Chapter 1

I posted an article in 2013, that went viral and was possibly the reason why our site leapfrogged in popularity. It was an entry that ironically used very little of my writing skills - this post was more of a collage. “Girls who got fat and cut their SMV in half” rocked the web for about a month. It drove so much traffic that we were able to not only pay off our Christmas expenditures but also the bulk of our business debts.

The reactions we got for that entry - both good and bad - confirmed that the topic was in high demand and I was the de facto expert on the subject. The user forums adjacent to our blog responded with intrigue and led me to do more research. The rabbit hole was deep and disturbing… but also alluring.

A bulk of the photos were sourced from a fetish site that specializes in this thing called f--, so I looked it up, gagged, and looked some more. After a pow-wow with my writing partners, we made sequels to that first article, and it drew more traffic. However, the peculiarity of this concept never faded despite more exposure to it in ensuing uploads. The whole thing became an odd fixation that I could not shake.

“They’re just freaks,” my right hand man Russell told me. “Just think of all the rational shit we adhere to and flip it. They believe in the opposite of reality”. Blacks have a way of breaking things down with such reassurance and he was no exception, even if he was half-Jewish.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “There’s something a bit more complicated at work here.”

My other friend, Flint chimed in. “You’re doing it again.”

To him, I said, “No, no. It’s just-”

He cut me off. “You sound like you need a shrink,” he said. Flint was too cool to be a ginger. “Or like you’d volunteer to be someone else’s shrink. And I don’t know which is worse.”

He had a point that I acknowledged. “I’m not saying I want to intervene or save them from themselves, but along the lines of shaming, some sort of more hands-on message can be made.”

“How exactly can you go about making a hands-on message when you can barely wrap your head around their fetish?”

“I was thinking immersive journalism would be the way to go. You know, like that time you went incognito with Occupy Oakland, Russell”.

“Well, that was different. I was keeping a close eye on a family member”, Russell explained. “How the hell else was I gonna make sure she didn’t fall too deep into their cult?”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t a story at first. He just took notes while he was there and uploaded it. And when someone lifted that article to Buzzfeed, it just took on a life of its own,” Flint added.

“Then, there was that date you had with the girl from the escort service,” I said to Flint.

“Corey,” he said while unintentionally smiling from the near embarrassment, “that was research on a perspective that was crucial to game”.

Game was one of the major pillars on which we published. The others being health, politics and finances. Pick up artistry as a central stand-alone subject for a site, slowed in momentum but it was still vital enough for us to use it as one of our pillars. And that made me think of our regular contributor Drago, an eastern European PUA.

“Remember when Drago got some tail from that bodybuilder chick a couple years ago? He sent in a blog post about it. And we ran it.”

“Hey man, that was kind of a rough patch content-wise,” Flint admitted. “Umm, we were desperate for new articles..?”

Russell bailed him out “Me and Drago go way back. I wanted the guy to feel comfortable contributing with us on the regular and having a fourth writer to post was completely necessary.”

“But he still immersed himself in a subculture he didn’t fully understand, wrote about it and we ran with it. Above all, it didn’t seem to do much for the readers or the advertisers.”

“At least it was fun.”

“Who says this wouldn’t be?”

“So, that brings us back to square one,” Russell said. “How exactly do you plan on making a hands-on message when you barely understand their fetish?”

“Some of the photos I found came from a social media site called RedCouch. I’m thinking I can join, ingratiate myself with some of the chicks there and maybe set up a face-to-face encounter.”

Russell and Flint stared at one another for a bit. Russell took a long sip of cognac, then Flint took a long sip of whiskey.

“Fuck it!” Russell said. “It’s your dick!”

“It better be a damn good article.” Flint said.

“Perhaps even a series of articles.” I told them.

Flint replied. “That’ll take more liquor”.