Kept_Male has a beautiful house. He built it himself after researching plans for Falling Water, copying a blueprint he found online, spending half his paycheck every month as he bought concrete, steel, and wood. He keeps his property in spring all year round, and the hues from the trees that circle the property bounce off the waterfall it’s built on, filling the house with soft green light. PhoneBaby21 loves his home, and for a good while now has been dropping little hints about moving in, says she’s tired of her half-built condo, but for a good while now Kept_Male has insisted he needs more time to think it over. He loves PhoneBaby21. They met last year, when a mutual friend of theirs was DJing a techno set at KruzKontrol, where the women all have long, thick thighs and miniature waists, and most of them have enormous eyes that blink slowly, their full lips pulling back over brilliantly white teeth. Kept_Male is painfully shy, preferring to keep to the corners of the clubs and sex dungeons, watching and waiting for someone to notice him. Mostly he hoped they wouldn’t.

But PhoneBaby21 had sauntered up to him, pushing one froth-blonde ponytail over her shoulder, hey, I haven’t seen you before. The DJ was playing German house music, and there was a giant silver helium face floating up near the ceiling. I haven’t learned to dance yet, sorry. This usually turned women away, a shrug, an eyeroll, but PhoneBaby21 extended one of her long arms, her skin glowing pink in overhead lights. They’d moved around each other in tight little circles, Kept_Male pushing back his hair from his eyes, wow you’re really good at this, sorry I suck. PhoneBaby21 told him about her new home, a split-level condo she was building, adding to it whenever she could afford to. For now, I sleep in the bathtub, but it’s not that bad. Kept_Male loved Phonebaby21 for her optimism. He’d gone home with her that night, to her half-built condo, which was really just one poorly built room, construction materials scattered everywhere. He could see people having sex in one of PhoneBaby’s unfinished rooms, a woman pushed up against a wall, a man leaning and thrusting, his hands planted on either side of her face. Happens all the time, PhoneBaby21 had turned to him, smiling. People just assume it’s abandoned. Kept_Male liked her for how little she cared. They didn’t have sex, but just sat in the tub, cross-legged, facing one another, watching each other’s mouths open and close, their fingers brushing each other’s hair, PhoneBaby’s perfect face so near his own. Are you really twenty-one? It excited him to be with someone so young, so shining and happy. A lady never tells her age, PhoneBaby21 had said, her big green eyes creasing slowly at the corners. They made plans to swim in the Black Sea and fly to erotic night clubs, where they would dance naked with strangers. I really want a family, PhoneBaby21 had told him. I’ll be your family, he’d held his hands out to her, his heart beating hard in his chest.

Yet soon after Kept_Male and PhoneBaby21 met, she disappeared for two weeks. Kept_Male wandered around her condo and sat in her tub, feeling sick and anxious. He visited KruzKontrol, and debated whether he should put Missing Persons fliers up around the club. He looked up pictures of the Black Sea, wishing he could float in the dark salty water with PhoneBaby21. Towards the end of the second week, he decided it was time to forget about her. He flew to a nude beach, which was password protected. He participated in a lackluster three-way in the sand, a huge blonde man grabbing at his neck, while a silver-skinned woman pawed at his swim trunks. You’re so handsome, the blonde man told him. Do you know PhoneBaby21? Kept_Male asked. The blonde man and silver woman invited him to spend the rest of the evening with them, and Kept_Male agreed, watching the muscles in the blonde man’s ab ripple as he stroked his own penis. We like a quiet guy, the silver woman said, adjusting the straps on her bikini top. Her eyes were wide-set and blue, and she kept staring at Kept_Male. The couple agreed to accompany him to KruzKontrol. The place was packed, with bodies flailing and gyrating against each other, and Kept_Male left the couple to circle the club, walking slowly through bodies with lolling heads and flashing teeth, their arms and legs moving stiffly in time to the music. The blonde man and silver woman were trailing him, caressing his chest and face whenever they got close enough to touch him. What are you looking for, the blonde man asked, and Kept_Male liked how small he himself looked cradled in the blonde man’s arm, which was now circled around him. I think he’s looking for me, PhoneBaby21 said. Kept_Male was flooded with relief and love, but stayed put in the blonde man’s bicep, taking in PhoneBaby’s endless legs and perfect smile. The silver woman admired PhoneBaby’s breasts and platform boots, and they went to the bar to get a drink. I’ve missed you, Kept_Male said, feeling too shy to look directly at PhoneBaby21. I’m glad to hear that, she said, one eyelid sliding down in a wink. Looks like you’ve been busy. And she gestured to the blonde man and silver woman, who were watching them and licking their lips. I miss your bathtub, Kept_Male said, I’ve gone by your condo every day, just to chase off anyone trying to move in. PhoneBaby21 started to cry, and hugged Kept_Male. Her enormous hair fell around them both, and he felt safe there, like they were behind a thick velvet curtain. He was ready to leave the club, to stay the night in PhoneBaby’s unfinished condo, but she liked the blonde and silver couple, and Kept_Male watched as she grinded against the blonde man on the dance floor while the silver woman rode his back like a small child. It was daylight when they opened the door out of the club, a gorgeous pink light glinting against the glass buildings. Let’s go to Kept_Male’s house, PhoneBaby21 said, and the blonde and silver woman asked if they’d like to participate in a foursome. PhoneBaby21 covered her mouth as she giggled, and they hailed a cab, the four of them crammed into the back seat.

Kept_Male’s house was shimmering in the morning light, and the couple complimented his work, running their hands over his stone walls, and pointing out chairs and tables that they’d like to have sex on. PhoneBaby21 cooked them breakfast in the kitchen, and Kept_Male watched her, wishing he could tell the blonde man and silver woman to leave. They told her about the threesome on the beach. It’s cool that you’re so free with yourself, PhoneBaby said, smiling at him with her big teeth. Thank you, he said. The four of them had sex over the kitchen counter, scattering uneaten plates of toast and eggs, PhoneBaby21 spreading her magnificent thighs for the big blonde man. Kept_Male watched her, thinking of the small room in her unfinished condo, wishing he could fall asleep next to her in the tub.

And finally, now, PhoneBaby21 and Kept_Male announce their engagement at KruzKontrol. The blonde man and silver woman, who go by Leena and Claud, are in fact throwing them a lavish party. The space is full of balloons, and fresh flowers are strung from the ceilings, four-foot birds of paradise and clusters of orchids. Claud takes Kept_Male to the bathroom, where he gives him a celebratory blow job. I’m proud of you, Claud says, gently placing Kept_Male’s penis back in his pants. PhoneBaby21 has invited hundreds of friends and they crowd around Kept_Male, hugging him and caressing his face, while PhoneBaby21 dances with Leena and Claud. I’m so excited to start a family, PhoneBaby announces to the crowd, and they cheer and gyrate, holding up their phones to take pictures and videos.

PhoneBaby21 leaves her condo and moves in with Kept_Male. She loves the oak tree that grows straight through Kept_Male’s Falling Water house. She loves the long, low couches and big rectangular windows, where green light cascades through in bright sheets. They talk about setting a date for their wedding, but neither of them cares much about that. All PhoneBaby21 talks about these days is starting a family. She and Leena spend hours scrolling through Adoption Boards and reading through potential children’s profiles. This one sounds good, Leena says, showing them an ad on the Adoption Daily website. Imogen is a healthy three-year-old, with sparse red hair and round chubby cheeks. I’m looking for an incredibly mature couple to call Mom and Dad, her ad reads. No bullshit, no fighting. I want to be cared for twenty-four-seven NO EXCEPTIONS. I am willing to party as long as I’m taken care of. I love to be pampered, so spoil me rotten! I’m vivacious, ornery, and very intelligent! Must be willing and able to discipline me. Send me a message to set up an interview.

I’m nervous, squeals PhoneBaby21. Kept_Male squints at Imogen’s picture. She’s big for a three-year-old, he says.

She’s healthy, PhoneBaby says, pushing him away.

Imogen agrees to meet for an interview. She suggests they talk over drinks at the sculpture museum downtown. I’ll meet you in the back garden, she messages PhoneBaby21. Kept_Male wears his favorite mesh tank top and white shorts. He grows his hair longer, and slicks it back, wanting Imogen to be impressed. PhoneBaby21 wears plastic see-through pants and a neon yellow halter top. She braids her hair and spends hours perfecting her tan. They wind their way through the sculpture garden, too nervous to comment on the cubist nudes, which tower over them, water gently pouring from their mouths and genitals. The grass spreads out like a deep carpet, and the garden has enormous rose bushes that sag with pink and red flowers. They sit under a willow tree and wait. I think that’s her, PhoneBaby21 says, reaching for Kept_Male. Imogen is walking towards them on stumpy toddler legs, and she has a bonnet on over her thinning hair. She sits on the grass in front of them, and PhoneBaby21 rushes to pull a sweater from her bag. Here, little one. I don’t want you to get a rash. Imogen allows herself to be picked up, while Kept_Male spreads the sweater carefully across the grass. Imogen’s face is bigger than it looked in the pictures, and her cheeks are sweaty and misshapen. Kept_Male thinks she’s too tall to be three. You’re precious, PhoneBaby21 coos at her. Thank you, Imogen says, and sucks on her thumb, her small brown eyes watching Kept_Male.

Imogen asks them about their salary, their favorite clubs, restaurants, and museums. I love art, Imogen says, and I really can’t see myself in a family that doesn’t feel the same way. PhoneBaby21 describes Kept_Male’s house, and Imogen shrugs. It sounds nice, but I’d have to see it in person before I make any final decisions. Are you really only twenty-one? She cocks a beady stare at PhoneBaby21, who blushes. No. I’m in my forties. Imogen is pleased to hear this and asks if PhoneBaby is willing to breastfeed. She asks about their sex life, their eating habits, and how often they vacation. I need a big allowance, Imogen says, untying the bonnet. She brushes back the flighty strands of red hair that are sticking to her scalp. PhoneBaby21 tells her about Leena and Claud and shows her a picture of them from the engagement party at KruzKontrol. Do you get jealous? Imogen asks Kept_Male. He smiles at the little baby and pinches her sweaty cheek a little harder than he meant to. No, he says. Imogen, would you like something to drink? Imogen bats her eyes and says she loves orange juice. Kept_Male is relieved to get up, to be moving, and he walks slowly through the sculpture garden to the vending machine. He wishes PhoneBaby21 hadn’t said she was in her forties. He drinks a beer, frothy and warm from sitting in the sun, and watches the sun bounce off the sculptures, their thin fountains of water misting the air around him.

Imogen messages PhoneBaby a week later, and says she’s decided to let them adopt her. PhoneBaby collapses to the floor when she reads the message, and Kept_Male kneels beside her, asking her what’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong, PhoneBaby says, her great green eyes pooling with tears. I’m just so goddamned happy. Kept_Male arranges for Imogen to sleep in a massive bedroom on the second floor. She asks for neutral colors only, and he repaints the walls and buys new sheets. She can only sleep if they’re one hundred percent silk, PhoneBaby tells him.

Imogen agrees to an adoption day party, and they cater the event, inviting the DJ from KruzKontrol to play a set in their living room. The house is crowded, with people posing for pictures on the balconies that jut out over the waterfall, breasts overflowing tight ballgowns and six packs straining the buttons of dress shirts. PhoneBaby has dressed Imogen in a black leather romper, with a large latex bonnet and patent Mary Jane’s. They glide through the party, Imogen smiling, or sucking her thumb, or clasped onto PhoneBaby’s nipple, her enormous breast bouncing free from her slinky gown. You’re glowing, Leena and Claud shriek, bending to kiss Imogen’s bonnet, wrapping them both in a hug. Kept_Male watches as PhoneBaby feeds Imogen caviar, watches as Imogen bats the spoon away, her face red and angry. She begins to scream, and the guests turn, sending PhoneBaby winks and sympathetic smiles and making quiet tsking sounds. I think she wants you, PhoneBaby says to Kept_Male, handing him Imogen, whose bonnet is sitting sidewise on her head, a dark wash of caviar and snot smeared across her cheek. Daddy, wails Imogen, beating his face with her fists. He adjusts her bonnet and wipes her cheek clean with a napkin. I think she wants you to spank her, PhoneBaby says, ushering them to the bathroom. Kept_Male sits Imogen on the sink, watching her enormous face crease and dimple as she screams and screams. You stop this right now, he says, but his voice is weak and scared-sounding. Imogen throws a crystal soap dish at the wall, where it shatters. Kept_Male gently swats her thigh, and she smiles slightly. He turns her over his knee and smacks her on her diaper, harder this time. You’re getting the hang of it, Imogen says, blowing her nose on her bonnet. I’ll need this dry cleaned.

Kept_Male goes to bed early, pulling the blanket up over his head, wishing he could drown out the noise of Imogen’s laughter down below.

I need a strong father figure, Imogen tells them. There’s nothing more disgusting than indecisive parental figures. PhoneBaby glares at Kept_Male. I’m not comfortable hitting babies, he says, watching as Imogen chews on a couch cushion. I’ll destroy this house, Imogen says, her chubby cheeks shaking with rage. You agreed to this. Don’t fuck it up. PhoneBaby scoops her up, gently bouncing her up and down on her hip. Daddy will get the hang of it, she murmurs to Imogen. Just give it a little time. Imogen pouts, her pudgy lips blowing spit bubbles at Kept_Male.

Imogen and PhoneBaby sign Kept_Male up for a class called Assertive Parenting for Father Figures 101. The class is at 11:00PM every Monday night and Kept_Male takes a cab to a lumbering brick building, stubby cigarette butts and Big Gulp cups draining red fluid on the steps. He knocks on the plastic window of the door and a thin man with long black braids and bleached eyebrows opens it. Welcome, comrade! he says, pulling Kept_Male in by the wrist. The other men turn their heads towards Kept_Male when he walks into the room where they are sitting cross-legged in a circle, pink plastic dolls lying at their feet. Welcome!!! Hi Daddy! Ready 2 get 2 work!? The fathers say, saluting and waving, inclining heads and stretching their hands out to him as he walks around the circle. The man with the long braids steps delicately into the center of the circle, pointing to the plastic doll that Kept_Male should sit with. Daddies, welcome to Assertive Parenting for Father Figures! Our families want big, bold authoritarian figures. They want a MAN OF THE HOUSE. Are you? He spins on one foot, slowly pointing at each man. The men stare at their plastic babies or their shoes, shaking their heads. Not yet. The man flips his braids behind his shoulders. But you WILL BE. Men, my name is Randee, and I’ll be walking you through a program designed to teach you how to be the Father Figure of your family’s dreams. Randee hands out a thick stack of paper to each man. The four cornerstones of Fatherhood are Disciplinarian, Provider, Warrior and Lover. The other men in the circle like this. They pound on their chests and grab their cocks, flexing their arms and slicking back their hair. Let’s start with the big D, Randee says, popping his knuckles. Do you think your kids will respect you if all they can see in you is a little baby boy? The men in the group get riled up at this and shake their fists, slapping each other on the back. HELL NO!!! Randee squints his eyes at Kept_Male. Release the boy, he says, crouching in front of him. Kept_Male can see that one of Randee’s eyes is bright yellow, the other one almost a solid black. RELEASE THE BOY AND THE MAN EMERGES! Randee’s nose is pressing into Kept_Male’s, and the other men press in behind Randee, dogpiling Kept_Male, their mouths working frantically as they shout RELEASE THE BOY! RELEASE THE BOY! Kept_Male wonders what it will feel like to release the little baby boy that Randee is talking about. He thinks of a black door opening in his stomach, and a small figure peering out. The baby has massive cheeks and thinning hair swept to the side of its sweaty scalp. It drops to its knees and crawls out through the door, leaving sticky handprints behind. Kept_Male feels cold. The baby is gone, he says to the group of men on top of him.

Kept_Male asks the cab driver to take him to PhoneBaby’s old condo. It’s almost 2AM, and he leans his head against the window, watching the throngs of bodies moving down the sidewalks, the whites of their eyes bright in the headlights, their long arms swinging around another’s shoulder, mouths opening to tell one another I love you, I want to fuck you, I just want someone next to me so please don’t leave. The cab pulls up to PhoneBaby’s place. The streetlights have been busted out, and the condo sits in dark angles. Someone’s spraypainted SLOB MY KNOB on the driveway. Looks like a lot of work, the cab driver says. Kept_Male picks up the broken glass from the streetlight. The exterior courtyard wall is crumbling, and he can see where someone’s taken a sledgehammer to it. Chucks of concrete and rebar litter the living room, and he picks up empty beer bottles, a used condom, a roll of toilet paper. He sits in PhoneBaby’s tub, which has black mold growing between the slabs of a glass brick wall she’s only partially finished. He lays his head against the cool porcelain and watches as dark clouds move across the roofless bathroom. He cries and thinks about Imogen and thinks I hate you. He thinks about Randee and the men and the plastic babies. He thinks about boys and father figures, and he tries to open the little black door in his stomach, but it doesn’t budge. He calls Phone_Baby, and Imogen answers. Who is it? He can hear PhoneBaby in the background. She sounds way older than twenty-one, he thinks. Where are you? Imogen asks. Her voice is slurred. We’ve been drinking, me and mommy. Kept_Male curls up in the bathtub with his cellphone propped between his ear and shoulder. He listens to Imogen and PhoneBaby laughing. He can hear ice jittering in his nice whiskey goblets. He can hear the record player playing Francoise Hardy. He can hear the waterfall, pouring down the side of the rocks, and he thinks of Imogen’s chunky limbs flailing, the water frothing over her lips and eyes, her bonnet floating to the surface.

Kept_Male returns to Falling Water the next morning. The living room rug is stained with mixers and cigarette burns. PhoneBaby and Imogen are in the kitchen, PhoneBaby is gently sponging Imogen’s sticky cheeks with a paper towel. Good morning, Kept_Male says, trying to amplify his voice. He opens the fridge and catches a look pass between Imogen and PhoneBaby—eyebrows raised, lips pursed downwards. Sorry about last night, he says. Men’s group ran late. He fixes a plate of leftovers and takes it to the living room, where he sits down near an empty whiskey bottle. He stretches his arms in front of him and looks at his hands which have very long fingers. He looks out of the windows, out at the dense green light that comes into the house so gently it sometimes makes him cry. He thinks about being a Warrior, about being a Disciplinarian. He thinks about PhoneBaby21 floating in the Dead Sea, with its pocketed salt-ridged shoreline. PhoneBaby and Imogen come into the living room, their eyes sly and quiet. We want to know where you were last night, Imogen says, her voice overloud and angry. Nowhere, Kept_Male says, looking out at the Japanese maples he’d planted four years ago. He thinks he’ll change the seasons at Fallingwater. He’ll bring in a big freeze that will kill off the delicate stems of the maple trees, that will stick to the windows in an unforgiving frost. I love you, he says to PhoneBaby. She smiles at Imogen, who rolls her eyes. We think it would be a good idea if you moved out, Imogen says, puffing out her chest. Her stocky arms are planted at her sides, and her cheeks are still wet and sticky.

Kept_Male does move out. He changes the weather at Fallingwater to winter, even though PhoneBaby begs him not to. Claude and Leena let him move in with them, but he’s exhausted by how often they want to have sex, and how shiny all their red leather furniture is. They have pictures of Imogen on the fridge and mantle place, where her puffy face watches him from an enameled frame while he sleeps on Leena’s pleather sofa. He drives to PhoneBaby’s old condo, and walks through its crumbling walls, shooing away a lackluster orgy. He lays down in the tub and cradles his face in his hands. He doesn’t love PhoneBaby anymore. He thinks about the little door inside his chest, the one that Imogen crawled out of. He tucks his chin in tight and shuts his eyes. There it is: a black door with a shiny brass handle. He wrenches it open.