by R. R. Banks
I've always got irons in the fire. Wheels in motion. I was born to hustle and I'm damn good at it.
“So, what do you say, Pete?” I ask. “Make her a regular feature here? Like you say, she brings in a hell of a crowd.”
Pete nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Fridays at seven.”
“Just Fridays?” I ask. “C'mon, Pete.”
“To start,” he says. “We'll see if she can keep bringing people in. If she can, she'll get another day.”
I sigh but nod. “Fair enough. We still cool at two-fifty a show then?”
“Two-fifty,” Pete says.
“Deal,” I say.
Pete gets up and goes back behind the counter, overseeing his baristas and chatting up some of his regulars. Up on stage, Harper is singing away, and she catches my eye. I flash her a thumbs up sign, which makes her smile – and it's a gorgeous little smile. The girl really does seem to have everything.
And as I look at her, I feel absolutely confident that she's gonna be my golden fuckin' ticket out of here and into the big time.
I sit back in my chair, sip my coffee, and think about a day when I don't have to run the hustle twenty-four/seven. I want to play in the big leagues and earn the big, fat paycheck that goes along with it – not to mention all the sweet little perks that go along with it.
I'm gonna be an agent, or manager or somethin'. I've got an eye for talent. Always have. I just need to get that talent in front of the right eyes, and boom, my life is gonna be fuckin' made. And to do that, I need to make some connections in the industry.
That's my next hustle – somethin' I'm workin' on. Somethin' I'm already feelin' good about. And I'm pretty sure Harper is gonna be the one who opens some doors and puts me on a path to livin' on easy street.
Her set ends and she thanks the crowd that is giving her a standing fuckin' ovation. I’ve never seen that at an open mic night at a coffee house before. To me, that just speaks to the girl's talent and charisma. Get her in front of the right folks and that girl is gonna be a star. Which makes me glad I've got my cart hitched to her.
Harper finds her way through the crowd, stopping to sign a few autographs and take pictures with some folks before she gets back to the table I'm sitting at. She squeals and jumps into my arms, wrapping them tight around me. Her young, firm body pressed to mine feels really nice, I ain't gonna lie. I know she's into me and there have been a few times I've thought about sleeping with her. God knows I want to.
But, I'm smart and have been in the game long enough to know that sex only complicates things. Makes 'em messy. And the last thing I need right now is complicated and messy. Not when we're on the verge of a big breakthrough. I know we are. I can feel it.
So, I do my best to see her as a client – as a kid sister, even. Anything I can to avoid looking at her as the sexy, young woman she is.
That's not to say there haven't been a few nights I haven't let my thoughts wander. It's hard not to when she parades around the apartment wearing practically nothing. It's like she's daring me to look at her curvy little body – and do something about it. When it gets to be too much though, I'll either go find one of my usual hook-ups, hire a girl, or if all else fails, just go jerk off in the shower.
I step back and smile at her. “You did great up there, kid. You really knocked 'em dead.”
She's beaming, and her smile lights up the whole room. Even now, as the next artist is getting set up on stage, all people around us are talking about is Harper.
“I felt really good up there, Landon,” she says. “I really feel like I'm connecting with the audience. Like they're hearing my words.”
I nod and laugh. “They absolutely are,” I say. “Just look at them. They adore you. Pictures and autographs already? You're becomin' a star, kiddo.”
Harper sneaks a quick peek around and her smile grows even wider. Her excitement is so real and so hard to contain, that she's practically bouncing up and down. I motion to the chair, indicating that she should sit down – but she's still more or less bouncing up and down in her seat. We look at each other for a long moment as I take a sip of my coffee. I can see the question in her eyes – and decide to draw out the moment a little bit longer. Just to keep her in suspense.
When she finally can't take it anymore, she lets out a loud, frustrated breath and I can't keep from laughing.
“So? What did he say?” she asks, the expression on her face pensive. “I saw you sitting with Pete? What did he say?”
“Well, he said that you're – okay.”
“Okay?” she asks, her accent dripping like honey from her tongue. “Seriously? Just okay?”
I laugh and shake my head. “For being such a smart girl, you're incredibly gullible.”
The pensive look evaporates like a puff of smoke on the breeze and that thousand-watt smile that can light up Times Square is back.
“So, he liked me?” she asks.
“Liked you? He loved you,” I say. “He is going to give you a Friday night showcase. And if that goes over well – like it's not – he'll take you on Saturday nights too. A hundred and twenty bucks a performance. Plus tips, of course.”
“Oh my God,” she squeals, covering her mouth with her hands. “Really?”
I nod. “Yup,” I say. “You're on your way.”
“Oh, my God,” she squeals again, practically vibrating in her seat with excitement. “And I have you to thank for it, Landon. I'm on my way because of you.”
I give her a small smile. “Just doing my part,” I say. “Your music deserves to have a wide audience. You deserve to have your words heard.”
She jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close to me, enjoying the moment. But then our faces – our lips – are there, just inches apart and a sudden air of tension develops between us. She's looking into my eyes and I know she wants me to kiss her. And I'm sorely tempted.
As I stare into her wide, blue eyes, I feel my cock growing stiffer by the second. I know I need to pull back, but I can't seem to make myself. I want this girl. I want this girl bad. The sexual tension between us is thicker than San Francisco fog and my cock is straining against my pants so hard, it hurts.
Thankfully, I'm saved by a girl seeking an autograph. Harper stands up, her eyes lingering on mine for just another moment, before she turns and hugs the girl, thanking her and signing an autograph for her.
More come up to her seeking pictures and autographs and I know it's my time to depart. I need to relieve my raging hard-on and jerking myself off isn't going to cut it tonight. I'm going to need a real flesh and blood woman to alleviate the pressure.
Stepping up behind Harper, I tell her that I'll see her back at the apartment and make my exit. She looks disappointed for a moment, but nods and turns back to her fans.
Chapter Three
Harper
I stand in front of the mirror in nothing but my bra and panties and look at myself. I run my hands over my stomach, looking at my full breasts and hips. I gaze at myself for a long time, wondering what it is about me that Landon doesn't like. Wondering why he won't touch me when I've given all the signs and signals that I want him to.
As I run a brush through my hair, I start to wonder if it's because I'm a virgin. I know that freaks some guys out. But, I want Landon to be my first. Over the last couple of months – ever since he found me on that subway platform and became my manager – he's done nothing but help me. He's gotten me gigs I never would have gotten before. He's gotten me paid – and more than just the tips I would get in the park or on subway platforms.
He's been so kind to me and over the last few months, I can honestly say I've fallen in love with him. At least, I think I have, anyway.
Yeah, I'm twenty and some might think I'm naive. I'm a small-town girl living in the big city for the first time. I've never had a serious boyfriend. So, what could I possibly know about love, right?
I sigh and look at myself, ti
red of trying to untangle and decipher all of my feelings. Maybe, they're right. Maybe, I am naive. Maybe, I don't really know what love is. Maybe. But, I know that I feel something deeply for Landon. I know that I want to be with him – and not just sexually. Although that would be nice, I have to admit.
He's not home and I have a feeling he's out with one of his girlfriends. The jealousy that surges in me knowing he's with some other woman – when I'm right here wanting him – is painful. He probably doesn't realize it, but a couple of the songs I perform were written with him and our situation in mind.
I guess if nothing else, unrequited love makes for great song material.
I go out into the darkened kitchen and get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Twisting off the top, I take a long drink and walk over to the windows, looking out at the city.
I grew up in a small town in Georgia. One of those one-stoplight, one main road kind of towns. Blackburn has a population of less than thirty thousand and I grew up seeing the same people every day. I went to the same school with the same people, graduating with the same people I went to kindergarten with.
Blackburn isn't the sort of town that fosters and encourages dreams. It's the place where dreams and ambitions go to die. Assuming people there had any to begin with. As depressing as it is, most of the people I grew up with are content living and dying in Blackburn. They're content to work in the mill that employs most of the town, get home, get drunk, and get up the next morning to do it all over again.
But that was never the life I wanted. I'm different from the people I grew up with. I have dreams and I have ambition. And I work hard to make them happen. I busted my butt in school, got the best grades, and learned everything I could. Because I know, it's not enough to be pretty – you have to have some brains to go along with it if you want to make it.
When I turned eighteen, I left home over my family's vehement objections. They argued with me, threatened to disown me, and tried to forbid me from leaving. They don't understand. Nobody in my family – my parents, my brothers and sisters – have any dreams of their own. They're all content just living out that depressing circle of life in Blackburn. Doing nothing. Being nothing. Making nothing of themselves or of their life.
But, I'm not like them. I want to make something of myself. I want to make something of my life. So, even knowing that my family would likely never speak to me again, I boarded a bus and made my way to New York. I'd managed to save up enough from my job at the local Dairy Queen to get a crappy apartment in a pretty bad neighborhood.
We had our fair share of tough streets and bad characters in Blackburn, but nothing could have prepared me for a bad neighborhood in a big city. It's like two different worlds – and the one I'm in is way scarier. When I first got here, I'd lock myself in at night, put a table in front of the door, and not go out again until after the sun was up again.
In those early days, I looked for work and spent a lot of time singing in parks, on subway platforms – anywhere I could make a few bucks and get my music out there. My savings and the money I earned singing on the streets, kept me going – just barely. I ate a lot of Ramen noodles and SpaghettiOs for a while, but at least I had food in my belly. It wasn't much, but it was something. And I was always keeping my eyes open searching for an opportunity to get in front of the right people. Always looking for my big break.
And then Landon found me.
After that, things started to change. He started to get me gigs in coffee houses and other places – started getting my name out there. I mean, it's small time stuff, sure, but we all have to pay our dues. We all have to start somewhere, right?
And there is a genuine buzz about me. People come out to see me. To listen to my music. Listen to my words. There is no better feeling than looking out over the crowd and seeing people caught up in my music, my voice. No better feeling than the energy of the crowd and hearing their buzz flowing through my veins. It's heady and intoxicating. And seeing that I'm making real connections with people makes my heart swell with love and pride.
It's why I do what I do. I want people to hear my words, to maybe take something from them that they can relate to. That maybe helps them find their way out of a dark place. That maybe makes them feel a little better, not so alone, and puts a smile on their face.
It's a gift I took away from some of my favorite artists growing up. And it's a gift I want to pass on to others. Maybe that's egotistical or thinking way too much of myself. But when I look around at the people who come to see me play, I feel like I'm making that connection with them. That maybe, I'm touching their lives the way my idols touched mine.
About a month after he found me on that subway platform, and a few gigs at coffee houses around Chelsea, Landon had me move into the spare room he had in his place. He said he'd sleep better at night knowing I was safe – something he said he'd never be sure of as long as I lived in that rat and crime infested neighborhood.
The move to his apartment in Chelsea was nice – and just another reason I'm so thankful to him. I can actually go out at night and not have to worry about something terrible happening to me. I feel safe in Landon's place – which is a nice feeling.
I watch the street below me from the darkened windows of the living room. I watch couples strolling along, hand in hand, enjoying the night. And I stand there with my bottle of water, still savoring the buzz of tonight's performance – but feeling the bitter sting of loneliness.
Chapter Four
Landon
I watch her do a seductive little dance in front of me, losing a piece of clothing with each shimmy and shake. Long blonde hair, a great set of tits, legs for miles, and a tight, taut little body – she's a gorgeous little thing. And if she fucks half as well as she dances, it's going to be the best hundred bucks I've spent in a while.
The girl – Tammy, I think her name is – looks at me with a devilish little grin on her red, pouty lips. She's sexy as hell and I feel my cock straining against my pants.
“Like what you see?” she purrs.
“Very much so,” I say. “Why don't you bring that sexy little ass over here?”
She grins and comes over, sitting down on my lap and straddles me. She groans as she starts grinding herself against me. Leaning down, she kisses my neck, giving it a gentle bite as she keeps rubbing herself along my hard shaft.
I grip her ass and run my tongue around her tits, drawing a squeal and a giggle from her when I give her stiff nipples a bite. Looking into her big, blue eyes, I draw in a breath and give her ass a firm smack.
“Mmmm,” she says. “You're a bad boy, aren't you?”
“You don't even know the half of it, baby.”
“Well then, why don't you show me?”
“I'd love to.”
Pushing her off my lap, I stand up and take my pants off, kicking them to the side. I sit back down in my chair and pull her over to me, pushing her down to her knees. I grip the girl by her hair and force her to look up at me as a sultry little smile crosses her face.
“I want my cock in your mouth,” I tell her.
“Gladly.”
Never taking her eyes off me, the girl lowers her face and runs the tip of her tongue around my swollen cock. The moment her tongue hits me, I feel like somebody shot ten thousand volts through me. She grips the base of my cock tight and starts to stroke me in time with her mouth. I lean my head back, close my eyes, and picture Harper's face – picture my cock in Harper's mouth.
I moan as she keeps working my stiff rod. It feels so damn good – it feels like tendrils of fire are crawling along my skin.
“Fuck yeah, Harper,” I moan.
The girl stops and looks up at me, an annoyed look on her face. “My name is Tiffany,” she says.
“Your name is whatever the fuck I tell you it is,” I snap. “I'm paying you and if I say your name is Harper, your name is Harper. Got it? Now, get back to sucking me off.”
The girl opens her mouth and looks like she wants to argue,
but she wisely doesn't. Instead, she goes back to working my cock like I'm paying her to do.
She keeps stroking and jerking me – though, I can tell it's less enthusiastic than before. And it feels way less good than it did before. I sigh and shake my head. She's fucking up my whole fantasy with her petty, petulant attitude.
“Stand up,” I snap.
A pouty look on her face, she does what she's told. She looks at me, but the flirty attitude and sultry smile are gone. In their place are a frown and an attitude that says, let's just get this over with.
Yeah, real sexy.
Without a word, I grab her by the shoulders and turn her around, bending her over the chair. She's got a tight, toned ass – a lot like Harper's. I grab her hair as I step forward, closing my eyes, and try to conjure the image of Harper's face in my mind again.
And when I have her face locked in my mind's eye, I quickly slip on a condom and move closer. Yanking the girl's hair, I slam my cock into her hard and deep. She gasps but otherwise does nothing. She just stands there, her ass in the air, while I thrust my cock into her again and again.
But that's okay. I don't need her to do much. I'm already caught up in my fantasy again. I see Harper looking back at me over her shoulder, a seductive smile on her face. I hear her moaning and groaning as I pump my cock into her.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I grit my teeth and bury my hard rod into her faster and faster, hearing Harper's voice calling my name. I feel my balls tighten and the pressure low in me building quickly. As I imagine Harper writhing beneath me, hear her groans of pleasure, I feel my orgasm rising like an ocean tide.
I feel her push back against me, grinding her pussy against my rod and that's it for me. My cock starts to pulse and throb and grunt as I blow my load, filling the condom inside of her.
“Fuck, Harper,” I moan as my body trembles and shudders. “Yeah, baby.”