Yacht Girl

By Ashley Bradley

A former child star is sick and needs a kidney. She obtains the kidney through ill-gotten means and is subsequently dragged on social media for being a kidney thief. Various other hijinks ensue pre and post this defining event.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Bradley
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223180975

Book preview

Word had gotten around that Chloe didn’t particularly care for anal.

"That’s like, the main hole.."

Chloe was staring into the hard, grey face of an Instagram bussy model named Arson McConaughey as he casually sucked from a Doritos-flavored vape. His dead, colorless eyes looked down upon her with no thoughts to support them.

Pushing hole is how I got my career, he vaped. And by career he meant posing inbredly in weird photos online, advertising erectile dysfunction tablets and kombucha-enhanced male pattern baldness sprays.

Chloe didn’t rate him as a human being. Just to be doing something, pass the time, she said, I’m quite precious about my entrance - it’s spiritually protected. That was a lie. Chloe had done anal before - she didn’t like it. It was weird enough to push shit out of it, let alone jam something up it. And it’s not like anyone was gifting her a prolific bussy modeling career if she bent down and opened wide. Anal benefitted the boys universally way more than it did the girls.

Most especially in L.A., where she’d been, not exactly existing, but observing for the past three weeks or so. At present, she was standing in the home of some flamingly gay, black-eyed record exec everyone called Frankentomb Goldstein and Chloe thought it must be his real name as it wasn’t funny enough to be a joke or pet name. And he looked like what a Frankentomb would be if it were a thing. He had one of those large, vaguely deformed-seeming, inhuman-ass Easter Island heads, and small, glistening, pebble-like brown teeth. And his laughter was something that did not seem like it was coming from his body, but from the deep, depths of somewhere that predated mankind. If she were to put a name to what she’d witnessed, Frankentomb fit exclusively.

She didn’t know the man, though - she was only presently standing in his home because she’d arrived as a plus-one to his supplier, Rome Sims.

Chloe had met Rome her second day arriving in California. A few weeks before that, she’d been kicked out of college after having already been placed on academic probation for poor performance. She’d promised, during her probationary period, that she would get it together. But there was actually no one to promise anything to, no one who would really care, because Chloe herself did not, never did. She only had her grandmother, who’d poopooed the idea of college. Her grandmother didn’t have to work during her prime labor years because she’d been married to Frank and he paid all the bills with his work as an electrician. Then he got AIDS from, according to her grandmother, sitting one time on a public park toilet seat. After Frank croaked, that’s when Chloe’s grandmother finally had to get a job. She was 63. It was hard for her to even find employment. Eventually she got a job greeting people at a local supermarket, which she complained about, saying it was a hobby for retards.

Chloe had thought it was a terrible job for her grandmother. She was unlikable and off-putting. At least the retards she usually saw in the role had amiable, inviting demeanors. Chloe’s grandmother had a hunchback and said slurs in a man’s voice if you greeted her with a good morning. She was awful, and Chloe had thought that the retards must’ve found a better gig if they were offering such a role to the likes of her grandmother. Things either were going terribly in the world, or going great, depending on which way you wanted to look at it, and who was doing the looking.

Chloe’s grandmother only allowed room for her own pain and struggles. She’d do stuff like complain how hard it was in the world, how everything worked against her, how shitty it was to work, pay taxes for services she had no access to and wars she never signed off on, and she’d be going on in that manner, the whole time only acknowledging her strife, no one else’s. It was only Chloe’s grandmother who had to put up with all the shit, and to hell with everyone else.

Chloe never told the old crone anything about herself or what she had going on. She hadn’t even wanted to mention she’d gotten accepted into college, but she needed her to sign off on financial aid papers, which to her wizened credit, she did without even glancing at what she was signing. Chloe had heard worse horror stories from her peers at school. Not friends, but kids she’d talk to in crumbling classrooms while teacher’s slept at their desks and ignored them. Kids whose parents wouldn’t help with their financial aid papers. Would deny giving them the info they needed, didn’t want the kids to go to college or do anything they couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Didn’t want to give their kids anything they never got. Chloe’s grandmother was terrible, but her self-absorbed nature benefitted Chloe to a degree. She didn’t give a damn what the girl was ever up to and never questioned or checked in on her. She did the bare minimum: fed her, made sure she had some scraps for clothes, kept heat on occasionally in the home. But Chloe was basically like a cactus to her.                          

Chloe could always bring home papers for school that needed to be signed and slip them under her grandmother’s gnarled hand while she sat on her barcalounger in the living room watching daytime soaps and Family Fued. Her grandmother would sign any paper without even looking. Sometimes she’d grunt while doing it and that was about as much as she’d receive by way of acknowledgement.

Chloe knew from the stories her peers told with no shame or sense of how much contempt God held for them, that things could be worse. It didn’t occur to her to care that no one cared about her. Her grandmother was grumpy and her vibes were way off, but at least she wasn’t being beaten or starved. She wasn’t getting molested or yelled at for having diarrhea or basic emotional needs. She was essentially just totally ignored in what Chloe felt like was a primarily harmless manner, comparatively speaking.

Chloe wasn’t the old bat’s kid. Chloe’d been dumped on her after her mother killed herself and her father returned to the streets. It was either grandmother, or foster care. Chloe thought the people from the state tried to push propaganda onto her grandmother. This is your granddaughter; this is family. Chloe was sure that type of speech would have made little to no impression on her grandmother. More than likely she kind of just grunted involuntarily when she was told her granddaughter had been abandoned and decided not to make a fuss about them leaving Chloe at her doorstep because what real difference would it make. It’d take more energy to get rid of the girl than to just let her live in that old room with Frank’s costumes and the boxes of gauze he got from that estate sale. As long as the girl didn’t make any noise - and Chloe never made any noise.

Chloe didn’t know why she went away to school. It just seemed like something you do, something to do. Why not? She never thought about getting a job. She wondered if she’d taken on her grandmother’s position concerning employment. It sucked to work. She never thought about doing that.

But it’s not like she was any more interested in school. She thought it’d be like high school, easy. She never studied in high school, but received good marks. She spent the majority of her time totally zoned out, in her own world, but she instinctively knew the occasional times she needed to zone back in, perk up on the necessary information. That worked for her - four years, and no grade lower than a B.

College wasn’t necessarily hard, work-wise - it was more the structure was different. It was easier to be a zombie in high school. She floated through the halls like a ghost and was considered an exceptional student. In college you couldn’t float. Or she wasn’t able to make it work. Having to make it work defeated the purpose.

She was put on academic probation after her first semester. Promised her advisor she’d get it together. But her advisor was like the teacher from Charlie Brown. Just kind of whomp whomping and Chloe never even saw a face when she was being talked at. It was like something from a dream. And the kind of dream that immediately begins dissolving as soon as you wake up into reality. It was like nothing was happening.

There was no one around to care about what she had going on, no one to prove anything to or impress. So she just didn’t.

She went back home after her first year and kind of just sat in her room, with all the costumes and boxes of gauze still around at her feet, and she did nothing. Her grandmother said once to her that Chloe needed to get a job. If I gotsta go to work waving like some mongoloid at mongrels, then you gots to, too!.

She never indicated she knew Chloe was no longer at school. Chloe hadn’t mentioned it. But perhaps she’d picked up on it; seen the girl sitting in her room staring off into nothing, and deduced the college era had come to a close. Time to join the real world and get a fucking job.

Chloe wasn’t going to do that. She thought about becoming a sugar baby. She’d made one friend in college, a mentally ill wasian named Ursula she’d met in Psych 101. Ursula dreamed of becoming a therapist. Either that, or she wanted to become a regular guest judge on RuPaul’s Drag Race. ("I don’t like drag queens or trannies, as like, a real world concept, but on TV it’s fine. They’re like clowns for our amusement, but it’s only fine at a distance. Like, if I saw Big Bird irl at, like, Starbucks, I would scream and call the police, you know? But on TV it’s okay. Safe at a distance, behind a screen, it’s Alright.")

Chloe thought she was cool, or she thought it was funny how Ursula seemed to lack total self-awareness.

Ursula was criminally ugly. Had a huge, weird jaw, and all her facial features were coalesced in a small little clump in the middle of her gigantic face. Chloe wondered if she had a deformity or maybe that’s just how wasians looked.

Chloe and Ursula had a standing lunch appointment. They totally stopped going to class and just decided to go to lunch during that hour instead.

During this hour, Ursula would regale Chloe of her prostitution whore tales.

Ursula said her mom was a mail order bride. Like, straight up out of a movie. Straight up my dad logged onto AOL, joined a mail-order bride chatroom, and ordered my mom from a pimp who moderated the room. Like, they talk about it at Thanksgiving, like at the table, like it’s a cute romcom or something.

Chloe thought about how she would probably watch that romcom. Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum, maybe. She could see it.

I’m not tryna be about that mail-order bride life, Ursula insisted. "I’m going to have agency as a sugar baby. But all the same, it’s in my blood. But with each generation, we improve upon the prior generation’s work. Right?"

Chloe would just stare. Ursula would speak as if she were seeking approval, validation for the deranged things she would talk about, but Chloe knew better. Chloe didn’t think she was being actually seen by Urusula. She was used to this, used to not being actually seen by people. Chloe was basically like a wall Ursula could talk things at, just get the ideas out; workshop. She only preferred Chloe to an actual wall because of the skinsuit aspect. The public pantomime of companionship, and Ursula knew how it looked. She had a friend. She was fitting in. If not for Chloe, there’d be no one to make it look like she wasn’t a total lunatic, loose and untethered, unleashed like some wild beast out in polite society.

Chloe enjoyed her role as a functionless sex doll for Ursula. A chat doll. She liked to just sit there and have insane things said to her. She barely had to nod. Ursula would just chatter on and on. Sometimes, Chloe thought: I don’t think she knows my name.

Ursula made it seem like it was no sweat, being a sex worker. The only sweat came from the saggy balls of her johns. Otherwise, it was in out, in out. A tale as old as time.

No need to make it more complicated than it is. Everyone fucks. Only, I’m not doing it for free. She’d said this and laughed really hard. She had a weird internal situation to her mouth. Small mouth hole; gummy smile; tiny, pointy teeth. She looked like a monster. Chloe thought, if she can do it, anyone can. Then she’d try to erase that thought, override it. It’s not like you needed to be attractive to get some ogre to fuck you. It wasn’t some feat. And the johns more than likely were paying for the seediness aspect, more than anything. It’d kind of mar the experience if the hole was attached to something easy to look at, pleasing to the eyes and spirit, something truly beautiful. It’d take them out of it, maybe they’d feel uncomfortable, feel like they’d ought to have some respect, and that wasn’t going to happen, that would defeat the point.

Chloe’d asked Ursula where the sugar baby part came in. It sounded like she was just meeting men in gross motels and getting fucked in the ass.

"Yeah, well, like, I’m young. I’m like, their daughters’ age!"

Chloe thought differently of correcting Ursula. She had the look that she’d bite if she were provoked. Anyway, Chloe’s role was mostly to just sit there and stare blankly. Interjections weren’t welcome. This was made evident when Ursula glared at Chloe with her equally small and large beady eyes, from the hidden folds that attempted to be sockets on her face, following Chloe saying that thing about how she got fucked in the ass in seedy motels.

Ursula kept glaring and said at last to Chloe, I’ll show you and Chloe thought then: She will kill me.

But it was worse, maybe, in that Ursula wanted to take Chloe along on one of her little prostitution excursions.

Like, a ride-along, like how cops do, Ursula said, perking up. Actually, the guy I’m meeting tonight is a cop.

Chloe didn’t want to go on a ride along with Ursula. Though she was intrigued, she assumed this was an attempt to lure her into helping out. Chloe wouldn’t mind that entirely, only she was confident Ursula would not think to split her pay if Chloe did. Ursula would try to say it was training, so no pay, even though, typically, training is paid. Something about Ursula suggested she did not know this information, but that even if she did, she’d go out of her way to ignore it.

Chloe wasn’t interested so much that she’d forgo pay. And she didn’t want to get into it with Ursula, because of her very real fear that Ursula would lunge her large head across the table and sink her small fangs into the thin meat of Chloe’s arm and then Chloe would end up contracting some rare, weird, old timey disease called something unhelpful and ominous like the horrors.

Ursula had asked, Are you a virgin?. She was very interested in Chloe’s answer.

Chloe wasn’t a virgin. She lost her virginity at a house party she went to in high school. She hadn’t been invited, she had no friends in school. She had people she talked to, but she wasn’t interesting enough to get invited anywhere, not even to Sweet Sixteens, and everyone was invited to those, even the scoliosis and scalp psoriasis kids.

Chloe at the time had a crush on this guy she’d met from Math Club, Allen Paulson. He was one of those white guys who looked vaguely ethnic but you can’t tell what ethnicity. He was very tall and pale, like some nonhuman entity that watches over and haunts the forests. He had weird hair, not normally white people hair. It was scratchy-looking and copper-colored and wiry. Chloe thought he was secretly biracial or a quadroon. She had that type of family on her mom’s side. People who looked white but they were only white in appearance. Allen didn’t have to explain anything. He was on the basketball team. Plus, Chloe went to one of those schools where people tried to act all PC and woke all the time, so even if someone suspected you of being secretly black, or worse, secretly hispanic, they weren’t gonna say shit. They would talk about it maybe behind your back, but only in a complimentary but still racist way, saying shit like, No wonder he’s on the basketball team!

But if Allen was embarrassed about whatever weirdo shit he had going on genetics-wise, he did not show it. He was more openly embarrassed about being math-smart, and being involved in geeky extracurricular activities. His only okay thing was being on the basketball team. But it was totally something different to be on student government, and especially to be voluntarily signed up to math club. Mostly only the disabled kids and vehemently antisocial Asians did math club. It was one of the few clubs openly accessible to them. Because Chloe’s school was PC, no one said anything out loud, they weren’t going to say anything, but they could emit a vibe, send out the vibrations, sonically push out the Math Club is Not Cool Bro agenda.

Allen told Chloe his mom told him he had to join a lot of clubs to be able to put on his applications to boost his chances of getting into a good school. He said, with a straight face, "It’s different for white guys now. We have to be like, diverse now or whatever."

Allen seemed mentally challenged to Chloe and she thought, This would be the perfect guy to lose my virginity to. Chloe had joined Math Club with the express purpose of finding some wheelchair freak or socially-crippled Asian to choose as her first sexual partner. She had wanted some mangled freak to work on, work out the kinks, and then she’d move on to someone normal - that was the idea.

Allen wasn’t in a wheelchair, but he was suspiciously-raced, and tall in a way that seemed like a deformity, so she decided he was a perfect candidate.

Chloe only arbitrarily decided to lose her virginity. At the time, it did not seem random. It was her junior year and she had some fleeting thought that she didn’t want to graduate before having sex. It didn’t mean anything and she wasn’t especially passionate about the idea, but it became a recurring thought. It was like that time she got obsessed with Frosted Flakes. She saw someone eating it on a TV show or something and it didn’t mean anything at the time, but then a few days later she was eating only Frosted Flakes for every meal and this was just her thing for like two months til she got tired of it and then went back to mostly only eating bologna sandwiches with ketchup and she never thought about Frosted Flakes again.

It was like that exactly. Allen had told her about some party he was going to. He would always talk to her like they were two besties, two best gal pals, but only in math club. Chloe could tell Allen was afraid of the other kids in the club. He said he had a cousin with cystic fibrosis and he never went to his house because it made him uncomfy.

Chloe had said, to troll, What about your aunt? Doesn’t that upset her?

Fuck my aunt! Allen had said with wide frantic eyes, and some spit from his weirdly plump lips had gotten into Chloe’s eyes and it was then she was certain of her goal: she was going to take his member into her womb.

"She’s a bitch