“If you get everyone to go home soon, we’ll play tonight,” Trudy suggested, obviously fed up with the people crowding their home.
“Okay.” Jane stood up. “Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll even make sure they’ve cleaned up before they leave.”
“You’re a true friend!” Trudy yelled after her as she left.
An hour later, he was on his back in the chair with Jane and Trudy playing with his dick. He pulled Trudy up on his chest, with her back towards him, and slid inside. Jane immediately caught on, got down between Trudy’s spread legs, and started giving her head while he fucked her. Trudy loved that, always had, and it didn’t take her long to come.
Jane got up on top of both of them, giving Trudy a deep kiss. “Mind if I borrow your husband’s cock?”
“No,” Trudy said and got off him. “Turn around, baby.”
That way, he was lying on the lower end of the chair, and he had a feeling he knew why she wanted that. Once the condom was on his dick, along with Jane, he was pleased to see he’d been right. Trudy carefully sat on his face, and he grabbed on to her thighs to make sure she stayed there. This was one of his favorites, getting fucked while giving head, and these two girls knew it. They’d stay on him until all three had reached climax, and they’d done this enough to be able to time it. He felt Jane cramping around him as his balls started to get ready, and at the same time Trudy was starting to leak profusely over his face.
“I’m there,” Jane panted. “You with me, Trudy?”
“Yes!” she said, and Sisco felt her thighs starting to almost vibrate. “I’m there!”
Both girls screamed as they came, and he would’ve too if it hadn’t been for the pussy covering his mouth.
Jane left them on the tantric chair. Him on his back, and Trudy resting on his chest. She gave him a kiss before leaving.
“You taste great,” she mumbled after licking Trudy’s juices from around his lips, and then she gave Trudy a kiss, too. “Love you, girl. Take care of your man.”
“I will,” Trudy answered and stroked Jane’s hair. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I like this chair,” he said when Jane was gone.
“Me too. I’m gonna want to use it with just you, too. There was a little pamphlet showing different positions included. Some of them looked awesome!”
“We’ll use it again. Don’t worry about it.”
“This is really comfy. Is it okay if I fall asleep?”
“Yeah,” he said and started stroking her hair. “I’ll carry you to bed.”
He sat there and listened to her, his wife, fall asleep on his chest. He kept stroking her hair, playing with it and running it between his fingers, then he let go and drew his fingertips along her spine, which made her hum in her sleep and hug him closer. When he was sure she was sleeping, he stood up and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He put on a pair of jeans he found on the floor and went out on the balcony for a smoke.
He liked sitting there, knowing she was sleeping in the room behind him. Looking down at his left hand, he started spinning his wedding band. Enjoying that he had it there to remind him of his girl. His wife.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
One Of Those Days
-o0o—
Present day, Greenville, Arizona
LISA, BEAR’S OLDEST DAUGHTER, wasn’t the kind of person you missed when she walked into a room. She was noticed whenever she was around, and she’d always been like that. She tended to even outshine Mitch, who was usually pretty fucking noticeable.
She’d come back to live in Arizona while she worked on a study about antibiotics, and the first thing Sisco’d noticed was that she’d cut off her hair. She’d only done that once before, and seeing her with short hair brought back some… disturbing memories.
Years earlier, Lisa’d called him in the middle of the night, bawling her eyes out, saying she couldn’t get ahold of Bear. He’d been away on a run, and when Sisco’d told her that, she’d asked him to pick her up, and he’d done it.
She’d been eighteen, almost nineteen, at the time and drunk as a skunk, and he’d brought her to the clubhouse to let her sleep it off. Unfortunately he’d started drinking while he listened to her sob story, and had gotten pretty fucking drunk, too. She’d been crying about some guy who’d dumped her, basically left her in the middle of Phoenix. Sisco wasn’t good with crying women. The only woman he’d been able to stand when she was crying was Trudy, so he’d gone with his gut reaction and had kissed her. And she’d responded, and they’d ended up in bed. To keep her from crying, he’d fucked her for hours. It had been great, until he’d sobered up and realized what he’d done.
Bear would’ve killed him if he’d found out. There wouldn’t have been any fight in the ring, no fistfight in the clubhouse, either. Bear would’ve simply pulled his gun and put a bullet in Sisco’s head.
Luckily, Lisa had known that as well. While panicking about getting home in the morning, she’d promised him she’d never tell anyone if he promised the same thing. Then she’d climbed out the window. The next day, she’d shown up at the clubhouse with her hair cut off. Normally, he’d probably have thought that she looked cute with short hair, because she did, but all he’d been able to think about was that he’d fucked a brother’s daughter—he hadn’t been able to even look at her.
He still felt ashamed as fuck when he thought about it. She was actually the only woman he’d ever felt ashamed of fucking. It had been a shitty thing to do. She’d never seemed to hold it against him and never even mentioned or hinted about it. It still made him feel like crap every time he thought about it, though.
When she came in with her short hair this time, he wondered if some asshole had broken her heart again, because he was pretty sure that’s why she’d cut off her hair, but he didn’t ask her. In general, he still avoided her, but he felt bad for her. Something was off, and he wondered why no one else noticed. He always noticed when people, especially women, were off. He just rarely knew what to do about it.
-o0o—
Seattle, Washington
Trudy was in a bikini on the lawn when he pulled up outside their house. She was alone and must have been lying there trying to catch a tan while reading because there was a book face down on the ground next to her. The bike woke her up, and, still slightly drowsy from her sleep, she stumbled towards him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Missed me?” he asked while nuzzling her hair.
“No, but happy to see you.”
He held her face. “Something wrong?”
“I’m having one of those days.”
She had ‘those days,’ when bad shit surfaced and things came back to her. Those were bad days. Sometimes really bad days.
“How do you wanna deal?” he asked her.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, “but I want you with me.”
Sometimes she wanted to deal alone and didn’t want him anywhere near her. He didn’t like those times. He fucking hated spending the night at some bar, knowing she was going through shit by herself at home. Nothing ever seemed out of place or off when he came home, and most often he found her sleeping, but he still hated it.
“Wanna stay at home and deal?”
“Yeah. Think I wanna get high and lie on the balcony. It’s really warm outside.”
He dipped his head down and gave her a kiss. “Okay.”
They lay in silence for a long time, and then Trudy started talking.
“It scares me,” she said.
“What does?”
“The thought of kids. What if I can’t deal with seeing a girl grow up? You know, watching her when she’s five and knowing she’s the same age as I was the first time I was molested.”
He hugged her closer. “You think you would?”
“I don’t know. I do it sometimes when I see kids. The only thing I can think about is what I was going through at the same age.”
“If you don’t want kids, we won’t have kids.”
“What if you start hating me when you start missing kids?”
“I won’t. If you want it to be just the two of us, I’m fine with that, baby.”
“And if I want kids?”
“I’m fine with that, too.”
There was another long silence.
“I think I need more time to get used to the idea.”
“Okay.” He kissed her.
“Aren’t you scared you’ll become your dad?”
“No.”
He’d told Trudy about his alcoholic, blue-collar dad who had usually started his drunken rampages by yelling about workers’ rights and the rich fuckers studying at the university, and he’d ended them by beating up Sisco and his two younger brothers. Sisco always tried to get in between to make sure he got the bulk of the beating to spare his brothers as much as possible. To try to protect her sons, Sisco’s mom tended to send them to live with their grandma when their dad went on longer benders.
As with most alcoholics, the sober periods got shorter and shorter, and by the time Sisco was fourteen, he and his brothers pretty much lived permanently with their grandma.
That had changed when his dad, drunk out of his mind, had beaten Sisco’s mom to death. Sisco had no idea if he was still inside or if he was dead, and he didn’t care. Their grandma was considered too old to take care of three boys, and they’d ended up in the system. Sisco had been sixteen at the time and soon ran away. He didn’t think anyone had bothered looking for him, and he got jobs where he found them, Decker’s garage was one of the places. When he was nineteen, he got a passport and left for Europe with Pete and Frank.
By the time he came back home, his brothers had adapted to living with their new families, and he’d decided it was best to leave them alone, since he seemed to mostly remind them of worse times. His grandma had died a while later, and he’d pretty much had no one left. Then he met Trudy.
“But what if you lose it?” she continued. “What if you just snap and hit them?”
“If I could lose it, snap, and start beating on someone, I would’ve done it with you a long time ago. No one has ever been able to get on my nerves the way you do, baby.”
“That’s true,” she smiled.
“And you’re not gonna become a drug addict and sell your kids. You’re gonna love the shit outta them. I know you will.” He kissed her again. “But if you don’t want kids, we’ll keep it like this and love the shit outta each other instead. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said and sat up. “Let’s get inside.”
He got up as well and followed her. She’d have more days like this, he knew she would, but so far it’d been pretty easy to deal with them as long as he was allowed to stay with her.
He’d be okay even if they didn’t have kids. He’d like to have kids with her, but it definitely wouldn’t be a deal breaker if she chose not to. It would be fine with just the two of them as well.
He was home for a few weeks rest before Riot Act was to leave on a huge fucking touring music festival in the US. There were a lot of good bands on the roster for it, but he was still a bit nervous. He’d been very uncomfortable with the bigger festivals in Europe, and in general, things felt as if they were getting out of hand quickly. Not just for him, but for all the damn Seattle musicians who had somehow been lumped together in something called ‘grunge.’ They all hated that label. All of them!
It had started as a joke in the eighties, and the last thing he’d heard some idiot at a paper, who was real eager to find a new spin on the ‘Grunge’ thing, had published something called a Lexicon of Grunge. They’d been on the tour bus when they saw it, and had laughed their asses off. Especially at the phrase ‘swingin’ on the flippity-flop,’ which apparently was ‘the code’ for hanging out.
Then it happened again. The singer of another band died of an overdose, and they had to face the reality that not only flannel was popular, so was heroin—very popular. More and more of the artists were dealing with their newfound fame, or the fact that they hadn’t yet been discovered, by using heroin. And Sisco had to deal with Trudy’s reaction to another death among their friends.
Or former friend, because as much as he had tried, he’d realized early on that you couldn’t be friends with a junkie. It just wasn’t possible. There was no place for anything but heroin in a junkie’s life. They built a new world for themselves—a junkie world.
What really pissed him off was how the newspapers dug into it and wrote about the guy, but it wasn’t really about him, it was just about his death. He’d been active on the scene for as long as Sisco. He’d been in a bunch of bands, was a real talent, but no one in the media had given a flying fuck about him until he was dead. Then they wrote about him as the undiscovered ‘grunge’ talent—the born rock star. It was all bullshit. The labels had scoped him out but had thought he was too far gone to be of any use.
A few days before they were set to leave again, Sisco went to a gig and brought some pot just in case. People still came up to him and asked, so he’d figured he could earn some extra money.
“Gotta ask,” a guy named Josh said, as he handed Sisco the money for the pot. “You really married?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“To that painter?”
“Trudy. Yeah, that’s her.”
“She selling anything?”
Josh had been one of the guys he’d been around a lot. He’d been in quite a few of the bands and was mildly successful. As opposed to the guys who’d moved on to heavier drugs, Joe stuck to pot.
When asked if he didn’t want to sell heavier stuff, Sisco shrugged and told them there were others who could help them—he wasn’t interested in getting involved in it. Actually, he didn’t even need to sell pot, either. After years of struggling to make ends meet, he wasn’t prepared to give up selling pot even if he was making more than enough on the touring. Especially since he didn’t know how long the touring would last. He didn’t want to take anything for granted.
Also, he really wanted Trudy to be able to stop working at that fucking café. Which he thought was perfectly possible. Her paintings were getting a lot of attention, and in the spirit of support, a lot of the bands mentioned her art in interviews. It was always like that. They always wore tshirts of other bands while they were on stage, took any chance to mention anyone they admired, no matter what the reason was. So Trudy was mentioned fairly often. She’d been offered a spot at a New York gallery, and she was going there to set it up and for the opening of the exhibition during the fall.
“She sells paintings,” he answered Josh’s question. “If that’s what you’re asking about.”
“Yeah, I am. Seen some of her work, I like it. Especially those red paintings.”
Trudy’d had a red period, where all her paintings were painted in shades of red. A lot of people tangled up in each other, and the red made it hard to know if they were fucking or killing each other. Some of his favorite paintings were in the red series. She’d painted a lot around that time, and he suspected she still had some left. Last time he checked, she’d had a stack of them in a wardrobe.
“Yeah. Think she still has some of those.”
“Tell her I’m interested.”
“Sure. I got your number.”
He stayed to hear the opening acts, but the main act was a band from LA who’d moved to Seattle to be discovered. He’d heard them before, and it felt like some guys realizing that grunge was the thing and just trying to mimic it. It was the same as happened every time something started selling—everyone was tried to rip it off. He didn’t really mind it as long as they tried to at least put some personality into it, but most of them didn’t. They just took the blueprint and tried to do the same.
When he came home, he found Trudy in bed. She turned around when she heard him enter the room.
“All good?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said and toed his shoes off before getting rid of the rest of his clothes. “Saw Josh, he wants to buy one of your red paintings.”
“Okay.” She extended her arms towards him. “Come and hold me.”
“Love you,” he mumbled and gave her cheek a kiss as he slipped under the cover next to her.
“Love you, too. How was the band?”
“I didn’t stay until the main act.”
She giggled. “That bad?”
“Yeah.”
“Impostor band?”
“Exactly,” he laughed and tried to find her cocky nipples underneath the annoying t-shirt she was wearing.
“Ah,” she said and lowered her voice to her news anchor voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the derivative, radio-friendly version of the dropped D music that has been coming from Seattle the last few years—better known as grunge. This is the non-challenging, non-confrontational version. Yarling guaranteed!”
They both laughed, and then he leaned his forehead to hers. “It’s all going to hell, isn’t it?”
“It always does when a lot money is thrown into the mix.”
“Think I’ll just take my money and run off to some tropical island.”
“Let me know when we’re going. I’ll be ready with a coconut drink and a tiny bikini.”
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Just Leave It
-o0o—
Present day, Greenville, Arizona
Sisco was in the office at the clubhouse along with Mitch, and they were working on the finances.
When Sisco went inside, Brick had asked his youngest son, who by then was a member, to take care of the finances. Sisco’d thought it was a good choice because Mitch’d helped him out even before that. He’d also known Mitch wasn’t just good with numbers, he was about as good as Mech with computers and shit like that. Sisco didn’t mind sharing the job, and definitely not when it was with a guy who could come up with new, better ideas.
Sisco still took care of the actual bookkeeping, both the official and the club version, but Mitch did most of the other stuff. He’d worked a lot with Dutch, the treasurer at the mother club, and by now he probably knew Dutch better than Sisco did. Again, nothing he was upset about, and he really liked the kid. Not just because he was good with numbers and computers, but because he was never boring to be around.
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