by A. m Madden
When I wordlessly explode inside of her, I pull out and grab my jeans before heading to the bathroom. I have no idea if she comes or not. If she did, chances are she faked it anyway. This is becoming a pattern for me. Fuck and run. It’s a miracle that I do come with all the shit in my head. My cock must really have a mind of its own.
When I come out of the bathroom, Kate is lying naked in the center of the futon. “You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I shrug before I sit at the table.
“Listen. I’m not your therapist. I don’t even qualify as a friend, but I want to be. I’m not pushy by nature. I’ll say this once. If you want to talk, I’m here. If not, that’s fine too. Next time we fuck you better be mentally present, or the next time will be on your dime.” She gets up and walks over to me. “Clear?”
“I don’t pay for sex.”
“Yeah, you said that.” Kate plants her naked ass on my lap and wraps her fingers in the hair at the back of my neck.
“You can go.”
“I’m not ready to go. You owe me an orgasm and a spanking.” She shakes her head and admits out loud, “For whatever reason, I am still here…although, I have no clue why. Let me be your friend, Trey. A friend with benefits.” I watch her face, waiting for a crack in her façade. There is no way a chick can be this practical, especially about sex. Most chicks would bolt the minute I pull my cock out and retreat. They would blame me for falling short with their expectations.
Except for Kate. This chick is like a guy.
She stands and kneels between my legs. Her eyes pinned to mine as she unbuttons, unzips, and unleashes my cock. “Here’s the first benefit,” she says before taking me into her mouth. I’m not hard, but her mouth changes that within a few seconds. I watch as she bobs up and down over me. It’s a very mechanical method and disgust slowly simmers through me. Instead of enjoying this blow job, I’m critiquing it.
What the fuck?
A gorgeous pro is blowing me, and all I can feel is disgust? Fuck that and my issues. She’s a fucking pro. How perfect can this situation be? I can easily manipulate her and use her to my advantage. She likes me. She’s right, a friend with benefits. For me, my own special fuck buddy. So what if she’s a whore, so am I…at least she gets paid for it.
I close my eyes to concentrate and force myself to enjoy the feel of her mouth. She works me over. I take it all shamelessly. When I bury my fingers in her hair to hold her head still, she lets me. I am now controlling my pace, my penetration, and my happy ending. When I explode my load into her mouth, all my issues go with it. I feel my orgasm is symbolic. I’m liberated. It feels fucking awesome. I’ve never come this hard in my entire life. It goes on and on.
And when I come back to reality, I decide I’ll be using Kate and her expertise to my advantage.
Today marks six weeks since I’ve arrived in L.A. Unfortunately I haven’t made a crap load of progress finding a job these past six weeks. The only progress I’ve made is that my name is now officially Trey Taylor. I marked the day with another tat. The court documents were processed within thirty days. I took that as a good sign. If shit is happening at home, specifically if my father is legally looking for me, that would have put a red flag on my file. Once my paperwork was processed without objection, it made me feel slightly better. I’m not stupid enough to believe it was that simple to lock my old life away in a neat little box. Many things that millions take for granted, such as using a credit card or applying for a job, are no longer options for me. To truly be invisible I need to eliminate a paper trail, and even then he can still find me. The ultimate change would be acquiring a new social security number. After researching that route, I found it’s easier to become the president. At the very least I was able to get a new driver’s license, which will help with my new identity in some ways.
I’ve spent the better part of my time here looking over my shoulder. My paranoia got the best of me and sent me to the library to see if any news broke on Rev. Simon Barton. The few articles that I did find didn’t educate me much. Apparently there was enough evidence to detain and arrest him. I have no idea what that evidence is. I can easily call the Rappaports to get an update on what has been happening. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve been fooling myself into thinking the less I know the better. Ignorance will not work very well for me. I know the only way to beat him is to stay one step ahead of him. If he is having legal problems, the last thing he’ll waste his time on is finding me. I don’t have a doubt in my mind that the day I once again become his focus will eventually come. It won’t matter if he is a free man or not, he will hunt me down. If not him, my uncle will. I really do need to make that call to stay as informed as possible.
For the most part I keep to myself, only associating with the tight crew I’ve become friends with. I spend most of my time at Hank’s or at my apartment. When I’m at Hank’s, I help around the bar by stocking shelves or replenishing clean glasses. When I’m in my apartment, I help Bob with basic repairs and maintenance. The twenty-dollar bills they have been throwing my way come more frequently. I never pay for a meal when I’m with Bob. I never pay for a beer when I’m with Hank. These two men have become father figures to me. Mel has become a mother figure to me. I take that back, because if I were to give Mel the green light, she’d have me naked on her bed without a backwards glance.
Against my better judgment, I’m becoming attached to each of them, and I’m not happy about it. I try to keep my distance emotionally, but they make it difficult for me. They offer their advice freely. Most of the time, I listen to them. There’s really just one sore subject between us. They feel I should stay away from Kate. They all think Kate is trouble. I just smile when they tag team me with their reasons. My response to them is always, “Who cares, I’m getting laid.” Kate and I aren’t exclusive. She’s a convenient fuck on days when I can’t find another willing participant. So, what-the-fuck-ever…like I said, I’m getting laid.
I don’t completely ignore their concerns. I file it all at the back of my mind. I watch and observe, giving nothing away. I take. I take it all…fee advice, free food, free booze, and free pussy. I take anything that anyone throws my way, and I give nothing back.
I have other things to worry about besides their concerns with Kate, employment being the most important. I’ve been waiting patiently for a bass player position to open up with any of the bands that perform at Hank’s. I have ventured to other bars looking for a job. Unfortunately, my situation has me limited in where I can expand my search. My reality makes it hard to try to talk my way out of job applications. Since I’ve already built trust with Hank, I am putting all my efforts on using him…specifically with Zane.
Fuck-Face has been stringing me along, and it’s seriously pissing me off. Weeks ago he hinted that I should learn their playlist, so I’m able to step into the role seamlessly. I did, and I’m still waiting around holding my dick. He likes to play people. Fuck - so do I, but he’s really bad at it. He’s as obvious as the rock star persona he’s trying to fit into. He’s so fucking stupid, which is the same reason I keep trying to get in on his band. He’d be the dumb fuck to hire me without proper identification.
I glance up from where I’m drying glasses at the bar. He sits in his corner, as usual, with his band and a new assortment of chicks. He rarely repeats his groupies. He rotates them, never looking back. The only girls he’ll allow to be regular attendants to the Zane show are the girls from The Men’s Club, specifically Kate. They share a unique bond. I’m sure he knows I fuck her, but I doubt he knows I fuck her for free. I refuse to ask her if she told him. I’d rather pretend to be the naïve dumb fuck who would be stupid enough to steal from his cookie jar. Especially, since Kate told me I’m her only freebie right now. My guess is if he knew, I would know.
I pretend to idolize him. I act as if I’m in awe of him. Truth is, I can’t stand him. The second time I look up toward his corner, he meets my gaze. He tips his beer and gives me his normal, “I
know you wish you were me” cocky nod. I give him my usual, “Yes, I do wish I were you” returning nod.
Cocksucker.
The bar is packed to the brim, everyone anxiously waiting for Top Shelf to take the stage. As much as Hank tries to get them to commit to a performance time, it never happens. Zane plays when Zane is ready.
“Hey, Trey. Go grab me a case of Jack,” Hank shouts over from the other end of the bar.
I make my way to the stockroom, maneuvering through the mass of bodies in my way. I have a love/hate thing toward the nights that Top Shelf plays. I love what I make in tips, but I fucking hate all these people. As I look for the case of Jack Daniels, I hear footsteps behind me. Turning, I find Zane leaning up against the door jam.
Fucking awesome.
“Hey, dude. Looking for something?” I ask while reaching for the box I need to grab.
“You wanna play tonight?”
He’s asked me this before, a few times. The first time he did this to me, I wanted to smash a bottle over his head. He got my hopes up, then seconds before they took the stage he said he felt I wasn’t ready. His other excuses were pathetic. It took me a while to finally realize it’s just more of the manipulating game he plays.
I can play games too.
“Absolutely. I’m always ready to play for you,” I lie through my teeth.
“Good. We’re on in five. Ron had a mishap.”
“What happened?”
“He made the mistake of pissing me off one last time. He’s out.”
Holy shit. Finally? I’m finally playing for this douche?
I school my features to reveal nothing but excitement. “I’m so fucking ready, Zane. You won’t regret it.”
“I know I won’t.” He takes a few steps into the room and takes a bottle of tequila out of a box. “You’re just like me, Kid. We’re two peas in a pod.” His words make me sick to my stomach. He walks out the door, taking the tequila with him.
When Hank walks in, he finds me still holding the box of Jack, staring into space.
“I need that Jack. What the hell is taking you so long?”
“Sorry, Hank. Um, Zane just asked me to play tonight.”
Hank frowns and asks, “Again?”
“He said Ron is out.”
Hank walks over, takes the box of Jack and says, “If you don’t, I’m gonna kick Zane’s ass. I’m sick of his shit. Now, I’ll have no one to help with those maniacs out there. If he figured his shit out, he would have known earlier and I could have replaced you.” He walks out mumbling, “Fucker.”
His words remind me that until my feet are on that stage, I shouldn’t believe this is actually happening. Just in case it is true, I take a piss, grab my guitar, and head out to the bar. The noise level is deafening. Hank is frantically running back and forth, he pulled Bob behind the bar with him. He does that often and takes advantage of the fact Bob does it out of the goodness of his heart. He’s got Mel helping the wait staff. The scowl on his face doesn’t fool me. He loves nights like this. Because when he sits at the bar after closing, counting his stacks of money, that scowl is nowhere to be found.
With leaden legs I move through the throngs of people toward Zane’s corner. I’m clutching the handle on my bass case praying to God he doesn’t fuck me over again, because this time I will lose it. Without a doubt, I will smash his head through a wall. Just as I approach his table, he claps once and announces over the noise, “Let’s do this.”
Fuck, I’m finally playing.
His two remaining band members glance me over with pure contempt. Zane laughs out loud at the uncomfortable aura that hangs over us. You’d think he was some sort of god manipulating a tornado with his finger. His authoritative stance instigates their hatred toward me. For a split second I wonder if this is worth it? I surely don’t need this shit. Then, there’s that part of me that would absolutely welcome some trouble in my life.
I assume Ron’s position to the right of Zane. The crowd goes fucking wild and he laughs at their enthusiasm. He stands dead center, holding the mic, but not uttering a word. As they do every time Top Shelf plays, the crowd obeys his wordless command and quiets down automatically.
What the hell do they see in this schmuck? From up here, I can see their glazed, adoring eyes trained on him as if in a trance. I can also see how he can be addicted to this. It lifts you, fills you, and gives you a hard-on. Fuck, we are in a dive bar in downtown L.A. and I have a raging hard-on from this crowd. I can only imagine what Bono feels like when he performs.
“How is everyone tonight?” he asks in a voice barely above a whisper. It takes a few minutes before they remember they’re supposed to be quiet. He puffs his chest out and waits while they do. “This kid to my right is Trey.” His announcement riles them all up again. He goes on and on about some shit that I completely could give a crap about. It feels like an eternity that we’ve been up here, and I have yet to hit a chord.
Zane finally announces our first song, and I assume my new role by playing my bass flawlessly…and on the next song, and the next and the next. I fucking play like a genius, like I’ve been with these assholes since day one.
During our set, a small clump of chicks strays over to my side of the stage. Zane looks over and gives me a smirk. I can read his thoughts. In comparison to the hoards fawning over Fuck-Face, it must be comical to him how few I have in numbers. I couldn’t give a shit. It’s day one.
A blonde up front smiles wide and lifts her shirt to reveal braless tits. I wink and she bounces on her toes, giving me a very nice show. Shit, this is amazing. Now that I’ve experienced this, I’ll do whatever it takes to continue. Even if kissing his ass is what it would take. I was born to do this. There isn’t a place that I’d rather be right now than playing on this stage, except for maybe playing on a bigger stage.
The blonde ogles my crotch while licking her lips. Anyone with a set of eyes can see my bulge. She makes it very obvious she wants it. During our time performing she flirts with me, alternating her glance between my face and my cock. By the time we end our set, I’m high as a kite. It’s a euphoria that I’ve never experienced before. It’s better than a high you get from drugs or booze. It’s probably as close to fucking as anything can get. The evidence is still forcing my cock against the confines of my jeans.
The bar erupts with applause when we wrap it up. Zane takes it all, bowing to his loyal subjects. A quick wave of his hand toward each of us is all the recognition we get. Only until I make my way off the stage does he finally grip my shoulder and say, “Good job, Kid.”
“Thanks.”
“You need work, but not bad for a first time.”
What. The. Fuck. Ever.
He motions for me to follow him to his table. I’d much rather grab that cute blonde and get the fuck out of here, but I need to keep the peace. The rest of his band take one look at me sitting next to Zane and take off without a word to him or me. He notices and shrugs.
“They’re pissed. They’ll get over it. I wasn’t happy with Ron, and they aren’t happy with you. Kid, I like you, but I need to worry about my band. Until I find a replacement, you can play with us for fifty-bucks a gig.”
What the fuck! I level him with my glare until he meets my eye. “I’m not hired?”
“Nope. I appreciate you filling in, but this is my band. I need to make them happy, and I need the perfect fit.”
“You couldn’t get a more perfect fit than me.”
“You were good tonight, but - you aren’t Top Shelf yet.” He motions for a waitress and orders us two beers and two shots.
I seriously want to punch his fucking face in. I consciously clench my jaw to stop myself from spewing what I think of him. I clench my fists to stop me from bashing his face in. I drag in a few deep breaths, corral my facial expression and lie.
“Zane, it was an honor playing with you guys tonight. I’ll be available for you for as long as you need. Maybe, if I’m lucky, you won’t find a good fit, and I’ll get
better and better.”
He stares at me for few seconds before saying, “Sounds like a plan.”
Some of the chicks that lined the front of the stage hover nearby waiting for him to acknowledge them, waiting for him to allow them to join us. With a nod of his head, the floodgates open. A harem surrounds Zane, the cute blonde pulls up a chair beside me. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my hard-on.
Once we get our drinks, he raises his and says, “To our temp.”
I raise mine, downing it before grabbing my beer. I start getting some attention from his harem. They fawn over us, touching, giggling, and flirting their way closer to the closest thing to rock stars they’ll ever meet. He watches me most of the time. The bar thins and I’m getting antsy. I’ve had my fill of Zane Zaslo.
The next time he makes eye contact, I say loud enough for him to hear, “I’m heading out. Let me know if you need me at your next gig.” Blondie pouts and asks me to stay. I distractedly ask for her number, appeasing her for the time being. I say my goodbyes, ending with my eyes on Fuck-Face.
He gives me a single nod and watches me walk out the door.
I’m wound up so tight, I need to release some of this pent up frustration. I hate being dependent on that Fuck-Face. Patience. I need to chill, let things progress, and use him for all he’s worth. I also need to have a plan B ready, just in case. I find myself walking a few blocks to the main boulevard in search for a cab. Kate’s working tonight, and I could use her services once she’s off.
“Hey, asshole.”
I turn to see Ron following behind me. Behind him are Lee and Eric, the other two fucktards of Top Shelf. The three of them close the distance between us. They all have the same threatening expression on their faces. Their fists are clenched at their sides. I should be scared, but I find the situation funny as shit. The only thing missing is the theme song from The Wild West. It’s so comical, I actually laugh out loud.