by WEST, T. J.
I glance to my right and observe the guys and their women. I’m sure they’re just as nervous as I am. Lucky has Faith’s hand up to his mouth and is bouncing his knee. Wayne and Melody are hunched super close together, almost as if they’re ready to suck face, while Slim and our band manager, Lyric are smiling, holding hands and seem to be the less nervous of the bunch. Danny has an expression on his face, which looks, to me, to be stressed and anxious. He has his hand gripped around Harmony’s…It looks as though he’s about ready to break her fingers. Then there’s me. No hand to hold but my own…the way I like it to be. I’m totally ready to hear who the Grammy goes to.
Come on. Let’s get the damn show on the fucking road!
“And the Grammy goes to…” I imagine drum rolls when the blonde actress pauses to open the envelope. It’s completely nerve wracking. “…JINKS!” My head is spinning. Hot damn. We did it. We fucking did it! Overwhelmed with excitement is the only way to describe how I’m feeling.
My legs are wobbly the moment I get to my feet. This has to be the most insane and surreal thing to ever happen to me. To JINKS. The guys and I make our way to the stage. If I’m shocked over this, I’m sure as hell they are too. No…I know they are. We’ve come so far, the five of us. The energy I feel from each of them is nothing other than plain ole gratitude; their expressions are in disbelief, with waves of happiness. The smile on my face can barely be contained. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much. It’s fucking awesome.
Lucky accepts the award from the beautiful actress and approaches the microphone, while the rest of us huddle behind him, with our arms across one another’s shoulders. “Wow.” Lucky begins. “The guys and I don’t know what to say. We weren’t prepared for this.” He chuckles. The crowd goes insane and cheers beyond any kind of cheering I’ve ever heard. A lot of the ladies are screaming for Lucky, which isn’t surprising. I just can’t get it out of my head that we’re up here. I’m so stoked! It takes a minute for the crowd to finally quiet down. Lucky continues, “First off, I want to say, Faith…we did it, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the love of my life. Thank you for sticking by me and JINKS.” The lights from the stage are blinding me, so I can’t see anyone’s reactions. I just hear it. “Second, on behalf of me, Danny, Slim, Wayne, and Jason…thank you to all of our amazing fans. It’s been a long journey to be able to stand on this stage. We wouldn’t be here without you.” The crowd goes nuts once again. I don’t think the cheering and whistling will ever end. I don’t care, though. It’s truly an amazing feeling. “June and Bitch Tours…Thank you for taking a chance on us. You’ve changed our lives. We’re deeply humbled and grateful.” More cheering continues, so Lucky has to speak above it. “Gary Sams, our producer…you blow our minds, man. Your advice, insight, and talent shine through our music. You definitely rock. Last but never the least, Lyric our manager, thank you for putting up with us for so long. We couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you!” Lucky holds up the Grammy and steps away from the microphone.
Before leaving the stage, Wayne says, “To my gorgeous wife, Melody. Love you, Sweetness! Woo! This is awesome! Thank you everybody,” he hollers.
I don’t have it in me to say anything. I’m not much on public speaking, so that’s why I stay behind and take everything in. I’d lose my shit if I spoke one word, though. I’m still in shock. After we leave the stage, we get our pictures taken and are hounded by the press. No complaints. I’m one happy fucking camper.
My life was never a pot of gold. In fact, it was more like a pot of heroin, cocaine, alcohol, and never-ending parties on a daily basis. I grew up with two mentally abusive, drug-addicted parents. Not a day that went by did I hear them say I wasn’t good enough, smart enough. Most of the time, they never talked to me, or were too stoned to have anything to do with me. Basically, I raised myself. I always felt different around other kids; going to school, I was a loner and didn’t have a friend to my name. School fucking sucked. Every God damn teacher taught too fast…I couldn’t keep up. I processed information way too slow and could never fully finish a test. The teachers couldn’t understand my challenges and failed my ass on everything from homework, to walking into the classroom. I got the feeling they hated me no matter what I did. Just like home. I wasn’t good at anything, except music. Music filled me up. It took me away from the evil in my life and brought me peace. School was a dead-end, so I quit. My parents didn’t care, the teachers didn’t care, so why should I?
After quitting school at the age of fifteen, I lived most days in my bedroom playing the drums and guitar. Those two instruments saved my life. At age twelve, I found them at my neighbor’s yard sale; plus, clothes and shoes I needed. They were cool folks and gave the clothes to me free and the instruments for a buck each. I fucking lucked out. I hit the jackpot. I taught myself how to play. Honestly, instruments and learning music have always come easily. I don’t know how it happens. I hear a melody or beat and can pick it up like breathing. Even though I never did well with math in school, numbers have always been magic to me. I enjoy counting the beats of my drumming, and can pretty much add, subtract, and divide anything that comes into my head. Again, I have no idea how I do it. It comes naturally I guess.
Surviving on my own wasn’t easy. I never knew if I was going to have a meal from one day to the next. My body was starving for anything. There was never any food in the house, so I’d go through various restaurant trash bins and trudge through mounds of uneaten food. Wasted shit pissed me off, but it helped me survive my starvation. On numerous occasions, I was caught and was thrown out on the street, but other times the owners gave me a bag full of old fries and burgers. I was very grateful and never took food for granted or people’s kindness. To this day, I never waste a single bite.
When I turned twenty-five, I took my music to another level. I was tired of living in a house full druggies and needed to get out. The toxic rut of finding my parents and their people passed out, or in a high daze was beyond old. I literally couldn’t handle their shit anymore. Even though I was an adult, they still managed to call me stupid, and told me I wasn’t good enough for anyone. Their words instilled in my brain, and to this day…I still believe it. I moved out of my hellhole and found a playing gig in a small band at a bar. The owner of the bar had a room upstairs and rent it out to me. I felt I was on top of the world with this place. It was the best fucking room I’ve ever lived in. Believe it or not, I’m still living there. Even though I now have money, how can I move away from the one place that’s felt more like home than the one I grew up in? It may be a one bedroom shack with barely any furniture, no pictures and no sense of style…it’s still home. I can’t see myself anywhere else.
Clairemont, San Diego has always been where I’ve lived…I call it, the slums. You’d think I’d want to move out of the slums, but the thing is I don’t. Not right now, anyway. It may not be the most glamorous community, but it’s still the place I feel more comfortable. Hell, San Diego fucking rocks. It’s the most beautiful city in Southern California, and I am certainly blessed to live here. If I do decide to take my ass away from this place, Alpine would be my choice. It’s quiet there, and has tons of land I can purchase and possibly do a little farming. Can you even see me as fucking farmer? Yeah, me neither. But you never know what my future will bring.
I enjoyed every minute of every day playing in my first band. Feeling the need to be discovered never crossed my mind. Being famous wasn’t something I’d dreamt about. I just loved playing music and felt comfortable in staying put. But some things do come to an end. The band was breaking up, so that led me to playing in the bar on my own. Not that I loved singing and playing solo, I had to do it. My boss/landlord offered me to keep the gig, along with working behind the bar. I took it. I was happy and content. But it would take me years before I found the right set of guys to start another band with. Rock concerts became part of my life. Finally able to pay my own way, I went to almost every rock concert held in San
Diego. At one of those concerts I met Wayne and Slim. I invited them to play with me and one thing led to another. A couple years after that, we got involved with Lucky Jones and Danny Jay. JINKS was born. Lucky’s the lead singer and plays guitar, Danny’s his right hand man and lead guitarist while Slim plays the guitar alongside Wayne who plays the bass guitar.
I don’t really care how it all became a reality, but my dream of playing music forever was, and still is, my destiny.
It feels like heaven being able to relax with my bros and their women after the Grammy’s. Gary Sams has a huge mansion in Hollywood Hills where he and his new wife Helene, Faith’s mother, are hosting a party for the band. Helene, being a party coordinator at Faith’s hotel, Montgomery Suites, took care of planning this party. Holy fuck…what a party. I’ve never met so many celebrities in my life. I’m not much of a talker, so I just shook hands with a lot of them and said thank you as they congratulated us.
The party is being held outside. There’s a DJ, a dance floor, a couple bars, and tables with chairs surrounding a pool and hot tub. A server hands me a beer as I relax in my seat. While taking a pull from my beer, I take note of my friends and what they’re all doing. Danny, Harmony and her older sister Melody, and Wayne hit the dance floor. They might as well be fucking each other. They’re grinding one another for dear life. Faith and Lucky are talking with Helene, Gary, and June’s douche-boyfriend Phillip. Yeah, I still don’t like the guy. He may have gotten a few tats and is more laid back, but he still rubs me the wrong way. I just stay clear of him and let him assume he’s on my good side. He and Faith had a thing before Lucky came back into her life. He wasn’t exactly a straight up guy and it still surprises me June’s with him. Lastly, Slim and Lyric are looking at their phones, most likely scrolling through Twitter or some social media site.
I’m happy for all my friends. They’ve found their soulmates; they’re happy, and in love. I couldn’t ask for anything more for them. I’m sure they’re all hoping the same for me, but the truth is I don’t want to be in love. It’s not in my DNA to make anyone happy. I’m quiet, I don’t go out much…unless it’s with the band, I smoke, I’m socially awkward and can have somewhat of a temper. Nah…I’m only good for fucking groupies. That way no one gets hurt. They know the deal…we fuck and move on. So I’ll just sit back, drink, have a few finger foods and continue observing my friends, celebrities and musicians– and maybe find a chick or two.
But then I see her. It’s been six whole months since I last laid eyes on her…actually, since I fucked her. I tried so hard to get her out of my mind, out of my dick’s veins, but it’s been impossible. Peta has consumed every jack-off and every spurting seed coming out of my throbbing cock…I have no idea how to stop it. Thinking back to that one night…fuck. Her blazing red hair fanned out on the pillow, like a pail of red paint had spilt all over it, and those long legs wrapped around my torso, moaning in my ear as I fucked her senseless; her fingernails digging in the lower part of my back, breaking the skin. I welcomed the pain. With every push and pull, her pussy milked my cock causing the utmost intense orgasm ever imaginable. Reminiscing is not helping. My dick is now hard. This thing I have for her can’t happen. She’s everything I don’t want in a woman: Forever, marriage, kids, and lifelong-fucks. She’s perfect, but not perfect for me. Yet, there’s that push and pull again.
She’s working behind one of the bars, wearing a pair of black tight-ass leather pants, and a cropped white see-through t-shirt showing off her creamy white flat belly. From the distance, I notice a shiny navel piercing. It wasn’t there before, and holy shit, if it isn’t the most sexy look. God damn cock, calm the fuck down! Those glorious black bra tits of hers are calling for me though. I’ll just go up and say hi. No harm in that, right? We had one night, no big deal. I take one last drink of my beer and walk over.
Leaning against the bar, I wait for her to notice me. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun exposing the long and lean backside of her neck. She has these rad, black flying birds tattooed on her skin, starting at the beginning of her hairline, and then disappearing down inside her shirt. There’s at least six from what I can see; one big bird, leading to a smaller one, and then smaller, and smaller until they’re gone. It turns me on. I love a woman with ink. Besides the tats…her ass in those leather goodies. I can’t stop staring and desperately want to sink my cock deep inside her asshole. Yeah…I’m an ass kind of man. I like it tight. Most women don’t go for it, so I don’t push it. But maybe with Peta I could. No. I can’t fucking go there! I need to stop.
Peta finally sees me, and from what I can tell, she doesn’t look too thrilled. She comes my way. Immediately, my eyes take a trip down her cleavage when she bends her chest over the bar. I remember how big and firm they were. My teeth loved those nipples. My hands admired the heavy mounds, squeezing them, as my tongue ravished every rounded inch. Fucking beautiful. The best set of tits known to mankind.
“What’s your poison?” She cocks her head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. Damn. Her eyes seem to have lost their deep, warm green I love so much. I’m not great at giving eye contact, but with her I can’t help myself. She’s acting stand-offish, and possibly giving me the cold shoulder. What the fuck did I do?
“I’ll take a shot of Silver Tequila first. Then a beer.” With a curt nod to her head, Peta retrieves my order without so much as a smile. Usually I get one or a wink at least.
She places the shot and beer in front of me. “How come you’re not over with the others celebrating?”
Small talk? Okay, I’ll take it. I shoot down the shot of my tequila, still admiring her rack. “Wanted to see how you’re doin’. It’s been a while.”
“That’s sweet, but I’m good,” she says with a slight sharp tone.
“Do I detect bitterness in your voice, Fireball?”
She furrows her brows and places a hand on her hip. “No. Not at all.” I still detect the bitterness. “Thanks for checking up on me, but I’m a little busy, so if you’ll excuse me.” She begins to turn away, when she stalls and says one final thing, “Oh, and uh…congratulations on the Grammy.” Then proceeds in the other direction and attends to another guest.
Peta is bullshitting with me. She’s pissed with me about something and I’m gonna find out. Before heading back to my table, I see her hunched over the bar, talking, and laughing with some celebrity. Brock Crow. Fucking hell. He’s Lyric’s older brother and I’ve heard he’s bad news. The last person I’d want to see Peta with is a dick like Brock. He’s a womanizing sleaze, and a low-life drunk. I wouldn’t put it past him if he came up as a drug user too. Hell no do I want Brock flirting with her. Seeing him, just now, touching her arm is making me see red. I hate it. It makes me want to slam his head into the bar and kick him in the balls. Shit. I need to walk away before I embarrass Peta, myself, and especially not JINKS. Wouldn’t look good for any of us if my name was splashed on every freaking social media site saying I punched the famous Brock Crow for getting jealous. Jealous? Whoa. No. Fuck no. I’m just looking out for Peta, that’s all.
Still eyeing that son of a bitch, I march back over to my seat and guzzle down the rest of my beer. My blood is boiling watching Brock’s continuous flirting. Worst of all, Peta likes it. I don’t get why she continues to involve herself with these assholes. They treat her like dirt. Get a fucking grip, Jason!
“Is something going on with you and Peta?”
June’s question snaps my eyes away from the bar. “Why’d you say that?” I ask annoyed, taking my attention in another direction. June’s a little spitfire. She’s short, tatted all over and has hair that becomes a different color practically every week. Her boyfriend, Phillip was a preppy dude who couldn’t even look at a woman with ink. They were the complete opposite from the other, but things changed after finding out she got pregnant from a one nightstand with him. They lost the baby, but they grew to love one another.
“No reason.” I dig June. She’s done a lot for me and JINKS,
but I can tell she’s trying to get the goods out of me, and it annoys me because it’s none of her business.
My eyes eventually make contact with hers. “Has to be a reason if you ask me questions like that, June.”
“Forget I asked.” She shrugs it off, but I know she’s still pining for answers. Where’s her douche-boyfriend at?
Although I am curious to see if she knows anything. It seems to me Peta told her some things about our night together. I wouldn’t doubt it. They’re chicks. “She tell you something about us?”
“Maybe.”
What’s with the short answers? “She did or she didn’t. Which is it?” Should it bother me if Peta talked about our fucking? Am I worried what June would think of me? I don’t want her thinking I disrespected Peta in any way. That’s my problem…I don’t want to be judged.
“She did,” June answers, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and I won’t ask. Suddenly I’m feeling more pissed.
Just then, a server nears us with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. I need a fucking drink. “Hey darlin’,” I call out to her. “Will you fetch me a shot of Silver Tequila? You know what…make that the whole bottle instead. Thanks.” The server nods her head, and walks over to the bar Peta’s at.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Jason. I’m sorry.”
I don’t look her in the eye. “You didn’t.” Instead, I keep my eye on Peta. She’s still talking to that jackass as she’s getting my bottle of tequila. He won’t leave her alone, and I fucking hate it. This rage I feel inside is new to me. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I detect it has something to do with the fact I want Peta all to myself. I don’t want any other guy touching her or making her laugh. It can’t happen though. I’d make a shit boyfriend. What I need right now is to find a chick to give me some good head.
After getting my bottle, I take several shots, and find a girl with big tits and long brown hair eyeing me from the dance floor. She’s shaking her sweet ass and waving her finger at me to come over. Just what the doctor ordered. I don’t waste any time as I walk to her, take her hand and pull her to a secluded area. I need some relief.