Jett

by Honey Palomino

  “Yeah, I guess. Here, let me have them,” he said, gesturing to the ropes. I handed them to him, grateful he was taking charge. “C’mere, stand over here.”

  I stood next to him, while he leaned down and wrapped the ropes around our ankles and then again around our thighs. When he straightened up, he almost lifted me off the ground. He was a little taller than I was already.

  “Um, I think, you know…something’s wrong,” I said, my right leg dangling in the air, my left one barely reaching the ground as I leaned to my side.

  He grunted, and leaned down again, adjusting the ropes. When he tightened them a little too tight, I yelled.

  “Ouch!” I said.

  “Don’t be a baby!” he said. “If we don’t tie them tight, they’ll just fall down when we start running.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  “C’mon,” he growled again, taking a step before I did, causing me to fall to the ground, bringing him down with me.

  “Watch out!” he said, as we tried to untangle ourselves and stand back up. It seemed to take forever, but finally we were upright again. “Now pay attention!”

  I tried to focus, but this was the first time I had been this close to a boy, and it was making me feel funny. He was so hot, his body radiating heat, and he slightly smelled like sweat. It was gross, I decided, and I put my head down to watch our legs, so I could move at the same time that he did.

  After a few circles around, we got the hang of it, and were walking pretty well together. The only way to do it properly was to wrap our arms around each other’s waists, and move as one being. I could feel his hip bones digging into my side with each step we took.

  We waited at the starting line and when the coach blew the whistle, we took off in a flash. Colt was skinny, but we was strong. For the most part, he carried me along, my limbs flailing like a puppet as I tried to keep up with his quick movements. His stride was longer than mine, and after a few seconds, our rhythm was off, and I was pulling when he was pushing, and his leg was going forward while mine was still backwards.

  The crowd was filled with teachers, students, and a few parent volunteers, and they cheered us on as we made our way past them.

  The finish line seemed so far away and I looked up for an instant to measure the distance, surprised to see it was actually approaching quickly. I looked over our shoulder and saw everyone else behind us. We were winning!

  Unfortunately, the act of me looking backwards messed up our rhythm so badly that I stumbled, mere inches away from the finish line. We both went down. By the time we got back up, two other couples had crossed the line.

  Colt was pissed. I kept apologizing, but he ignored me, sulking.

  When it came time for the tether ball event, he was almost starting to forgive me, if only out of the hope that I would shut up.

  A huge crowd stood in a circle watching the matches. When it was our turn, my hands started sweating. I was nervous. I had never liked tether ball, and had rarely played it. I barely knew what to do. I hated that the school forced us into doing stuff we didn’t like, for the sake of promoting ‘team spirit’. It was team humiliation, as far as I was concerned.

  Colt stood on one side of the pole and I stood on the other. He looked at me, nodded and hit the ball hard. It spun around the pole, the string almost hitting me in the head as it flew over me. By the time it came around again, I jumped, attempting to hit it, but missing by a foot. This happened time and again, until the one time I finally did hit it, and it flew back in Colt’s direction. I surprised him, and that made me happy. He hit it again, swinging it back my direction and I ducked to miss it hitting me in the head once more.

  Over and over, we repeated this pattern, getting nowhere. I didn’t even understand how a winner was determined, but I assumed someone was keeping score or something somewhere. I was confused, but since everyone was watching, and Colt looked so intent on playing well, and because I had felt so badly about ruining the race earlier, I kept going, mindlessly hitting the ball, running around the pole aimlessly as I tried to hit it.

  Colt was a master, though. He hit it every time, and it seemed that with each slap of the ball, he hit it harder and harder. I was getting a little scared, and I panicked. I kept flailing my body around, jumping up in the air, and not paying any attention to where I had traveled to.

  Before I knew it, I was right next to Colt. He didn’t see me, and he turned around fast to keep his eye on the ball, running right smack into me, our faces smashing together because I was in mid-jump. Our lips touched, our noses touched, our foreheads smacked together painfully, and the crowd around us roared with laughter as we tumbled to the ground and landed hard on our butts.

  Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, disbelief registering on both of our faces, before we both turned bright red and jumped up and ran in opposite directions through the crowd.

  The sound of laughter and taunting voices followed me as I ran into the school, locking myself in a stall in the girl’s bathroom, knowing something terrible had happened, but not understanding exactly why.

  Colt didn’t look or talk to me for a year, but Ciara and I ended up getting much closer during the next school year, and he was forced to hang out with me. Eventually, we became friends on our own, and after that, we pretended nothing ever happened, and never spoke about it again.

  And now? Here he was. And he was fucking hot as hell, there was no other way to say it. Every single time I looked at him, it took all my concentration and willpower not to undress and beg him to take me.

  But this morning? Seeing him sleeping, practically naked, the outline of his huge package straining against his underwear? It fucking slayed me.

  Too bad he had adopted his all business attitude. I abandoned all my fantasies, and left him sleeping to go shower. But they time I was out, he was up making coffee. Still in his fucking boxers.

  “Hey, Mr. Professional,” I said jokingly, as I walked into the kitchen. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

  He turned to me, smirked and ignored my comment.

  “Good morning! Coffee?”

  “Yeah, sure…” I replied. “Tons of cream and sugar. Tons.”

  His laughter echoed through the room. I watched him as he moved skillfully around the kitchen. His torso was covered in muscles that were in turn covered in tattoos - snakes, skulls, creepy monsters, even a horse on his arm, and on his back, a full piece that replicated the patch on the back of his cut - every inch of him was inked and rippling.

  “Tons? How do you keep that girlish figure?” he asked, teasingly.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I sweat buckets for about an hour and a half every night. It tends to work.”

  “Yeah, good point,” he said, handing me a steaming mug with a devilish smile.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today? I need to meet with Seth this morning; I want an update on the investigation. And I need to know several days in advance what the schedule is going to be, so I can plan ahead. This taking things moment by moment thing isn’t going to work out for me, if I’m going to protect you properly.”

  “I have an itinerary on the bus. I appreciate you taking this all so seriously, Colt. You seem to be the only one doing it.”

  “Yeah, it appears so, doesn’t it?” he grumbled, his smile fading. “It’s fucked up, Jett. You should have a team of bodyguards, not just some big bear that looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I replied. He was right. I knew it. I had felt the same way for years, but nobody would take me seriously. They just dismissed me, and handed me a drink, in hopes of keeping me complacent. It usually worked. I let it work. Having Colt here was like wrapping a warm, fuzzy blanket around me.

  “I slept better last night than I have in days,” I said.

  “I can imagine. But I’m glad to hear it, Jett,” he said, walking over to stand in front of me. He reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear as he stared down at me. I could smell h
im, and since I had decided it wasn’t so gross anymore, my nipples hardened in response.

  “Listen, you don’t have to worry anymore. Nobody is getting close to you again, I promise. Not as long as I’m around.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered gratefully.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, turning away from me. My eyes slid down to his muscular ass, the white cotton of his boxer shorts draped across it. I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to unveil it, touch it, feel the muscles move under my fingertips.

  I sipped my coffee, watching him, and I sighed heavily.

  “I need to do some shopping this morning,” I said, trying to bring myself out of my fantasy. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Shopping. My favorite thing,” he replied, sarcastically.

  I walked towards my bedroom, calling to him over my shoulder.

  “I’ll pack. You should put some clothes on, before I rip those boxers off of you.”

  He chuckled without replying, and I shook my head as I closed the bedroom door, flopping onto my bed in exasperation.

  By the time I came back out, he was fully dressed. Jeans, black t-shirt, his leather cut again, his tattoos on full-display. Fuck. He almost looked better in clothes than he did out of them. Almost.

  “Do you have to wear that everywhere?” I asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I do,” he answered without hesitation.

  “Okay, if you say so,” I replied. I didn’t really care, it was sexy, actually. And I knew it unnerved Rex, so it secretly delighted me. “Sam just called. The limo is waiting outside. We’ve got three hours to do some shopping and get back to the bus.”

  “Right on, whatever,” he said. I watched as he picked up his gun from the table, and put it into the back of his waistband. When he saw me watching him, he shrugged. “You can never be too prepared, Jett.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. Why couldn’t I just be normal? I yearned for a normal life that didn’t include crazy people and the need for guns to protect me from them.

  Now, walking down the boulevard, having Colt by my side, I was simultaneously still yearning for that, and yet thankful that I had a reason to call him.

  “I’m never going to find anything remotely like what I’m looking for. Let’s go have lunch,” I said, ready to give up. “I still can’t believe Sam lost my fucking jacket.”

  “Lunch sounds a whole lot better than this shit,” he replied. “Shopping sucks.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know.” I replied, pulling him down the sidewalk to a burger joint I saw earlier. “Let’s get you a burger, big guy.”

  “Men gotta eat, Jett. I’m a man.”

  I laughed, my nipples hardening once again as I remembered the package I saw between his legs while he was sleeping earlier.

  “Yeah, I saw that,” I agreed teasingly.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  “I need you to tell me everything you know,” I said to the annoying little man sitting in front of me on Jett’s tour bus as we drove to the next town. I had insisted Seth ride with us, instead of following in his own bus behind us. I couldn’t believe he needed his own fucking bus, but maybe it was Jett that needed her own bus. I couldn’t imagine wanting to be in this asshole’s company more than necessary.

  “I don’t know much, to tell you the truth. The police haven’t told me anything. When Jett found the note, we called the cops. They came and fingerprinted the room, but they didn’t find anything.”

  “What about security cameras in the hotel?”

  “They only have them in the lobby. No cameras on the penthouse floor. Celebrities hate them. Any hotel worker could sell them and make a fortune. Nobody wants the public to know who they’ve invited to their room. Especially Jett,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “So how the fuck did this guy even now where she was?” I asked, ignoring the jab he made at her. “Why isn’t the fact of where she is staying on any given night kept confidential?”

  “Colt, I don’t think you understand how the entertainment business works. If Jett doesn’t get publicity, she will wither away into oblivion. People only remember the last thing they saw. She has to stay out there, she has to be in the public eye. It’s the nature of the game. Fans love her. They want to be her. They want to be near her. That’s just how it goes. You take that away, and Jett doesn’t exist.”

  “She doesn’t exist? What the fuck kind of attitude is that? She’s a fucking human being!”

  “I know that, Colt! But she’s also a star. And stars have to give up their anonymity…and their privacy…or it doesn’t work. If people aren’t lining up outside her hotel, then they won’t line up to buy tickets to her shows. It’s a game we’re forced to play.”

  “Whatever, fine. That still doesn’t explain how this fucker got into her room. How did he know what room she was in? Did he just walk up to the front desk and ask?”

  “We always use a fake name for Jett when she checks in at every hotel. Anna Silver.”

  “So, you use the same name for every city?”

  “Yes. But it’s not made public, obviously. Only her immediate team is aware of it.”

  “Well, maybe you should change it every time. Obviously, there’s a leak.”

  “There’s not a leak. And we can’t change it, that would involve entirely too much work. We have reservations made in advance for the next several months. It would be impossible to change it now.

  “Not impossible. Just too much work for you, right, Seth?” I was disgusted by this guy. Obviously, he cared not one bit about Jett or her safety. “Did you ever think to put her in a different, less obvious room? Like, just maybe, this fucking Crazy Jack, might be intelligent enough to know that she’s staying in the goddamned penthouse every time?”

  “If Jett stayed anywhere else, once again, the media would hear of it, and then they would wonder if her career was failing. We have to keep up appearances, Colt.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  I wanted to punch him so badly. I wanted to break those stupid glasses and shove them up his ass. Was he really such a great manager that Jett couldn’t find someone else better? Someone who could do the job and still find a way to keep her safe?

  No fucking wonder she called me.

  “Look, Jett gave me a copy of her schedule for the next several weeks. Now, I need you to give me a complete report on everything this Crazy Jack has done so far, and where he’s shown up. I want to know where she’s playing, and where’s she staying and any other engagements she has. I’m taking over as head of security. If you have a fucking problem with that, then it’s too bad. Whatever you’ve been doing up till now hasn’t worked. From now on, you can consider Jett’s safety my responsibility.”

  “You can’t —,”

  “Watch me,” I said, interrupting him before he could even begin protesting. This little weasel of a man wasn’t going to put Jett at risk ever again.

  Not if I could help it.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  I put on the long, black wig, adjusting it in the mirror until it was perfect. Jett’s MAC lipstick was the perfect shade of whore red, and I spread it across my lips, smacking them together the same way I had seen my mother do when she was getting to ready to go out every single night of my childhood. Her eerie red smile was always the last thing I’d see before she locked me in that dark shed.

  I have to make some money, she would say. But I knew what she was doing. She would come home after dawn, after I had shivered all night in the darkness waiting for her, giggling to herself and smelling like a vile mixture of sweat and aftershave once she finally brought me in to bed and kissed me goodnight. Her red whore lipstick would be smeared across her face, her mascara in clumps on her eyelids.

  It was disgusting. I would have left, but I had nowhere to go. No father to complain to. Just me and my whore mother, for better or worse. And it always got worse.

  After a
while, she began bringing her tricks home, and instead of silently waiting for her to return, I was left there all night, or brought inside and forced to lie there trying to find away to muffle the sounds of their hideous moaning and whimpering. The headboard pounding against the wall my room shared with hers. No amount of pillows over my head would do the job.

  So, I listened. I heard it all. And I felt every thrust against the wall. I knew things about my mother that boys should never know. The sounds of her getting fucked by a different man night after night echoed in my head even today.

  The only thing that could successfully drown it out was Jett’s music. Like now.

  Right now, it was easy to forget.

  I wasn’t Jack Anderson, I was Jett. Beautiful, talented, amazing Jett. Singing at the top of my lungs, I twirled around the room in my favorite outfit. The black leather pants that I ordered online laced up the front, even though it took a huge effort to keep my cock tucked between my legs and still lace them up. A lacy, black padded bra made it look like I had real tits, and they were almost as spectacular as Jett’s. And the boots. I had the hardest time finding them and I had ended up ordering them from a cross dressing website online to find them in my size. Made of shiny black leather, they zipped up the back and walking on the five-inch heels made my leather covered ass perk up fabulously.

  I stopped dancing and finished applying my makeup. Heavy, black rings of eyeliner and thick mascara were the final touches, and I delighted in the end result, just as I always did.

  There was just one thing missing.

  I pulled the sleek black leather from my closet, and slid it over my shoulders. The arms were too small, and they pinched the skin around my biceps, but I didn’t care.

  The fringe flew out in a circle as I twirled around again. The sound of loud guitars and the voice of my angel washed over me as I danced around the room, lost in ecstasy as I imagined the moment I would finally touch my beloved Jett.

  My hands trailed down my stomach, sliding under the laces of the leather pants, and gripping my now hard cock.