A gay story: The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 07 Author’s note: Special thanks to Exluke1 who helped me proofread this chapter and the previous one.
*
Pete’s phone alarm sounded at half past nine on Sunday morning. He stretched and looked at the ceiling. After visiting the bathroom for a backed-up post-sleep pee, he peeled back the curtain and looked out of the window. Of course, it was snowing.
Carlos blinked his eyes open. “Hola,” he said, stretching luxuriously, like a sleepy cat in the sun.
“Hey,” said Pete, coming back over to the bed to plant a good-morning kiss on Carlos’s lips. “We head back home today.”
“I know,” Carlos replied. “I haven’t enjoyed the never-ending winter, but it’s been totally worth the cold to land a record deal.”
“Yeah,” agreed Pete, “but we can think about that later. Get dressed, it’s time for breakfast.”
Carlos pouted in mock-disappointment. “No time for some sneaky morning fun?”
Pete laughed. “I can hear your tummy grumbling from here, dude. I know you’re hungry, and so am I. Besides,” he continued, “I’d rather grab a free breakfast from the hotel buffet than buy something at the airport. Sure, we’ve got a record deal, but we aren’t international rockstars yet, and airport food is still way out of our budget.”
“Yeah, fifty bucks for a salad sandwich is a bit over the top,” Carlos shrugged. He threw the sheets back, exposing his beautiful, brown Mexican prick. He was about to get up and get dressed, but Pete pounced. He couldn’t resist the sight of Carlos’s sausage.
“How fast can you cum, babe?” Pete asked.
Carlos felt Pete’s unbelievable mouth wrap itself around his cock. His shaft immediately began to swell as his boyfriend cupped his warm balls. “Oh, fuck,” Carlos whispered as his head slammed back down onto his pillow.
Pete’s head and hands bobbed up and down like a well-oiled piston, and Carlos felt his boyfriend’s long red hair tickling his thighs. Carlos remembered the time Pete bet him he could make him cum within a minute.
How lucky he was to have a boyfriend born without a gag reflex.
Carlos felt Pete’s tongue wrap itself around his shaft. His balls began to tighten and pull up into his body.
Carlos lost control. “Fuck, man,” he seethed as he painted the back of Pete’s mouth pearly white.
Pete sucked hard until he’d gotten every last drop, but he didn’t swallow. He scooted up to give his boyfriend a snowball kiss. They swapped Carlos’s load back and forth a couple of times before Pete re-established law and order. “Get up, babe. Time for breakfast. We’re heading home.”
“I don’t know if I can stand up after that,” Carlos joked.
“Get up or I’ll tickle you,” Pete smiled, kissing Carlos on the cheek.
Carlos returned the smile and stood up. He wiped his wet cock on a used bathroom towel and got dressed. He was midway through pulling his pants on when he addressed something new. “Hey Pete,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“You called me ‘babe’.”
“Huh? Did I?”
“Yeah, dude. Twice, actually. You’ve never called me that before.”
Pete blushed, feeling a little uncertain. “I’m sorry.”
Carlos quickly corrected the record. “Dude, I’m not complaining. Matter of fact, I really liked it.” He finished pulling his pants on and buckled his belt before scooting across to his drummer. He tied his sexy Mexican hair behind his back and gazed deep into Pete’s beautiful eyes. “Am I your babe, Pete?”
Pete nodded nervously. He felt like he’d waited his whole adult life for this moment, and he stumbled over the words. “Yes please.”
Carlos gripped Pete’s jaw and pushed his tongue into his mouth. Pete moaned, his eyes droopy with bliss. Carlos broke the kiss, and a thick strand of saliva connected their lips.
Pete’s brain nearly seized up. A few stray neurons managed to fire, which was a good thing, because otherwise Pete might’ve been stuck to the spot forever. “Breakfast time,” he whispered.
They headed downstairs. Carlos was wearing a pair of tight, faded blue jeans, his well-worn Judas Priest t-shirt, and a denim jacket with a Slayer patch stitched on the back. Pete was wearing jeans with holes worn through at the knees (appropriate) and the long-sleeved Sepultura t-shirt he bought when the Brazilian metal merchants last toured through Atlanta. They held hands briefly in the elevator.
A few short minutes later, they were downstairs at the breakfast buffet. The two other members of Ass To Mouth were sitting at a table. They’d already eaten, if the empty plates in front of them were any guide, but they were happy to linger over a second coffee while Carlos and Pete grabbed their breakfast. The roadies had already left for the airport — they all knew it’d take additional time to check the band’s gear onto their international flight back to the US.
Pete and Carlos dropped their carry-on bags at the table before heading off to search the buffet. Carlos came back with a plate of eggs, fried tomatoes, wilted spinach and hash browns, while Pete collected some cereal and yogurt. Pete went back to the buffet to seize two coffees.
Their other bandmates were curious as hell to find out what Carlos and Pete got up to last night in their room, but they were polite enough not to ask. The small talk around the breakfast table was all about their freshly-inked record deal, and what each band member planned to do with the rest of the week once they landed back home. Nobody wanted to head back into the rehearsal room; everyone wanted some downtime away from A2M.
But it was a nervous, edgy small talk, and everyone’s body language was anxious and fidgety. Everyone now knew, finally, that an intimate relationship had formed within the band, which would almost certainly have an impact on the band’s dynamic. For now, the bass player was content to let things be, but if the relationship between Carlos and Pete began making waves, it’d become everyone’s concern. He talked about it last night with the band’s other guitarist, who felt the exact same way.
They finished breakfast, grabbed their bags, checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport. They made their way through customs and immigration — thankfully everyone had remembered to bring their passports. They were preparing to board their flight when an American TSA official, working out of Toronto airport, began checking the boarding passes of passengers waiting in line. Pete assumed the official was just double-checking that everyone was in the right line for their flight.
There was a special code on Carlos’s pass. He hadn’t even seen it, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have known what it meant or what it was for. But the TSA official noticed it when he checked Carlos’s documentation, and he knew what it required him to do.
“Come with me, sir,” commanded the official.
Carlos was clueless. “It’s OK, dude, I’m good. Just waiting for my flight.”
“I can see that,” said the official, “but you have been randomly selected for additional security screening procedures prior to boarding.”
“Why?” asked Carlos.
“See this code on your boarding pass?” The official pointed to the code in the top right hand corner of his pass. “This requires the TSA to take additional security precautions with respect to your journey for the benefit of your fellow passengers.”
Carlos was in disbelief. In a panic, the other three members of Ass To Mouth checked their own passes. None of them had the same code. “Fuck, dude, are you fucking serious?” asked Carlos.
“Deadly serious,” replied the official. “And watch your language. Come with me, sir.”
“But I’m gonna miss my flight!”
“If you co-operate, you won’t. This way, sir. Now.”
The look of fear on Carlos’s face as he followed the TSA official made Pete’s blood run cold.
Carlos was ushered into a small examination room. His heart was beating like a fucked clock. Two other officials opened his carry-on luggage, looking for prohibited or suspicious materials.
A small part of Carlos’s mind wondered if he was about to be thrown onto a plane bound for Guantanamo, but he had no idea what — if anything — he’d done wrong. He looked at his personal belongings that had been strewn across a table by a bunch of officials who had total control over him.
“Dude, look, I don’t understand, please, you’ve got the wrong guy …”
“Listen carefully, sir,” interrupted the official. “Are you refusing to co-operate? Because there are serious penalties for …”
Carlos nearly emptied his bowels. “Dude, I’m sorry, just … whatever you gotta do, I’m co-operating, I’m just … feeling … really scared right now …”
“Your feelings are not the responsibility of the US government, sir, we’re just doing our job to secure the safety of American airspace.”
“But why was that code on my pass, sir?” Carlos asked. “I’m an American citizen, I’m travelling on an American passport, this was my first visit to Canada, and the only other place I’ve been to is … Mexico.”
The TSA official looked like he was getting tired of Carlos’s lip. “Sir, as I explained, you have been randomly selected for additional security protocols, which is the process I and my TSA colleagues are now administering. I don’t know the details of how the selection occurs, but as I understand it, flags are assigned to individual passengers on each flight manifest.”
Carlos understood perfectly now. There was nothing ‘random’ about the selection process: he’d been racially profiled. He knew the TSA wouldn’t find anything on him, so all he needed to do was to keep calm, and to keep his mouth shut. Even so, he worried that he’d miss his flight. He hoped Pete was smart enough to catch the plane even if he was still stuck in this room when it took off.
The TSA official waved the magic wand over his body, testing for metal. The other two officials tested each item in his carry-on luggage for traces of explosive material. None of them found any grounds to detain Carlos any further, but they weren’t done yet.
“Sir, if I can ask you to unbuckle your belt and lower your trousers.” It wasn’t a question.
Carlos looked at the TSA official, his blood running cold. Silently, he obeyed.
He heard the sound of a tight rubber glove snapping around a wrist.
“Sir, we need to examine your anal cavity.”
Carlos complied. He bent forward, leaning his forearms on a table as instructed.
The official forced his gloved hand into Carlos’s rectum and rummaged around for a few moments. This was the part of the job he liked most: it was a monumental power-trip. He jammed his fingers forward a couple of times, almost as if he was fisting his suspect.
Needless to say, the official didn’t find anything. He slowly pulled his fingers out of Carlos’s ass and gave the glove a sniff before discarding it into the appropriate bin. “You’re free to go,” he said. “Collect your things.”
In a mad panic, Carlos pulled his pants up, rebuckled his belt, repacked his bag, clutched his boarding pass and passport, and sprinted to the departure gate. The flight was just about to close when he arrived. Nobody else was waiting at the gate, so he assumed the rest of the band had boarded. He had no idea whether the flight was being held at the gate just for him, or whether he was just lucky that the timing had worked out. Either way, it didn’t matter. He walked down the aisle with as much dignity as he could muster, threw his bag into the overhead bin, sat down next to Pete, and buckled his seat belt. Instinctively, he reached for the in-flight magazine in the pocket of the seat in front of him and gave it his full attention.
“Are you OK, babe?” asked Pete.
Carlos managed to hold it together. “No … not really … but I’ll tell you later.”
While Pete had no idea what Carlos had just endured, he could tell from his boyfriend’s expression and demeanour that it had been confronting, and possibly invasive. The plane was full, and the flight attendants were doing their pre-flight briefing. Pete did the only thing he could do. He reached for Carlos’s hand and gripped it tight.
“Te amo,” Pete whispered.
“I love you too,” replied Carlos. His eyes didn’t leave the magazine.
The plane sped down the runway before throwing itself into the sky. As soon as the seatbelt light went off, Carlos asked the flight attendant for two double vodkas. He threw them back like water.
The captain announced that their arrival into Atlanta might be a little bumpy due to some weather systems lingering over the Caribbean, but as it turned out, their transit and landing were smooth.
Ass To Mouth disembarked, and as they walked up the airbridge, the bass player read a text message from one of their roadies announcing that their gear was being unloaded right now, and there was nothing to worry about.
The tour had been a complete triumph, but the look on Carlos’s face was anything but triumphant.
Exiting the airport, the bass player and A2M’s other guitarist waved goodbye before making their separate ways back home.
The temperature was warm and the air was humid. Pete and Carlos walked towards the taxis.
“What happened, babe?” Pete whispered.
The look on Carlos’s face bordered on shock. “I … I don’t really know how well I remember it all, to be honest. It was … it was …”
Pete gripped Carlos’s hand. “It’s over now. We’re home. If you want to talk, I’m here for you.”
Carlos nodded. “Thanks, dude. Yeah, I think I need to talk about it. Can I come to your place for a while before I head home?”
Pete smiled, though the situation was tense. “Of course you can, babe, you never have to ask that question.”
They stood in the taxi line, holding each other’s hands, not caring who noticed.
*
They threw their luggage into the trunk of the cab before sitting on the back seat. After Pete gave the driver his address, they rode in silence.
Half an hour later, Carlos was sitting on Pete’s couch. “Got anything to drink?” he asked.
Pete sat down next to him and produced a bottle of vodka. Carlos unscrewed the top and slugged it straight. Pete took a small sip just to be sociable. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to get drunk. He needed to listen.
“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Carlos began, “but I feel like that experience is going to scar me for life.” He took a deep breath and another hit of vodka. “So apparently there’s a code that gets randomly printed onto boarding passes for flights into the US, and it was printed on mine. I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I,” said Pete. “The rest of us checked our own passes, and the code that was on yours wasn’t on any of ours.”
“The TSA guy said it gives them the right to do some extra security checks. My brain is missing a lot of detail, because I think I’m still fucked up from what happened, but they threw everything out of my bag and examined every single item I was carrying. I assume they were looking for something they could question me about or detain me for. And then, when they couldn’t find anything in my bag, the TSA guy pulled on a rubber glove and shoved his fingers up my ass.”
Pete’s eyes went wide, in total shock.
“Yeah,” said Carlos, “that actually happened. I told them I was an American citizen and I showed them my passport, but it didn’t matter, because the code on my pass gave them the power to do whatever they wanted. Seriously, dude, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I had this fear that they were gonna fabricate something and they’d pack me off to Gitmo and I’d never see you again. I was thinking to myself ‘it’d be my word against theirs, and who’d believe me?'”
Carlos collapsed into fits of sobs, and Pete held his boyfriend as closely as he could, rocking him back and forth. Pete wanted to say ‘it’s over, you’re home, we’re together,’ but he knew nothing he could ever say could ever erase this experience from Carlos’s mind. Carlos would need to process it over time, but Pete was resolved to be the best possible support he could be.
“I feel completely exhausted,” Carlos admitted. “I think I need to sleep.” He looked up at Pete. “Can I stay here for a while?”
“Yes, babe. Of course you can. You can stay here for as long as you want.”
Pete helped Carlos to his feet and led him to his bed. He helped him under his comforter, switched on the fan in the corner of the room, kissed him on the forehead and left him in peace. “Te amo,” he whispered before closing the door.
Hours passed, and Carlos slept deeply. He didn’t dream, his sleep was total blackness. Pete went out to the local supermarket to buy some food for when his boyfriend woke up. He closed the front door quietly behind him.
When Pete returned, Carlos was still sleeping. Pete had just started catching up on his social media when his bedroom door creaked open. Carlos, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a pair of socks, walked out into the living area.
“You OK, babe?” Pete asked.
Carlos looked at his surroundings, recognising he was safe in Pete’s apartment, and the TSA nightmare was over. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I think so.”
Carlos sat beside Pete on the couch as they watched terrible Sunday afternoon television. Carlos’s feet lay in Pete’s lap. An old Sinatra film was on the screen, but neither of them were paying any attention to it; they were each lost in their own personal memories of the past week.
Pete removed Carlos’s socks and began massaging his feet.
“That feels nice,” said Carlos, closing his eyes.
The two metalheads sat on the couch for what felt like an eternity. Carlos’s feet were in heaven as Pete’s fingers rubbed his toes, soles and ankles, but Pete’s mind was elsewhere. He knew he had a difficult conversation ahead of him.
“Hey, Carlos?” Pete asked.
“Hmmm?”
Pete gulped nervously, not sure how to frame his question. “Babe, I need to talk to Ace …”
Carlos’s eyes snapped open and he sat upright. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Pete was worried that Carlos’s affection and attention might wane once they were back home, but he had the answer he wanted before he asked the question. He lay on top of Carlos and they kissed for what felt like forever.
“You sure?” asked Pete, gazing down at the sexy dude he never thought he could ever have.
“Más que nada,” Carlos replied.
“I’m gonna need a translator,” joked Pete.
“I’m sure, babe. More than anything.”
Pete’s heart nearly exploded inside his chest. He smiled so hard his jaw hurt. He’d never felt such a flood of sweet emotion in his life, but reality intruded as his mind quickly turned to Ace. “I need to tell him … but not tonight.”
Pete was due to return to the law office in the morning, while Carlos wasn’t due back behind the bar at Eternal until Tuesday evening. They ordered some Chinese food which they devoured on the couch, eating straight from the takeout boxes with chopsticks, swapping and sharing their dishes while they watched a documentary about INXS.
“You can stay here tonight if you want to,” Pete offered, hoping the response was yes.
“Thanks, dude. I’d really like that. If you’re sure you’re not sick of me yet?”
Pete felt as smitten with Carlos as he felt the first time he ever laid eyes on him. “I could live until I’m nine hundred years old and never get sick of you.”
Carlos wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulder as they watched the movie. He kissed his drummer on the cheek. Later that night, they showered, washing Canada’s snowy grime off their bodies. And even later, they stepped out onto Pete’s balcony, inhaling the Atlanta air, each in their own ways glad to be home.
“I’m tired,” said Pete. “It’s been a long week.”
“Me too,” Carlos admitted. Even though he’d slept for an hour or two earlier this afternoon, it was part of the shutdown that necessarily follows a traumatic experience. It wasn’t a restful sleep. He still felt exhausted.
“Come to bed with me,” said Pete. It wasn’t a question.
Carlos followed.
Pete opened his bedroom window and they climbed under Pete’s comforter. The sounds of Atlanta wafted up from the streets below.
They faced each other on Pete’s mattress, tenderly brushing each other’s hair out of their faces. Pete placed a tender kiss on Carlos’s sweet Mexican lips.
They were both too tired to talk anymore. They each drifted off into deep, restful sleep, lying peacefully in each other’s arms.
*
Pete threw the covers off in the morning and dressed for work. He left his spare keys with Carlos, telling him he could stay as long as he wanted.
Through bleary, sleep-encrusted eyes, Carlos watched Pete leave for work. Pete was wearing a sensible pair of business pants and a sensible collared shirt. He could barely believe that this sensibly-dressed law intern was the powerhouse of his band, and quickly becoming the most important person in his life.
Carlos clutched Pete’s spare keys in his fist as he slowly drifted back to sleep. He had the rest of the day to himself; he wasn’t due back at his own job until tomorrow afternoon.
At his desk, Pete trawled through old emails, trying to make sense of which ones he needed to pay attention to and which were irrelevant. Meanwhile, Carlos slept. His breathing was relaxed and deep. He held the fabric of Pete’s comforter as an irrepressible smile spread across his face.
Lunchtime drew near, and Carlos woke up. He checked his phone, there were no missed messages or calls. He texted Pete: ‘hey sexy boy, you wanna have lunch with me?’
Pete was knee-deep in the minutes of a meeting he’d missed when his phone vibrated. He smiled when he saw who’d texted him: ‘you still aren’t tired of me yet?’
Carlos: ‘what time is it?’ he joked. He added a smiley wink emoji to underscore the joke.
Pete: ‘where r u’
Carlos: ‘right now? exactly where u left me’
Pete: ‘u still in my bed?’
Carlos: ‘yeah babe … its warm here and i can still smell you’
Pete: ‘there’s a burger place two blocks east of my office, c u at 1pm?’
Carlos: ‘i know the place … so fuckin hungry right now … but yeah, i can wait’
Pete went back to triaging his week-old unread emails.
One o’clock approached, and Pete stood up from his desk to take his lunch break. Carlos was waiting outside the burger joint, dressed to kill. He was wearing a scuffed, worn-out pair of 10-hole Doc boots, a pair of tight faded jeans, a tight black Ministry t-shirt, and his long, black hair was tied back into two sexy ponytails.
Pete nearly died on the spot, and his cardiac situation barely improved when Carlos stepped forward to thrust his tongue deep into Pete’s mouth. “Hola,” said Carlos, breaking their kiss.
“I think I’ve just had what I wanted for lunch,” Pete whispered, drowning in Carlos’s eyes.
Carlos opened the door for Pete like a gentleman. After ordering, they sat at a table with a pair of veggie burgers and a shared serve of fries in front of them. “How’s work going?” Carlos asked politely, before taking a bite of his bun.
Pete stared out the window, lost in thought for a moment as he collected a handful of fries. “If you were my boss, I’d probably tell you how excited I am to be back at my desk after a week away, and how much I’m looking forward to future business opportunities to learn about the law and to grow my professional career. But since you’re not my boss, I’ll give you the honest answer.”
Carlos took another bite as he waited for Pete to continue.
“I don’t want to be here anymore, dude.”
A look of confusion crossed Carlos’s face, and he stopped chewing for a second.
“I’m not talking about Atlanta,” Pete continued, “I fucking love this city and I always will. But I don’t think I want to be a law intern anymore. I don’t want to do this shit anymore. I’m over it. I don’t want to spend the next twenty years of my life as an attorney pushing paper around in an office. It was hard work out there on the road, but our hard work paid off, and I want more of that success. Look at what we achieved with just a single week out of the country, so imagine what could happen if we toured Europe?”
Pete paused for a second. “I’ve been thinking about that INXS documentary we watched last night. Three brothers, and three buddies from school, that came from the most isolated city on earth. No hope for success, right? Wasting their time, right? But they believed in themselves, they worked hard, and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Have you ever heard their first record?”
Carlos shook his head.
“The best thing I could say about it,” Pete continued, “would be that it’s cute. Actually, it’s fucking weird. There are strange, quirky keyboard sounds all over it, the songs are terrible, they aren’t sure what genre they want to play, and there’s absolutely nothing on that record to suggest what Michael Hutchence would become. You should take a listen on spotify. You’ll be stunned to hear how they started, but I warn you, it’s pretty bad. I mean, I don’t even think their first record was successful in Australia! They probably could’ve fallen off the face of the earth after their debut album, and nobody would’ve known or cared. Their second record is a little better, but again, there’s not a lot on it to suggest they’d become superstars. But things began to change quickly. They spent ridiculous amounts of time on the road, in Australia but also internationally, which made their live show as tight as a fucking drum, and they methodically weeded out all of the weird shit that didn’t work. Hutchence began slithering all over the stage, and his voice developed. By the time their third record came out, they were getting serious attention, and a few years later, they were the biggest band on earth, packing out Madison Square Garden. And not many people know it, but those huge, sexy riffs that define INXS were written by the shyest, quietest member of the band. The dude who played those odd, quirky keyboard lines on their first couple of records found a way to turn notes on a guitar into sex. So why did it happen? Why did this band of school friends from the middle of nowhere become the biggest band in the world? Because they fucking believed in themselves. Sure, they had some lucky breaks along the way, and they got some excellent advice from well-connected people, but they fucking *wanted* it, babe.”
Pete took a settling breath. “They fucking wanted it, and they got it.”
Carlos waited for his drummer to continue.
“I want to push harder with Ass To Mouth,” Pete said. “I want to be an international rockstar, and I know you do too. We can do this. I think we’re good enough.”
Carlos wanted to crawl inside Pete’s skin and never leave. He wondered what it might be like to tour Australia.
Pete sighed as his hopes and dreams crashed back down to earth. “But it takes money to organise a tour, and we don’t have a lot of money to spend.”
Carlos looked at his half-eaten burger. “I spent everything Gorilla left me on the Canadian tour, and you’re right, there isn’t much cash left in our band account.”
“I’ll head back to my desk after my lunch break,” Pete continued, “and I’ll be expected to plough through the haystack of emails that accumulated while we were away in Canada. I don’t know which tasks have been dealt with already and which still need my attention, but in either case, my care factor is pretty low.”
“Maybe I could get you a job at Eternal?” Carlos suggested.
Pete shrugged, flicking his beautiful Irish hair back. “If I had to choose between a law office and a bar, even one as cool as Eternal, I’d pick the office. But the truth is I don’t really want either. I want a career in music.”
“Yeah,” Carlos spluttered, “I want that too, more than anything, but I’m worldly enough to know our dreams won’t just appear on our doorstep like a morning newspaper. We have to chase them. We have to work for them.”
“Yeah,” Pete agreed, his eyes on fire. “That’s true, but we also need luck. The problem is, I just don’t know where our next opportunity will come from. Especially when we have no money. I get paid close to fuck all as an intern, man. The promise is that once I’ve finished study and I’ve accumulated some professional experience, the financial rewards will arrive, but I really don’t think I want to tread that path anymore.”
“We just signed a record deal, babe,” Carlos reminded him.
“Yeah, I know,” Pete replied, “but have you thought through the process? It’s gonna take a lot of time to get to where we need to be. We need to book time in the studio to record, then we need to mix our tracks, and then we need to cut a master. I don’t know about you, but I personally don’t know the first thing about mastering audio, so we’ll need to hire an engineer. And then once that’s done, we’ll need to get some art or photos commissioned for the record cover, get vinyl and CDs printed and pressed, and think about wholesale and retail distribution. Does Swallow arrange all of that? What’s Candii’s role in all of this? And then we need to think about how we get some buzz out there on the internet and radio, and then …”
“Stop, babe … please stop,” Carlos interrupted with a chuckle. “All of this stuff will be fun. We’re about to have the best time of our fuckin’ lives, but you’re making it sound depressing!”
“It’s … just … the timeframe,” sighed Pete, grabbing a handful of fries. “Sure, this is going to be an amazing experience, but I guess I’m just impatient. I want us to get started *now*. Actually, I want us to be at the end of the process already, with our debut record ready to go, so we can hit the road again and climb the next rung of the ladder.”
Carlos thought for a while, finally finishing his burger. “The answers to some of your questions might be in the contract, and if they aren’t, I’ve got Candii’s business card. She said we can give her a call.” He paused for a second. “You said you want to put in the effort, Pete, and maybe part of that is patience. You’re usually so rational, babe. Let’s just cool our boots for a while and see where things go.”
“I guess,” said Pete, smiling uncertainly. He picked up the remains of his burger and finished his lunch. In his pocket, his phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number. He opened it, expecting to find spam or some kind of phishing line dangling in front of him, but it was neither.
It was a text from Candii at Swallow Records: ‘hey peet it’s candii. how are you feeling about being signed to a record label, cutiepie? has it sunk in yet? i think i can confidently predict that your future will be bright. ass to mouth’s music is awesome and you’re all so goddamn cute. i’d love to play with you all backstage after a gig one night, and i don’t mean music. i hope you don’t mind me saying that. oops, too much information, sweetie! anyway, back to business. i’m msging you with a proposal. swallow is putting together a small US tour of metal bands that are just about to break and i’d love for you to be a part of it. we will be booking venues, hotels and transport, so it won’t cost you anything, but at the same time, we can’t guarantee bands will make a profit. i’ll send you a copy of the draft itinerary. also, we’re hearing cool things about a metal band from florida called boipussy, do you know anything about them? we’re thinking about reaching out to them to see if we can get them on the tour. anyway msg me back … candii xxx’
All the colour had drained out of Pete’s face. “I’ve read this message to myself three times,” he said, “and I still can’t fucking believe it’s real.”
“What is it?” Carlos asked. He expected bad news, like someone in Pete’s family had gotten terribly sick.
Pete’s head was spinning. “It’s a message from Candii. You remember we met her, she signed us to her record label?”
Carlos nodded. He also remembered how she flashed her dick at him. “What did she say?”
“I need you to read this for yourself.” Pete handed his phone to Carlos and waited impatiently as he watched Carlos’s brown eyeballs dart from left to right.
“What do you think?” Pete asked. “I was just grinding myself into a funk wondering when we’d be able to get back out on the road again because we’re so fucking broke, and then this comes along! We’d be crazy not to say yes!”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking too! I mean, this is fucking huge! But we’re a democracy,” Carlos stated. “We need to check with the rest of the band first,” he said, handing Pete’s phone back to him.
“They’ll say yes,” Pete whispered in hope. He pocketed his phone and crossed his fingers.
“I think so too,” said Carlos, “but we still need to ask. They’ve got lives of their own, and we just got back from Canada, and they might want to take a break from the band. We can’t commit them to something, especially not something as big as this, without getting their approval first.”
Pete nodded; of course he understood. He nervously checked the time on his phone. He was due back at his desk in ten minutes, but the law would just have to fucking wait. This was just too important. “Call them. We need to know.” As if anyone in the band would turn down an opportunity like this. Ten minutes later, the bass player and other guitarist were both on board. They were equally excited.
Pete and Carlos high-fived each other in the burger joint before hugging … and then kissing … and then the manager came over to them to tell them to tone down the overt physicality, because this was a family establishment.
The boys apologised. As soon as the manager was back behind the counter, Carlos grabbed Pete’s hand, escorted him to the bathroom, rolled a condom on, and fucked his brains out. He rolled the spent condom off and left it hanging over a door as a silent ‘fuck you’ to the manager. His semen traced a slow, thin line down the woodwork.
Pete walked back to work on his own personal cloud. Meanwhile, Carlos went back to his own apartment. Nobody had been here for over a week, and the air felt a little stuffy. He opened some windows and turned on a fan.
Pete couldn’t give a shit about his studies anymore. Sure, he went back to work, but his mind was a million miles away. Later that night, he replied to Candii’s message to thank her, on behalf of the band, for inviting Ass To Mouth on their tour and to say they couldn’t wait to get back out on the road again. He also told her that Boipussy were a kick-ass metal band, that they and A2M already played a few shows together, and that she should approach them as soon as fucking possible. He sent her Ace’s cell number.
Pete managed to separate the personal from the professional. It would’ve been a dick move for him to tell Candii that Boipussy sucked just to avoid Ace. He knew he’d done the right thing, even if it meant he might be touring the country with an ex, dealing with emotional fallout.
He still needed to talk with Ace about their relationship. It was tearing him up inside. He loved two men at the same time, and he had to choose. Having said that, he knew in his heart he’d already chosen, but he needed to try to let Ace down gently, and he couldn’t postpone the conversation forever. This was uncharted emotional ground for a dude who thought he’d be single and lonely for the rest of his life.
Ass To Mouth were back in the rehearsal room the following night. Their set still felt as tight as fuck, and the point of their drill was to maintain the musical muscle they’d built on the road. They ran through their set twice, and in between, they chatted. They weren’t sure what’d happen first — studio time or the national tour — but either way, the four members of the band wanted to remain connected and prepared.
Ace texted Pete later that night. Ace had given Pete ample space while A2M were on tour in Canada, but he was surprised at how little he’d heard from his boyfriend since he’d come back home.
Ace: ‘heeeeeeey sexy dude i havent heard from u since u got back from canada, i hope its not too late but i didnt wanna msg you until u were ready, but you’re back home now right?’
Pete: ‘hey dude yeah sorry things have been hectic’
Ace: ‘how did canada go’
Pete: ‘really well, im back at work and we’re back in the rehearsal room already’
Ace: ‘hey can i call u’
Pete replied with the smiley face, and within seconds, his cellphone rang.
Ace’s enthusiastic voice came through clearly, pinballing through the network of cell towers on the way to Pete’s handset. “Hey, sexy dude! How’s things? Been missing you!”
“Hey,” Pete replied. “Been missing you too.”
Ace noticed something in Pete’s voice that was different. It sounded a little flat, distant and reserved. Ace tried to push past it. Maybe Pete was just tired. Or maybe Ace chose a bad time to call.
“How was the tour?” Ace asked. “Give me the details!”
“Fucking cold!” Pete replied. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time, but first, I’ve got two pieces of news for you.”
“Tell me!” demanded Ace.
“The first is, we landed a record deal.”
“Fuck, no way!” Ace replied. “A record deal? Are you being serious with me right now?”
“Yeah, dude, totally serious. We’re signed to a Canadian label, and we’ll be recording soon.”
“When?”
“Umm… good question … we aren’t sure yet,” Pete replied, “we still need to work out the details about that. Oh, but here’s the other piece of news. Our new label is organising a tour of new and upcoming metal bands. We’ve been invited to be a part of it, and they asked us about a band from Florida called Boipussy. They’ve heard good things about you, and they’re thinking of inviting you onto the tour.”
“No fuckin’ way!” said Ace. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them to hit you up,” Pete replied. “I gave our contact your number. I told her that A2M and Boipussy have played some shows together already, and I said you guys are fucking awesome. Expect a message from a chick called Candii.” Pete read out her number so Pete would recognise it when she called. Pete grabbed a nearby pen and scrawled Candii’s digits onto the back of his hand.
“Sweet! Assuming we get onto the bill, how much will it cost?” Ace asked.
“I can only tell you what Candii told us, but she said the label will handle stages, security, accommodation and flights, so it won’t cost anything. We might not make any money, but it’ll be fun to be out on the road playing to new crowds.”
Ace tried hard to suppress his excitement: until he got the call from Pete’s contact, nothing was certain. “What’s the name of the label you signed to?”
“Swallow Records.”
Ace laughed. “That sounds appropriate. I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. Tell me some bands that are on that label?”
Pete thought hard. “Ever heard of ‘Hypnosissy’?”
“Yeah, Hypnosissy played in Miami a few months ago, they fucking rocked!”
“What about ‘Kuntlapper’?”
“They were in Florida just last week, and they were awesome! Sounds like A2M is in excellent company, and I really hope to hear from this Candii chick soon.” Ace cleared his throat nervously. “Anyway, how’s Carlos?”
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line.
“You still there, Pete?” Ace asked.
“Yeah … yeah, I’m here. Carlos is well. He had a great time on tour. I’ll let him know you asked about him at our next rehearsal.”
“You … umm … well … I was … I guess I couldn’t help noticing you haven’t been in touch with me much lately,” Ace ventured. It was rare for him to struggle with expressing himself clearly, but tonight, he knew the words wouldn’t come out right.
Pete collected his thoughts. “Yeah … I’m sorry about that … we were just so busy, lots of flights, lots of hotels and so on.” Pete’s mind flashed back to the moment he and Carlos had fallen unceremoniously onto a frozen Canadian canal while trying to skate. The tender, passionate kiss they shared and the feeling of connectedness that possessed his heart formed a beautiful, precious memory he’d carry to his grave. Sure, the tour was busy, but not all the time.
The two metalheads heard each other breathing down the line, but for a moment, no words passed between them.
“You can tell me,” Ace whispered. “It’s OK. I think I know already.”
Pete wiped away silent tears. He couldn’t admit the truth that Ace already suspected. “I’m so sorry, Ace.” He felt weak and cowardly, because he hadn’t mustered up the courage to tell Ace what had happened with his own words. Instead, Ace had to drag the confession out of him.
At the other end of the line, Ace shed tears of his own. “It’s OK. It was bound to happen.”
A tsunami of guilt washed over Pete. “I didn’t ever mean for this to happen, Ace. I love you …”
“And I love you too,” Ace interrupted. “I’ve been such a good boy lately, saving myself for the next time you and I were together, but let’s face it, this was almost inevitable.”
Ace heard Pete’s sobs. “I … umm … I … don’t want to break your heart,” Pete cried.
“You already have,” Ace replied. “I’m gonna get off the phone in a minute and have a good cry, and then I’ll probably go out for a long walk to clear my head, but I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I really thought you were the one for me, Pete. But like I said, I knew this would happen, and it’s OK.”
“I love you, Ace,” Pete cried.
“I know.”
Pete’s lungs grabbed jagged breath. “I should probably let you go.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Ace tried to put on a brave face. “Anyway, it was great to hear from you. I’m glad to hear your tour went so well, and I’m looking forward to getting a message from this Candii chick.”
“Hopefully we can hit the road together soon,” Pete said. “I’d love that. Imagine Boipussy and A2M touring the country, conquering one sexy dude at a time.”
Pete couldn’t see it from his end of the call, but Ace replied with a thin, uncertain smile. “We could get some t-shirts printed up,” he offered.
“Awesome idea,” Pete replied.
The line was filled with silence again. “It’s late,” said Ace.
“I know.” Pete didn’t know what else to say.
The line went dead, and for a few moments, Pete cried so hard he struggled to breathe. In many ways, this had been the best week of his life, but in one very specific way, it had also been the worst. Pete wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Ace and reassure him that everything was alright, just like he’d done with Carlos a few days ago, but he knew couldn’t think that way about him anymore. Even though he still felt deeply for Ace, he knew such a gesture from him was no longer appropriate. At least, not right now.
He needed to leave Ace alone for a while. Time needed to pass, emotions needed to settle, and friendships needed to heal.
He wiped his eyes, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed under his comforter. He thought about calling Carlos, but sleep was the best refuge for now.