Mad Pete
Chapter 32
As Donny’s Girlfriend waited Next Door, He Fucked Lori in Our Bathroom.
Bloody hell, it was hot that day. Fuckin’ ’ell, I was up for it! I’d just gotten back from Greece, and I was all tanned and lovely, with long, wavy, highlighted extensions galore and a new black-lace-and-scarlet corset and denim mini-skirt. I had just moved into a shared house in Highgate. And I had two all-access wristbands for the Kerrang! Day of Rock at the Virgin store on Oxford Street. That day was caviar with chips.
Towers was playing with Bullet For My Valentine and some emo bands. Unfortunately, Kerrang! sucked the cock of anything remotely emo, so I’d have to rely on Towers for my rock ‘n’ roll.
Lori and I arrived around three p.m. The first thing we saw was Mad Pete loitering at the store, looking jolly as usual, lost in his Towers euphoria.
“I been queuing up since seven this morning,” he told us. “I got two more wristbands for Punkrokka and Dyler Plummer as well. Wot you doin’ ’ere, fish legs?” I was used to his endearing jibes about my body.
“Where’re the boys?” Lori asked, wide-eyed and peachy.
“They’re signin’ stuff. There’s a barbecue an’ all up on the roof.”
“Free food! Let’s go.” I was starving, ready to wolf down anything I could get my hands on.
“All right, saggy tits. We’ve got to get the lift, mind.”
As we stepped onto the roof, Mad Pete announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, Roxana is here. Can everyone pay attention?” There was a mini buffet of up-and-coming rockers, gorgeous food and drink, and Stuart Cable was there as MC of the event. I was too nervous to eat. After saying hi to Punkrokka and Dyler Plummer, I grabbed a piece of pineapple and watermelon, just for show, and made a beeline for Stuart to make out with him. He looked fucking horny. Before I could reach him though, I saw Dirk following me.
“Roxxxxaaannne!!” he exclaimed, singing the Police song in his effeminate way.
“King Dirk! Baby! Fuck me right here. Now!” Plate of watermelon still in my hand, I put my tongue in his mouth. We kissed each other’s necks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt from Bullet For My Valentine watching us. I knew everyone on the rock scene hated Towers with unparalleled passion because the band was always starting fights, trashing every venue it played, and fucking every girl it could. Just to make things worse, I led Dirk to Stuart and introduced them, then proceeded to get between them and flaunt myself shamelessly.
After kissing them both in front of everyone, I promptly made my way back to Lori and told her we had to go have group sex with Towers at their hotel. They were playing a gig at the Camden Barfly that night, then going to Japan the next day. Tonight they’d be at a hotel near Heathrow airport.
A bunch of us—Lori, Mad Pete, Punkrokka, Dyler Plummer, and others—hopped in a van to the Barfly.
It was a hot night. Every Towers hanger-on was outside the venue drinking and hanging out. Pug, the gay Lemmy guy, was there with an older hippie woman who reeked of coriander. There were the teenage Japanese twin girls, the band’s families, a scary-looking fetish model from Hong Kong, some circus-performer types, and, as usual, girls of every type, shape, color, and motivation, including the older groupies, wobbly in their best knickers and their hope for a bit of young punk meat.
The Hong Kong fetish model’s face was set in a frozen look. She stood motionless in front of the mosh pit with Lori and me, cartoon-size mammaries on display. She kept staring at Dirk. I retaliated by elbowing her in the chest with all my might—accidentally on purpose—as I danced up and down and screamed “On a Noose,” “Good Times,” and “I’m a Rat” as loud as I could, right in her ear.
Because we were known to be with the band, random girls kept coming up to Lori and me and telling us how beautiful we were. “I can’t get you backstage, sorry, sweetie,” we’d say laconically. We were so happy then, hugging and dancing, unified in our love for this band—these boys who ran our lives.
That night was the first time I saw Janie. She was clambering onto the stage, a tall redhead with plump, crimson cheeks and all-white clothing, looking like a lost little puppy. She grabbed a pair of spare drumsticks by Snell and danced like a fairy by his side. Then she went and sat sidestage, swinging her long legs like a boy. She irritated me instantly. She didn’t belong in this kind of scene.
Later I joined Dirk in the dressing room and we talked about life. Dirk always spoke as if he were on horse tranquilizers, which I never understood, since he was constantly hoovering all of Peru. He had a habit of looking so deep into your eyes when he talked that it felt like he was looking for more drugs in there. Poor Donny had his girlfriend with him that night, so he looked on wretchedly, a destitute kid, as Dirk drifted into the club to smooch and flirt with any woman he could find. This really upset me. Even though I knew I wasn’t with him in any formal sense, his constant roaming around to perform his brazen seduction technique hurt—especially when it was done right in my face. But that was Dirk. He had to have sex with every female he saw: fat, ginger, blond, old, brunette, young, thin, unconscious—even my best friends.
I walked into the club that night to see him hungrily eating the face of the old hippie woman Pug had brought. She was in heaven: this middle-aged, saggy, henna-stained, herbal-tea-drinking, daytime-TV-watching, fat-arsed, farty old woman. My heart sank. Why would he do that? I just didn’t get it.
Their white van waited outside the Barfly. Stoksie was stressed as usual. And Lori wanted us to go to Japan with them the next day.
“Awww, let’s get in the bus!” Lori squeaked, a pretty but annoying doll. She really needed the band: With no family of her own, she was the ultimate orphan. And I was her Fagin.
“We have to ask them first,” I said in my mommy voice.
Lori scampered off to find a band member to ask, and I floated around the bar, trying to be as cool as the Fonz while desperate hope wriggled like maggots in my gut. I preferred to be asked by a band member.
I was eating Mad Pete’s soggy chips when Lori popped up. “They’re leaving!” she panted. The night creatures were still hanging around, desperate for a scrap of Towers—a chat, a comment, a smile; any Towers residue was licked up with relish.
“Come on!” Lori yanked my arm. Stoksie was huffing and puffing over the band’s itinerary. Snell, happy-go-lucky as ever, already on the bus, sat in the seat next to the driver. Snell was the oldest in the band and the most down-to-earth. He was also the most level-headed and quaint coke snorter I had ever met. I always secretly wondered if his cocaine wasn’t lemon sherbet.
The Rev climbed in, followed by Tommy, tall, posh, shy, and model-boned. Donny’s girlfriend sat next to him with love in her eyes, and Lori jumped in the bus so confidently, as if it were her right. I knew she did this because she had to: It was a matter of survival. Without the band, she would simply die inside.
Tommy pulled Dirk into the bus, stumbling and giggling, drunk and still rancid—freshly unstuck from the lips of the old hippie woman.
I scanned him with nausea, unable to understand why he had no standards whatsoever, why he didn’t differentiate between cool and white trash. Just as we were about to take off, Sasha, a skinny goth girl, slithered her way onto the bus like an eel. No one said anything to her. Maybe they were just being polite. Rolling into a corner, she hid herself in the inky shadows and dissolved out of sight.
That was the first time I noticed the band’s manager, Nathan—a slick, older, Prada-decked smoothie who used to manage the Happy Mondays. Even in the dark of the bus, I noticed a cinnamon glow to his skin. So did the band.
“You been on a sun bed, Nathan?” they taunted him. “You weren’t in Cyprus, really, were you? It was the sun bed!”
Nathan absorbed the ribbing elegantly, with a sort of fatherly pride. I wondered if it violated groupie etiquette to fuck the band’s manager. Maybe it would be okay if the band watched. I’d never done a manager before. As I sat across the
aisle from Nathan, I opened my legs and wet my lips, looking him directly in the eye.
Suddenly I felt something shuffling on the ground. I jolted back. “Did someone bring a pet?” I asked. “There’s something moving on the floor.”
“It’s that girl from the show,” Lori whispered, elbowing me violently in the ribs. “She snuck in.”
Sitting ghostly next to the goth girl, I saw a pig-tailed Asian girl hiding in the shadows, trying to camouflage herself. She opened her mouth and let out a giggle, but said nothing. She knew her place.
At a gas station stop, Donny’s girlfriend skipped out to get cigarettes and Red Bull. She was the ultimate fresh-faced girl next door. I felt so bad when I talked to her, knowing that I—and so many other girls—were fucking her boyfriend. I wondered if she knew. As soon as his girlfriend was out of sight, Donny’s hands spread all over Lori, jabbering dirty filthy talk fast and furious in her ear in the limited window available to him.
At the hotel an hour later, Lori and I were hurriedly ushered upstairs by The Rev and Dirk, who were sharing a room. I knew The Rev was dying to fuck me, as he was the only one who hadn’t yet (apart from Tommy, but Tommy didn’t count). I was still really into Dirk, though, so I snuggled up to him while Lori and The Rev left us to it and went downstairs to join the others for a drink.
While I rubbed Dirk’s back to melt the kinks, I promised him that I wouldn’t try any funny stuff—just the massage, because he was exhausted. But I had a plan. Massaging him with one hand, I briskly whipped off my corset and skirt with the other, swapping hands rapidly so he wouldn’t catch on. Soon, all I had on were stockings. When he rolled over and saw me, he had no option but to get turned on. Exhaustedly, he flipped me around and climbed on top of me. He held me down, because he knew I liked it. And I pulled his blond, punky hair.
Mad Pete
“Don’t touch the hair, Rox. Don’t. Touch. The. Hair.” He was panicked his punk spikes would go limp. I should have realized how much hairspray it took for those blond tufts to stand starch-stiff.
He spread my legs open. I forced them shut. He forced them open again. Then he slapped me, and I whacked him back. I told him to punch me (“not too hard”), and he laughed that boy giggle; this was all a little weird for him. But he did hold me down, and fucked me so hard with that canoe-size museum piece of his that I got pissed off that my vagina was so tight. My knees were weak, and my heart—my heart liked him. I wanted to cuddle and kiss him. I wanted tenderness, but I had to behave myself and not show emotion. Especially to Dirk Tourette.
We heard a knock on the door and I grudgingly peeked it open. Donny stood there sheepishly. His girlfriend was in the room next door.
“Can I come in?” he asked, shuffling nervously.
He was miffed that he wasn’t getting any playtime. Seeing as I’d only been sandwiched between two brothers once before, long ago, I gave it some thought at first. But tonight I only wanted to be with Dirk. I don’t know what was wrong with me, except I was getting warm and fuzzy toward Dirk, which was as vile as getting addicted to smack. Donny got the vibe and left.
We were lying on the bed when The Rev and Lori barged in. ”Everybody was asking where you two were,” Lori cooed over us in the bed. “Everyone is always like, ‘Oh, Rox and Dirk have disappeared again!’ ”
The Rev gazed hungrily at me and Dirk lying in the sheets, and climbed into bed with us. Lori followed him.
The four of us lay there in mutual, silent erotic repose. With The Rev on my left and Dirk on my right, soon I was being fingered by them both. I spread my legs as wide as physically possible, cursing myself for not taking those gymnastics classes my mother had insisted on when I was younger.
The Rev was ravenous for a piece of me; on his left, Lori was whimpering for him. “Go on, Rox,” Dirk goaded me. Secretly I wished he wasn’t so willing for me to get it on with The Rev. I wanted to be alone with him. But with Dirk watching me, I climbed on top of The Rev and slid myself on his cock. He swept his hair, languid and lovely, out of the way. And I kissed him as I let him thrust hard and fast into me. After three minutes, he let out a telltale groan.
“What the f—,” I said to myself. I pulled off his cock and swallowed every last bit of his cum. Then I rolled over and went back to cuddling Dirk. Sweaty, sleepy, lovely Dirk.
“Open the door! I wanna come in!” A girl pounded on the door.
We were all in bed, trying to sleep. Sasha the Goth had arisen with the moon like a possessed doll.
“We’re going to have to open the door.” The Rev got up angrily. “She’s gonna get us thrown out.”
So in she came, scraggy arms everywhere, drunk and disorderly, ranting that she couldn’t find a place to sleep and couldn’t go into the streets, because we were in the middle of nowhere and it was four a.m.
“Here’s a pillow.” Rev threw it at her. “You can lay your head down in the corner.”
“Ooh, you’re so beautiful, look at you,” Sasha said, gawking at me as she stumbled around our bed. “You . . . you are like the Queen of Sheba.”
“You still can’t sleep in this bed, luv,” I said, smiling back. It made me laugh, the way these newbies tried to butter me up.
The door opened again, and a slab of light wedged its way in. Donny entered the room. Walking over to the bed, he grabbed Lori and took her to the bathroom. As Dirk, The Rev, and I lay there in silence, we could hear echoed moans coming from the bathroom and Donny barking out dirty, nasty words.
“You like that cock? Yeah? Do ya? Do ya?”
Silence.
After a few minutes, I heard Donny say in a more somber, childlike voice, “After you’ve been with someone for a few years, sex isn’t the same.”
I wondered if his girlfriend next door could hear him. A few minutes later, he came out, wiped his dick, and went back next door to her.
Lori stumbled out of the bathroom. Now it was The Rev’s turn to start fucking her. I walked over to them and gently pushed Lori out of the way, so he could stick his dick in me instead. I hoped this time he’d last longer than three minutes. He alternated sliding his cock in and out of me and Lori until he couldn’t take it anymore. We knelt down in front of him until he gave it to us. We swallowed it all—plenty. The whole time Dirk just kept on snoring and sweating, and Sasha kept coming in and out of the room.
“Anyone wanna cuppa tea?” The Rev was up bright and early, pouring cups of tea for everyone.
Lori began harassing Dirk, wanting to see his museum piece. “I’ve heard so much about it,” she whined.
We all sipped tea while Sasha sat in the corner quietly. The Rev didn’t offer her any tea as punishment for shredding the ambience during the night. We all went down for breakfast and found Tommy, Snell, and Stoksie. I kissed them one by one as they climbed on the bus for the airport.
“Don’t do any Japanese groupies,” I whispered to Dirk.
“Not into Japanese girls anyway, babe,” he lied and gave me a kiss.
Chapter 33
I was standing with Lori on the side of the stage under a marquee tent in the cloudy, humid Belgian summer. I wore my new corset from Sluts R Us, also known as a Camden market stall. It was scarlet, with black lace on top worn with the vapor of hope and the sweet sweat of Cacharel’s Amor Amor. My denim skirt, also new, made itself useful by being short and starched. Inside, I was happy but Lori was ecstatic. We loved our boys, their songs, their playing, their stage presence. And we loved and supported them everywhere they went, sending out our energy and vibes to them, inspiring them, making the crowd go even wilder for them.
That day, everything felt different. For a start, it was the first time we’d gone abroad to see the band and the first time we’d been with them at a rock festival. The band had started saving us a bunk whenever we wanted to travel with them. They’d asked us to come to Belgium, and then travel back with them.
Lori was newly platinum blond after I persuaded her to dissolve her raven-black locks so we could c
ome as a blond-brunette pair. Right then, at that very moment, our long hair was congealed with sweat and orgasmic thrill. In her borrowed blue outfit, with her peaches-and-cream skin, Lori looked more like a kitten than ever. I hugged her against my breasts, and we giggled like crazy children. Mad Pete, who by now was the only person following the band to more shows than we were, lurked around snapping photos. The Kid, in his cowboy hat and weathered burgundy leather jacket, walked out of the boys’ dressing room. It’s an unspoken rule: whatever you might be up to in the dressing room, when it’s showtime, you just get up and leave. No words required.
Pink-haired Phil had set up everything onstage, including beer, water, ciggies, and us—and, for the first time, Janie, the new girl. She was comforting and childlike—a strawberry milkshake with red hair and girly white vintage dresses. And, more important, she knew her place. This weekend on the tour bus, if she proved she knew the rules of being with the band, we’d let her hang around.
Janie liked Tommy, who was equally comforting. Lucky for her, his girlfriend wasn’t there. Lori and I always did our best to make sure there wouldn’t be any girlfriends suddenly turning up—that’s why home gigs were a no-no. We’d made that mistake once at the Garage in Islington.
We grabbed a hot dog, then found our way to a field of tour buses parked side by side on Belgian stones and dust and fuel-stained balding grass hosting rock stars for two nights under the stars. The family rushed up to us. They were so happy to see us. Having these five hot rockers love us injected Technicolor into our lives. I gave Dirk the present I had bought for him, a View-Master with a Pink Panther cartoon. He dug it, and I loved seeing him happy.
After a day of walking in the grass and mud, eardrums perforated with gasoline rock ‘n’ roll, hair smelling of barbecued meat, brains fuzzy with wine, I stood on the table in the front end of the tour bus. I wore a black, lacy, crotchless catsuit, and even though I was wearing super-high heels I danced and danced and danced. Watching me on the surrounding red sofas were Phil, Stoksie, the Kid, Mad Pete, two photographers, Janie, and Lori.
The Last Living Slut Page 12
