Exhale and Move On
K. L. Shandwick
Copyright © 2017 K.L. Shandwick
All rights reserved.
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction, Names, places, characters, band names and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or names are used within the fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual person’s living or dead. Band names or locales are entirely coincidental unless quoted as artists.
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Contents
Acknowledgments
1. Rick Fars: ROCK GOD
2. Rare Quality Time
3. Downtime
4. Complicated
5. Straight Back on the Bike
6. Slow Torture
7. Getting Back on the Horse
8. Three
9. What was that?
10. Lines
11. Losing myself
12. Thinking
13. Second Sitting
14. Revelations
15. Down to Business
16. Crossing the Line
17. Interruptions
18. Talking Straight
19. Not What You Think
20. Fresh Eyes
21. What we do best
22. Exhale
23. Unconventional
Playlist for Exhale and Move On
Other Titles by K.L. Shandwick
About the Author
Find K. L. Shandwick on Social Media
Acknowledgments
Editor: Andie. M. Long Editing & Proofreading
Cover Design: by J M Walker @ Just Wright.creations
Proof readers: Elmarie Pieterse, Lisa Ashley Perkins
DISCLAIMER: This Book contains explicit content: MM & MMF
Chapter One
Rick Fars: ROCK GOD
On occasion, nothing gave me greater pleasure than a wide crystal glass filled with my favorite Jura single malt whiskey on the rocks, a firm promise of a warm woman to lie with, and a long night of carnal adventure ahead.
When I wasn’t touring my life was mostly as dull as a London sky in winter, and occasionally, I had time on my hands. That was when an invitation to a great party made me feel like the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive.
As I glanced up through a thick haze of heavy cigarette smoke, I noticed a flat-chested waif-like blonde with a cute smile sizing me up. The way she looked at me was tempting, but I already had a hot little groupie acting frisky as all get out on my lap; then I figured one more could only guarantee me more fun.
“Come here sweetheart, there’s room for a skinny one,” I said, beckoning her into my spare arm.
Fame in the music industry had brought a full-on rock-and-roll lifestyle and hundreds of sexual experiences, but a single chick in my bed rarely set me on fire the way it used to. Being an adventurous, experimental type of guy, I had found as time went on there were fewer boundaries… to my mind I only had one hard limit.
Most of the groupies I picked up were only too happy to be in my company and I suspected the two I’d selected that night would be up for most of my suggestions. I watched as the slim girl uncrossed her long slender legs and rose to her feet before walking toward me.
It was then I realized how lanky she was, maybe six feet or more, and my lips stretched into a wicked smile when I imagined those pins wrapped around my back. My cock twitched in my pants and my semi-erection wasn’t all that easy to hide.
It wasn’t long from the moment I laid my hands on her body until we migrated back to the privacy of my own place and the debauched fun I’d anticipated with the girls well and truly began. My luck was definitely in because I’d never met two more uninhibited females in all my life. Their sexual appetites were almost insatiable, and it only took them around four hours to wear me down.
They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it... or take it for the most part, and their sexual confidence appealed to me. By the time we were done I was sated but felt unsettled—then again it was no surprise because I’d felt that way for quite some time.
For years I’d been a single guy living the dream of most other guys on the planet. Being part of the rock scene, I was privileged enough to gig in one of the world’s most famous rock bands for a living. I’d say around three quarters of the female population wanted to get laid by one of the four members of the band, and the other twenty five percent were too young to know we existed.
My right to be promiscuous was one thing, but other people leaving a spouse at home and being promiscuous was another. My personal thoughts were that I had no girlfriend and had no family to tie me down. To my mind if someone was with someone else and fucked with me that was on them.
Every morning back then I used to wake up and pinch myself then I’d think, 'Damn this is my life'. It was usually followed by a flutter of excitement that stirred in my belly. Then, as those who last long enough in the business know, the shine wears off.
Things started to change and when a lot of the guys who had lived the lifestyle alongside me had found partners and settled down, it made me think in more depth about my own future. Still, I believed married life wasn’t for me, and I had valid personal reasons for hanging back… I just couldn’t figure out what to do about them to my own satisfaction.
It was one thing to strike it lucky with one female who used my body like a guy would do, but to find two who took turns like a tag team in heat was off-the-charts hot. I figured it had to have helped that the females involved were both as high as kites on something because the heaviness in their eyes added a certain eroticism of the scene for me.
During our night I came a few times and if I’m honest, they had almost shaved some girth off my dick from all the tight friction, but like the champ I am, I gave as good as I got, and by the time I was done they both looked like hot, sweaty messes and lay spread all over me breathless and exhausted.
Nevertheless, even as I fell asleep, they still groped my dick, massaging my balls, and sucking at my nipples. Sometimes living the life of a fucked-up rock star wasn’t so bad.
Gradually, over the years, my body had become sexually attuned, and it had proven no easy task to get me off. I’d had a lot of sex and I guess because of that it became more difficult to become excited about getting laid.
Sometimes fucking felt like a drug if the connection was right, and at other times having sex was purely functional and all about sticking it in, pulling it out, and wiping it… kind of a means to an end. Most men would say you can never have too much sex… but perhaps there were times I’d thought that was my problem… maybe my body felt I had.
“For the Mother of God, Rick, wake up. Rick!” From being sound asleep one minute to being shaken awake like there was a fucking fire, gave my heart the fright of its life. Hearing the agitated, hoarse Boston accent of Paul, the PR/PA guy, I cracked one eye open and stared blearily into his beady eyes.
I vaguely remembered Jed, my guard talking to me at one point, but I had thought that was a dream until I saw Paul standing there. Jed’s efforts to wake me obviously hadn’t worked and Paul had decided to stage his own intervention to get me out of bed.
His way was not my ideal way to start the day, and it hadn’t been the first time I’d been on the receivin
g end of his wake-up calls either. I wondered whenever he did it if being woken like that had happened to him because he never showed any thought about what that felt like for me? What the fuck happened to a gentle tap on the hand or squeezing a fucking toe or something?
It wouldn’t have been reasonable to expect that from the motherfucker staring back at me with a pissed-off expression on his face. The insensitive asshole who’d disrupted my sleep wouldn’t have cared if he gave me a heart attack from fright.
I tried to move from under the tangle of the hot sweaty legs of the girls in my bed, as my mind flitted back to a hazy memory of how they’d behaved—or rather, deliciously misbehaved—for most of the night. My bones ached, my brain felt tired and my flesh felt delicately weak.
A screaming headache had pounded in my frontal lobe when I had first opened my eyes, the light searing into my pupils without the filter of my shades to protect them. Paul looked fucking ridiculous standing there in the sweltering one hundred degrees heat of Miami wearing a 5K suit, a shirt, and a tie.
“You gotta get the fuck up. We’re already running forty-five minutes late,” he ordered. Still squinting through one eye, I struggled to remember what was so urgent I had to get up for, but nothing came to mind. My temper began to flare because I was sick and tired of him and other fuckers invading my private space all the time, usually to drag me out of my bed long before I was ready to get up.
“Nothing’s that important that I can’t sleep off my hangover. Tell whoever the fuck it is I’m sick or whatever. I’m going back to sleep. Now get the fuck out of my bedroom. How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this? It’s unacceptable, dude.” I barked, totally pissed off with him.
I felt stiff all over and rolled slowly from my back onto my side, turning away from him. Still the girls’ tangled lower limbs shuffled and slid around mine then settled again, but neither of the girls woke up. A fleeting image of a sexual position we’d all been in during the night brought a small smile to my lips before I remembered how pissed I was.
“Rick, there’s no dodging this one.” The pressing, officious tone of Paul became more insistent which brought my thoughts back on track.
“You still here? I’m gonna boot your ass hard if I get out of this bed,” I muttered, punching my pillow and adjusting my head to get comfortable.
“As one of the joint organizers and the headliner for the Winds of Change Festival this weekend you’re needed at the press conference this morning. There is no way around this, Rick. You have got to show up.”
I cussed under my breath because no matter how hard I’d been arguing—he was right. I had to haul ass and make an appearance. This one was on me. I lay for a second and the reason for the gig flitted through my mind.
Winds of Change was a joint idea Alfie Black from the band, Crakt Soundzz; his wife, Lily, from another band, XrAid; Gibson Barclay, lead singer of M3rCy; and I had cooked up for a hurricane relief fundraiser after narrowly escaping the devastation of Hurricane Katrina a few years before.
One of the guys in a band—that had worked with all of us at one time or another—had spoken of his family’s devastating loss of their home, and the constant struggle they’d had to rebuild ever since. HR told us he’d lost two family members during the storm, and that even after all the years that had passed they still hadn’t recovered themselves to their former standard of living.
His conversation pricked Alfie Black’s and my conscience to the point where we felt compelled to do something to help. I spoke to my PR team, did some digging around, and found many of the victims of the hurricane had been forgotten and lots more were left destitute due to having the wrong home insurance, or hadn’t been able to afford to insure themselves in the first place.
Alfie reached out to another friend of ours, Gibson, because he knew Gibson did a lot of charitable and humanitarian work abroad and from the moment they spoke, the idea for a one-off festival to raise relief funds to aid those people affected gathered momentum.
“Alright. You won,” I said in resignation. “Get these chicks the fuck out and turn on the shower. I’ll be there.” Stretching my legs out straight, I gently shoved one of the women away from me and shook her awake. “Morning, baby. You need to grab your shit and leave. I got work to do this morning, sweetheart.” I said in a tone that made it clear we were done.
Slowly, she dragged her weary body up to a sitting position and took her weight on one arm, her other hand nursing her head as if it were too heavy to stay up on its own.
“Wow. I’m really sore,” she groaned moving her neck at a snail’s pace.
“You’re welcome. Now, hurry the fuck up and get dressed like a good girl. I got places to be.” I hated being so harsh with the women I had sex with, but I’d learned long ago never to show them any concern because it only made it harder when it was time for them to leave. Chicks got clingy in a heartbeat.
Neither moved out of the bed so I slung back the sheet and stood up by the side of it. Stretching my arms in the air reminded me how bone tired I was after our marathon sex session.
My morning wood stood proud, but the tip of my cock felt bruised and tender. When the skinny one eyed it and licked her lips, I knew I had to make tracks or I’d be balls deep in her mouth if I didn’t draw a line right then.
Without looking back, I dropped my arms to my sides and strode into the waiting shower leaving Paul to evict the wrecked looking women from my bed. I wondered briefly what their recreational drug of choice was because the second was very difficult to rouse.
“You’ve been in there ten minutes, Rick. We should have left for the conference ages ago,” Paul reminded me when he entered the bathroom without knocking and stood with his arms folded on the other side of the shower glass.
“Get the fuck out of here or I’ll take another ten. You’re really testing my patience this morning. I have no idea why the fuck I have you around, sometimes.”
“You have me around to ride your ass about getting to where you need to be when you need to be there, if Jed can’t achieve that,” he retorted in a sharp, confident tone. I could hear how pissed I made him and it made me chuckle.
“Tell me, Paul… am I pissing you off?”
“You know you are,” he snapped.
“Good, then that makes two of us. Now you know how it feels when you want to do something, and someone has other ideas.”
Glaring at me, he banged the glass with the side of his fist in frustration and headed for the door. “Get your ass in some pants and meet me downstairs in five,” he called over his shoulder sounding tired of me.
As he left, he swung the bathroom door shut and the loud bang it made rang in my ears. I snickered before I stepped out the shower because I’d managed to rile him, but I knew he was right, I had to haul ass. Knowing it and doing it when I could fuck with Paul’s usually calm exterior was too much of a gift to ignore though.
“Eight minutes, Rick,” Paul muttered after looking at his watch, “Don’t complain to me if all the great lines have already been spoken by the others by the time we get there.”
“Calm the fuck down. Jesus, Paul are you on your period, or something? You’ve got that bitch voice down to a tee today.” I stared out the tinted window barely holding back a grin because he was so super pissed. However, I was careful and remained on my side of the line because I knew if I pushed him any further there was a distinct possibility he’d lose his shit and I still needed him for the meeting.
I’d have paid to see Paul lose his cool, but I knew there weren’t many other men who’d be as discreet and put up with my temperament the way he did.
I glanced sideways at him and he noticed, crossed his leg over his knee and turned away defensively. He stared out the other window and avoided looking at me. Usually, he tried hard not to show how annoyed I made him but not then.
When I saw how hard he fought to contain his angry feelings, I knew I’d have to bend my own stubborn ways just enough to appease him. I coul
dn’t have him lose his temper with me and I knew I had to get through the interview without us having an all-out argument.
Those disagreements didn’t happen often but whenever they had in the past, the after effects of the row hung in the air between us for days.
Fortunately for him, I felt rough enough to let it slide—the indigestion I had, coupled with the pounding headache from my hangover, made me slightly off form and that made me drop the tension and build a small bridge between us.
“Look, I’m sorry I chewed your ass this morning, but you know waking me up when I’ve not had enough sleep irritates the fuck out of me.”
“And I’m sorry you agreed to the interview so early in the day, Rick. It was your idea to get it over with by 10:30 am.”
I sighed, “I know it was, but I got drunk and those girls… well let’s just say I had a strenuous workout like I haven’t had in a while.”
“You’re not getting any younger. Maybe you should pace yourself better. This is the third time this week we’ve had a run in. And your moods have become more difficult. Your name calling isn’t warranted when you’re the one behaving like a diva,” he said in a serious tone.
I busted up laughing because he was right. I’d gotten so used to doing what I wanted, when I wanted, that sometimes I’d forgotten exactly why I came into the business in the first place. He was right, it was my job and Paul always had to prompt me to do it instead of me taking responsibility for the tasks I’d agreed to take on.
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