Ballsy
“I’d like to thank all of you for coming,” the smartly-dressed woman smiled warmly at the several people seated around the board room table, each with a prospectus in front of them. Only one was a man.
“As all of you know, my name is Mariette Chandler. Kristina Bolaenko, legal counsel, is at my right, and Chen Li, financial advisor, is at my left. We’re hoping that after today’s presentation, you’ll agree to invest in this exciting business venture. Based on similar ventures, the returns promise to be high, very high indeed. And yet, our venture is, dare I say, innovative.
“We have arranged a visit to one of our clubs, for those of you who want to see first-hand what we’re talking about, but before—”
She paused as her assistant arrived with a rolling cart of refreshments.
“Please, everyone—” She gestured with her hand for those in attendance to partake, then waited as the young woman made a quick tour around the table, then took a seat at the back of the room.
“Thank you, Alyssa.”
Alyssa nodded, then took out her tablet, ready for whatever notes she’d need to make.
“At ‘Ballsy’,” Mariette started her power point presentation—an image appeared on the screen behind her, an attractive building with the name emblazoned across the front—”members will be able purchase the opportunity, typically for half an hour or an hour, to kick a man in the groin, or do whatever else they want, whatever else gives them pleasure, and,” she smiled at the room, “I must say that some of our clients have been rather imaginative—”
“You can’t do that,” the man spoke up, brimming with self-righteousness. “It’s assault!”
Ah. Mariette had suspected as much. The man was a reporter. No matter. He’d discover that his editor would refuse to print any explicit descriptions. So she just nodded to her colleague. “Kristina, would you … ”
“Certainly,” Kristina said, then turned to the man. “We appreciate your concern,” she smiled at him, “but I assure you that all of our employees will have signed a contract containing the appropriate clauses.”
“But—”
Mariette cut him off by clicking to the next image. “These clips are from our flagship club here in Montreal. Within a year, we hope to have a ‘Ballsy’ in every major city. Within five years … who knows?” She smiled.
The screen showed a man with his arms raised and tied to a crossbar over his head, his legs spread and shackled to the floor, his genitals exposed, and already bruised and misshapen. A narrow foot shot out from off-screen.
The man present gagged and rushed to the wastebasket by the door.
“I supposed it’s an acquired taste,” Mariette said and smiled at the room.
The man in the video grinned, then panted, “Kick me again.”
The next clip showed a man on all fours, a corkscrew hanging from his bloodied rectum.
Halfway back to his chair by then, the man quickly turned around.
During the next clip, he made it all the way back to his chair, staggering slightly and wiping his mouth with a tissue. He glanced at the screen, then stared at Mariette. “That one looks drugged,” he accused.
“Oh, we don’t allow drugs on the premises. That would be illegal,” she laughed lightly. “And what our employees do on their off-time is surely none of our business.”
A few more clips played.
“You won’t be able to find enough men—”
“Our data suggests otherwise. As you know, unemployment among young men is increasing every year. We provide jobs. At well above minimum wage. Most of our men make more money in a day with us than they would in a week at a call center.”
“But,” one of the women spoke up, “I’m not sure I’d want my son to …”
“Oh, no, your son will surely have other options. We’re not here to recruit!” She laughed again.
When the opening image returned to the screen, Mariette began the next part of her presentation. “As we develop the brick-and-mortar,” she smiled with excitement, “we will also develop the virtual. ‘Ballsy’ will be online. Chen?”
“Thank you, Mariette,” Chen took the hand-off gracefully. “Adding the virtual will be virtually without cost,” she smiled at her wordplay, “as we will simply record the live sessions and post them online.”
“With the participants’ contractual agreement, of course,” Kristina added, smiling at the man.
“At the same time,” Chen continued, “it will be immensely profitable. We already have advertisers clamouring to be a part of this.”
“And we have discussed off-products,” Mariette inserted smoothly, as the image on the screen changed, “posters, calendars, magazines— Imagine seeing ‘Ballsy’ images on buses and bus shelters, in your corner store’s magazine rack, perhaps even in your kids’ teachers’ lounge …”
The man was horrified. “But— You can’t do that!”
“But we can. Do that,” Kristina said. “Precedent has been set. Our business, and all of its services and products, would be protected by freedom of speech.”
“How is that,” he nodded to the image currently on the screen, “speech?”
Kristina shrugged, then continued. “Traditionally, arguments to prohibit have been rejected, replaced with arguments for equal access. Well, here we are!” She swept her open hands around the room, then behind her to the screen, where the video clips taken at the club had resumed.
“But some of them are just boys!”
“All over-age, I assure you,” Kristina said smoothly.
Mariette didn’t say that the younger, the better. The more pliable. She didn’t say that none of them lasted very long. Many, sadly, just lost their je ne sais quoi and had to be let go.
What she did say was, “At the moment, this may seem … offensive to some, but in a few years … ”
“Indeed,” Kristina said. “We anticipate that copycat franchises will develop, but,” she assured the room, “we will fiercely protect our brand and strive to make ‘Ballsy’ everyone’s first choice.”
“Truthfully,” Mariette said, “we welcome competition. Such growth would actually be to our advantage, as it would mean that such clubs have become commonplace, that the provision and use of such a service, has become normalized. Imagine a world in which there’s a ‘Ballsy’ wherever you go!”
