by Ann Lister
“Hardly,” Simon scoffed. “I'll be there.”
A smile spread across Ben's face. “I'm looking forward to your outrageous behavior.”
“Whatever,” Simon replied and rolled his eyes. He wasn't exactly feeling in the mood for “outrageous behavior,” but he was perfectly capable of acting like a professional while going through the motions when his heart wasn't fully invested in something. All part of the job, right? Occasionally, he was required to do things he wasn't too happy about in order to play nice with the band. He could only imagine things would get a lot worse with that as their popularity gained momentum. The things that annoyed him now were sure to piss him off once they hit the big time, and they were on course to do that within a year or two tops. He'd be wise to try and enjoy whatever anonymity he had left while he could–at least, that's what all their managers and promoters were telling them.
They'd already signed the big recording contract, and the gears were set in motion for their first road tour sometime late the next year. Soon, club gigs like this one would be a rare commodity, and he knew he'd miss the intimacy of these smaller shows. Having the gyrating bodies in front of the stage like this and hearing them sing the lyrics to your songs did something for his soul.
“Time to make the donuts,” Ari, their new keyboard player announced as he took his place on stage to the left of Ben. It was the usual catch-phrase he'd say right before they were set to perform, and it never failed to get them cranked up to play.
Simon watched the club manager as he moved to the center of the stage and said hello to the excited audience. Even from his perch behind his drums, Simon could still feel the energy rolling towards him from the crowd. There was nothing else like it, and he knew nothing would replace or replicate this feeling either.
“Without introduction, because this band clearly doesn't need one from me or anyone else, I give you Reckless!” The announcer shouted into his microphone, then he quickly disappeared behind the open stage curtain as Simon stomped out an eight beat count on his bass drum before the rest of the band jumped in on “Tear Me A New One.” This would be the first single from their debut album which was dropping in a few months–if everything stayed on schedule when they recorded the tracks.
Tear Me A New One ~ by Reckless
Baby, go on and rip into me.
You know my balls are blue.
Tell me I'm not into it,
Though you know that it's not true.
You can climb inside to see me,
But you'll still be too blind.
Round and round and up and down,
Beauty you'll never find.
You can cut it up in pieces,
And toss them in the air.
Wasted time and empty space,
You bring me nothing but despair.
The future is so crystal clear.
The path before me set.
My life inside the fish bowl,
I'll make you wish we never met.
So, go on and cry me a fucking river.
You can drown in it, too.
'Cause baby, you can tear me a new one.
Without you I'll be shiny,
Like new.
Ben barely took a breath in between their first song and the next. He belted out the last lines of the song and let the final word hang out over the audience until his face turned red from lack of oxygen. Then he spun around and yelled out the title of the second song and Simon began to bang his sticks together above his head to give the guys an intro to “Dark Cloud.” This was another new song he and Ben had written in preparation of going into the studio to record that milestone first album, the disc every musician dreamed about from the time they were old enough to hold an instrument in their hands and fully understood the process.
It took Simon years before he even wanted to consider himself to be a real musician. He learned how to play drums because it was fun and not especially challenging for him, not because of an inner yearning or a natural born talent, like others might have described their start in music. His brother needed a drummer for his band, and since Simon was always hanging around nearby, he seemed like the logical choice. Except, Simon had no real interest in being part of anyone's band.
The fact he was always under foot in those early days was merely a means to party with the older kids. It also offered him a bounty of opportunities to hit on all the girls there to watch the band. If it wasn't for the fact he was Ben's little brother, he would have been invisible to them. They were willing to fuck around with him in the hopes Simon might introduce them to Ben. It was a simple concept for Simon. The other guys would be busy practicing or performing, and that left Simon free to make-out with as many girls as he could handle. And he did–as often as he could. Before the age of twenty, he had more skills in bed than most men had by the time they reached their thirties.
The good old days consisted of copious amounts of boobs, booze, and bones; back when getting high came as second nature as combing your hair or brushing your teeth first thing in the morning. Although to be honest, Simon didn't care much if he ever combed his hair. It was wavy and naturally messy, which made it impossible to tell if he'd combed it recently at all, so why go to the effort? The girls loved to tug on his curls when they were getting off with his face pressed between their thighs. That right there gave Simon enough of a reason not to cut–or comb his mop ever again.
Now he had another reason to add to his list for keeping his hair long and unruly and that was how much he loved it when a man entwined his locks around their fingers and held his head still while they fucked his mouth. The memory of him on his knees in the storage room came back and sent a shiver through his body. Jesus! That was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever done in his life–and he couldn't wait to do it again. In fact, if they weren't hitting the strip clubs tonight and gorging on pussy, Simon would be looking for another guy to fool around with. The thought of getting a lap dance from a bitch with fake tits paled in comparison after the blowjob he'd given–and received last night. He needed to find a way to revisit that experience as soon as possible.
As much as Simon felt freed from discovering his bisexuality, that experience was also creating another problem–one which would require him to hide a major piece of himself from those closest to him. He wasn't sure he could keep it hidden, and he certainly wasn't sure he wanted to, either. Why couldn't he have his cake and eat it too? He could see himself enjoying sex with both genders. Big fucking deal. Why would that translate into something he'd be expected to keep a secret? It sounded like a lot of work to pull off a dual life, and Simon had never been good at lying, so where did that leave him with the biggest secret of his life?
“Hey stud! You ready for blowjobs tonight at the strip club?”
One of roadies asked the question when the band came off the stage after the show, and Simon felt his face flame with heat. He sure as hell hoped there'd be blowjobs exchanged tonight. But Simon would prefer it if beard stubble and a nice, thick dick would be attached to the person servicing him, rather than the silicone implants and pussy lips he anticipated they'd find at the titty bar.
Yeah, this new need of his was going to become a real problem. More than likely it already was.
Chapter Four
Simon followed his brother and the rest of their band into a club downtown aptly called G-Strings. He could already feel the mother of all headaches coming on and wondered how long he'd have to stay inside the smoke filled club before he could cut out and grab a taxi back to the hotel. Would anyone really miss him if he just left now?
“Simon says . . . we do a round–or two, of tequila shots,” Ari shouted above the music cranking through the club sound system.
Ben wrapped his arm around his brother's neck and tugged him against this side. “Are the shots going on your tab, dear brother?” he asked.
“Whatever,” Simon answered. Maybe the quicker he got drunk, the less he'd care about what happened with the strippers tonight. Did th
at really just go through my brain? Since when was he ambivalent about being inside a strip club? It was usually him that suggested these little outings for everyone to blow off some steam–or get blown. Either way, these after-show club parties seemed to keep the morale high for the small crew they had working for them, and doing so basically for nothing but beer and girls.
“I say we get this party started!” Ben yelled and everyone cheered.
Simon directed the bartender to line up a bunch of tequila shots on top of the bar, and the guys moved in to grab one. “Here's to blowing a load tonight, boys,” Simon shouted his toast. The guys laughed as they tossed the liquid into the backs of their throats and slammed the shot glass back down onto the bar top.
“Hit us again,” Simon instructed the bartender and more cheers erupted around him. He did his shot and started to turn around to face the stage area and nearly walked into a wall of a man who looked like he must be a bouncer. The broad chest and biceps of the guy had Simon's dick twitching in his jeans, but he ignored the interest and looked up into the man's face. Those features were equally as appealing, and Simon's forehead began to bead with sweat. How was it, that he was standing in a club with a dozen scantily dressed women filtering through the crowd and dancing provocatively on three different stages, but it was this brick house of a man who was making Simon's cock hard?
One fucking blowjob from a dude and all you can think about is more dick? Simon chastised himself at the new thoughts bouncing around inside his head. He needed to get himself back in the game if he was going to survive this night of debauchery with his band mates and coworkers.
“I'm Castro,” the bouncer said to Simon.
Simon nodded at the brawny man unsure of what he was supposed to do with that information. Is that the name the guy wanted Simon to scream out when he shot a load down his throat? And there it was, his brain was once again jumping back to being on his knees or having someone else on their knees and taking him deep. Simon shut his eyes when he started to feel the tightening of his pants. Thankfully, the club was dark enough where he knew no one would notice he had a hard-on, unless their hand inadvertently rubbed across the front of his groin.
“We have a private room ready, if you'd like to follow me,” Castro said in a smooth voice.
A flood of sensations assaulted Simon from the closeness of the man when he leaned in to speak. The subtle aroma of Castro's sandalwood cologne ticked the inside of Simon's nose, and his dick thickened further. That was his favorite scent on a man–or maybe it was his new favorite scent. Who the fuck knew? Simon was muddling through this on his own and doing his best to navigate through it and figure things out as he went. It wasn't easy, that was for sure. Ever since those few hours inside the storage closet, Simon was hyper aware of every man around him.
Would it always be this way? He hoped to hell things would eventually calm the fuck down once he managed to get it all sorted out inside his head. He really wished he knew someone he could talk to about what was going on with him–someone he could trust. Simon wasn't sure he knew anyone who fit those qualifications, so for now, he'd have to keep his mouth shut.
Simon managed a nod at Castro and fell in line behind him. He tapped a few of his crew as he passed them and directed them to follow Castro as well. They walked down a dark hallway, beyond the bathrooms, and into a room at the very end. A round stage occupied the center of this room with a brass pole that connected to the ceiling. A couple of dozen chairs were placed around the stage area, and two long couches were arranged in a particularly dark corner of the room for more private shows. A bar was at the back wall and had a lone bartender ready to take their drink orders. The same loud music played in this room as could be heard in the main room of the club.
Simon waited by the door until his brother finally came into sight, along with the remaining guys from their road crew. He gave Ben a nervous grin as he stepped into the room, then his eyes bounced around the room to see where Castro had gone. A door behind the circular stage opened and Castro came into view along with six dancers. Simon watched as Castro seemed to give instructions to the girls, directing two of them up onto the stage and the other four over to make nice with the guys in the band and crew. He rolled his eyes at that notion. He had zero interest in any of the girls in this room right now which meant he was going to have to put on a show of his own in order to convince the guys around him that nothing about him was different.
I'm still the same guy I was last week, right? So why does everything feel fucked up?
Simon spun around and headed for the bar. He was going to need a lot of liquid courage than he'd had out in the main room of the club if he was going to remain calm and in control of himself at this party. He signaled the bartender and asked for a shot of tequila and quickly tossed it down his throat. Behind him, the girls were already working the small crowd of twenty, while the other two dancers had begun their stage routines. Simon asked for another shot and was lifting the glass to his lips when movement beside him made him set it back down onto the bar.
“You don't like our girls?” Castro asked.
Simon shook his head. “Your girls are fine,” he answered. “Just not in the mood tonight.”
“Maybe tits and ass aren't your thing?” Castro asked with a grin.
Simon's face began to heat with anger and a little bit of embarrassment. He did his best to settle himself and did the shot before he risked looking at Castro. “Why would you give a fuck what I may or may not be interested in?” Simon asked.
Castro lifted one thick brow and inched a little closer to Simon at the bar. “Something tells me you and I have similar . . . interests.”
“Is that so?” Simon questioned. With the closer proximity of Castro, he had to tip his head back slightly in order to make eye contact with the larger man. “Are you saying you enjoy needle point and basket weaving same as I do?”
“Funny man,” Castro chuckled. “I'm talking about another interest–a certain proclivity enjoyed by those with a more . . . sophisticated palette.”
Simon shivered, then cursed at himself for allowing Castro to get to him like this. “You're speaking in some fucked up language I don't understand,” Simon said using tight words.
Castro bent in and put his face directly in front of Simon's. “I'm talking about the fact we both like the taste of dick. Am I speaking your language now?”
“Fuck you,” Simon said and glanced around quickly to see who might have heard Castro's statement. When he looked back at Castro he realized the man was standing too close. He gave his solid chest a shove, but the man was so massive he barely moved.
“Is that a request?” Castro asked. “Because I'd be more than happy to oblige.”
“I think you have me mistaken with someone who shares your special . . . what'd you call it? Oh, yeah. Proclivity,” Simon shook his head in disgust and began to walk off towards the chairs arranged in front of the stage, but Castro grabbed him by the arm.
“The manager's office at the end of the hall is empty,” Castro said in a low voice. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.”
“I said I'm all set,” Simon snapped and yanked his arm out of Castro's grip. He sat down in the empty seat beside his brother and ignored the odd look Ben gave to him. Simon was too pissed off to focus on Ben's annoyance with him, or the girls pretending to fuck each other on the stage before them. How dare Castro make assumptions like that about him, and on what grounds? He didn't know Simon, so where did he get off telling him what his fucking proclivities were? And who the fuck used words like that, anyway?
“Hey, Tiny Dancer,” Ben called out to the slender girl gyrating for the guy seated two chairs over from them. “My brother is way too tense for his own good. I think he needs to . . . lighten his load. Think you could help him out with that?”
What the actual fuck? Simon silently glared at his brother, but before he could open his mouth to verbally protest the offer, the girl who went by the name Tiny Dancer was straddling
his lap. She was dressed like a schoolgirl with a short, white blouse tied in the front beneath her small, perky breasts. Her long, blonde hair was in braids at the sides of her head and a hip-hugging, plaid skirt was hiked up high on her slender thighs. Knee-high socks accentuated the delicate muscles in her calves and black and white saddle shoes completed the outfit.
On another night, Simon might have been interested in giving the girl a nice hard fuck, but tonight his mind was elsewhere. Even still, the girl continued to do her job. She did her best to tease Simon by grinding herself against his lap to the steady bass rhythm from the music coming through the room's sound system. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensations of her mouth against his throat and the drag of her tongue up to his ear.
“Come on, baby,” she cooed at the shell of his ear. “Get hard for me, so we can play.”
She placed his hands on her narrow hips, while her fingers began to untie the front of her blouse. A moment later, her breasts–no bigger than the palm of Simon's hands, appeared before his eyes. Upturned pink nipples bounced in front of his mouth with every sway of her hips on his lap. His instincts had him grabbing her breasts, then his mouth covered one pert peak and sucked. She squealed with delight and tipped her hips forward, then her eyes connected with Simon's once she realized he still wasn't hard. The look of surprise on her face pissed him off. He could get hard if he wanted, couldn't he?
Movement at the side of the stage caught his attention. The pivoting performance lights set in the ceiling illuminated Castro as he stepped around a couple of guys from the Reckless crew to arrange a few more chairs. Simon watched the large man work with great interest; the lifting and bending while doing the task at hand only highlighted the man's muscled physique. He remembered Castro's invitation to join him in the manager's office. Jesus, he wanted that and everything Castro had implied would happen inside that office. Images of touching, kissing, and sucking popped into Simon's head, and he felt his cock beginning to thicken in his jeans.