A gay story: The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 05 At least Pete knew he could sleep in a little later tomorrow morning. Their flight to Ottawa wasn’t until midday, and their roadies had pre-arranged a late hotel checkout. They needed to be on the road to the airport by 10am. He ignored the text message from Ace, it could wait until tomorrow morning.
He watched, in the darkness, as Carlos climbed back into his own single bed. He felt tired. He closed his eyes, and it could’ve been hours, minutes or even seconds before he fell asleep. He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t dream. Or, if he did, he had no memory. His slumber was pure blackout.
Morning arrived. His alarm sounded and he threw the covers back. He woke, feeling a little disoriented, but the room was warm. He yawned, still feeling tired, wishing he could sleep for another day. He glanced across at Carlos. His roommate was already awake, propped up on pillows, checking socials on his phone. “Hola,” Carlos said cheerfully. He was painting his fingernails black. “¿Cómo estás?”
Pete rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed. Carlos was gorgeous, even when he’d just woken up. “Where are we?”
Carlos looked across at his drummer with mock disdain. “The north pole.” He gestured to the window. He’d already pulled back the curtain. It was snowing outside. He got up and tiptoed to the kitchen area of their hotel room.
Slowly, Pete remembered that his band was on tour in Canada, and that they were scheduled to fly to Ottawa this afternoon. And then he remembered what happened last night.
He remembered having sex with Carlos, the lead singer of his band, a man he’d lusted after since like fucking forever. He remembered Carlos suggesting that he invite Ace, his boyfriend, up to Canada. And he remembered, just as he was about to drift off to sleep, his phone pinging with a message from Ace, saying he’d love to come up to Canada and hang with him on tour.
He covered his eyes with his hands.
Fuck.
A still-naked Carlos handed Pete a steaming hot mug of the best instant coffee a shitty hotel could provide. He remembered Pete liked milk in his coffee, so he squeezed a few precious droplets of toxic long-life milk (the only product stocked in their crappy hotel fridge) into the cup.
Pete smiled. “Thanks, dude,” he said, accepting the mug. He took a healthy sip before placing the receptacle on his bedside table, throwing back the covers, and getting dressed. Today was a travel day, but not a gig day, which meant Ass To Mouth had the night off. If nothing else, he’d have some time to think after they landed in Ottawa.
Carlos watched Pete slip his pants on and throw a tight black t-shirt over his shoulders. He watched as Pete returned to his bedside table to collect his coffee. He watched Pete tilt his head back as the warm liquid poured into his mouth, spilled onto his tongue, travelled past his tonsils and down into his stomach.
He watched Pete throw his shoulder-length Irish red hair back.
He felt completely smitten. He wanted to tackle him back onto his mattress and kiss him forever, but they had a plane to catch.
“They speak English in Ottawa, right?” asked Pete.
“Both, I think,” Carlos replied. “English and French. But not Spanish. In any case, you’re the one with the Canada guidebook, you should know this shit.”
Pete continued brushing his hair, and Carlos willed his dick to behave itself as he watched Pete tie it back into a neat ponytail.
They checked out of the hotel without further incident, made their way to the airport, and A2M’s entourage landed in Ottawa on time. Pete noticed that the rest of their party parted ways upon leaving the airport. Maybe the others were staying in a different place tonight?
Carlos escorted Pete through the front doors of their temporary home for the next two evenings. From the outside, the hotel looked like a castle. He checked them in and collected their room keys. They rode the elevator up to their room, and as they looked out of their window, they saw dozens upon dozens of Canadians skating on the frozen canal that lay next to the hotel. They could see a river not too far away.
“Today is a free day,” Carlos reminded. “We can do whatever we want!”
Pete didn’t respond. He still felt confused. This hotel room must’ve cost Carlos a small fortune, and they were checked in for two nights.
There were no single mattresses to be seen. The only bed in the room was king-size, situated squarely in the middle of the suite.
“Do you know how to skate?” asked Carlos.
Pete turned to face him. “Do the sewers of Atlanta ever freeze over? I know how to ride a skateboard, but I’ve never skated on ice in my life.”
Carlos beamed. “Neither have I,” he said, beckoning Pete over to the window. “Look at the canal. You wanna go down and try? Could be fun!”
Pete wasn’t sure. “If I break my ankle, I won’t be able to play drums tomorrow night,” he warned. “You’ll need to buy a drum machine.”
Carlos laughed. He looked deep into Pete’s eyes. He wanted to kiss him, but he restrained himself. “Fuck it, we only live once. Let’s go ice-skating!”
Fifteen minutes later, they had pairs of rented ice-skates strapped to their feet, padding for their elbows and knees secured in position, helmets on their heads, and mittens keeping their fingers warm. They were ready to step out onto the frozen surface.
Carlos’s skates stepped confidently onto the ice and he instantly fell over. “Fuck, it’s slippery!” he exclaimed as he desperately tried to haul his ass back up.
Pete grinned as he ventured out onto the surface. “Like I said, I can ride a skateboard, so I should be OK at this … oops … wait … oh no … shit … fuck …”
Pete’s feet slipped and gave way beneath him. His ass made serious contact with the ice. “Help me up, Carlos?” he pleaded.
Carlos crawled over and tried to assist, but they both struggled and fell.
Half of Ottawa skated past as they lay helplessly on the ice.
They rolled over to face each other, laying on the ice, their breath turning into vapour as they exhaled. Carlos gazed into Pete’s eyes. “Te amo,” he whispered.
It felt like there was nobody else around.
Pete knew what Carlos had said, but he couldn’t find a way to respond.
Somehow, they regained their slippery feet and grasped a handrail, holding on for dear life. A vendor skated confidently by, selling warm mulled wine from a small portable keg, and they each purchased a cup. They stood on their skates for a few moments, talking crap while they drank their warm wine with one hand, desperately holding onto the rail with the other. The vendor skated back around, and they bought another cup each. It was delicious. Their breath vapourised in the air as the alcohol went to their heads.
“Help me skate, skaterboi,” said Carlos.
Pete did his best, but they were both flat on their asses again within seconds. Their wine splashed everywhere.
Their helmets collided seconds before their faces did.
Ottawa skated past as one of Carlos’s warm mittens gripped Pete’s face, pulling it towards his own. Pete’s mouth opened wide, and Carlos’s tongue drove deep.
“I wanna fuck you so bad,” said Carlos.
The equipment rental guy skated out to break this shit up before it got started. He cleared his throat noisily and deliberately — the universal noise that meant ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ — and both Pete and Carlos looked up guiltily at the authority figure towering above them.
“Looks to me like you two are about to try to get into each other’s pants,” semi-lectured the ice-skates rental guy, “but this is a family environment. And I can tell you from personal experience, sex on ice ain’t as romantic as you might think, unless you’ve got a kink for frostbite. Ain’t you both got someplace warm to be?”
Carlos inelegantly scraped his way back to his feet, clutching the handrail. “We do,” he said, addressing the rental guy, “but we want to try to skate first. We’ve never been to Canada before. My friend (he pointed his mittened thumb at Pete) said he knows how to ride a skateboard, but I think he’s full of shit. Can you give us some tips?”
The rental dude gave them a few basic hints which helped them gain a rudimentary sense of balance on ice. And before too long, Pete was skating slowly, holding Carlos’s mittened hand. Carlos’s other hand was gripped tightly to the rail, so they both felt safe. And then they swapped places, so Pete held the rail.
Carlos squeezed Pete’s hand through his mitten. “Check me out, dude!” Carlos said proudly. “I’m skating on ice!”
Pete grinned evilly as he let his bandmate’s hand go. Carlos’s feet panicked like an accident-prone cartoon character. His skates clattered, and he fell hard.
Pete couldn’t stop giggling. “You OK, dude?”
Carlos feigned injury like an Italian soccer player in desperate search of a free kick, but Pete knew he was hamming it up.
Pete held the handrail as he reached out a hand to help Carlos back up. “That wasn’t funny,” huffed Carlos.
“Yeah, it totally was,” Pete laughed.
Pete was having such a great time with his lead singer. They continued to hold hands.
“Hey, Carlos,” said Pete.
“Yeah?”
Pete paused for a moment, briefly glancing down at his wobbly skates. “I wish Ace wasn’t coming.”
Carlos smiled, hugging Pete with all his might and all his love. Yet as soon as they let go of each other, Carlos collapsed onto the ice again. He landed like a sack of potatoes, and Pete cackled like a maniac. “You ain’t going to the winter Olympics any time soon, dude.”
Carlos looked up from the frozen canal. “Suits me just fine,” he pouted. “Us Mexicans are too proud for bullshit winter sports anyway.”
Pete helped him back up for the millionth time. They hugged, and Carlos rested his head on Pete’s shoulder. “I’m cold,” he whispered.
Pete kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get you warmed up before you fall over again, Mexico boi.”
They gingerly made their way off the ice, surrendering their rented skates and padding before walking back towards their hotel.
They noticed that free hot chocolate was on offer in the hotel lobby, so they poured a cup each before riding the elevator back to their floor. It was warm, rich, and delicious.
Pete closed their door behind them and, almost immediately, Carlos was pawing him. Pete responded in kind. Their tongues mashed together, and the sweet taste of hot chocolate was everywhere.
Everything felt raw, urgent and immediate, almost as if they were looking for a way to climb inside each other’s skins.
Carlos sank to his knees and unzipped Pete’s pants before sucking his drummer’s raging erection into his mouth. He was desperate to taste, savour and swallow Pete’s semen, and he got it sooner than he thought he might.
“Carlos … slow down,” Pete panted.
Carlos didn’t reply. His only response was to suck and stroke faster. He massaged Pete’s balls, knowing how badly he wanted what was inside them. His sexy Mexican lips enveloped Pete’s shaft as his tongue flickered across the tip of Pete’s penis.
“Carlos … please stop … I can’t … you’re gonna make me cum …”
Pete exploded, and Carlos choked for a moment as he gulped Pete’s load down. A few drops escaped his lips and dribbled down his chin. He collected them with his fingers and sucked them back onto his tongue.
Carlos took a few deep breaths before standing up. He kissed Pete tenderly.
Pete’s mind might’ve been confused, but his dick knew exactly what it wanted.
Carlos’s hands wrapped themselves around Pete’s frame, slowly making their way down to his ass. Carlos caressed and squeezed Pete’s cheeks before teasing his opening with a finger.
“You feel so good,” Pete swooned.
Carlos’s continued to tease Pete’s tender boipussy.
“I want you inside me,” Pete whispered. He led Carlos to their hotel bed and threw back the crisp sheets. He lay on his back and spread his legs, exposing his hole. His penis was still wet from Carlos’s blowjob, but soft now that its load had been extracted. Carlos kissed and tongued Pete’s pussy until it was ready; he watched it begin to gape in anticipation. He stroked himself once or twice to make sure he was hard enough before plunging in.
As Carlos’s entered, he watched Pete’s pupils dilate. He felt Pete’s pussy clench around his dick as if to never let it go. He felt his drummer’s hands grip his ass cheeks, holding him close, pulling him in.
Pete felt Carlos’s hair tickling his chest and nipples. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned.
Carlos moved slowly. He wanted this to last as long as he could, he wanted this to mean something. This wasn’t just a quick, convenient fuck; he wanted to build a connection, laden with meaning.
What he didn’t fully realise was that he’d already built it. Pete was in two minds, feeling completely torn.
Carlos thrust back and forth so slowly he thought he’d implode.
Pete began to gently touch his soft penis and it began to grow in his fingers. His fingers formed a fist and he began jacking himself off. His eyes closed, rolling back into his head as his lead singer fucked him like syrup.
“Te amo, mi hombre,” whispered Carlos as his hair rained down onto Pete’s sensitive chest.
Pete came all over his hand, moaning uncontrollably. And as his pussy clenched involuntarily around Carlos’s penis, his lead singer impregnated him, flooding his bowels with jets of sweet Mexican sperm.
Carlos began to pull out, but Pete’s hands gripped his ass, holding him in. “No, not yet,” pleaded Pete. “Please, not yet.”
Carlos leaned down to kiss him, their tongues bound together and wrapped around each other like thick vines slowly climbing up a wall. They tasted hot chocolate and Pete’s sperm.
Carlos eventually deflated, and his dick beat an honourable retreat, falling out of Pete’s tight pussy. He lay down beside his drummer, wrapping an arm around his torso. They stared at the ceiling, breathing, thinking, feeling, hoping, wondering.
Moments of silence passed like liquid glass.
“I’m so confused,” worried Pete.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I wish Ace wasn’t coming.”
“You said that before,” replied Carlos, “when you were trying to kill me with frostbite.”
“I’m gonna text him and say not to come.”
Carlos didn’t respond. He didn’t want to influence Pete in any way.
Pete frowned in uncertainty as his fingertips massaged the screen of his phone.
“What did you tell him?” asked Carlos.
“I said the weather is bad, we’re snowed in, and to stay where it’s warm.”
Carlos half-smiled. “Well, that’s kind of a half-truth. Would it stand up in court?”
Pete giggled. “Don’t know, but you’d make *me* stand up in court.”
Carlos laughed as he lovingly tickled Pete’s ballsack.
They both waited for Pete’s phone to ping with Ace’s reply, but Ace didn’t respond. They knew it was spring break down in Florida, and maybe Ace was … busy.
“Hey, Carlos?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sí, hombre mio.”
“Look around you,” said Pete. “Look at this hotel we’re staying in. I’ve never been in a place like this before in my life. Isn’t this where kings and queens live? There are six of us on the road, the four boys in the band and our two roadies, but I noticed the others peeled off from us at the airport. I’m assuming they aren’t staying here with us?” He paused.
“No. They aren’t.”
“Huh?”
“They aren’t staying here with us,” confirmed Carlos. “They’re staying at a slightly more modest establishment.”
“So why are we here, in this expensive place? I’m an college intern, and you work at a bar. Neither of us can afford this. Please don’t tell me you’re setting up a Ponzi scheme?” Pete tried to look stern and official, placing a hand on his hip. “You know I’m a lawyer-in-training, don’t you? I’ll fuckin’ bust your ass if you are.”
Carlos sighed. He knew he had to come clean. Pete’s questions were reasonable. He took a deep breath. It still hurt to think about his recent past. He looked down at his hands, studying them for a moment or two before he began to speak.
“Three weeks after Gorilla died, I got an email from an address I didn’t know. It was from a law firm. I deleted it, thinking it was spam. I checked my email the next day, and there was another email from the same address, so I deleted it again. The following day, they emailed me again. This time, I read the subject field and noticed the words URGENT and WILL. Me, being an idiot, thought ‘I don’t know anyone called Will’, and hit the delete key again.” He paused for a second to look up at Pete. “You see where this is going, don’t you?”
“I think so,” Pete nodded, and Carlos continued.
“The next day, I got a phone call from an unknown number. I’d been thinking about the unusual emails I’d been receiving. They weren’t the usual ‘you’ve just won the Portuguese lottery, call this number to claim your prize’ type of emails, but I couldn’t go back to check because I’d already deleted them. So I took the call. Some attorney dude asked me if I knew a guy called John Ernest McGrillor, from Wilmington, Delaware. I asked if he was referring to Gorilla the truck driver, and he said yes. The attorney told me Gorilla had made a will before he died, and he’d left some money for me, on condition that I spend it on Ass To Mouth.”
Pete was lost for words.
“I still find it hard to believe Gorilla thought of me in his will when, for all the time we knew each other, he never told me his actual name. Anyway, here we are. But I want you to know I didn’t pre-plan for us to be staying in this top-shelf hotel tonight. Until yesterday, we were booked into the same regular place the others are staying in. But I checked online last night and found a sweet deal for this room, so I changed our booking. I thought it might be nice, and it didn’t cost as much as you might think.”
Pete tried to blink back tears, though it wasn’t easy. “Fuck, dude, it’s better than nice. I’ve never stayed in a place like this before in my life, though when we’re world-famous rock stars, we’ll probably get to stay in hotels like this every night. When we’re accustomed to this kind of luxury and we take it all for granted, I’ll remember back to this moment. But really, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Carlos replied. “This is what he wanted, and this is what I want. And I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Pete wrapped his arms around Carlos’s waist and began to cry. These past few days had been incredibly emotional for both men, for different reasons. Carlos stroked Pete’s beautiful hair, trying to keep it away from his snot.
“Listen to me, Pete,” whispered Carlos. “I know I’ve put you in a difficult position, and I’m sorry; but I honestly couldn’t live with myself if I couldn’t tell you honestly how I feel about you. I know Ace has your heart, and if this tour turns out to be nothing more than a few days of you and me together rocking out on stage, having sex in hotels and dodging show, I’ll cope. I’ll be sad, but I’ll cope. So don’t worry about anything. I mean, we’re going to be in the same band forever, so we need to stay friends no matter what happens, don’t we?” He felt Pete nod and sniffle. “Maybe let’s just try to have a good time together up here at the north pole before we head back home?”
Pete nodded again, wiping his eyes and nose on Carlos’s naked chest. “I’d like that,” he sniffled.
Carlos kissed him tenderly, thanking him for the unexpected deposit of snot on his chest, and explaining that when they came to bed to swap bodily fluids, tears and mucus weren’t part of the deal.
Pete laughed. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes and nose. “We don’t have anything to do tonight, do we?” he asked.
“No, babe. We could stay in, but it might be fun to do something.”
Pete sat up. “I noticed this hotel has a pool,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be cool to go for a swim while it’s snowing outside?”
Carlos looked suspicious. “Only if the pool is heated. You’ve already tried to kill me with frostbite once today…”
“Of course it’ll be heated!” Pete interrupted. “Come on, let’s go for a dip.”
“Wait,” said Carlos. “One problem. I didn’t bring any swimming shorts.”
“Neither did I,” smirked Pete. “But who said anything about swimming shorts?”
“Is my lawyer-in-training friend proposing to go skinny-dipping in a five-star hotel pool?”
Pete nodded. “He is.”
“Have you checked this with the American embassy?”
Pete shrugged. “Who cares, right?”
Minutes later, they were in an elevator headed down to the pool deck. They were draped in a pair of complimentary white bathroom gowns, completely naked underneath, with fluffy white slippers on their feet. Carlos glanced at himself in the elevator mirror and saw a blizzard of pure, dazzling white, offset only by his black fingernails. “This is so fuckin’ metal,” he said. “Look at us. This should be the front cover of our first record.”
Pete looked into the mirror and he doubled over laughing. “Fuckin’ rock and roll!” he yelled.
It was a shame they’d left their phones in their room. This moment was Instaworthy.
They opened the door to the pool area and stepped in. The air was thick with the smell of chlorine. They had the space to themselves; there was nobody else here. Carlos dipped his toes into the water. It was beautifully warm. They shed their gowns at the water’s edge and stepped in slowly, both completely naked.
Pete hoped they’d have the pool to themselves, and as he looked out the window, watching snowflakes flutter to the ground, he didn’t think many other hotel guests would feel like swimming on a day like this. Carlos swam a couple of lazy laps while Pete splashed around in the deep end.
The door opened, and they both froze. It was the maintenance man. Fuck.
The maintenance man stopped in surprise when he realised guests were using the swimming pool on such a ridiculously cold day like this. He was feeling horny and was hoping to use the pool area to take a sneaky fap on work time. And then he noticed the two guys in the water. Fuck, they were both sexy as hell. Watching these two long-haired dudes splashing around in the warm water made the maintenance guy feel even hornier.
He waved to Carlos and Pete and wished them a relaxing swim before closing the door behind him in search of somewhere else to jack off. He knew exactly what he’d be thinking about when his warm sperm eventually tumbled over his knuckles.
Carlos was wide-eyed. “Fuck, dude, I thought we were about to get busted!”
Pete smiled. “So did I.”
Carlos waded across to where his drummer was standing and wrapped his arms around his waist, hauling him in close. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes before their lips locked in a deep kiss. Carlos’s cock began to rise. Pete looked down beneath the rippled surface of the water to see his lead singer’s appendage standing firm. “Again?” he asked playfully.
“I can’t help it, dude,” Carlos admitted.
Pete dropped his hands beneath the surface and began jerking Carlos’s cock. The resistance of the water heightened the sensuousness of the moment for both men. Carlos sighed, throwing his head back. Pete’s fingers teased and squeezed Carlos’s ballsack while his other hand stroked him hard.
Pete leaned in to kiss Carlos’s wet neck. He tasted the chlorine on his lead singer’s skin as he felt his body shudder against him and his dick twitch.
They prayed to the gods of metal that the pool door didn’t suddenly swing open again.
Pete looked down and saw spurts of white liquid shoot out of Carlos’s dick and ripple into the pool. He felt the warmth as it shot across his fist. He watched Carlos’s load disperse and dissolve into the warm chlorinated water. After a few seconds, he couldn’t see it anymore.
Post-nut clarity hit hard for Carlos as he realised what he and Pete had just done. “That felt awesome,” he admitted. “I can’t remember ever cumming in a pool before, but I’m a little worried about us being seen on CCTV. I hope they don’t kick us out. We should go.”
Pete held Carlos’s shoulders reassuringly. “The guy who’s employed by the hotel to look after the pool saw us swimming,” he said, “and it must’ve been obvious we’re naked. Before he left, he waved at us and said ‘have a nice time’, or something like that. We’re not gonna get kicked out, dude. Your millions of unborn babies have already either been suffocated by the heat of the water, or killed by the chlorine, and there was nobody else here lying in a deckchair to watch us offend Canadian morality or sensibilities. If anything, we might’ve given the CCTV operator something interesting to watch, but I don’t think we’re gonna have Canada’s police horses hoofing on our door in a pre-dawn raid.”
Carlos’s shoulders slumped as he relaxed. “I like the way you think, Pete.”
“And I like the way you feel,” Pete said, as he gripped Carlos’s flaccid, spent cock again beneath the surface of the water.
“Can we take a quick nap?” asked Carlos. “I’m a little sleepy, but I’ve got an idea for what we can do later tonight.”
“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Pete answered. “We’ve been working hard these past few days, and I’m glad you scheduled a night off for us.”
They climbed out of the pool, donned their bright white gowns, made their way back to their room, and napped under their crispy clean king-size sheets.
Carlos set his alarm for 5pm, but before he slept, he tapped his phone, organising some stuff for tonight.
*
They woke as Carlos’s phone blasted the opening keyboard riff of Hocico’s ‘Untold Blasphemies’ at them. It was darkening outside, and still snowing, but it was still early. Carlos bounced out of bed. Pete yawned.
“Huh?” asked a groggy Pete. He was deeply asleep when Carlos’s alarm went off.
“We’re going out! We’ve got a big night ahead of us!”
“Huh?” Pete repeated.
“You’ll find out,” smiled Carlos suggestively, kissing Pete on the cheek. “I’m taking you out on a date.”
Pete got up and threw two shirts onto his arms, and a pair of jeans onto his legs, but knew these meagre layers of protection wouldn’t even come close to meeting requirements.
“Come on, come on, come on, let’s go!” Carlos hustled. Pete grabbed his winter coat, still feeling sleepy.
They caught the elevator down to the ground floor, where an uber was waiting to escort them to Ottawa’s largest shopping mall.
They ate sushi at a Japanese place before Carlos shepherded Pete towards the nearby multiplex cinema. “Like I said, before, I’m taking you out on a date. Dinner, if sushi counts as dinner, followed by a movie. If sushi isn’t enough, there’s always popcorn. But tonight, it’s gonna be dinner and *two* movies. We’re doing Barbenheimer tonight. Are you up for it?”
Pete knew exactly what Carlos was talking about: a deathly serious film and an outrageously shallow one. “Yeah,” he said, though he felt a little nervous. “In which order?”
“We’re watching the Barbie movie second. I hope that’s OK. I’m expecting it to be a serious emotional rollercoaster after Oppenheimer, which I hear is a riotous feelgood comedy. Oppenheimer should be a lot of fun, but I’m expecting to feel moments of genuine terror while we watch Barbie.”
“I know,” said Pete, gulping in fear. “I’ve heard Barbie is a heavy film and quite a confronting experience. I don’t want to die from a nuclear bomb, Carlos.”
“I know. Neither do I. Nobody does. But we’ll be here for each other if Barbie gets too scary.”
Carlos bought Pete a tub of popcorn for the Oppenheimer comedy, knowing the worst was to come later when they watched Barbie. They walked into the darkness of the Ottawa cinema.
A couple of hours later, Oppenheimer ended. The credits began to roll, and they walked back out into the light of the lobby, barely able to stop giggling from the insanely funny comedy they’d just watched. They couldn’t believe some of the crazy antics Oppenheimer got up to at Venice Beach, but they were glad the film ended happily.
They braced themselves, knowing the serious film was still to come.
Ten minutes later, after a quick pee and an even quicker refill at the popcorn stand, they returned to the darkness. They held hands to keep each other brave. The next three hours were going to be long and brutal.
The film traced the role Barbie, an experimental physicist wearing an ever-present pair of pink sunglasses, played in developing a top-secret nuclear bomb that could set fire to the atmosphere and destroy the entire world. It was a deep, complex, and harrowing cinematic experience.
As midnight approached, two ashen-faced metalheads returned to the well-lit lobby, mortified by what they’d just seen. It had shocked them both to the core.
Carlos found the courage to speak first. “I’ll never be the same person after watching that, Pete.”
Pete looked at his bandmate, a look of pure PTSD on his face. “I don’t even wanna think about it. I’m probably gonna have nightmares about pink mushroom clouds for months.”
“I know what you mean,” said Carlos, his face full of serious dread. “Barbie totally fucked me up. I’m glad her security clearance got revoked at the end. Maybe we should’ve just seen Oppenheimer and then headed back to our room. That movie was so much more fun.”
“I know,” Pete agreed. “Oppenheimer was fucking hilarious! And he looked so cool driving around the beach in his convertible with the top down! But I don’t understand why Barbie had the nuclear launch codes. I mean, fuck, she nearly killed us all.” His gaze focused on the middle distance, deep in thought.
“I don’t know, babe,” soothed Carlos. “Maybe she got the codes from Ken.”
They left the cinema complex in stunned silence, riding an uber back to their hotel room.
Carlos checked the minibar. “I need a drink to calm my nerves after Barbie.” He screwed the cap off a mini of vodka and downed it immediately. It burned on the way down. He tipped a second bottle down his throat and his jangled sensibilities slowly began to settle.
They undressed and showered together, letting the warm water wash away the frozen ice, the slushy snow, the chlorine from the pool, and Barbie-induced panic. Their mental states were far too rattled for sex, yet they craved each other’s presence. Barbie had been a confronting experience, and neither of them wanted to feel alone right now.
They dried their hair and climbed into the king-size bed in the middle of the room. It was 1am. Neither was tired, but they knew they had a gig to play tomorrow night.
Pete wrapped his foot around Carlos’s leg. “Sorry, but I’m still thinking about stuff,” he apologised.
“Same,” Carlos replied. “I’ve seen plenty of horror movies, but the scary thing about Barbie was knowing it was all true, and that we still live in a world where pink nuclear bombs could kill us all.”
“We should write a song about it,” Pete stated.
Carlos’s eyes shone wide open. “Fuck, that’s an awesome idea! You write some lyrics for me to sing, and I’ll work on the riffs and chords.”
They kissed, hugging each other close.
Pete felt an extreme sensation of bliss, despite the heavy film they’d just seen. As his eyelids began to droop, he hoped he wouldn’t have nightmares about Barbie.
Carlos set his alarm for 9.30am because his hotel deal included breakfast for Pete and himself, but service ended at 10. He wanted to make sure they could sleep deep, yet still get fed. Even before sleep arrived, he already had a craving for scrambled eggs with chilli and peppers, just like in Mexico.
*
Carlos woke up in time for breakfast, dragging a sleepy Pete downstairs. They found a table in a quiet area of the room, and he ordered scrambled eggs.
Pete sleepwalked over to the coffee machine. He poured himself a strong cup before returning to their table. He took a strong gulp, willing the caffeine to wake himself up. “I had a dream, Carlos,” he said. “It was scary. I’m glad you woke me up.”
A waiter planted a plate of eggs under Carlos’s hungry face. Unfortunately there was no chilli available this close to the north pole. Canada sucked. Carlos swore never to come back to this shitty country until he was a world-famous rock god and could bring his own personal chef.
“What did you dream about?”
Pete took a deep breath, still waiting for his breakfast to be delivered. He was barely awake, and his nightmare still felt too close. He couldn’t find the words.
Carlos assisted. “You dreamed about Barbie, didn’t you?”
Pete gripped the edge of the table to settle himself. “She took over all the TV stations and told the world she was gonna blow everything up because Ken was an asshole to her that morning. She was just about to press the button when you woke me up.”
Carlos realised he went too far last night. “I’m so sorry for taking you to see such a scary film last night. I’d heard Barbie was an intense experience, but I didn’t think it’d be quite that confronting.”
Pete’s own breakfast arrived on the table, and he collected his utensils. “It’s not your fault I had a bad dream,” he smiled.
Carlos shovelled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, flicking his mane of thick black hair away from his plate. He knew neither of them would ever forget their first official date.
Pete’s phone buzzed. “A message from Ace,” he explained to Carlos. He opened the text. ‘hey cool pete just got yr msg about not coming to canada it worked out well bcuz it means boipussy can gonna play fort lauderdale tonite, it was a lastminute thing so were gonna drive up later this afternoon for some spring brk action and they’re gonna pay us some serious dollars and b4 you ask yes dude im gonna keep my dick in my pants 2nite love u sxy drummer boi’
Ace gulped. “What did he say?” Carlos inquired.
“Boipussy are playing tonight in Florida,” Pete said. “Apparently there was a last-minute cancellation at Spring Break which Boipussy are gonna fill. So Ace won’t be coming up to hang with us.” He kept the rest of the message’s contents to himself.
Carlos felt relieved at the news, but he didn’t say anything. He liked Ace, but he was enjoying having Pete to himself, even if just for a few more days. He turned his attention back to his plate of eggs.
Pete sipped his coffee. “What do you want to do after we eat?”
“I’ve got no idea,” Carlos replied.
They spent some time exploring Canada’s national art gallery. One of Andy Warhol’s famous Brillo boxes was on display in the middle of a room, and Pete waited until security had looked away before reaching out to touch it for a second or two. Creatively stimulated, but in need of some shuteye before their gig, they headed back to their grand hotel for a quick nap. Carlos’s phone blared Anthrax at 5pm, and half an hour later, they were at the loading dock of tonight’s venue. The other two band members and their roadies were already there; everything was in place for a huge night of metal.
They met the stage manager, lugged in, set up and soundchecked. They greeted tonight’s headline act — a major, well-known Canadian band — and introduced themselves as tonight’s support band. Everything was ready.
The band and their crew headed out in search of food. They chowed down, returned to the venue, and head backstage, ready to perform.
An unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon sat on a table. Carlos ripped the wax cap off with his teeth, and they passed the bottle around the six of them until there was nothing left.
Pete felt that familiar edgy pre-gig mix of excitement and nervousness. He sat on the floor with his back up against a wall. He held a pair of drumsticks and tapped rhythms on his thighs to relax his arms and wrists.
Carlos excused himself on the premise that he was taking a nervous piss before taking the stage, but the truth was he wanted to get changed. And it was all for Pete.
The stage lights went down, and Carlos re-emerged from the bathroom, wearing a pair of thigh-high fuck-me boots, a pair of short, tight Daisy Dukes … and nothing else. “We ready to rock?” he asked his bandmates. Despite snow falling outside, the room was warm, and Carlos felt completely comfortable. He never felt nervous before a show.
Two members of A2M nodded, on mission, ready to go.
The other band member was in a slightly different frame of mind. “Fuck, Carlos, you look …” Pete began, his mouth gaped open.
Carlos put his finger to his mouth in the universal signal of silence. “We’ve got a show to play.”
They ran out on stage. Carlos grabbed the mic and greeted Ottawa in Spanish before A2M launched headlong into their first tune.
From his drum riser, Pete felt semi-hypnotised as he watched Carlos’s tight denim-clad ass bounce and sway. He tried hard to concentrate on the songs, but he discovered it’s not easy playing drums with a boner. He noticed Carlos look back over his shoulder a few times during the set to either wink at him or seductively lick his lips. Pete couldn’t believe this was happening.
Tonight’s crowd was seriously into the show. The mood of the room was noticeably different to the quieter, more reserved crowds they’d played to in Montréal and Québec City. Carlos wasn’t sure whether Ontarians were more into metal than the Québecois, or whether word of mouth was getting around. He made a mental note to check reviews of their recent gigs after coming offstage.
They played their final, bonecrunching chord, Pete smashed his cymbals, and they left the stage to rapturuous applause. The crowd stomped, demanding more. It was unusual for a support act to play an encore, and they knew they only had time for one more tune. In a quick conversation in the wings, they decided, then ran back onstage.
Carlos grabbed his mic. “Anyone here know a band called Boipussy?” he yelled. He heard a few distant screams of recognition in response. “Bunch of hot sexy metal dudes from Florida. I hear they’re playing spring break tonight in Fort Lauderdale. I guarantee you people in Florida will be showing more skin tonight than Canadians. It’s fuckin’ cold up here!” The crowd surged, and Carlos waited for the mood to settle. “OK, we’re gonna do one of Boipussy’s songs. It’s called ‘Hot Load’. Get your dicks out, Ottawa, we’re gonna make you cum.”
The bass player and guitarist had been learning the song, and of course, Pete already knew it well. He counted the band in. While each of the band members knew the tune, they’d never rehearsed it together. It meant the song didn’t sound as tight as it did when Boipussy played it, but instead, A2M’s version had a fluid, lurching, almost bluesy sound to it, while still being ear-splitting balls-to-the-wall metal.
They finished the tune and Carlos thanked the crowd before the band ran off stage. “¡Buenas noches Canadá y gracias!”
The headline act would take the stage in half an hour.
Backstage, with his job for the evening done, Pete ripped the top off a cold beer and chugged half of it down. “Awesome crowd tonight!”
The bass player nodded in agreement. The other A2M guitarist sped off to the bathroom as soon as they left the stage.
“Yeah, they rocked!” said Carlos, throwing a t-shirt over his sweaty, sexy torso. “While we were on stage, I was wondering whether crowds are a little more into heavy metal in Ontario, or whether our earlier shows might’ve created some interest.” He whipped out his phone.
Pete was realistic. “Maybe just that it’s slightly warmer here, though that’s a relative proposition, because it’s still icy as fuck, hey. We’ve only played two shows in Canada before tonight, so it’s probably too soon to know, and it’s unlikely that…”
“Wait a second, Pete,” said Carlos. His fingers were tapping his phone, looking for reviews of their recent gigs. He made sure to type ‘American metal rock band’ in the search bar before typing ‘Ass To Mouth’, because he knew he’d have to scroll through tens of thousands of pages of porn links if he didn’t. You can’t even begin to imagine how intricately detailed their website address was. Sure, they had an awesome band name, but their slowly growing army of fans found it very difficult to find their web presence without running into a hurricane of porn.
Carlos found a review of their show in Québec City. He took a slug of beer while we waited briefly for it to load. He skimmed through it before reading aloud: “If you get a chance to see Atlanta band Ass To Mouth on their short Canadian tour, get onto it. They rocked so fucking hard tonight. I think it’s their first tour of Canada, and if you’re into metal, you seriously don’t want to miss these dudes. They’ll be superstars before you reach the end of this sentence, and if you’re into men, make sure to get up close to the stage, because A2M’s lead singer is sex on legs.”
“You made it to the end of that sentence,” deadpanned Pete, “and we aren’t superstars yet, but I agree completely with the last thing that guy said.”
The bass player rolled his eyes. (Yeah, we all know you’re into Carlos. Do you think you’re the only one in this band who wants him? Fuck, we *all* want him. Why are *you* so special?)
“Wait, I found another review,” said Carlos. “This one’s from the Montréal show. It’s in French, so I’m gonna copy it into Google translate.”
“I thought French was related to Spanish,” Pete mused. “I’m disappointed to learn you need a translation,” he joked.
“Shut up,” came the tongue-in-cheek response. The band and their roadies waited. “OK, here it is.” Carlos read: “These four headbangers came up from Atlanta and now I want to move there. If your cock isn’t hard by the time these sexy cunts finish playing, you’re dead. Check out the lead singer. When they were done, I had to lock myself in a cubicle to jack off.” He continued scrolling. “Found another one,” he said, before reading: “Their riffs are heavy. Their beats are hard. Their bass rumbles through your chest. Their guitars are deafening. It’s like listening to a symphony of metal, but it’s metal that makes you want to pull your cock out and jack a fat load into your hand before greedily gulping it down. If you’re into well-written, well-played and well-performed original metal, Ass To Mouth deserves your attention. I hope they come back to Canada again soon, and I’ve already booked a flight to Ottawa to see them again in a few days’ time. And if the band falls apart, the lead singer has a career waiting for him in either modelling or porn. I couldn’t take my eyes off him all night.”
Pete laughed. “So it sounds like we’ve made a small impression up here. Or, at the very least, Carlos has.”
Carlos looked quizzically at Pete, not quite sure how to interpret what he’d just heard.
The bass player volunteered that all they could ever have expected to achieve from such a short tour was positive word of mouth, and from the reviews Carlos was reading, it sounded like they’d done that successfully, though they still had one more show to go. They could use the last gig as a platform to make a good tour even better.
The roadies nodded in agreement. In between bands, they’d wheeled Pete’s drum riser into the wings, so they headed out to pack his kit down. They had to wait until the headline act finished before packing up A2M’s guitars, amps and pedals.
Nobody said the words, but the collective feeling in the room was ‘we’ve built the platform, and Toronto is our rocket. Our last show matters, and we can’t afford to fuck it up.’
The other guitarist returned from the bathroom, pleading a dodgy dinner. He explained that he really didn’t want to do the Boipussy encore; he worried he was gonna shit himself on stage, but rock ‘n roll takes no prisoners. He’d missed the entire post-gig conversation.
Carlos faked a yawn. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, if that’s cool with everyone. Big night tomorrow.” He glanced anxiously at Pete.
“I should probably head back too,” declared Pete. He pointed his thumb at Carlos. “I’d love to hang out, but we’re roommates, and we need to economise on transport.”
They waved goodnight before leaving the venue to grab an uber.
The roadies had no chance of an early night. Not only did they need to hang around until the headline act finished, they needed to be up early tomorrow to prepare for the journey to Toronto. The band was travelling this last leg by train, and the roadies scrambled earlier today to learn how to book musical gear into train cargo.
In the back seat of the uber, Carlos’s warm hand searched through the darkness to find Pete’s. He squeezed, and Pete squeezed back.
Carlos waved his electronic card across the reader and the door opened. The hotel lobby felt fresh and warm.
They made their way up to their room before Carlos handed his phone to Pete. “Read this review from our Québec City gig.”
Pete took Carlos’s phone. He squinted before making the font bigger, and he began to scan through the review. “I don’t even know who this band is, but I want to stick my cock in the frontman’s ass … fuck, the singer was so fucking hot I swear I’d let him paint my face for breakfast … I’ve never seen a frontman gyrate so violently while still nailing every single riff …”
Pete threw Carlos’s phone back towards its owner. “Why are you showing me this? Everyone knows you’re hot, and I don’t need gig reviews to remind me…”
“You didn’t read it all, did you?” Carlos interrupted. “Read until the end.” He handed his phone back.
“One of the best things about an Ass To Mouth live performance is the power of the drummer. I’ve seen them play twice recently, and I don’t know who he is, but that was one of the most powerful drum performances I’ve heard from a serious metal act in fucking years. His beats and rhythms were so precise, so metronomic, that at times it sounded like A2M were playing to an apocalyptic drum machine. But though it was precise, there was a humanity and a warmth to the drumming that I really can’t describe. Guitars were on point, singer was sexy as fuck, but you won’t hear a better metal drummer all year. The dude is gifted. Seriously, check this band out if you get a chance, especially if you’re into heavy shit.”
Pete beamed. “Thanks for showing me that review, Carlos, I really mean it. It makes me feel better as a musician, but it also makes me feel like the time we’re spending up in Canada is gonna pay off.” He paused, handing Carlos’s phone back with a smile. He sniffed himself. Despite the cold, he still worked up a sweat. “I’m gonna take a shower if that’s cool. I feel a little stinky.”
Carlos nodded in understanding.
Pete undressed, turned on the hot water, and stepped in.
Carlos prised the door open and watched as, on the other side of the frosted glass, Pete washed himself.
Carlos began slowly jerking himself off inside his pants. His aim was to get hard, but not to cum.
He watched as Pete soaped his dick and balls, then his ass. He watched as Pete let the warm water flow across his crotch, washing the soap away. He watched as Pete rubbed the soap out of his juicy ass crack, and he nearly came. Too close. He stopped touching himself.
Pete turned the water off, stepped out of the shower and began drying himself. Carlos was lying on the bed, pretending to scroll through his socials. Pete had no idea Carlos nearly got his nut watching him shower. “Your turn,” he said.
Carlos looked up from his phone, pretending to be surprised. “OK, cool. Thanks.”
Carlos undressed, and as Pete dried himself, he noticed his roommate was hard. He assumed Carlos was looking at some porn on his phone while he was in the shower.
Carlos stepped into the shower and began to wash himself. Pete watched, through the frosted glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of Carlos jacking himself off under the water. It wasn’t to be; Carlos washed his body thoroughly and methodically before shutting off the water and reaching for a dry towel.
“See, this is why it’s worth the money to stay at a place like this,” Carlos said, pointing at the crisply laundered towel looped across his head, then at the separate towel wrapped around his waist.
Pete grinned. “No shortage of towels.”
Carlos raised his index and pinky finger in a gesture of satanic authority. “Metal.”
They dried their hair and climbed into bed, lying next to each other. They each felt warm from the shower. Pete was absent-mindedly watching something on the TV, but as soon as Carlos pulled the sheets back, he turned the television off, and turned out the lights.
The room was warm, and so were their bodies.
Pete was thinking distantly of Ace, but he hadn’t heard from him since the text message at breakfast this morning. He thought about how Ace had promised to try to stay faithful to him, yet here Pete was, lying in bed with his lead singer, knowing exactly what was about to happen.
Carlos reached out to touch Pete’s cheek. “You sounded awesome tonight.”
“I noticed you kept looking over your shoulder at me,” Pete admitted.
“I’m glad you saw,” whispered Carlos. “I know how hard you concentrate when you’re playing, I worried you might not have noticed me.”
“I couldn’t concentrate at all tonight, Carlos. Not with what you were wearing. I had an erection all night.”
Carlos’s hand went in search of it. “I can feel it,” he said, wrapping his hand around Pete’s shaft. “It’s still there. You feel so warm.”
Pete sighed. Carlos was irresistible.
“Are you hard for me?”
Pete nodded. “You don’t know what you do to me, Carlos,” he whispered. “I feel …”
“Sssshhhh,” Carlos cooed. He kissed Pete’s neck, sucking hard, while gripping Pete’s erect penis in his fingers.
“Fuck, Carlos … no … please …”
Pete felt an undeniable well of pressure building up. His cock exploded all over Carlos’s hand.
“I’m so sorry …”
Carlos brought his hand up to his lips. He licked Pete’s thick, premature load off his knuckles.
Pete was worried that he climaxed so disappointingly soon. Carlos could have any guy in the world, and here he was, sharing a warm hotel bed with him, but he felt like he’d let Carlos down.
He didn’t know that Carlos couldn’t care less. Carlos was happy just to sleep in the same bed with him.
Pete rolled away from Carlos in shame, but Carlos’s warm, loving arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Pete might’ve felt awkward at disappointing his bandmate, but Carlos slept on a cloud.