by Jessica Ashe
“I’ll have you know they don’t have breasts on page three anymore. It was considered sexist.” Dad’s voice contains regret as he mourns the loss of happier times.
“I just count myself lucky you’re no good with computers,” Mum says. “If you knew half of what was on the internet I’d never see you.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough of that conversation,” I say loudly. “Do I owe you any money for looking after Emma while I was away?”
“You give us more than enough, son,” Dad says.
I barely give them anything. They spoil Emma rotten, and hardly take any money from me.
“I should at least pay you for cleaning my house. I couldn’t help but notice that it was a lot cleaner when I came back from Birmingham than it was when I left.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Mum says. “While I was here, a man knocked on the door saying he was from the gas company. He was clearly a fraud because he didn’t have any ID. I told him I didn’t live here, but he was surprisingly insistent and wanted information about you. Obviously I didn’t give him any, and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but a similar thing happened at our house the next day.”
“Huh. Do you think he was dangerous?” I ask.
“No, I never felt threatened. It’s just a little weird. You hear about these people trying to take advantage of old ladies, but I like to think I’m not that old yet. Besides, you certainly don’t fit that demographic.”
“It’s probably nothing,” I lie. It’s not nothing, and I have a pretty good idea I know exactly what it is. “If it happens again, don’t say anything and just close the door in their face.”
“With pleasure.”
* * *
It feels good to be back to some semblance of normality again.
This life isn’t glamorous. Playing guitar in a slightly rundown pub in a poor part of London isn’t many people’s idea of glamor, but it suits me down to the ground. When I’m playing guitar, I can zone out and ignore all my problems. Leona has a great voice; she captivates the crowd while I sit slightly behind her and do my thing.
Our performance is a little different today though. Even though I often play with my eyes closed, it’s impossible to miss the much larger crowd in attendance tonight. We’ve been performing here every weekend for about seven years now and the crowds have been consistent the entire time. Most weeks, I can guess the number of people in attendance with a variance of about five. Most of them are locals, and to be honest they would still show up even if we weren’t here.
This week there is at least double the number I would expect to see. I’d love to think that’s because word has finally gotten around about Leona and her incredible voice, but deep down I know that’s not the case. I’m not just some random guitarist anymore; I’m the random guitarist who happens to be dating Naomi Price and people want to see what all the fuss is about.
The landlord certainly isn’t complaining, and I’m sure Leona is pleased to be playing in front of a large audience. As far as I’m concerned, she should be playing in front of audiences the size of Naomi’s on a regular basis.
Most of the crowd disperses once we’ve finished playing. No one tries to take my photograph once I’m offstage, but we do sell a few more CDs than usual. Frankly, I’m always amazed we sell CDs at all these days, but apparently some people still like buying physical media.
The lack of attention is a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one. I don’t think people know what to make of me yet. After all, I’m not famous in my own right and haven’t done anything of note other than be seen with Naomi Price. It gives me a kind of mysticism, but I doubt anyone is tweeting out about how they just saw Damon Curtis perform. If they do, most of the replies will probably be ‘who?’
“I told you dating Naomi Price would have its rewards,” Leona says when we finally settle down at the bar with a drink. Our drinks are on the house tonight as a reward for bringing in such a huge crowd. I’m not about to complain, even if it does feel a little seedy.
“I’m not going to milk my relationship,” I insist. “Except for free drinks.”
“You don’t have to make it sound so illicit,” Leona says. “I bet she wouldn’t mind, if you were open and honest about it.”
“She’s already encouraged it.”
“There you go then. This game is all about connections. You happen to have made the mother lode of all connections—it would be crazy not to use it to your advantage while you have it.”
“While I have it?”
“Well, you know… you can’t assume the relationship will last forever.”
Forever. Now there’s a scary word. It’s not a word that’s ever come up in my past relationships, not even with Yolanda, and we had a child together. Previously, when I thought about the future, it’s been in the context of ‘how do I make sure this girl isn’t a part of it.’
I’ve not given much thought to being with Naomi forever, but I also haven’t considered getting rid of her either. Believe it or not, that’s actually a big deal for me.
“We’re going strong so far,” I say.
“So there hasn’t been any friction?”
“Why would there be friction?”
“Come on Damon, you know the two of you lead pretty different lives. More to the point, you hate her lifestyle. I’m amazed you’ve put up with it as long as you have.”
“You sound a bit like my mother right now. Anyway, in every relationship you have to accept the other person’s flaws. Her flaws happen to be that she is obsessed with taking photos of herself and posting them online.”
“If you’re not careful, Damon, you’re going to sound an awful lot like a mature adult.”
“Better get another drink then,” I say, signaling the barman.
“I’m sure you have flaws she’s struggling to deal with as well.”
“True. It’s not easy to be with a guy who’s irresistibly handsome to other women, and carries around a dangerously big penis.”
“I take back the bit about you sounding like a mature adult. Seriously though, last time you dated someone in show business it drove you crazy. You and Yolanda were at each other’s throats constantly near the end.”
One of the reasons I love talking to Leona is that she doesn’t sugarcoat my life. My parents and friends like to talk about my relationship with Yolanda as a tragedy. Two young people in love torn apart by her untimely death. The truth is, if she hadn’t died we still would have split up. And her death couldn’t be described as unexpected given her lifestyle. I wouldn’t say we hated each other at the end, but we weren’t far off. We stayed together for our daughter, and that was about it.
“Naomi is pretty different to Yolanda,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Not when you first started dating Yolanda. Back then, she was a bit like Naomi: young, pretty, and carefree.”
“She was a dancer who lived paycheck to paycheck, not a multimillionaire singer.”
“Yes, I know, but you can’t deny there’s a bit of a comparison.”
“Naomi’s not going to end up like Yolanda. I bet my life on it.”
The barman brings us our drinks and then heads down the other end of the bar to serve another customer. I nearly don’t notice, but my peripheral vision picks up just enough to look twice at the girl sat at the bar.
It’s her. The paparazzi-for-hire working for DMZ. Fuck, she’s everywhere. Naomi’s in America right now, so apparently I’m the next best thing for her to focus her lens on.
“What’s wrong?” Leona asks, noticing my quick change of mood.
“Down the end of the bar. She’s a photographer who follows Naomi around for a living.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t think it’s a coincidence that she happens to be here in this bar with you?”
“Not a chance.”
“Maybe we should leave.”
“Fuck that. Maybe she should leave.”
It’s not my job to kick people out of someone
else’s bar, but if there’s ever a night I can get away with it, it’s tonight. The landlord’s made a small fortune off the crowd who came to watch Leona and I tonight; he’s not going to notice one less customer. Especially one who appears to be nursing a soft drink.
I stand up and walk over towards the photographer. I’m heading in the same direction as the toilets, so it doesn’t look suspicious until I stop and stand next to her.
“Let me pay for that,” I say, handing a fiver to the barman. “Keep the change.”
“It’s okay,” the woman says. “I can pay for my drink.”
American accent. She’s come a long way to do her job.
“I’m going to pay for it,” I insist, “because I’m going to be the one drinking it.” I take the glass from her and have a small sip. “You see, you’re not staying.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re leaving. Now.”
“This is a public house. As in, it’s for the public.”
She’s argumentative, but not confident. She can barely make eye contact and I can tell she’s already desperate to get out of here.
“It’s a place for the public to drink, not invade people’s privacy and sell photos to your sleazy website.”
The woman doesn’t say a word. She takes a few breaths to compose herself and then stands up and starts to walk away.
Damn, now I do feel a little guilty. She’s just doing her job. It’s not a job I particularly like or respect, but I could have been more polite about it.
She turns around to face me and I’m about to apologize when she gets angry.
“She’s not what you think, you know,” the woman says.
“Excuse me?” Now it’s my turn to look a little confused.
“You probably think you know her, but you don’t.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m willing to bet I know her better than you. I’ve spoken to her, for one thing. All you’ve done is linger in the shadows and snap away with your camera. You can’t tell who she is from a photograph.”
“I’ve done my research, Mr. Curtis. Have you?”
“I prefer to act on instinct. Lots much more fun that way.”
“I suggest you perform a bit of due diligence.”
“Listen, I don’t care who she’s dated or what she’s done in the past. I’m not interested.”
“Surely her past is relevant if she’s lying to you about it in the present?”
“Leave. Now.”
Naomi’s not lying to me. I trust her, but it’s more than that. She can’t lie to me. Most of her life is documented online for me to read whenever I want. That’s one of the things I hate about fame. Where’s the fun in knowing everything about someone? We all have our secrets; it’s what make us who we are.
“Why don’t you ask her what happened to her father?”
“I already know about her father.”
“You only know what she told you and I bet she left a few details out. Like how it was her fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snarl. If this were a guy, I’d have my hands around his throat and be pushing him out the door right now. Maybe I should do that with her. Isn’t it sexist not to? You’re supposed to treat men and women the same, right? I don’t know, feminism still confuses me a little bit if I’m honest.
“I thought so,” the woman says with a laugh. “She’s to blame for her father’s death, and she carries around the guilt to this day. You don’t know her as well as you think.”
I stare at the woman as she walks out the bar, and then head back to my seat next to Leona trying to ignore all the eyes now on me.
“Well that was entertaining,” Leona says. “What’s all that about her father?”
“No idea,” I reply honestly. “Her father was killed in a robbery gone wrong. I fail to see how that’s Naomi’s fault.”
“Yeah, I read about that,” Leona says. “Naomi was there at the time. I don’t think she actually saw it happen, but she was close by. According to the police report, Naomi and her mother were lagging behind a bit, so they weren’t with the father when he was killed.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Naomi probably blames herself for not being there to stop it.”
“The two of you do have something in common. You both blame yourself for a death you couldn’t have prevented.”
That’s not true. I blame myself for Yolanda’s death because I’m responsible. I deserve to have the guilt tear me apart. Naomi doesn’t. The more I find out about her, the more I think I understand her.
Roll on tomorrow night.
I need to see her again.
My next shift can’t come soon enough.
Chapter Sixteen
Damon
“Can’t you take the night off?” Naomi pleads. “Don’t you get vacation days or something?”
“I only work twenty-five hours a week as it is, and I need the money,” I reply.
I somehow find myself in Naomi’s dressing room again an hour before her next show. Funny how that happens.
“I don’t mean to sound boastful, but you do realize I can—”
“No, you can’t. There is no way in hell I’m accepting money from you. It’s bad enough when you pay for meals and all the hotel rooms.”
“It’s only fair,” Naomi says. “I want to spend more time with you and that means you taking time off work. I should pay for that time to compensate you.”
“So you’re saying you want to pay me to spend time with you?”
“Yes.”
“During that time, we will presumably have sex?”
“I’m not sure we’ll do anything else.”
“So you want to pay me to have—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Naomi says abruptly.
I smile and kiss Naomi on the lips. I intend for it to be a short kiss, but soon we settle into each other and her lips part, my tongue quickly sliding into her mouth. I’m waiting for her to push me away with an excuse about needing to be ready for the show, but it doesn’t happen.
“Do you have to get back to work?” Naomi asks in panting breaths.
“I’m on my break. Twenty minutes left.”
“Thank God for that.”
Naomi stands up, opens her robe, and lets it drop to the floor, leaving herself standing there completely naked. Not even Lance walking into the room could stop me now.
She stands there naked with a coy smile on her face. For once, I’m speechless, the entire English language having disappeared from my head. We don’t have long, but I can’t move. All I can do is stand and stare at her perfect body. She’s petite and toned, with breasts pointing at me and inviting me in, while the tiny triangular mound between her legs gets my mouth watering.
I don’t even notice her step forward, but suddenly she’s in front of me and squeezing gently on my cock through my pants. It pulses under her touch, and I’m quickly hard, bursting to get out of my jeans. I quickly unbuckle them and let them drop to the floor. Naomi starts tugging me off while looking me in the eyes with an innocent smile on her face, as if she didn’t have me throbbing in her hand.
My fingers reach out and pinch her left nipple. She gasps, her fingers gripping tighter round my cock the harder I squeeze. My other hand reaches out towards the top of her thighs, but I barely graze the hot wetness of her lips when she bats my hand away and quickly drops to her knees in front of me.
Naomi keeps tugging at my cock as she licks her lips in anticipation. I’m rock hard now, and my cock looks even bigger than usual in her petite hands. Her lips part and her tongue darts across my tip, already glazed with pre-cum. I close my eyes just as her warm mouth envelopes my cock. I push forward on instinct, and slide two inches into her mouth. She doesn’t flinch. Her tongue circles my head while her hand pumps my length. She slowly slides her lips down the shaft and doesn’t stop until she gags slightly and backs off. Once she’s found her range, her hands reach around and grab my ass, as she bobs her head up and do
wn my cock.
I weave my fingers through her hair and barely resist the urge to slam my cock forward against the back of her throat. I’m lost in the moment and don’t notice the pressure building until I almost explode. She’s sucking me with all the energy and enthusiasm that she puts into her concerts. Her lips come up near the tip, where her tongue flicks against my head again, before she dives back down as if her life depends on having me come in the next thirty seconds.
She’s going to win.
“Any chance cum is good for the vocal chords?” I ask through strained breaths.
She briefly pauses and looks up at me with her mouth still full of cock. I’m expecting her to stop, but instead she looks back down at my cock as if it’s offering her a challenge. Her hands take hold of the base again, and she resumes giving me the loudest, sloppiest blow job I’ve ever had. Saliva hangs from her lips to my cock when she pulls her lips away to take a deep breath. When her lips wrap back around my cock, I hold her head firmly and fuck her mouth hard enough that my balls crash against her chin.
Within seconds, a burst of cum shoots into her mouth. She swallows quickly, but there’s plenty more where that came from. Another hot jet hits the back of her throat and some of it slips out the side of her mouth. She jerks the final few spurts into her mouth and quickly swallows every drop. My balls are completely empty, drained of essence that’s now working its way down Naomi’s throat and chin.
“If I lose my voice, I’m blaming you,” Naomi jokes as she wipes her face with a towel.
“I’ll take whatever punishment you want to dish out. Perhaps I should return the favor?”
Naomi smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “The end of this show can’t come soon enough.”
* * *
“I’m going on another trip again soon,” Naomi says as she looks around for her underwear.
“Back to America?”
“No. I need to go to China for a few days. I might tour out there for my next album, but booking big events in China can prove a little… complicated. My record company has told me to show my face and shake some hands.”
