘click’ with, even more so than my ex-wife, and I’d been sleeping with her. I couldn’t put my finger on why. Maybe there was no logical reason for it. Maybe that feeling a person gets when someone was ‘the one’ can’t be defined and was like that song or work of art that spoke to them.

I didn’t know if Carolyn was ‘the one,’ but she was certainly the best candidate so far. I pressed the button to end the call as I turned into my subdivision, disappointed that the commuter airport my plane was based out of was so close to home. I pulled my Volvo into the garage beside the Civic I’d bought for Bailey’s au pair to use.

“Dad!” Bailey cried in greeting as he opened the door into the garage.

“Hey.”

“Bláithín has broken her computer again.”

I sighed as I shut the car door. “What’s wrong with it this time?”

Of the three au pairs Bailey’d had, Bláithín was the only one who hadn’t banged up the Civic, but she regularly had problems with the computer I provided for her use.

“She says she can’t get her emails.”

She was a smart girl, but in front of a computer she was hopeless. She was waiting for me when I stepped into the kitchen, the laptop clasped to her chest, her eyes down and a sheepish grin on her lips.

“I can’t log in to get my emails.”

She looked so pitiful I couldn’t be mad. I was hungry, but normally I could fix her problems in only a couple of minutes. I took the computer from her.

“Let me see.”