Sometimes, when I get really high, I kind of think I'm psychic. When Nate Jacobs was eleven years old, he found his dad's porn collection. His dad, Cal, was obsessive. His mom always said that's who he got it from. Then he quickly realized that the colored cases and placement were no accident. It was an elaborate code, one to ensure that no one fucked with his shit.
'I have a very pretty dick— do you wanna see it?"
'What would you like to be called? Mister? Master? Daddy?"
"You, you can call me daddy."
Every video was basically the same. They'd drink, make small talk.. and then his dad would fuck the shit out of some...
"Fucking whore— fucking slut."
~
By the age of twelve, he had adopted a rigid diet and work-out schedule. Within a year, his body fat dropped from 23%, to 6%. He joined the football team as a freshman and quickly excelled. By the year's end, he was not only the starting quarterback, but also the team captain.
"Keep it together Nate, stay focused."
He loved the crowds, the pats on the back, the cheers, the feeling of winning. But he fucking hated being in the locker room. He hated how casual his teammates were about being naked... how they'd talk to him with their dicks hanging out. He made a concerted effort to always maintain eye contact during exchanges. But every now and then he would forget, and catch a glimpse of someone's penis.
His older brother Aaron was a fuck-up. He could tell his dad didn't like Aaron, he didn't think he had guts or brains or half a fucking clue, and Nate agreed. He didn't talk to his dad that much, but they didn't need to. They had a good relationship.
He didn't like his mother either. She was weak, and a push-over— plus, she didn't take care of herself.
He made a long mental checklist of the things he liked and disliked about women. He liked tennis skirts, and jean cut-offs, but, not the kind so short where you could see the pockets. He liked ballet flats and heels— he hated sneakers, and dress shoes, but was fine with sandals, as long as they were worn with a fresh pedicure. He liked thigh gaps, hated cankles. He liked tan lines, long necks, slender shoulders. He liked good posture, and fruit-scented body mist. He liked full lips, and small noses. He liked chokers, but the lacy ones with flower cut-outs or delicate patterns. He hated girls who sat like boys, talked like boys, acted like boys— but there was nothing, on planet earth, that he hated more than body hair. That's one of the first things he noticed about Maddy— she was basically hairless.
He'd walk her home from school everyday, meaning that Sofia saw him everyday as well— it made him feel good that he was there to protect her. He knew the world was full of men who wanted to rape Maddy. Men who would hang out of the windows of their car and scream obscenities to her. College guys who wouldn't think twice about drugging her. Lonely guys who'd spot her at the mall. Men who'd rape her, torture her, and sell her into sexual slavery. He didn't even like to think about it. He did however, like to think about the things he would do to protect her.
"If anyone ever tries to hurt you, I'd kill them."
"You're like, the sweetest guy ever."
He also liked that Maddy was 'a virgin', that no guy has ever put his penis in her. Again, it wasn't the truth truth.
"You're a virgin?"
"Yeah."
"Like, fully?"
"Yeah.."
