by M. C. Roth
“Oh, did I ever, but that’s not the point. I owe you a birthday-Easter-Christmas gift this year anyway. I could get you front-row tickets, easy-peasy.” She slurped at her own mug before she sat across from him. “I’ll go with you because you are a great wingman for chicks. If we play our cards right, we might both get lucky.”
“I don’t know if he even wants to see me, though,” Trent groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I left him my number and that note, but he never called—not even a thank you for returning the phone.”
“Let me ask you something,” Candace slapped her mug to the table with a thunk. “If you thought someone was an asshole then found out you were the one in the wrong, how would you feel?”
“I dunno. Guilty, I guess.” He stuck his finger in his mug, then licked the drop of whisky from the tip before plunging back in.
“Don’t do that. It’s disgusting,” she said as she slapped his hand away. “If you were feeling super guilty, and maybe a bit ashamed, would you want to face that person again?”
“Probably not,” he conceded.
“So that’s why we have to show up and make him apologize in person. It’s an ice breaker. A little apology here, a little tongue there. Next thing you know, you’re on stage getting a blow job.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Trent, shaking his head.
“I already told you that I know a guy.” She downed the rest of her glass with a gulp and a sigh. Her cheeks flushed bright as a wave of intoxication started to take her. “Now let’s get fucked up.”
For the first time in weeks, Trent felt a bit of hope replace the loneliness.
Chapter Eight
“I expect a fashion show,” said Candace as she passed Trent a silver bag. Her hands were on her hips with one cocked out as she tapped her foot against the plush white carpet.
They’d checked into the hotel two hours before and Trent had marvelled at the view and the room. He could see a hint of the lake through the massive glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The room itself was entirely too posh. The bathroom had actual marble floors and the countertop was a deep black granite. The shower was big enough to fit five people comfortably and had a rain showerhead that they’d both tested out. The bed was a huge king that took up most of the real estate in the room. But of course, there was only a single bed.
Trent peered down into the opaque plastic bag with a shudder.
“I’m not wearing this.” He pulled out the item that was at the top of the concealed pile. The texture was smooth under his fingertips, like silk, but with the subtle stretch of spandex. They were baby-blue boy shorts that looked to be about five sizes too small for him. The legs were decorated with a thin, delicate lace, and a looped ribbon circled the top. “What the hell is it?”
“Oh, shit,” Candace grabbed the panties from his hand with a fierce blush. “Those are mine. These are yours.” She fumbled around in the bag for a second before she retrieved the exact same item, only several sizes bigger. “I thought it could be fun to match.”
“I’m not wearing those,” said Trent for the second time. “I’m not some twink looking for a Daddy to take me home tonight.”
“But twinks are hot.” Candace smiled while holding the offending item up to his groin. “See? Look? It would fit perfect. You can’t tell me that it wouldn’t make you hard if Ian slipped his hands under your jeans and found those underneath. He would smooth over the soft lace, pushing your pants down so he could take a peek. He could peel them off real slow with his teeth. You’d be damp and leaking—and straining against the fabric as your cock tried to escape.”
“Okay! Fuck, stop.” Trent adjusted himself while ignoring Candace’s knowing smirk. “I think it would be the same with any underwear, though. I’d get hard for him no matter what I was wearing.”
“Don’t say underwear again, you heathen,” she said as she poked him in the chest. “These are panties. Panties are meant for fucking. Underwear is for grandmas and grandpas who sleep in separate beds. Just try them on. I want to see. They were expensive, too, so you have to at least try them.”
“Why did I agree to this?” Trent grumbled as he messed with his belt buckle. A trip with his best friend was one thing, but he hated being her human doll. He slid his jeans off his hips, followed by his boxers a second later.
“Hey, little Trent,” said Candace as she waved at his groin.
He’d spent most of his adolescent life playing a live model to her whims. He’d honestly been surprised when she’d come to work with him instead of pursuing her dream of fashion design. Her excuse at the time had been that she knew how to dress people to look fabulous, but she had difficulty of thinking of new ideas on her own. Inspiration was not her thing. But it had struck her at his work, where she was now the general manager of the entire operation.
He grabbed the panties and slid them over his ankles. They felt different as soon as he started sliding them up his thighs. His boxers were soft and stretchy, but these were silky and smooth. The material stretched obscenely as he settled it on his hips. His package was just barely covered by the fabric, and his pubic hair was poking through oddly. The back was already sliding between his cheeks until the seam settled against his rim. He looked massive stuffed inside the tight panties.
“They don’t fit right, and they’re giving me a wedgie.” He pulled the fabric at the back and tried to release its hold from between his cheeks. As soon as he let go, the slick fabric slid right back in.
“It’s supposed to be like that,” said Candace as she slipped her own pants and thong off and slid on the booty shorts. “Oh, they feel nice.” She slid her hands along the fabric to cup her ass then slide along her front. She was shaved clean expect for a tiny strip of hair just above her lips. It left a finished aesthetic when the panties slid home, with no bulging or unsightly hairs.
“You just have to adjust yourself. Here, let me.” Candace grabbed his package and arranged it under the small shorts without a second thought. When she pulled her hand back, his sac looked more normal and his cock was outlined by the fabric, instead of seeming like a bulging mess. She poked at a hair and hummed. “How willing are you to shave?”
“I already trimmed. I will not shave.” There were some lines he was not willing to cross.
“No fun. Seriously, they look good on you. I’d definitely fuck you if you had a pussy or if I wanted a kid.” She dipped back into the silver bag, pulling out the next item. “I got us matching shirts too. Here, try yours on. I guessed the size.”
“Of course you did,” said Trent. She knew his size better than he did. “Oh, I love this band.” The shirt displayed the band’s title with white and red lettering against a black background. The lettering surrounded a skull with antlers twisting out through the eye sockets. It was all topped with a delicate rose.
“I know you do. You can’t wear the shirt of the band you are seeing, so I went second best.” Candace pulled her own T-shirt on. It fit snugly and hugged all the appropriate areas. “And they had women’s sizes.” Hers was slightly more delicate, with blue instead of the stark red, and the skull was a pale green with red roses curling from the eyes instead of antlers.
“Almost done. Try on the pants next.” Candace tossed a pair of black jeans at him that she pulled out of the suitcase. The silver bag went back in the case, still heavy with things for later.
He slid them up his legs, having to tug hard to get them the last few inches until they settled around his hips. He looked back to the mirror behind him. His ass had lifted in the jeans, giving more definition than was actually there, and taking him from a six-and-a-half to a solid nine.
“Good. No muffin top.” Candace poked the hint of visible skin at the top of his jeans.
“You calling me fat?” Trent swatted her hand away and smoothed the fabric down while tilting back and forth in the mirror.
“Everyone over a size double zero has muffin tops if they’re not caref
ul. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s even happened to me. You look good.” She stared at him in the mirror for a second before her hand dipped obtrusively into his pants to arrange him slightly. He grimaced as she showed no care for poor little Trent. “There. Now you are perfect. Can I do your makeup?” She perked up hopefully.
“No.” He had to draw the line at that one. “When should we head down?”
“I’m thinking twenty minutes.” She called back over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom with a brush in hand. “You can buy me a twenty-dollar drink as a thank you for the clothes and the ass they’ll deliver to you.”
It was still sunny when they made their way to the hotel elevator together. They’d ended up booking only a single hotel room, despite the chance that one of them would come back with company after the show. They’d seen each other fuck before. Candace had even participated in a threesome with him when he’d had a two-week stint with a bisexual guy. She’d told him that it was what had made her realize that she thought guys were hot, but she would rather fuck a woman.
The concert venue was only a quick walk from the hotel. The hotel itself was still relatively new, and the price matched the chic look. Trent’s jaw had nearly hit the floor when Candace had told him how much his half was going to cost. She’d ignored his protests and flat out refused to take a subway or bus. Personally, he didn’t mind the giant metal tube that would bend around the tracks with the distant smell of long-lost pennies.
They were still early when they arrived at the venue. It was an outdoor stage that was smaller than Trent was expecting. In his mind, he had visualized a massive stage that would have had enough space for four bands to play at a time. The crowd would be enormous as it stretched out into a formless sea of faces.
Instead, after a quick bag search through Candace’s purse and a beeping metallic wand, they weaved through layers of concrete walkways. It was a giant circular maze, obviously meant to confuse so concert-goers would have to pass by vendors multiple times. With each loop, the forty-dollar T-shirts looked better and better.
He spotted something from the corner of his eye that made his chest pull tight and his stomach lurch. Of course, he’d been expecting to see Ian, but not until he was up on stage. He was wholly unprepared to see that handsome face on a life-sized poster in the back of a booth. The airbrushing and touch-ups from the professional photograph made him look almost too good to be real. But it was missing that sparkle that lingered every time he told a joke or buried himself deep inside Trent.
He shivered and forced himself to look away from the band poster. Candace was already ten steps ahead of him and hadn’t noticed his absence yet. She was chatting away in a non-stop babble that she tended to do when she was nervous. He rushed to catch up and slid next to her again without her ever noticing his absence.
They rounded another corner and stepped up to a ramp. They passed through a second wave of security and ticket checkers before a helpful someone motioned them down the final pathway.
When they rounded the bend, Trent’s excitement sank just a little bit. The stadium, if it could be called that, was terribly ugly and outdated. Little blue plastic fold-up chairs were bolted in rows that made a gradual semi-circle on a slanted concrete pad. A simple roof of metal and netting was above them, but the sides were open to the air and breeze. The stage was relatively tiny compared to the one he had pictured.
Candace moved past the chairs to a guarded entry way for floor ticket holders. Another guard looked them up and down and inspected their tickets before they were allowed past. They joined the steadily growing group in the small area. It was quickly becoming crowded.
“Do you feel like a terrorist right now?” Trent asked her as he looked back and forth across the stage. It was bigger up close, with only a thin sectioned-off path separating the stage from the onlookers.
“What do you mean?” She pulled her purse over her head before slipping it around so it was strapped across her body.
“Every time they looked in your purse, I was expecting them to find bombs or something. It’s worse than going to the airport. They make you feel so guilty, even though you didn’t do anything wrong.” Trent shuffled closer to the front of the crowd as a space opened up. Candace sidled in next to him like a slippery worm.
“They were just looking for drugs. They did a shit job about it too.” She shrugged with a little smirk. “You want?”
“No, I’m already freaked out enough. I don’t want to lose control too.” He shook his head almost violently and his stomach clenched. He couldn’t stop her, and it wasn’t his place to bitch about it now.
“Suit yourself,” she said. She rummaged around in the tiny purse before she slipped a small pill out between her fingertips. In a second it was between her lips and her purse was closed again.
By the time the first band was ready to start, the floor space was packed with bodies. Trent was lucky that his height gave him a bit of an advantage in the crowd, but Candace wasn’t faring as well. She had started to slip from his side as she was battered away by others pushing to the front. More than once he had to pull her back to him and plough their way back to the stage. He settled his arms on either side of her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. She wiggled in his arms and pushed away.
“You’re supposed to be my wingman, not my boyfriend,” she said as she freed herself.
“Just stay close to me. You’re my ride home.” He had to yell into her ear over the noise of the crowd.
“Aww, you’re so sweet to me, Trent.” She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “I almost think you love me.”
“I don’t know why.” He sighed before prying her off him. “I’m just not one for crowds. That’s all.”
Her eyes lit up, but the teasing smile dropped from her face. “You really do like this guy, don’t you?”
A flash of sound cut off his answer as the curtain pulled back with a burst of colour. The first band was already on stage, jumping up as they began to sing. The crowd around them cheered in the infectious way that only happened when half of the people were already drunk or high. The bag searches had obviously missed more than Candace’s small stash.
The beat started like a pulse between his hips that tugged at his spine with each note. Trent wasn’t a dancer, and he usually couldn’t move to save his soul, but suddenly it was happening. He raised his arms and bounced on the tips of his toes as the songs moved from one into the next. He moved his hips in a way that he only did when he was buried deep inside someone as he searched for that perfect spot. The band kept moving, with only a few small breaks to yell at the crowd and wait for the intoxicated reply.
The singer was so small compared to the sound that came from his mouth, and he was so skinny that Trent thought he might collapse at any moment. The guitarist had long, tangled dreads, but the bassist and drummer were clean-cut. It was a mismatch of people and personalities, but somehow it seemed to work.
Trent was mesmerized, and when he looked at Candace, he saw that she was in a similar state. The funniest part was that he knew if he heard the song on the radio, he would probably change the channel after the first verse. But here, in the press of bodies, the sea of noise and the smell of sweat and fresh air, he was sucked into a different universe.
The silence was jarring when the songs ended and the band gave one final bow. With a strum of noise, the curtain swung closed across the front of the stage. Through the crack at the very bottom, Trent could see the flash of feet and equipment moving by.
He panted in the aftermath, his throat sore and mouth chalk-dry from singing along. The ringing in his ears and the murmur of the crowd were the only things that kept him on his feet. He couldn’t imagine how Candace was feeling with drugs in her system on top of the rest.
“What are you going to do when you see him up on stage?” Candace asked after she pulled him down so she could yell into his ear over the constant ringing. She looked surprisingly well with on
ly a light flush across her cheeks and a touch of sweat along her forehead. Her hair was out of place in a way he rarely saw it, but her smile was genuine.
Trent didn’t have an answer. He’d had a plan, a perfect plan that they’d discussed at length on the drive to the hotel. It was absolutely foolproof, but it had disappeared like a wisp of smoke.
“You could fuck him up there.” The drug slurred her voice. She pulled a bottle of water from her purse and took a long swig. “You could totally get past security.” She waved the bottle at a large, balding figure on the other side of the metal fence. He was about an inch shorter than Trent, but he made up for it with lateral bulk. With more fat than muscle, he still made an intimidating picture.
“Here’s your man!” Candace screamed as the curtain rustled and the lights flashed on the stage.
Then the drapes pulled wide and the black fabric revealed five figures on the stage. The light shimmered once and the vocalist shouted into the crowd. The crowd erupted in a scream of noise without words or meaning. It was pure joy for the love of the music.
Trent found himself yelling along with them, even as he searched the stage for the familiar smooth head. His eyes swept over them all, but he came up empty. It was only on the second sweep that he finally found him.
Ian was sitting behind the largest set of drums that Trent had ever seen. The stage lights were glowing an eerie red that cast a shadow over him and made him almost blend into the background. His head was covered in a plain black baseball cap that was turned around so the rim was at the back, and he wore a tight black shirt that was stretched across arms that were a size too big for the holes. The rest of him was hidden behind the drum set.
Trent rocked up to his toes as the crowd surged and the first song began. He leaned closer until he was pressed against the metal barrier. The lights changed, illuminating Ian’s ripped figure. Bodies swayed around him, but he stood riveted to the spot. The stretch of muscle across Ian’s arm as he moved, and the way his pec would tense as he beat the drums, drew Trent in. He could almost see the bead of sweat moving down Ian’s brow.