Dirty Little Freaks

by Jaden Wilkes

  I look him up and down again. I just can’t get enough of him. I ask, “Is Hush your real name or your stage name?” I hope it’s his stage name, I don’t really like it, but it might grow on me.

  He looks at me and hesitates, as if weighing options in his head. My radar starts to blip and I know he's going to lie. It really doesn't matter; it's just that years with a drunk mom has taught me how to pick up on it.

  "Yeah, Hush is my real name,” he holds his gaze a few seconds longer. Yup. Of course he lied, but I don’t care, I’m reeling him in. He’s mine. He looks over my shoulder at the back of the club, towards the bathrooms. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back,” he smiles. He actually smiles. His smile is fucking brilliant, a flash of sunlight on an overcast day, I am even more smitten if that’s humanly possibly.

  “Sure thing,” I say, nodding my head like one of those birds that dips in and out of the water glass. I’m sure I look that fucking stupid too. What is it with this guy? I wonder again. It’s gotta be the drugs. This is really good fucking X.

  I watch him walk away, admiring his firm ass cupped in skinny jeans. He’s got a long swagger and every woman he passes turns her head to watch him walk. He makes his way through the crowd, people part like a frenzied Red Sea, and him a Moses with a green mohawk. I would follow him into the desert...fuck I need to get off these Bible metaphors, nothing kills a good fuck like a Bible reference. Unless you stick with the classics like, “Oh God, oh God.”

  I wait until he disappears down the hallway and follow him. I know what I want and my pussy prays he wants it too. I slide past losers and posers, skinny guys and older women; all kinds show up to these punk shows. Those newly discovering the music, those reliving their youth through the new scene, and those like me who feel they have some sort of special privilege for discovering this shit a few years ago and have studied the ins and outs and subtleties of the music until you are a walking punk rock Google of useless facts and random tidbits. I walk like I’m People because I fit into the last category, I don’t know why that matters to me, but I think I’m better than most, and because of this I am going to fuck the bass player in the band.

  I find the men’s washroom at the end of the hall on the left, just before the emergency exit. There are couples lined up along the walls of the passage in various stages of undress and sexual activity. I guess I’m not exactly original.

  It’s a small room with a single stall. I’ve been in here before. Not to fuck, but I did give a hand job to an old friend a couple of years back. Hush is leaning against the urinal; he doesn’t look up when I come in. I’ve completely lucked out and the room only has two other guys in it. They watch me, try to get my attention, then give up and leave one by one.

  Hush still doesn’t know I’m here and I’m starting to feel like the biggest fucking creeper on the planet. I think about leaving, but he’s so mesmerizing I can’t go. I need to do this. It’s the X, I reassure myself again. This is really good shit.

  I’ve got tunnel vision. All I can see is this guy, this perfect badass, tattooed, green mohawk, punk rock guy. The music of the club sounds tinny, as if from a great distance, and I feel like I am going to spin down onto the floor, my head feels so wonky. I turn back to the door and kick the doorstop in place, locking us in. This noise catches his attention and he turns, in slow motion in my mind. He stops, he stares. His brows go up and he smiles.

  He wasn’t taking a piss; I can see that now. I think he must have been doing a couple of rails of coke, I can see the glassy “I’m a fucking rock star” look in his eyes and the traces of powder around his nostril. He’s sweaty, his ‘hawk is falling over and the room smells like piss and vomit. I don’t care. I’m still down to fuck. Right now.

  He walks towards me and says, “I think you got the wrong bathroom, the ladies room is across the hall.”

  I roll my eyes, he knows why I’m here. “Uh thanks, but I think you know why I’m here.” Yeah, that’ll tell him. Wait, what do I even want to say to him? He unsettles me like nobody else. I’m reaching now, trying to find something to hook him, something that will seal this deal. I smile and blurt out, “I like penis.”

  Fuck me, I think my own brain just punched itself in the face over that one. God, what the actual fuck is wrong with me? This guy, he makes me crazy...or maybe the drugs are doing it. They’re making me so stupid...and horny.

  “Do you, now?” he asks, his eyes blazing with coke-fuelled fire. He reaches out and pulls me to him, my body curves perfectly into his, and he kisses me.

  It’s a kiss to remember when I’m old as fuck and laid up in bed waiting to die. Remember this, this exact moment because God DAMN it feels fucking fine.

  His tongue is cool but his lips are hot. He starts off slowly, sucking my upper lip, taking it between his teeth and biting me ever so soft. Like a lover, this is what love feels like. Fuck. This is nice.

  His urgency builds and his hands cup my ass, pulling me harder against him. I can feel his cock hidden away in those tight jeans, dying to get out, to find me. He tucked on the left side today, good to note.

  His tongue becomes the only thing I know. His is spiraling around mine like a Celtic knot with no end. It’s a continuum of wet, warm, heart stopping sensation. His tongue is warm now. I did that. He reaches up under my Ramones shirt and starts to massage my breast. He finds my nipple and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. I sigh against his mouth and rock myself towards him, my hips hitting his. He grunts, I don’t know if it’s pain or lust, I just don’t fucking care. I want him inside of me, fuck this foreplay shit, I need to release this insane build up before I fucking explode. That’s a nice thought, chunks of horny high me all over the walls in this grimy bathroom. Death by hormonal overload.

  “Hey, what the fuck’s taking so long buddy?” an angry guy calls out and bangs on the bathroom door. We don’t have long.

  I pull back and say, “Let’s just do this,” urgency tinting my voice with a whine. I would beg him for his cock if he asked.

  “We’re not doing this,” he said, pulling back farther, looking at me with concern. “I’m not going to fuck you in here, is that what you want?” I stop breathing. What did I step into here? Fuck, if I say yes he’ll think I’m a slutty asshole, if I say no he’ll think I’m a lying asshole.

  “Uh...maybe?” I say, hoping he’ll let me off the hook. This guy steals my voice, who am I around him?

  “Maybe? You followed me back here thinking maybe?” he whispers into my ear. He bites my lobe for emphasis and I gasp. I can feel the line of crazy pleasure from my ear directly to my clit. I breathe out slowly and find my voice. I reply, “No, I was hoping I’d get a chance to slide myself down your thick cock and milk your balls until we can’t do anything but grunt and sweat.” Ah-ha, there I am!

  “You want that, do you?” he growls and pulls me up against him; my head is thrown back so I can maintain eye contact. His eyes are gleaming. “You want me to pull out my cock, pull up your skirt and shove it up inside of you, is that what you’re saying?”

  I’m gone again. I can’t talk. My world has been reduced to his eyes, those eyes the colour I’ve never seen before. I can see myself reflected in them, my own eyes huge on my face, blinking in surprise. “Yes, I do believe I would like that,” I finally manage to say. I am on fire, every nerve is alight with need. I need him to fill me, to fuck me, to own me and use me. I’m so glad I can’t speak right now. I would sound insane if I voiced this.

  “You’re such a polite little slut, aren’t you?” he laughs. He reaches down and pulls up my skirt, the banging on the door resumes and we both ignore it. We don’t break eye contact as he hooks his finger inside my thong and pulls it down far enough to find my smooth pussy. I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to slip his fingers lower, to find my wet slit and circle my clit until I’m a panting sobbing mess.

  I would beg him for his dick right now. I know this. I would crawl across this disgustin
g piss covered bathroom floor on my hands and knees and beg to worship that delicious cock. Thank God he hasn’t asked me to do that. I might get out of this with a shred of dignity.

  He slides his finger lower, finds the top of my slit and parts my lips; he hovers there for half a second, an eternity of torment for me, then pushes lower. This is already hundreds of times more satisfying than that dude on the dance floor, his name forgotten. He hits my clit hard, it’s a collision of flesh but it feels like metal on metal in my mind. It’s intense and the impact slams my eyes shut and my head back.

  “Look at me,” he demands, “fucking look at me while I do this.” He’s working my clit faster, and I force myself to lift my head up and open my eyes. His are so intense I can barely stand to keep staring. It’s like looking at the sun, I worry if I don’t look away his image will be burned on my retinas for the rest of my life. I can’t handle this raw intimacy. I want to let my eyelids fall shut, but I won’t. I don’t want him to stop.

  He reaches further down, sliding two fingers into my entrance. I’m waiting for this, and I move my legs apart, allowing easier access. His fingers are rough; he thrusts them inside of me applying pressure to the inside wall of my cunt. Bass player fingers, I think with a flash. This is what they mean. Rough and fast, the callous where he hits the strings, he’s playing me now and I’m moaning and gasping along with the rhythm.

  “Oh, I’m almost there,” I push my pelvis upwards and grab him around the neck to support myself. I’m going to fall otherwise, I’m about to crash down into my orgasm, I don’t want to end up on the floor.

  He allows this, fucking my cunt with his fingers, hammering into me, pushing me towards the edge of my limit until I come hard, fall into the pleasure and start thrashing on his hand like a porn star. I give a good performance though. I have to say that. Wow, I have brilliant spots of colour exploding behind my eyelids, this is exactly what I need tonight.

  “You are a nasty little bitch, aren’t you?” he whispers into my ear, his fingers still deep inside of me. He wiggles them and I jump, he laughs. “I could get used to this, making you jump.”

  “It’s my turn next,” I smile against his cheek, still panting from my orgasm.

  “Hush! Fuck! Are you in there? We’re on!” Diesel yells and bangs on the bathroom door. We could hear several angry voices complaining about it being locked.

  “Next time, sweetheart,” Hush says, he pulls his hand up and turns away. I stand there with my knees trembling, wide apart, my pussy dripping and my mouth hanging open in surprise. I compose myself the best I can and follow him. Just as he reaches the door, he turns and sweeps me into a kiss. Fucking Gone With the Wind action right here, I think, thrown off guard by the gesture. He pulls back, looks me up and down, smiles and my knees go weak again. This guy is hard-core and I am hooked.

  Hush kicks the doorstop and opens the door with a flourish. There is quite a crowd gathered, Diesel is at the forefront looking pissed. The rest of the guys start clapping when they see me. What else could I do? I bow and sweep my hand in front of me like a ringmaster. Hush stops and laughs. “Come on, you’re fucking nuts,” he says and grabs my hand. I like this coked up version, I think. He’s much more...into me.

  He stops just outside the bathroom and takes a look at the guys hanging on his every move. He drops my hand, puts his fingers up to his nose, breathes in my scent and sticks them in his mouth. He drags them over his lips, his tongue darting out to taste me. What can I say; I love a showman. I am dripping wet again by the time he slurps the lingering taste of me off the tips. The crowd of guys goes nuts; hooting and yelling like monkeys at the fucking zoo. This is my first taste of fame, and I like it.

  Chapter Three

  Let’s Do This

  The rest of the show goes off without a hitch. Eva and I sit at one of the tiny tall tables near the edge of the dance floor. I feel like I’m perching, watching my man. My cunt still throbs from the feel of Hush’s fingers inside of me, and I can understand how addictive this is, why Eva loves it. Girls saunter past and give me dirty looks of envy and bitchy anger. Guys stare at me like fucking my pussy would be their magic portal to becoming a punk rock God. I would mention to them that Bondo is just a two bit band playing a second rate club in a city known for its mountains, not its thriving punk scene...but fuck it, I'm loving this too much.

  After the show Hush lays his guitar down on an amp and a roadie scurries forward to pick it up. I admire this. Perhaps Bondo isn’t as shitty as I think they are. He takes a look at me, smiles, purposefully smells his fingers again and leaps off the stage. The crowd parts to give him room and a few long strides later he's in front of me. I can see the coke has worn off a bit but there's still a glimmer of attraction there. It comforts me, knowing the drugs brought us together but there might be something tangible in our raw heat after all.

  "Great set," I nod at him, doing my best to play it cool and resist the urge to stroke his smooth skin, slicked with sweat. I imagine that stubble on his jaw line would send me into tactile sensation orbit. I think about running my tongue along his face, tasting his salty sweat, humping his leg and biting his lip. He’s got me hotter than a bitch in heat.

  It’s the X, this can’t be real, I reassure myself for the millionth time. This repetitive inner monologue is actually getting on my nerves, my own insecurity and attraction to the hottest man I’ve ever seen is annoying me. I need to stop.

  “Thanks,” he says with a lopsided grin. “So, what’s up for the rest of the night?”

  Thankfully none of his icy distance has come back, in spite of the coke fire receding. I don’t know if there is some left inside there, or if he’s genuinely interested in me, but I don’t care right now. I feel like I’ve won a fucking prize or something. I wonder if he comes with an oversized cheque.

  I’m grinning, and would wag my tail if I had one. Thank God I’m not one of those club kids with the whacky fox tails hanging off the back of them or I might be wiggling like a Chihuahua on speed by now.

  “I don’t know, I think Eva’s the cruise director for the night,” I tell him, still grinning. Oh my God, I hate my own lack of control and some part of me, the part that’s been kicked and called down and laughed at my entire life, the inner bitter spinster, is warning me that he’s just acting like this as part of some cosmic joke. There’s no way he could be interested in me, not that I care, but somewhere I do. Maybe. Fuck, this was supposed to be a fast bang with somebody I didn’t know, something to ease the sexual tension and keep my heart safely stowed in the overhead compartment. I need to check myself before I wreck myself.

  Fuuuuuuck I’m starting to sound like a snappy gum chewing inner city teenager.

  He doesn’t notice any of this; none of my colossal inner struggle makes it to my face. Thank you Jeebus for this one small gift from my mother, the ultimate poker face. Comes from having to lie to the authorities from an early age.

  Eva jumps in and says “Denny’s, then our place, if that’s ok with you two.” She gives me the brow lift, the ‘hey, is that cool’ look and I nod my agreement.

  Diesel has reached the table by then, he wraps his arms around Eva and sweeps her into an embrace. He kisses her neck and says, “Sounds perfect to me, sweetums.” Eva is grinning wider than I am, and she’s not high.

  Girls shoot us daggers as we leave the club, once on the street we’re just any other young, crazy foursome making their way through the streets on a weekend. We walk right past the sex shop and I see Jag inside behind the counter, he’s reading a spank mag, but I am pretty sure it really is for the articles. He doesn’t see me, but for a moment I have the overwhelming urge to run into the store, find my spot under the bright fluorescent lights in between the rubber cocks and flabby pocket pussies. Right back into my comfortable life where I fuck for fun with no strings attached and it feels like nothing is ever going to change. Right now I feel like things are about to change and I am terrified.

 
Then I see one of our messier disgusting old pervs reach for the handle and walk in, and that fleeting idea is gone. Ha, Jag’s going to have fun cleaning the booth tonight, and I’ve got two days off so there’s no chance of me having to be the one to do it.

  I smile, feel Hush’s hand grab mine, and walk faster to keep up with the group.

  “There is NO fucking way the Revolting Cocks would have ever fronted for the Sex Pistols, I don’t know why you suggest this every fucking time we play this game,” Hush yells at Diesel, only half kidding. They were in the middle of what is apparently a regular game for them...’build your perfect concert’.

  “That’s my point, they wouldn’t open for them, they’d have to share the marquee, you daft fucking asshole,” Diesel shoots back.

  “They’re not even the same ball field, how could you mix the two?” Hush argues back.

  “Guys, guys, please,” Eva jumps in, “really, who gives a shit?” She laughs and I had to agree. It seemed like the kind of game designed just to argue for the sake of arguing.

  “Come on, are you guys ready to order?” I asked, my stomach growling. I needed to eat, which was strange on X; generally I forgot to feed myself while I was riding high. I wonder if Serai sold me a bad batch. That would explain this raw feeling I have around Hush.

  “Yup,” Hush answers, looking at me directly with those crazy amazing eyes. “I’m going for an Everything Omelet, sour dough toast, and a tea.”

  My order, he’s ordering my favorite. Now I can’t get it, can I? What if he thinks I’m getting it just to be like him? Eva solves this problem for me by yelling, “That’s CRAZY! That’s what Jade gets every single time we come here.”