by Amy Marie
Dublin was flirtier, but Trim sounded dirtier
Ireland sent only their best
German pussies were soft
French pussies were wary
Swiss pussies were blond, and quick to respond
But Scottish pussies were scary
Belgium pussies were silky
Norwegian pussies were cherry
Portuguese pussies were pink lined with mink
And Italian pussies would vary
Dick expanded his feline trade
To import less Euro types
And so what he got, was a stupendous lot
Of exotic pussies with stripes
African pussies came often
Indian pussies came lean
Spanish pussies came as loud as a crowd
And Russian pussies came mean
Australian pussies came wild
Japanese pussies came small
Persian pussies came in pairs with long hairs
American pussies came, not at all
Dick was an outspoken citizen
Civic duty had a solid impact
A king’s answered prayer, he served as Lord Mayor
Three times as a matter of fact
He and his wife kept things frisky
By making love in a huge pile of kitties
Although in the night, one of them might
Try to suck the milk out of her titties
Sure they got scratched, but that was okay
Some pain with pleasure’s expected
And especially during, when those pussies got purring
Even his balls weren’t neglected
Everything was going so well
With Dick’s huge pussy catalog
His name alone, was pussy cologne
But then, the king got a dog
His name is Butcher, The king told his friend
But he ran my puss up a tree
I want you to collect him, and help me protect him
By taking him far from me
Dick was dejected, the king chose a dog
Over his fine fleet of fluff
If the trend hit the city, it’d be goodbye kitty
His business would be gone in a puff
The next day he went back to the king
To again plead his big pussy case
The king let him speak, till his voice grew weak
And had gone all red in the face
King Henry just smiled and nodded his head
He wasn’t listening one bit
He already thought, the dog thing was shot
Since he had to take it outside to shit
He preferred independent pussy
One who could go it alone
A pussy resounding but could still take a pounding
All while bent over his throne
Dick was ordered to re-supply pussy
The king wanted at least half a dozen
two for the mouse, two or his spouse
And two for Richard, his cousin
But Dick had a decision to make
And decided to diversify
A smart man knew, which way the wind blew
And then a few cocks caught his eye
From chickens to horses, and horses to boats
Then from boats he moved on to spice
Three summers and springs, he traded in things
Like potatoes, clay teapots, and rice
But nothing made him as happy as pussy
Nothing filled him with such self-worth
So he let pussies win, and stuck it back in
And the pussies took over the Earth
The pussy boom was epidemic
Their needs rivaled those of their owners
As their influence grew, the citizens knew
They were going to need more than their boners
You can’t keep a good pussy waiting
And by then they ran the whole town
They made the king, feed them cheese by the string
And they had all the curtains let down
For a while it was pure pussy madness
The buildings were all draped in silk
London was pricked, and certainly licked
And the river ran white with milk
At night the streets filled with pussy
As they yowled and sang and hissed
They also fought, and shit quite a lot
And by morning, were royally pissed
Desperate to quell the catastrophe
The king asked Dick for assistance
Who else but the prince, could hope to convince
This prominent pussy persistence
We need to distract them, Dick told the King
Maybe I should bring in a fox.
Then he stood, with an idea so good
That he ran off, in search of a box
When he came back he told them
Cats always sit in this thing
here’s my plan, we catch what we can
And ship them off to that Indian king
So Dick went around boxing pussy
And put them all on a tall sailing ship
Then he packed some stuff, because sure enough
He was going along for the trip
The Indian king was overjoyed
And paid enough to wipe out London’s debt
Dick was pleased, that the pussy got seized
But he wasn’t quite done talking yet
I wonder if you know, he asked.
What became of the cat you once bought
The man’s voice grew sad, you speak of my dad
but I do miss that pussy a lot
The men shared a boyhood memory
And parted ways as good friends
By the end of the day, Dick sailed away
And that’s about where this story ends
When Dick returned to the pussy he loved
The truth opened up like a crack
It’s the pussy you choose, not the pussy you lose
That’s waiting for you to come back
Part Eighteen
Touch of Gold by Samatha Harris
A King Midas and the Golden Touch Retelling
Dedication
To my little weirdo, Ava.
I love you, kid.
Chapter 1
Ezra
Pop star on the verge of combustion!
Princess of Pop, Hannah Miles, has, once again, proven that fame comes at a price. The singer, once known for her breakout role in the teen soap opera In the Spotlight, has gone from teen sensation to rehab regular since her split with long-time love and producer, Ezra King.
On the heels of his Grammy win for his work with Singer/Songwriter Mica Stevens, King has been dubbed King Midas as artists he’s worked with have gone on to record-breaking sales, topping the Billboard and iTunes charts. It’s no secret who’s winning in this breakup.
Miles’s career kicked off in a big way with pop anthems like “Won’t Bring Me Down” and “Nothing but a Whisper,” but her transition from teen soap queen to pop diva was largely due to King’s influence.
The dynamic pair dominated the industry, turning Miles into a household name, leading to a cosmetic and clothing line that turned her into an international icon.
Now, three years after their public split at the MTV movie awards in 2016, Miles has seemingly gone off the rails, leading to multiple stints in rehab, and a near arrest for public indecency after flashing her “goods” at a nightclub appearance in Vegas.
Sources in the Miles camp still attribute the incident to a wardrobe mishap, but in light of recent events, it seems as though the starlet has begun to spiral down, hemorrhaging money as fans grow tired of her carelessness.
Sales for her last album, “Come for Me,” debuted at a record low, and ticket sales have plummeted after having canceled three shows last April due to exhaustion.
It seems as though her time in the spotlight may be coming to an end. Can she
stage a comeback, or will she go up in flames like so many child stars before her?
Stay tuned for more at entertainmentextra.com.
I groan and let the magazine fall with a slap on Malcom’s desk.
“She’s got one foot out the door,” he says, leaning over his desk.
“What’s that got to do with me?” I ask him. “She’s not my problem anymore.”
“I beg to differ, Son,” he sneers.
“Excuse me?”
Cole shifts in his seat. “Ezra, you’re the only one who can get through to her. The label has already lost millions. We need her to fall in line, or we’ll be forced to cancel her contract.”
I raise a brow. “I don’t see how me getting involved will help matters. Her fans blame me for this downward spiral, even though she’s the one I caught snorting coke off a backup dancer’s cock.”
Malcom flinches at my crude choice of words, but I could care less because what he’s asking me to do is ludicrous. He sighs and leans back in his wing-backed chair. “We need this, Ezra. The label has invested far too much money in her as it is. As it stands, if we don’t step in, she will bring the entire house down with her.”
My jaw tenses, and I look to Cole, who appears to be just as irritated as I am.
Malcom sighs. “I wouldn’t be asking if there were any other option. I know your history.”
I scoff, pushing to my feet and move over to scan the bookcase full of awards and accolades collected by this man I’d once admired. “If you really understood,” I tell him, “then you wouldn’t be asking me to risk my career and my sanity to help a woman who ripped my heart out and fed it to me.”
“She’s made mistakes, I’m not disputing that,” he argues.
I lift a picture of Malcom and his wife on their honeymoon and hold it out to him. “How’s Kate doing these days? Catch her blowing a twenty-year-old extra from High School Musical?”
Malcom blanches but doesn’t speak. “And if she did, how would you feel if your boss asked you to ‘keep her out of trouble’?”
“I see your point, but…”
“With all due respect, Malcom, I don’t think you do.”
“What do you want?” Cole asks, breaking his silence.
“What?
“Name your price. Anything your heart desires.”
“Wait a minute, now, Son—” Malcom starts, but Cole cuts him off.
“Anything,” he says, enunciating every syllable.
I gape at him, trying to gauge just how serious he is. “My own label,” I respond, just throwing out the craziest thing I can think of.
Cole smiles as his father’s brow shoots toward the ceiling.
Then again, maybe it’s not so crazy. I’ve got Malcom Silenus by the balls, and he knows it. The question is, can I survive the price my freedom would cost? I turn back to Malcom. “I want my own boutique label under the Dionysus umbrella. I choose the music, the artists, and you remain a silent partner.”
“Absolutely not. Have you’ve completely lost your mind?” Malcom questions, his face going red with rage.
“You want my help, that’s my price.” I drop back into my chair, crossing my legs, and glance over to my best friend, who is trying not to appear proud as I paint his father into a corner.
Malcom is quiet, his hand rubbing at his clean-shaven chin as he reviews his limited options. Eventually, he straightens and buttons the front of his impeccable three-piece suit that probably cost more than rent on a studio apartment in downtown L.A. He pushes to his feet and extends a hand to me. “Deal.”
Panic laced excitement races through my veins as I stand and shake the man’s hand. Cole beams beside me, looking like a carbon copy of his father: perfectly styled blond hair, impeccable suit, clean-shaven jaw.
“You fly out to Boston in an hour. The jet will be on standby after the show. I don’t care what you do, just keep her out of the press and away from the cameras until we figure out what to do with her. Do not disappoint me, Ezra.”
“Understood, Sir.”
He dismisses me, and I leave his office, shaking my head at the absurdity of that meeting. I’m so close to achieving what I’ve worked so goddamn hard for, and nothing, not even Hannah Fucking Miles is going to stand in my way.
Backstage is chaos, as usual. Techs rush past, pushing equipment trunks, weaving through the hordes of groupies and record executives.
“Coming through,” a familiar voice shouts as he pushes through the crowd.
“Hey, Mitch,” I say, holding my arms open wide.
He stops short and smiles, bending in a dramatic bow. “Your Majesty.”
“Fuck off,” I chuckle, pulling him into a side hug, slapping him hard on the back.
He throws his head back, his deep voice booming over the noise and chatter. “Hear ye, Hear ye. Make way for Ezra, King of Hits, the man with the Midas touch!”
All eyes fall on me, and I can feel them sizing me up. Fucking vultures, every one of them, eagerly waiting to tear off a piece.
Mitch laughs a deep belly laugh at my embarrassment, the lines around his eyes deepening and his lips parting in a wide yellow-toothed smile.
“Still an asshole, old man,” I say, tapping his shoulder with my fist. “Good to see some things never change.”
He shakes his head, pushing his case forward as the chatter of the crowd begins to swallow us. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” he asks.
My smile fades. “Malcom sent me.”
“Ah,” he groans. “Princess goes off the rails, and they call in the big guns.”
“Something like that.”
“It’s been what, two years?” he asks as we reach a ramp near the loading dock.
I reach for the other end of the case and help him slide it into place beside the other cases filled with guitars and stage equipment. “Three.”
He exhales and rests his hands on his hips. “You ready for this?”
I sigh. “Not even close.”
He claps a meaty hand on my shoulder. “Well, you better be getting something fucking incredible out of this deal, my friend.”
“You know it, old man.”
“Mr. King!” a skinny kid calls out, waiving a USB stick above his head as he jogs toward me. I turn to Mitch, who chuckles to himself. “Mr. King!” the kid shouts breathlessly as he skids to a stop in front of me.
Security is nowhere in sight, but I have nearly a foot on this kid, and given he can’t weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. I feel secure in the knowledge that I can handle him if shit gets out of hand.
“Mr. King, I was hoping you might listen to my demo.” He thrusts the memory stick at me. The passion in his eyes is easily mistaken for crazed eagerness.
I chuckle and widen my stance, folding my arms across my chest. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Brayden George,” he responds, eyes flicking between me and the memory stick in his hand.
I glance down at the pass that hangs around his neck, giving Mitch a nudge with my elbow. The word crew typed in bright red letters against a black background. The Dionysus logo on the bottom and the words All Access typed above it, only access is missing a c.
“How’d you get back here?” Mitch barks.
Brayden swallows, eyes revealing more than the fraudulent pass around his neck. Kid knows he’s busted. “I—I um… I’m on the crew, Sir.”
Kid’s a terrible liar, and the pissed-off tension rolling off Mitch says he knows it too. Lucky for him, I have a soft spot for terrible liars. It’s the good ones you have got to watch out for.
“Crew, huh? You with Chris’s team?”
He shifts his weight. “Ugh, yeah, just started.”
“Kind of a dick, am I right?”
Mitch snorts beside me, disguising it as a cough.
“He’s okay,” he says hesitantly.
I smile. “Chris is a woman.”
His face drains of color, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Relax, kid.
Look, if you’re going to make it in this business, you’re gonna need to work on your poker face.”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“You just thought if you could get your music in the right hands, then you’d be set.”
He blinks up at me.
“That’s what I thought. Come with me.”
I slap Mitch’s hand. “Tell Sarah I said hi.”
He scoffs, “Tell her yourself. Come by the house when you get back.”
I nod. “Done. I’ll see you later.”
“Long live the King!” he shouts behind me as I head down the hall with the kid following behind.
I nod to one of the security guys, Paul. If I tower over the kid, then Paul eclipses him completely. Dude is a monster. His features are flat and all business.
Brayden takes one look at the mountain before him, and his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. He looks about ready to jump out of his skin, and I smile. “If you’re gonna run, I’d think again. Paul here was all-state in cross country.”
“All through college,” Paul says, eyes narrowed in on the kid.
“Mr. King,” the kid starts. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Relax, Paul here is gonna take you to Chris and get you some real credentials. Congrats, kid. You’re on the payroll.”
He frowns, chin jerking back for a second. “What?”
“Chris is gonna be pissed.” Paul chuckles.
