Scott steeples his fingers, giving this due thought. He nods and purses his lips, then he hefts himself out of his chair, drawing himself up to his full height. The audience gasps again, lets out a titter of anticipation, as if he is going to tear this poor kid a new one.
“If you are broken down, what do you do?” He strolls to the front of the stage, looks down into the audience, directly at where the young man would be, although he’s blinded again by the front lights.
“Uh, you get up,” the kid says. Another rippling titter.
“And whose responsibility is that?”
“Mine. Always mine.”
“It’s yours. But is there another culpability here?”
“Uh.”
“Who is culpable for breaking men down, for undermining you and making you feel this way, for bringing out the rage and the chaos?”
“Society? Uh.”
“Don’t you deserve more?”
“Women, I mean. Women and society.”
“What is your name, young man?”
“Um.”
“Um isn’t a name.” The crowd roars, good-naturedly.
“Kyle. Kyle Cesternino. Sir. Uh. Dr. Parker.”
“Aren’t you worthy, Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m worthy,” he stammers.
“Of what?”
“Of love.”
“Yes. You are worthy! Of being loved and loving. A real person, not those revolting living fleshlights. You are worthy, Kyle Cesternino, of a good woman who will stand at your side, who will support you and care for you and love you.”
“But—”
“But what, Kyle?”
“But where do I find someone? I don’t know. I’ve tried, I—”
“My heart breaks for you. Goddamn, but my heart really breaks, for you, and for all of us. For how this society has twisted us up, for how it makes you feel worthless and unworthy and lets you think that you should settle for a . . . a repulsive meatbag or a sex robot.” He lion-prowls across the stage, lowering his voice, conspiratorial. “Or a prostitute who doesn’t care about you, the very personification of dark chaos energy, using your real human needs for love and intimacy against you, to devolve you to your basest self, for what, for money? Is that how you want to live? Is that all you think you’re worthy of?”
“No, but—”
“I want to tell you one thing, Kyle Cesternino. One thing. Are you ready to hear it?”
“Yes?”
“Do not settle. Never fucking settle.”
6
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A DirtyHarry.tv Exclusive
Sexanaut Files: I Fucked an Organogrow So You Wouldn’t Have To
By Annie Guedes
Organogrows are not people. Keep telling yourself this, because god knows everyone else will. Yes, they’re alive, but only in the way a sea urchin is alive, or one of those headless chickmeats in the lab farms, except instead of growing extra drumsticks and juicy breasts, organogrows are live-flesh incubation units to grow organs for transplant to humans.