Page 107 of Good Vibes Only
Even a few of the single guys—who always used to gloat to the married guys howamazingit is being single andcrushin’ pusswhen and wherever they want—have started to feel like they’re missing out by not having a girlfriend. I know this because Dakota told me; apparently, spirits are low among the bachelors.
McKayla snickered when I relayed that bit of news to her. “Well,good. Maybe they’ll finally stop being fuckboys and settle down with somebody, and you guys can win a Cup?”
Speaking of Dakota, my best friend came through the BarDown crowd to greet us, wearing a suit with no tie and a shit-eating grin. “What’s up, Showstopp—whoops, I mean, Showtime?”
I stealthily jabbed his ribs. “Not in front of my parents, please.”
He chuckled and lowered his voice. “You think they don’t know?”
“If theydo, they haven’t said a thing.”
You’ve probably already guessed by now, but the favor McKayla asked me for a few months back was if I’d be open to getting my dick molded professionally, so she could sell The Showstopper for real.
I was stunned when she asked. Not because I was offended by the idea or anything—I didn’t have any problems with it at all, as long as it didn’t hurt my career—I just never considered that was even a possibility.
But as it turned out, McKayla had made a contact at a toy conference in Dallas. This guy owned a silicone factory and had pioneered a triple-silicone casting process he called “TruFlesh,” which created ultra-realistic looking and feeling dildos. (Yup, I’m pretty much an expert in dildo construction now … words I never thought I’d say.)
The factory owner was looking for potential customers to create custom molds so they could sell their own product. Apparently, ever since McKayla met him, that idea had been kicking around in her head. But she’d always thought it was a pipedream because the buy-in was high, and besides, she had no idea who or what the mold should come from.
When she’d told me that, I gasped, pretending to be mortally injured. “Do you even like me? Or were you just looking for a dick model this whole time?”
“Oh, stop it!” she’d said, laughing.
Of course, I happily agreed. I’d do anything to help McKayla out—especially after she’d given so much of her time to help out with BarDown.
The molding process itself, I gotta say, was pretty bizarre. I mean, there’s no sugarcoating what I had to do: I had to get diamond-fuckin’ hard, andstaythat way, with my dick shoved in a molding box for ten minutes. All while a middle-aged dildo factory owner hovered nearby to supervise the whole thing.
Thankfully, I had McKayla by my side to support me and help inspire me to stay erect. And yeah, it was pretty awkward—I was standing there, making out with McKayla, my hands beneath her top squeezing her boobs, while my dick sat in a box filled with warm and gooey molding material—but it was funny and sweet and even kinda hot, all at the same time.
Luckily, the factory guy had done and seen this a thousand times before; the fact that he wasn’t awkward about it made us a lot more comfortable. I think the most his mask slipped was when he remarked with a wink, “That’s going to make one hell of a toy”—and that was only after we were already done and my clothes were back on.
A couple weeks later, McKayla got a package at her shop. She waited until we got together that night to open it. She shredded the box open and fished the toy out of a pile of packing peanuts. She gasped and cooed.
“Feel this,” she gushed, thrusting an exact replica of my dick into my hands.
I thought our little homemade one was good. But this one?
“Whoa,” was all I could say.
“How’s it feel?!”
“Like I’m holding my own cock,” I murmured. “The only difference is, this one isn’t attached to my body.”
McKayla began to dance around the room, clapping her hands in a fit of excitement. “Brett! We are gonna sellsomany of these!” she exclaimed, but her business instincts quickly took over a moment later. “Now I just have to come up with a good name for it.”
“Wait, what’s wrong with Showstopper?” I asked.
“Oh, no. We can’t. Don’t get me wrong; I love that name. But we can’t call it that, Brett.”
“Why not?” I asked with a shrug.
“Because you’re Showtime?And all of a sudden, your new girlfriend, who happens to own an adult boutique, starts selling her very own dildo called Showstopper?”
“Yup,” I said, a grin plastered on my face.
She looked at me like I was nuts. “What are you thinking, Brett?”
“You know my favorite part of the review you wrote? The backstory you created, where these toy reps were hinting that the toy was molded on a famous actor or athlete’s dick.”
