I always feel out of place. Whether it’s dinner with family, drinking with friends, or even attending one of these charity events for Preserving Democracy, I never feel comfortable. There’s never a moment where I can sit back and bask in the glow of community. It always feels like I’m a wolf sneaking around the chicken coop.

I smile, mouth shut, big grin, like I’m ready to explode into waves of awkward energy. The camera flashes. More people wanting my picture. They don’t know me. They know I have money, that I can fund their projects or single-handedly put their name in the news. But beyond my influence, they have no idea who I am. And I can’t imagine speaking more than five words to any of these people in an in-depth honest-to-goodness conversation.

You know, man to man, or man to woman, and not B2B or seller to buyer. All the world is, is insincere corporate nonsense. And of course my name is synonymous with all that greed. My father and his father built these companies, built the brand, so that our descendants could be GREAT. We are the elite, the rulers of the free world. It’s an obligation I ought to be taking seriously. And yet here I am, just wanting to run away to a beach somewhere on an abandoned island.

“Hello, Mister Troy!” a man with a firm-handshake tells me, looking right through me, probably sizing me up for how big of a grant I could give him.

“Hey,” I say with a weak smile, assuming I met him somewhere before. I just forgot where.

“Hello, Mister Troy!” another man says, grabbing my hand as soon as the other fool lets go of it.

“Mister Troy!” an older woman says, tilting her head. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Yes…I mean…it’s an honor to meet you, too,” I say with a grin.

“I can’t wait to collaborate with you, Mister Troy,” she says with a firm nod.

I can’t wait to collaborate with you, too, I think to myself, checking out her massive boobs. She may be in her fifties, but I could teach this dingbat a few tricks.

God, what is wrong with me? I can’t even get through one conversation without thinking of fucking my business colleagues. I must be overworked. Lately, all I can think about is getting away from everything polite and kind…

“Hello!” another girl says.

“Hey!” I smile back. Yes, getting away from THIS. This horrible simulation of human conversation. These boring meetings about product placement and mergers. I swear to god, I just want to disappear from this earth...

I nod at the girl, letting the idiot know it’s time to let go of the handshake already. I move onto the next guy, some dufus in a suit. This is going to be a long and unforgiving night, isn’t it?

Christ…I feel like I’m back working the cash register at Walganic, my first pharmacy job that Dad insisted I take so I could learn humility. It was 9:15 in the morning and it felt like I had already waited on fifty customers. Just seven more hours of this shit…just seven more hours, that’s what I used to say.

Hey kid,” David Zalaya whispers to me, waking me from a power nap. Nap? Or is this nighttime? Or morning? What time is it anyway?

“Wake up, sunshine. It’s ten o’clock in the morning. You look like you never even went to bed last night. Have you heard?” David says with an evil grin.

“No…what?”

David’s been my longtime business mentor ever since Dad died. He’s been training me since I was a ten-year-old scamp. Now, twenty years later, he knows it’s his job to give me all the bad news first and the good news second…if necessary at all. It’s hard not to listen when his wrinkled face and spiky gray-hair convulse in merriment. Even his little black suit seems extra chipper today. Damn fool is so happy all the time…even in the worst of times.

“Remember that party you went to two days ago?”

“Barely…I go to some ridiculous charity event every goddamned day. How am I expected to remember…?”

“Well you made a great impression, kid. Check out the paper.”

David hands me a newspaper, letting me see for myself the headline.

Local Female Journalist Protests “Sexist Pig” Zander Troy’s Appearance in Fort Worth

“What?” I read the paper in confusion.

“Nice, isn’t it?” David says in sarcasm. “Apparently you got drunk at that party and offended some feminist witch. Now she’s all over the news talking about how awful you were to her.”

“That’s bullshit,” I answer quickly. “I didn’t do any such thing. I shook hands, got drunk, went to sleep in the office upstairs like I always do.”

“Well, she sees the story differently.”

“Hey…” I grab the paper again, examining the photo. “I remember this girl. I shook hands with her. She said hello. And now she’s claiming I harassed her?”

“Not quite. She’s claiming you’re a degenerate woman-hating scum of the earth and you should be banned from the city.”

“WHAT?” I say in disbelief. “Maya DeBank? Who the hell is she? I’ve never even heard of her!”

“No one said she was Barbara Fucking Walters, kid,” David says, cackling. “She’s probably some kid wanting to get her fifteen minutes of fame. And of course, if you’re a bastard to her that gives her a little extra incentive.”

“All I did was shake her hand.”

“Is that all?”

“Well…” I fold my arms and think back. “I sort of nodded at her, strongly implying she should let go of the handshake. I mean, it was over. What did she want, an autograph or something?”

“There ya go, kid,” David says with a smile. “Optimistic little girl, goes in wanting to meet her hero. Has her dreams crushed when she finds out he’s just a rich asshole like every other billionaire heartthrob.”

“Ah, Jesus,” I mutter.

“The bad news is the press is loving this. They got hold of the story and ran with it. Turns out a lot of women really hate you.”

“What? Why?” I say in confusion. “But…I’m really good in bed!”

Not to be too modest about it…

“Sure,” David says with that oily grin of his. “And that’s why they hate you, kid.”

“Jesus…”

“Oh, check it out,” David wheezes as he loads his iPad on a live stream channel. “The Associated Press picked up the story. Maya is now giving an interview.”

“What?! No one even knew who this bitch was fifteen minutes ago!”

David watches the interview in cackling amusement and I’m forced to listen as this kid, whom I barely remember meeting, tries to sabotage my career!

“I just think it’s a very lowbrow moment for the people of Fort Worth,” she says. “I mean, we’re living in very divisive times. Times where Blacks and Mexicans are finding a national voice. And a time where women are finally getting the respect they deserve from men who would silence them and sexually harass them. And I just don’t think we need more appearances from sexist pigs like Zander Troy. I think…”

The crowd surrounding her applauds.

“Enough is enough!” she says. “I mean, we can’t just go after President Trump while ignoring guys like Zander, who’s just as bad but a lot prettier. We have to send a clear message.”

“What the fuck!” I yell out, grabbing my hair in frustration. “I voted against Trump. I donated to the DNC! She’s spreading lies about me!”

I shake my head and pull the tablet away from me, trying to forget this embarrassing moment…

“Oh, and another thing,” Maya says, “I’ve heard he’s, umm…very selfish and SHORT in bed. That’s just what they tell me.” The crowd laughs.

My open mouth gradually crumbles into a laugh. Okay, now she’s just gone from batshit crazy to a total troll.

“Well, if she wanted to get my attention, she’s got it.”

“Tell you what to do, kid,” David says. “Find out where she works. Surprise her in front of all her people. Make her feel star struck. Give her a little hard TLC. You feel me? She’ll be so embarrassed, you’ll make sure she never mentions your name again.”

I laugh again. “I’ve just never heard a woman so filled with hate for me. All from one bad handshake?”

“Yes!” David says. “The handshake is what gets you!”

I decided to pay Maya DeBank a visit after finding out that she works at the local Tax Assessor-Collector Office.

As soon as I enter the room, several people do double-takes, no doubt recognizing me from television. I’m dressed in a suit and smiling wide, looking like I’m ready to buy the whole city out of spite.

“Hello, my friends,” I say with a wink. “I’m here to see Maya DeBank.”

“Maya!” a little petite lady yells out towards the back. “Visitor here to see you.”

“Ugh…” I hear her say as she emerges from behind the closed door. “Is it my mother? I already told you…”

Maya’s eyes shoot open wide as she recognizes me, and sees the most curious look on my face. A smile.

“Well hello, Maya. I believe we’ve already been formally introduced. As you know, and loathe, I am Zander Troy.”

“Umm…yeah,” she says, trying to keep her head low and stop herself from blushing.

“I get the feeling that our first encounter was not to your liking. I apologize. I can be abrupt sometimes. But I certainly never meant any disrespect. I hope you’ll accept two tickets to The King and I this weekend. Bring a guest of your own choosing.”

Maya stares at me stupidly, at a loss for words. Looks like she’s dying of embarrassment. Good, looks like I win this war.

“Umm…who would I go with?”

“Well, I assume you have a friend to take with you. At least one friend? I trust there are some good men who aren’t sexist pigs in the world and I’m sure you know each of them intimately. Er, wrong choice of words, darling.”

I giggle as do some of the onlookers.

Maya bites her lip and stares at me in angst. “You know what? I don’t need your tickets. I don’t want them.”

She furls her brow and tightens her face. She’s mad…or at least…she’s pretending to be mad.

“For your information, Mister Troy, I don’t like guys like you. And I do not accept presents from strange men who are trying to do damage control for their professional reputation.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” she snaps back. “For your information, I am a good girl.”

“Oh?”

“I am a young woman of the Catholic faith.”

“Oh really?” I say with a smirk.

“Yeah, and wipe that smile off your face.”

I hear people around me laugh, a few women applaud.

“I don’t appreciate the way you treat women and the way you snubbed me at that party. You know? The truth is, I always did admire you. Until I started to read in the papers what a jerk you were to people.”

Before I can respond, she jumps into another tirade.

“And I never wanted to believe it. But now I see it for myself. You are not a good person. You are just evil.”

“I’m evil?” I say with a nod. “Pure evil or Satan himself?”

“You are not as important as Satan, but still an evil person. I will pray for you.”

“Oh! Really? You’ll pray for me?” I can’t wipe the smile off my face but Maya is on a roll.

“And I don’t want any of your bribe money or presents. We are not friends. I do not like you. Feel free to mosey your ass on out of here.”

More people in the building laugh and applaud. This was quite a scene and I guess everyone got their free entertainment for the day. She smiles at another woman, who comes up behind her and laughs.

“Good for you!” she says, her blond hair shaking back and forth as she taunts me. “My name’s Renee Shimri and I’m totally with Maya on this one. We are tired of guys like you, Zander. Womanizing men who treat us like sex objects. Hashtag #TimesUp! Yeah!”

“And who are you, ma’am?”

“I’m Renee! Renee Shimri, I’m the Assistant Assessor here. And I think what Maya said was just plain awesome. And I don’t appreciate you coming here trying to intimidate her.”

“I was being NICE,” I say in frustration. “And frankly, darling, it’s none of YOUR business.”

Renee and Maya look at each other.

“See what I mean?” Maya says. “Darling? Really? In the year 2018, Zander?”

“Darling is not a swear word!”

“Just go, Zander!” Renee says, proud of her girl-power moment.

“Whatever. I did the ADULT thing, Maya.”

“You did what was good for you. What guys like you always do.”

I shake my head and start walking away, still occasionally glancing back at those two troublemakers.

As I finally exit the building, still listening to their girlish giggles, I can’t help but think I’ve been played! Maya sure as hell got my attention by being a little brat…and the first time I met her, I hardly even noticed she was alive.

Maybe that’s been her plan all along. Play me until I’m completely obsessed with her. Nice strategy, but frankly, it won’t work. I don’t need her. I don’t play the whole hard-to-get game. No woman is hard for me to get, I can have my pick of anybody.

As I drive home in my Jaguar, I can’t help but smirk at the audacity of this girl. Definitely a girl, not a woman. She likes to play mind games. Probably in her twenties, too. Probably thinking she has the whole damned world figured out. That I’m the biggest problem that needs solved, me being a rich asshole who wants to own the whole world. Some idealistic college bullshit. She has no idea who I am.

God, looking at that girl I can’t even imagine she has sex. She looks young…probably some guilt-ridden Catholic school-girl thing. First off, toots, I don’t even DO innocent.

I have nothing to do with your religious world and all that shit about purity. I’m Zander Troy, dammit. I live only by my own morals, my own code. Fuck all your prerequisites and mental gymnastics. I fuck like I pee.

But…

As I grip the steering wheel, I can’t help but feel a rush—a fire raging in my soul. I don’t just want to argue with her, I don’t just want to hate-fuck her. I want to prove something. Or maybe I want to hear more, hear more of her angry thoughts. Why is that? Is she a master manipulator?

Or worse yet…could it be that she’s just spouting off nonsense…but by coincidence she’s hitting a major nerve?

Maybe there’s something in what she said that’s really picking at my ego. Am I a good person? Am I a scoundrel hiding behind charity balls and big donations? Is my soul empty just because I have sex with a few women? Or a few hundred?

What does she want from me? What does a good man do, anyway? Is he celibate until he meets the special girl that moves his heart? I just don’t follow all that.

I know Maya’s whole thing is an act. Catholic school-girl, gimme a break. I don’t buy that and I sell horseshit-speak for a living.

I mean…she looks innocent. But there’s no such thing as an innocent person, not anymore. I remember when I was “innocent”…even back when I was innocent, I wasn’t innocent!

Even as a young man I knew what sex was and I knew I wanted it. Lots of it. I was a virgin technically, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t masturbating three times a day and thinking of fucking every teacher I met.

Dad never really talked about sex to me. Mother was absent from my life. Growing up, you’d think I would have had a complex. And hell, since my dad was Catholic I could well have been a choir boy in real life! But well…Dad had a very odd perspective of love. Yeah, that’s safe to say.

He didn’t talk much about it. But he sure as hell made it clear what a man is supposed to act like.

“Sit down, Zander,” my father said. He had a lot to drink that night and was smoking a cigar. I had been ordered by the maid to attend dinner and wear a suit. My little teenage suit could barely fit my tall, lanky figure. But it hardly mattered…because as soon as I walked in the room, I noticed something in the air changed.

There were two beautiful women sitting at the table, near my father. But they were smiling in what I thought was a very “weird” way, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. These two women were gorgeous, like the Playboy models I saw in the magazines. They were smiling at me in a weird way, not like Mom ever did, not like the maid or the cook ever did.

Like they were my “special friends”. A unique relationship that only I was allowed to have. I was entitled to it, because dad thought I was ready to handle such mature things. Little did I know at the time they were paid for…

“Hi Zander,” one of the girls said. Her name was Kika, she was buxom, golden-haired and had oceanic blue eyes. I could barely tear myself away to look at Marie, another blond with slightly smaller breasts, but still tall, sexy and very attentive to me.

I looked at my father in smiling confusion. I wondered if this was a test…or a business meeting, or even a practical joke? But he didn’t smile back. He just continued making small talk with the girls and making sure I remained the center of attention.

“Zander here is destined for greatness,” he said with a firm nod. “The prince. The heir to the throne. He has a great mind too. That’s what your teacher told me, Zander.”

“Oh…”

“For inventions. Gadgets.” Father nodded proudly. “You actually got that from your grandfather. I was never the outside-the-box thinker. That was his forte. I was always a by-the-book sort of man.”

Kika leaned in and flirted with Dad. “I respect a man of authority.”

I hadn’t really flirted with any girl at that age. But I did know what it was…mainly from late night cable channels that Dad always ensured I had in my room.

But that night, dad wasn’t interested in fulfilling his own needs. As if he had any. By God, the man could order people around left and right. He didn’t need to harass anyone, women threw themselves at him. He had sugar babies everywhere he went. A CEO at one of the Troy consulting firms once told me that my father never once paid for sex…but he paid women to leave.

“Well if there’s one thing my boy needs, it’s a sense of authority,” he said with a smirk. “I don’t want Zander becoming a wimp. Isn’t that right, boy? What do we always talk about? Discipline. That’s what makes business thrive. And coincidentally that’s what a man needs in relationships. A dominant man will never be alone. That’s for damn sure.”

The girls were tickled at the thought and continued staring at me. To the point where it was creepy…then a little nice. Then just kind of insane, like my dick was growing so fast…at a pace I couldn’t even control.

I knew at that moment I was going to lose my virginity that night. Not to one cute virgin girl like I probably deserved…but to two high-priced whores.

“Are you a big boy, Zander?” Kika asked me, curling her long, golden hair, which I stared at in fascination, like I was eying a lava lamp for the first time. “Or do you need some discipline?”

“He’s a boy,” father said. “He needs to be taught discipline. In a way that only women understand.”

Marie stared me down from across the table. She smiled, probably knowing this confused young man’s boner was out of control. She began sucking on a cherry, still eyeing me mercilessly. I had never had a blowjob before or even thought of a girl sucking my penis. Girls actually sucked dicks?!

What can I say…I only had softcore Cinemax back then, not hardcore Internet porn!

But I instantly knew what she was telling me. That she was going to pleasure me. Teach me. Teach me how to handle the intensity of touch, how to control myself. Then, how to let go. But always, ALWAYS, in control.

“Well then,” father said, standing up and taking another puff of a cigar. “Looks like I ought to be getting to bed. But Zander here is going to sleep in tomorrow. Zander, you don’t mind if these two lovely ladies spend the night, do you?”

“We’ll be quiet,” Kika teased.

“We’ll TRY to be quiet,” Marie said.

I nervously shook my head no. Then clarified. “Sure, uh…they can, uh…stay in my room. And I can sleep on the couch or whatever, you know, whatever!”

The girls laughed.

Dad only smirked and then left the room.

I can hardly describe what happened that night, let alone remember in great detail. When you’re that young, you don’t recall thoughts and sensations of that moment. But the images and the sounds stay with you, even years later.

I still remember some of the awkward beginnings. That it took me hours to learn that a man ought to seduce a woman. The girls were obviously given very clear instructions. Don’t give me anything unless I ask for it.

So we sat around my bedroom for what seemed like hours, chatting about nothing, and in pained silence as the girls continued to suck on fruit and kiss each other in boredom.

They had to coax me a little bit, to get me to claim my dominant sexuality. At first my voice was hesitant. Scratchy. Stuttering. They were very clear about what I was doing wrong.

“I’m just here to talk,” Kika teased. “Unless you can think of something else you want to do, Zander.”

“Well, yeah, maybe!” I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she said, losing her smile.

“Maybe you could…uh…kiss me. Instead of each other.”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Marie asked with feigned confusion.

“I want…you both to kiss me. I want to make love to you.”

“Which—?”

“BOTH,” I corrected, blinking my way through my first Dom talk. “I want you both. I want a threesome with both of you.”

“What a dirty boy!” Kika said. “Just for that, we’re going to have to discipline you.”

“Yes!” Marie said. “Dirty boys get what’s coming to them.”

I was confused…was I doing the “sexy talk” wrong? I thought. I hadn’t any experience in this sort of thing. I thought I was mimicking the soft core porn stars fairly well. But it turns out when the girls said “discipline”, they were serious about training me in matters of love.

When we started fooling around each of them took turns spanking my bare bottom. When they went down on me they made sure to linger around my shaft and gently kiss my erection for what seemed like an eternity. They wouldn’t let me cum.

They wanted to make sure I asked for such a privilege in the right way. They ignored me when I begged. They cock-tortured me with gentle sucks when I joked around. They slapped my shaft around and spit on it when I asked questions.

Finally, I figured it out. I told them I wanted to cum. I told them exactly what I wanted—NO, what I demanded they give me.

“Swallow that dick, you whore!” I belted out. My eyes bulged as tight as my balls.

I was shocked I said that…but they were turned on. They obeyed when I talked down to them. They sucked harder when I commanded them, forcing their delicate lips to take my full erection into their mouths.

I came three times that night. I sort of remember what it was like to release…but more than anything, I just remember the pretty image of me, being surrounded by breasts, by beautiful uncovered breasts all over my bed. The same bed that I grew up in, that I played video games in…now a place of filth, body fluids and juicy tongues.

I can’t even say that my father took any creepy perverted pleasure from the experience. He actually never said a word about it.

The next morning, the girls were gone before I woke up. I never saw them again.

I saw my father eating breakfast in the dining room. I smiled at him…but he didn’t mirror the feeling back. He merely looked at me and sort of raised his brow, suggesting that no words could aptly describe what just happened so why the hell even bother?

“Sit down, boy,” he said, welcoming me to breakfast. “You know, a long time ago, I had an interesting chat with your uncle Walter.”

“Oh…” Now that was a strange shift in conversation.

“Turns out Walter had overheard me and another schoolboy talking about something obscene. You see, my friend and I had been out collecting change and we happened to mention something very distasteful about one of my teacher’s genitalia.”

“Oh…” Talk about not knowing what to say! I stared at him stupidly and nodded in terror.

“It was an absurd comment, not just obscene in nature but insulting to the poor woman of whom we were speaking of. Anyway, Walter overheard that comment and he told my buddy to get a move on already, that it was suppertime. Well, when Walter spoke to me alone, he made it known that he heard the comment.”

“Uh huh?”

“I was nervous and ashamed. So I blamed it all on my buddy. Said it wasn’t my idea to say it.

“Walter didn’t respond in anger. He simply nodded and gave me an even-tempered warning. ‘Boy, the intimacies of a man and a woman is sacred talk. Not the sacred talk of god, you see, but the sacred talk of womankind. No one’s ever going to tell you to be classy, to be discreet. But women ASSUME you will. Because real men don’t tell stories. Juvenile men, boys, and jackasses tell stories.’”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

And we literally never spoke about sex ever again. He knew I was getting lucky. He always had that proud look on his face, as if I was keeping the Troy Stag Reputation alive and well.

But we were men and we never spoke of such things. Maybe that’s why I’ve always LIKED talking about sex. Because even now, just as it was back then, it was a dopamine rush to talk about such juvenile things as tits and asses. The real forbidden fruit was not what I did in those early days, but in admitting to other people what I did. Always in fear, always in red-faced shame. But the jubilance of telling someone, and that man giggling in jealousy, was the real RUSH.

But, by God, I can’t remember a time I was ever innocent.