by Gina Whitney
“Christ, Cindy. What the fuck, chick!” I pushed the heavy, massive bathroom door, stepping into something out of Versailles. I huffed, ejecting my arm from her clutches—again.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, babe.” She raised her designer brow, nodding.
“And? Your point being?” I turned around, squatting to see if all the stalls were empty. This place employed some nosey fuckers.
“Hello? Am I addressing the living?” She clucked her tongue, then turned to the mirror to blot her lipstick. Sheesh. The bathroom had a décor rich in deep ebony and cream with flecks of gold immersed within the marble. An elaborate chandelier suspended from the ceiling gave well-off clients a little bit of home. The extravagant mirrors with intricate woodwork adorned the walls artfully, continuing the main theme of exclusivity—belonging.
“Well, I snuck a quick peek of your rocker’s personal file. And it seems an old flame or conquest is threatening to expose his sexual preferences to the public. Which I don’t have to be a public relations expert to tell you this will be very damaging to Abel, his family, and of course, the band. Total nightmare. Why do you think he’s here at 9 a.m. on a Friday morning taking a meeting with his dad and manager?” All this she said in one long breath. Yeah, I already knew that.
My lips curved into a big, toothy smile and I nodded knowingly.
“What kind of sexual preferences? My sexual preference is often.” I laughed. I felt her give pause. Oh, here comes the motherfucking karma police. Even though Cindy’s sexual prowess preceded her at times, she suffered from some kind of trauma in her past that she flat-out refused to speak of. She didn’t like overly dominant men—at all. Yeah, she talked the talk, but walked closer to vanilla then her lascivious mouth.
On the other hand, I was fearless … at least that’s what I projected. I got down with all that alpha male shit. I had never experienced a true BDSM Dom. I had a couple of jealous boyfriends, but I mistook their insecurities and possessiveness as love. I had even gone as far as letting a dude tie me up. Nothing on a Mr. Grey level—but was there really even a Mr. Grey? Or was that just the fabrication of a horny homemaker with a nonexistent sex life? Lord, just talking about being bound had me all—tied up. A thousand tiny fires broke out across my skin, causing a heated sweat.
“Snap out of it!” She snapped her nimble fingers across my eyes. I blinked rapidly, dispelling another daydream.
“Okay, relax. We don’t even know if he wants to go out with me—yet.”
I excused myself to pee. I turned and headed for the handicapped stall. I needed to think for a minute in a stall that was a little bigger—more spacious. Quite a few people had a real problem with a non-disabled person using those facilities. Fuck em’. I had a handicapped grandmother with polio and the way I figured it, I had just as much right to be in there as a handicapped person. Christ, she was a pain in my ass. Talk about giving someone a Cinderella complex. Well, fuck—I owned Cinderella. Dislodging my belt, I lowered my pants and sat down, relishing the moment of silence. As I extended my hearing range wider, I could still hear Cindy barking and growling about isn’t it obvious this, and moth to a flame that. Shaking my head, I let my mind drift until I got to my floaty, peaceful place. Letting out a sigh of relief, I wondered how I got to this state. Was I really going to duplicitously latch onto a guy to further my station?
My father always had great taste in women. He married a beauty—my mother. And he hires exquisite looking help with rockin’ bodies. I wondered if the old man had hit Gia up yet. Fucker! Nevertheless, I needed to play my love life close to the vest. Morgana, my ex, was trying to fuck me, and fuck me good and hard. She pulled some pretty fucked-up shit, trying to turn the vanilla media and public against me. They wouldn’t understand my need to bind, dominate, and fuck women within an inch of their lives. I had something broken in me. A need, a want that I had little control over. I loved brutal sex. Liked it real rough. Bringing a chick pain with a side of pleasure was on the daily specials for Abel’s appetite menu. And I had a very healthy appetite. The more they screamed, the harder my dick got—and the harder I came.
Some would say that I’m a sexual deviant. I say, why label people? Oh yeah, and mind your own fuckin’ business. This was how I was born—how I chose to live. How my parents made me. It was in my DNA to be dominant. Spanking a chick till her ass came up a pretty shade of red made me wanna blow my load all over her ass—mark her. But, people and their opinions? Did I really care?
That was a loaded question. And the answer was both yes and no. As a rule, I was a private dude. But because I was in the public eye as a performer, I had signed away all rights to privacy. And prying eyes wanted to know what went down behind my bedroom door. The cold, hard facts were: my family and band would pay for my preferences and indiscretions if they were to be put on blast. Could it ruin my career, because I preferred to tie up women? I mean, they loved it. Came back for more and shit, screamed my name at the top of their lungs. That had to mean something, right? We were all consenting adults. Most chicks praised our heavenly father for the multiple orgasms I gave them.
Speaking of coming. I needed to get that little vixen Gia firmly under me. My cock was twitching hard while I was speaking to her earlier. Fuck. I was as hard as stone just thinking of her. I could go for working some of my kink on her. My dick throbbed and was fighting my zipper MMA style. Poor guy wanted out in the worst way.
“Sweet Agony,” one of our most downloaded songs, was written as homage to my love of BDSM. Its heavy bass laced with my throaty lyrics set it apart from anything those Top 40 lovin’ DJ’s were playing on the radio. It was erotic as fuck, and every time we preformed it, my balls pulled up north, relishing the phantom sensations of past fuckings. Man, I loved to fuck. I needed to get laid. I’m not one to rub one out. Don’t get me wrong, if it was absolutely necessary, I would. But I preferred a female’s firm fist on my cock. A nice squeeze and a twist on the upstroke. I loved seeing their faces when they got an eyeful of my hardware and tatted dick. Most were awestruck, some hesitant—no matter how they tried to play it off. Their eyes always gave it away … followed by their mouths forming a perfect O. As in: O shit, I’m in trouble with this badass. Some chicks were concerned about hurting me. They didn’t know their way around my hardware. Didn’t understand that if they were blowing me they needed to use some serious spit to work my loops properly. But, there were those few fan-girls who wanted to permanently face-plant themselves there, too. Yeah, my dick had his own groupies—got fan letters and shit. I caught shit from the guys. Fuck it. What did I care? I had a nice, wide fatty. Fuck, yeah. It was all part of the scene. Rock and Roll and babes. I was never going to settle down. Well, actually, come to think of it, I settled down every night. Ha! Yep, I loved my life.
Christ, where was my father? Why was I always on the back burner? My manager Dave was sitting across from me, playing with his fucking new phone. I needed to pace. Being here had me anxious as shit. Between the chick out front and my father’s disapproving eyes, my day was gonna be hell. I walked over to the water cooler to quench my thirst. Standing there daydreaming about the festival this weekend, I saw Gia’s smoking reflection. Oh, yeah, it’s playtime for Abel. I turned and had a nice view of her ass, as she practically ate the file cabinet while falling over. She quickly recovered, making sure no one saw her epic fail, but she didn’t count on me being at the water cooler. I laughed. Chicks didn’t find that shit funny—got embarrassed. Whatever. I could hear her and Cindy scuffling out there. I was going to check out what the problem was, but by the time I got there, they were gone. I decided I’d catch up with Cindy later. I wanted to ask her what the deal was with Gia.
The elevator door opened and my prick of a father exited in a huff. I turned ass to have a seat. I sat in the white Queen Ann’s chair next to Dave which was across from Dad’s desk. His daunting, solid mahogany desk fit his persona perfectly. He was an arrogant, wealthy elitist who grew up with the preverbal silve
r spoon up his ass. His sense of entitlement was epic. He surrounded himself with like-minded people. His friends, most of which also came from old money, were successful and full of themselves. A cross between a Viking and a piranha, my father was revered as a counselor. His skill in the courtroom was legendary. And I was grateful he was on my side. Morgana wasn’t too bright going up against me. My father might not agree with my lifestyle, but I was his son, and we were family. Family was everything to my father. At least, that’s the perception he gave. He could be a selfish prick. I’m pretty positive he felt the same way about me—especially with this Morgana crap going on.
Oh, and my mother, Deirdre Gunner; what a piece of work there. She insisted I call her Deirdre as soon as I spoke my first word. Hated the word mom. My parents were the same age. Same pedigree. Same everything. They just didn’t share the same bed or anything intimate. It was all a show. They are loving, pleasant, and nauseatingly smitten in public. Image was everything. Unity was everything. The shame was, I was just a pawn between the two. There was no love lost between any of us. No love period. I grew up a bratty, rich, spoiled kid with day help shaping me. Yes, I did go to the finest school. I received the finest of everything. If money could attain it, I had it. It was the other stuff that I craved. It was nurturing, security, and warmth that I needed. Fuck it. That was a lifetime ago. I made my amends with it. They had to live with themselves—which they did very well every day, perfectly fine. What time was it, anyway? I looked at my watch; it was 9:18. The boys were late, and at any moment, my dad was going to chime in. Three, two, one…
“And the rest of the boys are?” he asked snidely, looking at his estate Breitling watch. As if he needed to check the time. He knew exactly what time it was. And the fact that they were late. This was his typical condescending behavior.
A ruckus in the hallway told me they were finally here. My band members were the best of friends—brothers. Woody, our drummer, was an exchange student from Ireland. He never exchanged. Once he was in America, he never even thought about going back. People loved to fuck with him and piss him off. Once his mouth started going, he was unstoppable. We barely understood anything he said. With careful listening, we came to understand him over time. He had that nickname since the tenth grade. He’s never not had his sticks in hand, always workin’ beats. His blond, blue eyed, all-American look had the ladies swooning. His look didn’t fit our vibe. But he was a badass drummer. And he joked and cursed incessantly. Life was definitely interesting on the road with him, being such a practical joker. Of course, he tells babes he got his nick-name because of the tree-sized wood between his legs. What did I know? I never looked at the dude’s dick. Whatever.
Jake, who’s on bass, had hair as dark as midnight, and eyes that were pools of sapphire. I thought they were strange, so blue they didn’t look real. We all loved to bust his balls about them being contacts. And this usually ended with a wrestling match. He wasn’t what I would call a good sport about it. He also co-wrote some of the songs on the album. He can be lyrically brilliant when he’s not cranky.
Last, but not least, was our lead guitarist, Surrender; we called him Ender. He was a gamer at heart, and was also our resident Latin dude. His dark brown hair, green eyes, and olive skin had girls creaming in their panties. A true Lothario, he had a mouth on him. He could curse in almost every language—and did. He loved pussy about as much as I did. That’s saying a lot, because I did love me some pussy. We were all close. There was no jealousy between us. We appreciated one another’s talents. And most importantly, we loved and supported each other—would kill for one another.
“Puta, besame el culo!” Ender called out to me, meaning, “Bitch, kiss my ass!” Yeah, he was in a mood. Can’t blame him there. I didn’t want to be out of my bed this early, either. We rehearsed until 2am the night before in order to be ready for the Telluride Blues and Brews Festival that weekend, Colorado’s biggest, most epic, four-day festival.
“Fuck you, Ender!” I spat back. He flipped me off and walked over to sit next to Jake.
“Enough! Sit, gentlemen—or should I say children? I have other clients today. Paying clients!” my father tersely stated. Woody took the seat to my left.
“How you holding up?” he whispered, leaning over. I nodded. I had no words. What would I say? I’m sorry the cunt everybody hated and warned me about was now affecting them? I shook my head in disbelief. They warned me about her at least a hundred times. “She’s a conniving cunt, Abel.” “All she wants is your dick and your money, dude.” “She’d let you do anything, be anything, so long as you keep funding her shopping habits.” Man, was I an asshole. Thought she was really into me. She was the only chick I was close enough with to maybe call my girlfriend. And even that was a stretch. But she was cool, and loved to fuck. And she let me take her with no hesitation—ever.
“Extortion is the crime of obtaining money or property by threat to a victim’s property or loved ones, intimidation, or false claim of a right,” my father stated. Christ, the counselor was in. Goddamn blowhard.
“Speak plainly! I think we all have an idea of what’s going on. Enough with the legal vomit,” I said contemptuously. I looked around at the guys. Their eyebrows were raised disapprovingly. I guess they thought I was being a dick. Whatever. Woody patted my leg again.
“Dude, chill,” he whispered. Nodding yeah, I was fucking stressed. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be practicing or getting my dick wet. I needed to chill the fuck out.
“Cabron!” Ender murmured, looking toward the window. This was his way of calling me a “dumbass.” What a dick he was. Jake, who played peacemaker at times, shook his head at Ender in warning. Taking a long deep breath, I tried to hold my shit together.
“As I was saying. Extortion can take place either over the phone, by mail, email, text, or any other wireless communication. Nevertheless, it is a federal crime. She has engaged Abel by text and voicemail. I could also make the case for defamation of character, slander, and bribery. Now, this is how we’re going to handle Morgana,” my father instructed us. He picked up the receiver and barked out an order. A minute later there was a knock.
“Here’s the file, Mr. Gunner. I was just going to file it away.” Gia sashayed around his desk and handed it to him. She waited a beat, looking at the boys. Finally, her eyes landed on me. I winked. She blushed. Ender, being closest to her, popped out of his seat to greet her. Of course.
“Hey, I’m Surrender, but you can call me Ender.” He shook her hand.
“Hi. I’m Gia. Nice to meet you, Ender,” she said, smiling softly. With that, the rest of the band introduced themselves, causing a minor disruption. I knew this would make my old man twitch.
“That will be all, Gia,” my father snapped, dismissing her. She nodded. A rosy hue colored her cheeks. I found her self-consciousness endearing. My dad didn’t do subtle. He must fancy her—otherwise, there would’ve been a shit-storm. Time was money. And money was his god.
Ender jumped out of his seat. “Gia, if you don’t have plans the weekend of May 30th, I have two extra tickets to the festival. We happen to be gigging at the Telluride Blues and Brews that weekend. If you’re interested—that is.” He winked at her. Son of a bitch. He turned to me, smirking.
“That would be awesome, Ender. You’re totally sweet. Thank you!” She smiled happily, then turned and left. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing a few minutes ago.
“Got a problem, Putu?” he asked. I loved him, but he had some big balls. What the fuck did I care, anyway? I had enough women to go around. Don’t need another bitch on my ass. We had a little healthy competition between the two of us. With the understanding, of course, that if we were ‘feeling’ someone, the other would back off. No questions asked. Gia was hot, but as I said, I had enough on my plate at the moment. Let Ender have a go at it. And just like that, I rationalized it, and I was ok.
“No problem, dude.” I shrugged, basically saying whatever. We n
odded—man-talk for “It’s on, motherfucker. Good luck.” I leaned back and swung one leg over the other, trying to give the impression I really didn’t give a fuck. But my old man was giving me the stink eye. Nothing got past him. After all, he was my maker. We were alike in some ways. One of those ways was women. He was better at the discretion part than I was. With photogs following me everywhere, it was nearly impossible not to end up in a tabloid, no matter how careful I tried to be.
“As I was saying, gentlemen. It’s my understanding that Morgana Jennings has certain elements of her past she’d like to keep there. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details with you, but I will say it does look very good for our case against her. Nevertheless, you will all refrain from any contact. And if contact is unavoidable, have security politely escort her away. And for the love of God, please use what He gave you—your better judgment. That’s all, men. Are we clear?”
He ended his rant by looking each and every one of us in the eye for a beat before moving on to the next. I was the final nod. I rolled my eyes. Obviously, I didn’t need to be told to stay away from that twat. I was done. Getting ready to leave for his next meeting, my father grabbed his briefcase and some files. I wondered what he was getting at by telling “all” of us to refrain from contact. It was certainly ominous. And as far as I knew, no one from the band ever spoke to her. Huh. Everybody hung back for a heartbeat. No one said a word until we heard the ding of the elevator, enclosing my father within it.
“Well, boys, its 10:00. Why don’t we get some grub and head to the studio? We can get a few hours of time in,” Dave proposed, pulling his e-cigarette out for a quick toke while looking around.
