“Take your tops off, girls,” I give out my next order. Dylan pulls Shayla’s over her head. Lacy does her own and when she sees that Shayla’s wearing nothing underneath, she takes her bra off too.
Shayla is tiny, with small perky tits. Lacy is long and lean, with huge fake tits. The contrast between them is striking, but I don’t feel a thing, neither of them turns me on. What’s getting me hard, is their unquestioning reactions to my orders. They’ve done exactly what I’ve told them to so far, and their boyfriends have gone right along with it. It’s the power, the control. I know it’s fucked, but it’s just the way I am.
Johnny can’t stay in his seat anymore and has decided to make a move, but it’s Shayla he kisses first, then Lacy. Now I’m really gonna push things.
“Clothes off, all of you.” Lacy, Shayla and Dylan don’t hesitate. Johnny just sits back and watches them for a few seconds, he rubs his hand over his big square jaw. His eyes flick to mine, then down to Jet, who when I look, is now getting a synchronised wank from the two girls he was with when I walked in. The one on his left is having her cunt licked out by Lara and I watch as she throws her head back and moans.
Johnny chews on his gum, slowly now, he watches as Shayla and Dylan suck on each of Lacy’s tits. This seems to spur him into action and within seconds he’s naked. I notice Dylan stops and looks him over. He’s ripped, but not in a natural way. I’d say that looking at his less than average dick size, his square and prominent jaw and his very big muscles, that he’s overdone the steroids during his life. Still, Dylan seems to like the look of him.
“You like men, Dyl?”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
I look at Johnny, who instantly starts to shake his head. “No dude, no way.”
“No?” I ask him. “That’s a shame, looks like Lacy’s having fun, but if the answers no then you’ll have to leave.”
Lacy turns toward him. “Have another line of coke baby and let’s just have some fun.” Lara’s instantly at his side with a mirror, four lines and a rolled up fifty dollar note. He looks around the room at everyone else. Pharrell and Daft Punk sing about getting lucky over the sound system. He takes the note from Lara and snorts a line up each nostril. He leans across the girls, grabs Dylan around the neck and slams his mouth against his.
Well, that was easy!
The girls join in the kiss and my heart rate speeds up, but I’m still not hard.
“Touch each other,” I bark out, “I want to see your hands on and in each other, mouths too.” I watch as Shayla smiles at Dylan. He adjusts his position on the sofa and leans forward. He takes Johnnie’s cock in his hand and starts to stroke it. He slides down onto the floor and takes him into his mouth. They all move around. Johnnie’s sitting back on the sofa, his legs wide open as Dylan sucks on his cock. The girls are kneeling either side of him. They lean across and kiss each other and I watch as he slides a hand up each of their legs and pushes his fingers inside them as they alternate between kissing him and sucking on each other’s tits.
Jet stands up and I watch as he approaches Dylan. He’s naked, with his skinny arse in the air and it’s obviously too much for Jet to resist. I start to undo my jeans. My hard-on is pressing against the waistband and it’s getting painful.
And then in an instant, my world changes.
The screech of tyres, the sensation of spinning, rolling, blue lights flashing, glass smashing, and above it all, above everything else is… this song. When everything went quiet and I looked across at my brother, his eyes were wide but seeing nothing. All I could hear was the voice of Anthony Kiedis, singing the Chili Peppers ‘Scar Tissue’ and it’s all around me now. That song, those sounds and images, surrounding me.
I try to get up out of the chair, but the room spins. I need to get to my room… get away. I need to get away from this song and these people. I don’t do this song. I avoid this song at all costs and now it’s here, playing loud, surrounding me and making me remember.
Her – that night.
The night she didn’t show.
We ended up places we shouldn’t have been, wouldn’t have been because of her.
I head as quickly as I can back to my hotel bedroom. I’m vaguely aware of Jet screaming for someone to, “Turn the fucking song off.” I just make it to my bathroom in time to throw up down the toilet. I can barely breathe as I fall to my knees. I struggle to get air into my lungs and feel like I’m about to choke on my own vomit, making the panic worse. I cling onto the sides of the cold toilet bowl, my arms shake as they hold my weight. This hasn’t happened for a long time, a long fucking time, but I still hate when it does. It makes me feel weak, like a failure.
I’m Conner Reed, rock fucking God!