by N Kuhn
Both women look over to me, and before I can get myself inside of Jasmine, they both tackle me straight onto my back, giggling. Cherry bends her head over my cock, and she slowly licks up and down the thick shaft. Watching her tongue glisten with wetness, I can see Jasmine move down as well. Both women begin licking up and down, taking turns shoving their mouths over the head, pausing only to kiss each other. Watching their tongues tango with the others, they stare at me, making sure I see every movement. Each pass has my body shaking with anticipation. I need to be inside one of them and I need it now. Taking the hint from the growl I let loose from my lips, Jasmine straddles herself over my hips as Cherry holds my dick for her to glide down onto. That first thrust, as her muscles contract to allow room for me, she begins gyrating her hips around on top of me, as her and Cherry fondle and kiss each other. Cherry runs her fingers over Jasmine’s clit as she rides my dick. I’m overwhelmed by the sensations and images before me. Too soon, I feel my stomach muscles tighten. As Jasmine moans out her next orgasm. Feeling the hot liquid of her juices sliding down my shaft, I let go inside of her, unable to hold it any longer. My whole body shakes and I feel myself go limp.
The pout on Cherry’s lips is quickly replaced by Jasmine kissing her. Rolling off the bed, I put my feet on the floor. Separating off another line, I blow it, then begin gathering my clothes. Pulling my jeans on, as I hop towards the door, I glance back and both girls seem pretty engrossed in themselves. I’ll say thank you later. As the door clicks shut behind me, Marcus enters the hallway.
“Done already boy? Thought you would be in there all night with those two. They are wild, aren’t they?” His laughter is all too loud for me at the moment and I wish he would lower his voice.
“Dad, where’s Duke? I want to see how soon we can get in studio to work on the demo.”
“Trav, don’t worry man, you’re already a shoe in for that contract. Your old man here made sure of that. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” his eyes trail off towards the redhead that Bas had been with earlier. She slinks down the hallway with Marcus, her hips swaying more than they need to.
Throwing myself onto the couch in the main room, Bas is passed out cold, half dressed, Duke is nowhere to be seen, but there’s plenty of drugs and booze left, so I’m content. The rest of the night is a complete haze, but the one thing that stays with me in the morning, is the thought that maybe my dad fixed the Battle.
“Your old man here made sure of that.” His words echo through my head over and over, and finally, I blow enough lines that I stop hearing it. Too bad it comes back in the morning. I know we worked hard, and the fans loved us, but how can I feel good about the win, when all of me feels it was because of my father we won? There’s nothing I can do about it now. We will just have to keep working hard, writing new music and make some hits. Death Polish has to succeed. And if we can do it without my dad’s help, then all the better. We will make it. We’re going to be stars.
Waking the next day, my head feels like it weighs thirty pounds, my mouth is full of sandpaper and my neck is stiff. Falling asleep on a couch, in a hotel room is not something I would suggest trying. The curtains are open on the balcony, so the sunlight is blinding. Holding an arm over my eyes, I try to roll away, and get the light off my face. Bas is starting to stir, so I get up and go kick him.
“Hey man, we gotta go. I need to get to my mom’s while she’s at church today.” I plan to find those letters my dad said he sent. He can’t be lying. There’s no way he would lie about something like this. So, that bitch of a mother must have hid them from me. Why would a mother do that? Well, I’m about to find out. Shuffling out of the room, Bas turns to me.
“We gonna say bye to Marcus?”
“Nah man, we’ll see enough of him while we’re on tour, besides, he’s gonna sleep til like two, and I have to get to my mom’s. You want to go home or you wanna ride with me?”
“I’m chill in the car. Let’s go man.” Slapping his hand to my shoulder, we walk out of the hotel room, leaving behind one hell of a mess for housekeeping. Strippers passed out on anything they could find. Empty bottles cover the floor and tables. Piles of coke that have been reduced to just a coating of dust covering any smooth surface that was found. I’m sure my dad must tip well to keep their mouths shut about that stuff.
The drive over to my mom’s is quick, but feels forever. Traffic downtown Buffalo is slow this morning. No one rushing off to work, no accidents to hold us up. Praying that she really still went to church every day, I hope she will be gone. Why would she stop being a Jesus freak just because I moved out? If anything she would be there more, not having to worry about me being around. Pulling into her driveway, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s empty. Tugging the key off my ring, I look over at Bas. He looks dead ass tired.
“Stay here man, I won’t be long, I promise.” Without opening his eyes, he nods. Climbing out, I walk the same path I walked up and down my whole life. This is familiar to me. This I know. My mother, apparently I don’t. Slipping the key in the lock, I let myself in. It’s the same tidy as can be, little shit house. I hated living here. I was the son of a god damn rock star. Why couldn’t I live like it? My first stop is her bedroom. This is new territory for me. I’ve never been in here. Most kids crawl into bed with their moms when they are scared or sneak in and steal money. Not me. If I got caught in her room I would have been beaten so badly, I wouldn’t have walked after.
Her bed is neatly made up, the utilitarian room done all in white. White carpet, bedding and furniture. It’s cold, just like her. Thankfully the rest of the house had some color throughout it. I don’t know how she lives like this. It’s so bland. Where to start? She doesn’t have a desk. She keeps the bills out in the kitchen, a little box on the counter. Pulling the edge of her bedding up, I look, nothing under the bed except a pair of house slippers she’s had for a few years. Standing, I turn in a circle. Just now, I’m realizing, there’s no photos in here. No pictures of her or me, nothing personal. In fact, the whole house has no photos of us anywhere. It’s as if she were ashamed of me. Stepping over to her dresser, I pull drawer by drawer, still finding nothing. The only place left to look is her closet. Opening the door, it’s so neat and organized. Clothes sorted by color, shoes on top of their boxes. The top shelf has folded linens and blankets. All neatly organized except one final stack of blankets that looks askew.
Lifting them, there’s a shoe box underneath. Sliding it out, I open it. Jackpot. Inside is a whole stack of letters, envelopes, all addressed to me. Dating from three months ago when I graduated, all the way back to when I turned twelve. The guitar. That’s what he brought me when he stopped by for my birthday. She was not only holding that against him, but me as well. Collapsing to the floor, my mother’s closet doors still open, I begin to sort through the box. Opening the one on top, it’s a graduation card. With a check for a ten thousand dollars in it. Bas and I could have used that as a security deposit on a much nicer apartment. Does she even care that I needed this money? Opening the next one, it was a birthday card, for my eighteenth birthday. Five hundred cash falls out. Last Christmas, four hundred falls out. The next one is a letter, just telling me that he’s in New York City and thinking about me, with a hundred dollars.
Hearing noise, I look up, expecting Bas to be in the doorway, but it’s her. Sidney. My mother. I’m sure I look hung over, drugged up and smell like pussy. But right now, all I can think of is rage. I want to choke the shit out of her.
“You have no right to be in my room Travis. Not even in my home. You don’t live here anymore,” she says sternly, planting herself in the doorway. Her hands on her hip, hair pulled back in a tight bun, the long bland denim skirt and buttoned white top make her look like an old time school ma’am, instead of the ex-lover of a Rock God.
“And you had no right to keep my father from me, Sidney. You hid these, from me. Do you even care how much it hurt to think that my own father didn’t love me?”
“He doesn’t lo
ve you. To him, you’re just another toy. Another thing for him to use until he’s bored.”
“He’s my father. I had a right to these, they are mine. You kept them all from me. Years’ worth of I love you’s, of cards, letters, money. Who do you think you are? You don’t love me either. What am I to you? A paycheck from him?” She pauses, as if thinking about the answer.
“I’m your mother. I know what’s best. That should be enough.”
“No, apparently you don’t Sidney. You don’t know what’s best for me, don’t love me. You just want me to be like you. Some boring door knocking Jesus freak with no life and no happiness.”
“I’m your mother, how dare you speak to me that way. I see your father’s influence has ruined you more than I thought it would. I had a right to fear you being near him. Look what’s he’s done to you. You smell like a whore house bar. You’ve been out drinking and doing God knows what drugs. Screwing loose women with who knows what diseases. You’re a disgrace. You will never be anything. You’re as bad as him. A false idol he is.” Slamming my fist into the dresser, it bounces as I try to draw my fist back out of the hole I made. She squeals in fear, pressing herself up against the wall. The thought that is was stupid, crosses my mind, but I had to do something with my anger. I’m seeing red. There’s nothing she can say right now that will make this any better.
“You’ve never loved me, where are the photos of us? Mothers have photos of their children. They have memories, mementos. You have nothing. I mean nothing. White walls, and your son your ashamed of can just be something you pretend doesn’t exist, right?” I scream at her, pacing back and forth in front of the closet. The blood drips from my hand, onto her white rug, and I can see how much she wants to clean it up. The woman can’t even care I’m hurt, she’s worried about her rug.
“You know what ma,” I say, scooping up all the letters and putting them back in the box. “You’re right about one thing. I am like him. But we’re both better people than you. You’re a lying, manipulative person. You wouldn’t know how to love anyone even if God gave you a manual. If you didn’t want me, then why not just send me to live with Marcus? I would have at least been happy, loved.” Without waiting for her to answer, I brush past her. As she tries to move, she loses her balance, falling into the wall.
“You’re wrong Travis. I loved you very much. I was protecting you, trying to keep you from becoming the disgrace your father is.” She yells after me, and it sounds like she may cry, but I just keep walking, out of the house and out of her life.
Climbing into my Shadow, Bas looks at me, noticing the blood dripping onto my jeans.
“That was dumb man, huh?” he asks me.
“Yea, but it was the dresser or her face.” He laughs. Knowing my temper, it most likely doesn’t surprise him.
“It was that bad?”
“Yep, a whole box of letters, cards, checks, cash. I can’t believe she did that shit man. Kept my father from me like that. But hey, I got a box full of cash and checks. What do you say we do some shopping?” Bas smiles at me. Digging through my backseat, I find a rag we used when out mowing, and wrap it around my knuckles. Starting the car, I peel out of my mother’s driveway and head off down the road. Looking in the rear view mirror, I tell myself I’m never going back. She’s nothing to me anymore, just like I was nothing to her the whole time I was growing up. I wish Britt could see me now, see that I stood up to her. Brittany and Sebastian are the only two people who really know what it was like for me there. They are the only ones who saw my mother for what she really was, and not who she wanted to church to think she is.
Chapter 5
Travis Demo
Bas and I walk into the studio at MegaRock Records and Entertainment. It’s surreal, that we are actually here. Max will be here shortly. It’s odd that we are about to record without Bent, but like Duke said, we don’t need key boards anyways. They have computers for that now. Bas and I spent the last few days partying it up with Marcus until he left to get back on tour. The whole time is one big blur of drugs, booze and sex. I’ve tried to drown out any thoughts of my mother and what has happened. The cards and letters that amassed over six years was about forty grand. Bas and I plan to move on up into a nicer apartment. Tomorrow we’re going to look around downtown Buffalo and see about a rocking loft or one of the newer places they put up near Chippewa. How cool will that be, to live near all the clubs, be part of all the action. This is the life. Ushering us into the isolation booth, Bas and I are amazed at the new equipment the studio left in there to use.
“I know you’re just like your dad Trav, so we got the wood six string for you, instead of electric,” Duke informs me. The man thinks of everything. No wonder my dad keeps him around.
“Now, this is all just a formality. The studio is already planning to sign you. I have the contracts being drawn up now. So by the time you’re done here today, you can all sign them,” Duke explains.
“And how much of that are you taking?” Max asks as he slowly enters the booth.
“Well,” Duke sputters, “The normal fee of course. For new talent like yours. It’s thirty percent. Then when you get big like Marcus it goes down to fifteen. It’s just industry standard and you know,” he trails off.
Max shakes his head, looking to both Bas and I like we need to back him up. I’m cool with that. Knowing how big we will be, I’d give him fifty if it meant having his connections and having him fight our way to the top for us. Ignoring Max’s gaze, I pay attention to the new strings that the studio gave me. Tuning it, and warming up I’m ready to play already.
“Here,” Duke hands us all cell phones. Blackberries.
“What are these for? I don’t need this shit. I hate cell phones,” I say, trying to hand it back to him.
“You need it, I have to be able to reach you at all times, that’s just the way it is.” He shakes his head and walks out of the booth. The three of us step into place. As the studio fills up with mixers, voice coaches, and suits, I can feel my nerves shaking a bit. Turning to Bas, so they can’t see me, I undo the cross at my neck, taking a blast of coke. That should calm me down. A hot little blonde in a short tight skirt, legs to her neck walks in. She has a tray with drinks. Damn, Duke even knows what I like to drink. Marcus did say the man was always thinking. There’s a Labatt Blue for me and Bas, and a water for Max. He doesn’t drink with us like he used to. The look he gives me when I accept the beer says enough. It’s a ‘Really need that now?’ sort of look. Laughing more to myself than anything, I down it in three gulps. The cool liquid pouring down my throat, settling onto my nervous stomach. It certainly makes me feel better.
Standing in front of the mic, I look over all the stern faces in the room. Everyone clamoring for a chance to see Marcus’s son. My mind goes blank as the guys begin to play. It’s as if I’m unable to peel my eyes from them.
“Psst, Trav, what the fuck are you doing? Play man. This is our shot,” I hear Bas saying from next to me. Snapping out of it, my fingers move over the strings like it’s nothing. There’s nothing but me and the music. We’re back at the warehouse jamming.
A bowl full of tears
Is all that you left me
A lifetime of fear
Is all that I know
I don’t want you to come back
Come back to me darling
Cos I need your love beside me
Like I need your arms around me
Through the nights
You’re the nightmare that haunts me
Ice in your heart
Is all that you gave me
A lifetime of tears
Is all that I know
But you can’t come back
Come back to me darling
Cold cold dreams
Are all that I know now
Lifetime of tears
Are all that I have
I won't let you come back
Come back to me darling
I had written this song the last time
Britt and I fought. Swearing to myself to never take her back, I’m finally following through on that. She won’t be back, can’t, because I’m on to better things than her. When we wrap up the song, we can see everyone in the booth clapping, but can’t hear anything. A voice comes over the head phones we were wearing. Running through the song a few more times, the voice coaches, mixers shouting instructions into our ears, we finally have a decent track.
“Guys, come on in here. That was great. We will have to run through it a few more times to get the recording with the computer work properly. But for now, just get out here,” Duke says. The three of us just look at each other, unsure of what to expect. As people begin filing out of the studio, it’s just the music mixer, Duke and one of the suits left. The suit was tall, older, most likely in his sixties, easily seventies. He had beady little eyes that made him look untrustworthy and something tickled the back of my neck. I would have to keep my eyes on this guy. He stands, and I’m almost intimidated by his height, if not for the fact that I could have sneezed and knocked him back over. As he shuffled towards me, his arm is extended, ready to shake hands. Poor guy, I would hurt him if I squeezed too hard.
