“Do you feel it too?” I asked him.
“What?” asked Les.
“This high… this bubble that wants to explode but keeps expanding instead,” I explained. “Don’t you feel it?”
“That? Yeah, but not like I used to,” he said. “For you– it never goes away. You’d think each time was your first.”
I watched him carefully. Something was up.
“Yeah,” said Smith, “must be nice to be a virgin every night.”
That got my attention.
“Funny you should put it like that…” I admitted, “…still, deflowering isn’t the metaphor I’d use for that experience.”
“A forceful divestment of your innocence?” Les suggested, sitting up in the seat.
“Closer…” I said.
“Maybe you’re a used up whore who wants more…” John said, slapping me hard across the shoulders. “I hear that’s what happens to musicians who only get their action on stage.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not getting any?” I asked.
“Last I knew you weren’t,” John laughed. “Maybe if you weren’t so particular… But there was some talk that you didn’t sleep in your room last night. Is this something you can share with the guys? I mean. If you are getting some action, you might want to elaborate on the details. Was she taller than you? Prettier? Bigger knockers? Come on, tell us…”
“Fuck. Like I’d tell you…” I watched the front steps of the bus.
“So you did get lucky finally,” he said, poking me in the arm. “Shit. I don’t believe it…”
“What’s not to believe?” I mumbled.
Sid stepped on to the bus, and as the doors to the bus shut, I flashed a stupid big gapped tooth grin.
“Christ. It can’t be…” John said, “I read this all wrong.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I laughed.
“Forget it,” said John. ” I don’t want to know. No details for me…”
“I want details!” Smith said, springing forward.
“Shut up,” Les said, pushing Smith back down in his seat.
Sid knelt down next to the bus driver, head close to his– speaking to him low, his face tight. Then he stood up. He didn’t look at me once. Not good. I stopped laughing. Sid stopped and bent over, speaking to two of the roadies. They both got up, mumbling and left the bus. I turned back to John and the others. Then I noticed Les watching out the window. My eyes followed where Les was looking at. It was Trent and Lancaster– talking to a few of the roadies. What were they doing here?
What the fuck was wrong?
The bus jerked forward.
“What the hell is going on?” yelled Smith.
“Change of plans,” Sid announced, scanning the faces of roadies and band members. He eyes met mine last of all. “We’re heading out now. Bill and Carl will get everything out of the hotel. Sorry.”
“Is something wrong?” Smith asked.
“Just an over enthusiastic fan, is all,” he answered. “We didn’t want to take any chances. There’s nothing to be concerned about– we’re being cautious.”
The door opened again, and Trent got on. I watched as Trent took a seat behind the driver.
The bus started to move. Sid grabbed the seats on either side of him, steadying himself as the bus made a sharp turn then walked down the aisle and sat next to me.
He didn’t say a word.
I kicked the back of the seat in front of us. I itched the inside of my wrist, scooting down in the seat trying to get a good look at Sid’s face.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
His hand gripped the edge of the seat, and I rested mine over his.
He was lying.
Shit.
The only reason why came down to one word: Shackleton.
I squeezed his hand.
“Let’s move up a few seats where we can talk,” he said under his breath. I nodded then followed him. I shot a quick look back at Les. His lips were pressed tight together and his jaw clenched, staring at Trent. He knew it was something bad, too.
The others looked on with interest– except John who mumbled something like, “I was fucking right about who he got lucky with…” and Smith shot back: “Will you shut up!” I wished it was something as simple as a lover’s quarrel.
We found a seat toward the front the bus opposite from Trent and away from the roadies and the band.
“Is it Shackleton?” I blurted out.
“No,” he answered. “But you’re close. Lancaster told me it’s some men from the community wondering what happened to Shackleton. They know Shackleton had you. They claimed they just want to talk with you privately. They even suggested you come with them.”
Panic attack. Shit. My heart thumped hard. My face grew hot. I was suffocating.
“No fucking way– I’m not going back there,” I squeaked, jumping up in my seat.
Sid pulled me back down. “Don’t worry. Your uncle told them there was no way they’re taking you there. But he’s worried– they’re not above taking you by force.”
“It’s happening again. I don’t believe this.”
I took deep breaths and closed my eyes.
“They don’t want Shackleton,” I said. “They could give a shit about him. They want what he had– what he knew.”
Me. That’s what they wanted. Me.
Fuck.
“We have to put them off somehow,” Sid said. “Confront them. If they think there’s nothing to get from you, then Trent thinks maybe they’ll leave us alone.”
“”How will we make them think that? I don’t like this idea at all…”
“Your uncle agrees. But he made it clear; we should chose the time and the place carefully.”
“This is never going to end, is it?”
“Relax, it’s not like you’re any guy; they can’t just nab you off the streets. You’re a celebrity; you’d be missed. We were thinking someplace public for the meeting.”
“Somehow that doesn’t sound too comforting.”
I looked out the window. Dark. We were on I-94 now. The city lights no longer blotted. The stars twinkled overhead like any other night, with no regard to the troubles of our puny little lives.
—————————-
Long ride and stiff legs.
The house was open.
We were home– at least home as in the Lancaster estate. Same winding stairs. Mica’s essence filtered through every minute corner.
I knew we should talk about what we needed to do. I knew that I should talk to Trent and my uncle. But I pulled Sid up the stairs.
I locked the door.
Sid in my room.
The windows were open. The room smelled like the garden, the roses.
I pulled his jeans down over his hips, feigning that I had little regard for his raging hard on. Sid threw himself down on the bed while I stood at the foot, pretending his writhing body with the jutting 90 degree cock wasn’t there right in front of my cool blue eyes. Sid knew better, however. He took his cock in hand and fisted it, jerking it and staring into my soul with eyes that would make a frigid-housewife cream her pants.
Fuck that. I ripped off all my clothes without regard to buttons, sending one popping across the room. I guess acting ambivalent didn’t last. I crawled on my hands and knees facing him, stopping just below his knees, and I watched.
I reached out for him.
He slapped my hand away– then gripped himself tighter, trusting his cock up into his hand. A perfect bead of precome formed on the tip. It was like an invitation. I bent my head down and with the very tip of my tongue I slowly rolled it around the head of his cock. He didn’t slap me away this time. Instead his right hand massaged the back of neck. I savored the salty taste, felt his thick vein pulse beneath as I careful swirled my tongue around and around, evading that perfect, painful pearl at the head of his prick. He slowed his desperate pumping– his fingers brushed my bottom lip with each stroke.