A gay story: The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 08 Ace woke up on Wednesday morning having slept better than he thought he might.
He dreamed about Pete. In his dream, the two of them were sitting side by side in a bus shelter, holding hands, waiting for their ride. It was late at night, and the last bus of the evening was on the way. It was quiet, and there was nobody else around. Ace wasn’t sure where they were going, or even which city they were in, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he and Pete were sitting together. In his dream, Ace felt warm, loved, and at peace.
As his eyes blinked open, the beautiful feeling from his dream remained with him for a fraction of a second, but it dissolved as reality intruded. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he woke up.
He remembered that he and Pete broke up last night, and a part of him felt lost.
Ace still wanted him, though he knew he couldn’t have him anymore. But on the upside, they hadn’t been together for very long, and he felt sure they’d be friends forever. Most of their relationship had been spent living in different states, and no matter how strong his feelings for Ass To Mouth’s sexy drummer, he worried that it might’ve become harder and harder over time to maintain a connection. Especially because Ace found it almost impossible to keep his dick in his pants.
He got up, pulled on a t-shirt and boxers, and took a piss before flopping down onto his couch.
Ace knew there’d never be a shortage of sex in his life. Fuck, there were dozens of metalheads, goths and femboys in Florida who wanted him bad. He’d toned down his fuckboi persona while he and Pete were together, but now that there was no longer any need for him to restrain his primal urges, he fired up Grindr.
If there was anything on earth that was guaranteed to put Ace in a good mood, it was hot sex with a hot dude. Or a hot femboy.
It took just five minutes for him to get five taps, three of which were pre-Pete bootycalls. He was just about to re-share his explicit, private album with a fat-assed long-haired dude he used to boink on the regular when a call came in.
He recognised the number as soon as he looked at the screen — it was the same set of digits Pete read out to him over the phone last night, just before they broke up. They belonged to Candii, the rep from Swallow Records.
Ace’s heart began to race with anticipation. ‘Don’t be over-eager,’ he told himself. ‘This could be a big break for us, so play it cool.’
He let it ring a little longer before pressing the green button to accept the call. “Hello?” he answered. He heard a female voice on the other end of the line.
“Uhh, hello,” responded Candii. “Am I speaking with Ace?”
“Yeah, that’s me, I’m Ace.” He flicked his blonde locks away from his ear. “Who’s calling?” Candii’s voice was a little deeper than he’d expected.
Candii cleared her throat. “Hi, Ace. My name is Candii, and I’m with a Canadian record label called Swallow.”
“Nice of you to call,” said Ace. “What can I do for you?”
“Ace, are you in a band called Boipussy?”
“Yeah”, he confirmed, “I am. Why do you ask?”
“Cool, so I’ve dialled the right number. I want to proposition you,” Candii disclosed. She cleared her throat again. “Wait. Sorry. Please let me rephrase that. I have a proposition for you. And for your band.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Ace, trying hard to keep his nerves in check.
“We recently signed a band from Atlanta to our label. They’re called Ass To Mouth,” Candii explained. “I believe you know them? Anyway, they recently completed a short tour of Canada, and I caught them in action at two of their shows. I was recently talking with A2M’s drummer about a tour Swallow Records is planning in the States to showcase some promising new metal acts. I mentioned to him that I’ve been hearing good things about a Florida band called Boipussy, and he told me that you’d played a few gigs together lately. He suggested that I check you out.”
“Did you get my number from Pete?” asked Ace.
“Yeah,” Candii replied, noticing that Ace had referred to Ass To Mouth’s drummer by his first name. “I hope that’s cool with you?”
“Of course it is. No problem.” Ace remained silent, waiting for Candii to continue.
Ace’s voice was doing something to Candii’s crotch that she couldn’t quite understand. She scratched the shaft of her cock through her panties. “Anyway,” she said, “I followed his advice. I checked out some of your online demoes last night, and I found a short clip of Boipussy on youtube. The upload looked like it was filmed on someone’s phone. Even though the sound quality wasn’t great, I was impressed with what I heard, and if I can be honest, Ace, it seemed to me like you had a stage presence. If I can cut to the chase, I’d love to get Boipussy on the tour. You rock hard. Pete told me you guys play a … umm … a tight live set.” She paused for a second. “That was definitely the word he used to describe you. Tight.”
Ace wondered if Pete had said anything about the buttplug Ace regularly wore onstage. He wasn’t into women, but maybe this Candii bitch might still be impressed in some way by his stage gimmick.
“Wow,” said Ace, “that’s amazing news. Thanks for your offer. I need to check with the rest of the band before I can confirm. It sounds enticing, but I need to be honest upfront about something first.”
“What’s that?” Candii asked.
“While we aspire for Boipussy to be the biggest band in the world,” Ace explained, “our current financial situation isn’t healthy. I mean, we’ve been playing together for fucking years … oops, sorry about the language, miss … and we get lots of work in Florida, but I don’t know how many people know us outside the south-east, and we each have day jobs so we can pay the rent. Like, I mean, we’re aching to be successful, and we think we’ve got what it takes, but it’s hard to move to the next rung on the ladder right now. We have a bank account (Ace remembered just how hard it was to register an account with the name Boipussy), but there isn’t much money in it. Whenever we get paid for a gig, the money gets recycled into more equipment. Guitar repairs, a more powerful bass rig, better drums. You get the picture.”
On the other end of the phone line, Candii nodded. “I certainly do get the picture, Ace. I know how it goes. I’ve been in this business for a few years. And that might be where I come in.”
“Huh?”
“This tour could be the break Boipussy needs, Ace.”
Ace waited a few seconds before responding. “I hear what you’re saying, Candii, and it sounds like a fuckin’ awesome opportunity, but I’m not sure. I mean, like I said, we don’t have enough money. We can’t afford it.” He remembered the sweet financial deal Pete explained to him last night, and he hoped Candii would offer the same to Ace.
Candii knew how the industry worked. Bands slogged their guts out on stage, travelling from gig to gig on their own dime, staying in the cheapest motels available and barely eating anything, to save as much money as they could. Most bands earned just enough to pay for their gear and rehearsal time, and if they were lucky, they had some extra cash set aside to cut a demo in a recording studio. She assumed A2M were in a better financial position to Boipussy if they could afford a Canada tour, but she didn’t know anything about the money Gorilla left Carlos when he died that had all been spent. Take that away, and A2M were just as broke as their Florida compatriots, and their bank account was stuck in the same endless loop.
“I’ve seen too many bands work their local circuit to death, playing every gig on offer,” Candii replied, “but never getting the break they need to move to the next level. I’ve seen bands split up in frustration, where members end up hating each other and blaming each other for the rest of their failed lives. I’ve seen deep friendships ruined and lives destroyed. I’m sure you’ve seen this too, Ace, and I’m sure you’re scared of it happening to Boipussy. We’ve never met, but I’m sure you’re worldly enough to know that talent, ability and potential isn’t enough. Sometimes, a little bit of luck can go a long way.”
She loved being a fairy trans-mother for cute rocker boys.
“Here’s the deal,” Candii continued. “Swallow Records will be organising the entire itinerary. That includes dates, venues, accommodation and transport for the duration of the tour. All Boipussy needs to do is to get yourselves and your equipment to the first show, and to get yourselves back home after the last one. Can your bank account stretch that far?”
“Yeah,” Ace replied. “Yeah, I think so.” (He genuinely wasn’t sure. He’d need to check. But if they didn’t have enough money in their account, he’d take out a personal loan.)
“The only catch,” Candii explained, “is that we can’t guarantee any of the bands will make any money. If the festival tanks, Swallow is insured, but each band will only take a split of the profits if the festival is financially successful. You might not make any money, but you won’t stand to lose any either. One thing I *can* guarantee you is that you’ll get to play in front of new audiences that haven’t heard of you before, you’ll be able to network with other bands on the label, and you’ll be able to make some cash on the side by selling your own merchandise, if you have any.”
Ace remembered joking to Pete last night about getting some t-shirts printed if Boipussy got on the bill. He smiled. This sounded fucking amazing. He’d kept his cool so far, and while he could feel the conversation reaching its conclusion, he needed to remain level-headed until it was over. “I can’t commit on behalf of the band without talking to the other members first, but it’ll be easier to explain your plan to them if I can give them some information. What’s it going to be called?”
“We haven’t decided that yet,” Candii said. “For now, just tell them it’s a touring festival organised by Swallow Records to showcase new metal bands.”
“I can do that. How long will it run for, how many shows will there be, and which cities is the tour going to?”
“Again, said Candii, “I can’t tell you too much right now, because some components aren’t locked in just yet, but we’re planning for seven shows across a two week period. Most of the shows will be in the south, and we’re looking at putting on a show in your own State of Florida.”
“Thanks,” said Ace. “I’m also curious which other bands have signed or are being approached, but I know you won’t be able to tell me. So can I ask whether Ass To Mouth are on the bill?”
“That’s one thing I can definitely tell you,” Candii said. “I spoke with their drummer recently, and they’re locked in. You can tell the rest of Boipussy if you like.”
Ace already knew A2M were on the tour, but hearing it from Candii’s unusually deep voice made this whole insane thing feel intensely real. “OK,” he said, “good to know. One other question. When do you need an answer from us by?”
“Our website and communication strategy are ready to launch,” Candii replied, “so as soon as possible, I guess. The other thing to consider is we’re talking with two other unsigned bands, but we’re giving you first call on the basis of the strong recommendation from Ass To Mouth. So if you could confirm with ASAFP, it’d work out well for everyone.”
Ace grinned. “Thanks for the call, Candii. On behalf of the band, we really appreciate the offer and the opportunity. I’ll hit the phones and call you back soon.”
Candii hung up. She switched on her laptop and found the amateur youtube upload of Boipussy. Her hard cock bounced out of her panties and she sighed as she teased her massive plastic tits. She watched Ace bouncing around on stage, his long hair flying in all directions and his hips perpetually thrusting back and forth. She stroked and tugged herself for a few seconds before trickles of warm milk spilled out of the head of her bulging she-cock.
Already, Candii couldn’t wait to meet Ace in the flesh. She licked her hand clean before turning her mind back to work.
Ace dropped his cell onto the couch and slamdanced around the room, his long blonde mane flailing. The remainder of his emotional funk flew straight out the window, knowing he’d said all the right things and asked all the right questions. He steadied himself to make four crucial phone calls, one to each member of Boipussy. Half an hour later, he had four very enthusiastic responses. One of Boipussy’s guitarists sounded sceptical at first, as if this offer sounded too good to be true, but once Ace explained that Ass To Mouth were already on board and that he’d heard the news from Pete directly, his bandmate’s resistance dissolved.
Ace called Candii back to graciously accept Swallow’s proposal.
Under normal circumstances, Ace’s next call would’ve been to Pete, but given they broke up just last night, a text message would have to do.
Ace: Hey dude I hope you’re well. Just got a call from Candii to offer us a spot on the tour you mentioned. I called the boys and we’re in. Fuck, man — A2M and Boipussy are gonna be taking on the world together, I can’t wait!
Pete was at work, pretending to be enthusiastic about his job, when Ace texted. He was seriously considering quitting, but quitting a law internship was a huge, potentially life-changing decision. He’d worked ridiculously hard to get this internship, and even though the pay was pitiful, he knew the financial rewards were scheduled to come later, after he’d passed his final exams at law school. It seemed almost irresponsible to throw it away, but he also knew how hard it would be to pour his entire life and soul into music while chained to a desk. He hadn’t reached a decision yet. Maybe he should talk with Carlos while they were out on tour. He smiled as he read Ace’s message. He typed out a quick response.
Pete: Fuck man that’s awesome news! This is gonna be huge, and I can’t wait either! See you soon!
This felt to Pete like just the right amount of enthusiasm. He resisted the urge to pepper the end of his text message with a sprinkling of colourful emojis, like he often did. For now, he needed to find ways to distance himself emotionally from Ace.
Ace noticed the distinct lack of emoji flair attached to Pete’s response, and although he felt crestfallen just for a second, his mood bounced back immediately, floating into the stratosphere as he looked forward to the upcoming tour.
Pete sighed as he reluctantly turned his mind back to his work.
*
Two weeks passed. Carlos continued working behind the bar at Eternal, Pete’s enthusiasm for law school and his internship bounced up and down like a rubber ball, and meanwhile, Ace did … well, fuck … he did whatever the hell his day job was.
Both bands rehearsed their sets to within inches of their lives.
As Swallow’s plans for the tour slowly began locking into place, Candii had been emailing Pete on behalf of Ass To Mouth, and Ace on behalf of Boipussy, making sure everything was co-ordinated and on track. Pete had been sharing details with his A2M bandmates as they came in.
Carlos had a night off from Eternal. Pete came over straight after law school and they ordered in some Chinese. The sun was beginning to set. They hung out on the couch, waiting for their food to arrive. Carlos stole surreptitious glances at his boyfriend – why the hell had he ignored Pete for so long?
The TV was on. A commercial break began, and though neither of them was paying serious attention, they watched an announcement about a new medication for hair loss that was coming onto the market.
They saw a shaky cartoon of a frustrated, unhappy man, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, trying unsuccessfully to brush his hair, but it was coming out in clumps. It looked there was more hair stuck to the brush than was left on his head.
They heard a calm, soothing male voice, and relaxing, ambient music.
“Is your hair unruly and thinning? Is your comb or brush relentlessly choked with stringy clumps of hair every single morning? Is your shower drain constantly getting clogged, and have you ever had to call in the military to unblock it? Do you feel depressed, lonely, unattractive and worthless? Were you in college the last time you felt confident enough to try to pick up a chick at a bar? You failed that night, didn’t you. Yeah, we all know. Everyone knows how much you suck at everything.”
The character nodded. Sadly, this was all true. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His frown deepened, his shoulders slumped and he shed a tear.
The voiceover continued.
“Do you find it hard to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror? Do you wear a cap in public to hide your bald shame? Do people sneak up behind you in public to play your scalp like bongos? If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, you could be one of millions of men who’ve completely forgotten what a warm, wet orifice feels like. Talk to your doctor about a revolutionary new medication called ImASadCunt.”
The cartoon character on the screen began to smile as his mood began to rebound. There was hope. He stopped fighting with the hairbrush.
“Only your physician can prescribe ImASadCunt, but if you ask for a script only to find they’re being a cranky pain in the ass about it, just remember you have rights under the second amendment. Under free-market capitalism, the customer is always right.”
The cartoon character’s face appeared deep in thought. Hair was quickly beginning to reappear.
“You have the freedom to change your life by taking this highly addictive new drug that will make our shareholders rich beyond their wildest fucking dreams. Talk to your doctor about ImASadCunt. Remember that name. It might not grow your hair back, and you might never pick a chick up at a bar ever again, but it’s guaranteed to keep your bank account clean.”
By the end of the commercial, the cartoon character had a full head of thick, luscious hair and a wide, satisfied smile on his face. He looked confident and optimistic. He turned to camera and spoke for the first time. “I used to be a sad cunt, but I’m not anymore!”
Carlos and Pete waited for their food to arrive. They each felt impatiently hungry.
The next commercial was completely unexpected and unanticipated. It grabbed their undivided attention and took their breath away.
The screen filled with dynamic close-up footage of a band rocking out on stage, just before the voiceover began. This time, the male voiceover was loud, manic and cajoling, almost screaming at the viewer.
“Are you into metal? Of course you are. Who the fuck isn’t? Check out some of these sexy guys. Like, seriously, man, take a look at some of these dudes. Check out their leather boots, their tight denim jeans, their delicious nipples, their pouting, kissable mouths, and their loose, flailing hair. You wanna fuck ’em and suck ’em, don’t you? You’re jackin’ off already, aren’t you? Swallow Records proudly presents COCKS OUT, a touring festival featuring six up-and-coming American heavy metal bands who are about to conquer the known fuckin’ world. Bring your lube, bring your toys, bring your holes, and most importantly, bring your hard, swollen penises, your full, sweaty balls, and your eager, hungry mouths! Fuck, dudes, check out this insane bill: Boipussy, Ass To Mouth, Beta Clinic, Femboy Hooters, Kuntlapper and Hypnosissy! If the names of these bands don’t get you hard, maybe you’re already dead! We’re coming to Austin, Dallas, New Orleans, Atlanta, Miami and, if you can believe it, fuckin’ New York City! Ticket price includes entry, plus all the beer you can chug. And in a world first, COCKS OUT features a mobile bate room. Jack off with other metalheads while the bands play, before getting your suck and fuck on. You’re gonna get more than an eyeful, dudes. You’re gonna get a mouthful, and if you’re lucky, you might even get a boipussy full of sweaty, hot metalhead cock. Take it deep, and then go ass to mouth! Fuck, dudes, how many penises do you want? How much dick can you take? How much cock do you *need*? Get your COCKS OUT! This is a male-only event, and tickets go on sale online tomorrow. Fuckin’ get hard!”
Swallow’s promotional advertisement ended with a frozen image of Carlos that must’ve been lifted from an anonymous youtube clip. It was a close-up shot of his wide-open mouth, with his fat Mexican tongue hanging out, as if begging to be inseminated. The website for ticket sales appeared across the bottom of the screen.
The commercial could’ve been followed by a Presidential announcement about the start of a nuclear war, but neither Pete nor Carlos would’ve noticed it. They looked at each other, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Fuck, dude, did you fucking see that?” Carlos screamed.
Pete nodded so hard his head might’ve fallen off.
“Did you know Swallow were advertising the tour on TV?”
Pete shook his head from side to side. “I had no idea, but that commercial fucking rocked! And we were in it!”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. Time seemed to stand still. Whatever was going to happen over the next few weeks, they were ready for the rollercoaster, and they were glad to be strapped in for the wild ride together.
Carlos spoke next. “I’m so fuckin’ horny right now, Pete.”
Pete leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend. Within seconds, their mouths had opened wide and their tongues were engaged in fierce battle, desperately fighting for territory.
They might’ve been in Carlos’s apartment, but Pete knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to make sure he got it. He gazed into Carlos’s eyes and reached down to touch his dick. He stroked his boyfriend’s sausage through his tight denim. “Fuck me,” he whispered. His eyelids were droopy with lust.
Their faces were so close they could feel each other’s sweaty, desperate breath. Their mouths locked again. “I want you so fuckin’ bad right now,” breathed Pete.
Carlos broke the kiss. He lifted Pete’s t-shirt and began hungrily sucking on his delicate chest. Pete moaned as his nipples hardened and stood to attention. Blood flooded into his cock as he began touching himself through the outside of his pants. Carlos returned to Pete’s mouth, delicately gripping his boyfriend’s jaw in both hands as they kissed.
Pete was so desperate for sex he couldn’t form complete sentences. “I need … I need you to … please, Carlos.”
Carlos grabbed Pete by the hand and was about to drag him to bed when the intercom sounded. Fuck, they’d forgotten all about their Chinese food delivery.
Carlos buzzed the delivery guy into the building, and half a minute later, they heard a polite knock at the door. He took their food from the delivery guy and closed the door again.
Pete was still in heat. “You’ve got a microwave, right? We can eat later? Like, after we fuck?” He was hungry, but getting boinked by his hot boyfriend was way more important right now.
Carlos smiled. “You want some spicy Mexican before the Chinese, don’t you?”
Pete nodded, barely able to breathe.
Carlos left the takeout containers on the kitchen bench. They were warm, and he knew they’d cool, but just like Pete, he’d temporarily lost his appetite for food. He led his drummer to his bedroom.
They stood beside Carlos’s mattress, fingers entwined, as their tongues engaged in a take-no-prisoners game of tonsil hockey. They each felt a vaguely hollow feeling in their stomachs from a dinner bought but not yet eaten.
They slowly undressed each other, gazing into each other’s eyes.
Eventually, Carlos placed his hands on Pete’s naked chest, gently pushing him down onto his mattress. Through the semi-darkness, Pete looked deeply into Carlos’s dark, fiery eyes. “I love you so fucking much, dude.” They lay side by side, their arms enveloping each other.
Carlos smiled. “I feel the same way about you, Pete. I can’t explain it. I can’t put it into words. I feel so lucky we met.”
Pete looped his hand around the back of Carlos’s neck and pulled his mouth into his, never wanting to let him go.
This moment was perfect.
Pete spat onto his palm and reached out to touch his boyfriend’s fat Mexican sausage. Carlos moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head as he felt his drummer’s sweet, delicate touch.
“Fuck me?” pleaded Pete.
Carlos’s cock was rock hard. He gazed at Pete’s wet mouth, his sweet Irish-red hair, and the constellation of freckles that decorated his beautiful face.
He felt Pete’s breath on his cheeks as Pete massaged his cock with his wet fingers.
Carlos couldn’t help it. He lost control, violently shooting his load into Pete’s wet palm and all over his fingers. Pete’s hand felt so fucking good.
“Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry,” Carlos apologised.
Pete placed his cum-soaked hand in front of his face and licked it clean. “No need to apologise,” he smiled. “I’m enjoying my sweet Mexican appetiser.” He kissed Carlos on the cheek.
Carlos knew exactly what he wanted to do. He scooted down towards the end of the mattress, dangling his feet over the edge. Pete’s dick and balls were in his face. It was nearly dark in the room, but there was just enough light for Carlos to briefly see Pete’s erect cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Carlos began by kissing and licking Pete’s inner thighs.
“Fuck, dude …”
Pete closed his eyes.
All of Pete’s senses were focused on what Carlos was about to do to him. Feeling his boyfriend planting butterfly kisses on the inside of his thighs got him harder than steel. He reached down to touch himself, but Carlos brushed his hand away.
“Just lie back,” said Carlos. “Put your hands behind your head.”
Pete complied, relaxing onto the mattress, nearly whimpering in submission. He felt Carlos’s fingers tickling his balls and anus. He felt beautiful, delicious pressure as Carlos massaged his shaft and teased his head. His breathing was shot to hell, he was aroused as fuck, and he was trying incredibly hard not to squirt his hot seed all over Carlos’s sexy face.
For the briefest of moments, he lifted his head and looked down as the man of his dreams toyed with his dick. He saw Carlos’s beautiful eyes and long hair. Carlos smiled lovingly at Pete as his tongue flicked across the bulging, purple head of his erect cock.
He felt sleek warmth and liquid heat as Carlos took him into his mouth, and it was all over before it even started. Pete tried so hard to hold out, but his hips involuntarily rose from the mattress. He erupted like a volcano, flooding Carlos’s tongue with his sperm. As he felt Carlos gulping his load down, he groaned in bliss, and came even more.
Pete couldn’t ever remember cumming quite that hard. He felt a vague yet unbelievably pleasant ache hidden somewhere in his balls. There was absolutely nothing left.
“Thanks,” said Carlos, licking his lips like a cat after a tasty meal. “Yummy.” He scooted back up to embrace his boyfriend, and they hugged and kissed each other for seriously like forever.
Even though they’d just eaten each other’s load, a second wave of hunger was beginning to set in.
“Hey, dude,” Carlos smiled, “we’ve still got Chinese out in the kitchen, you know.”
Pete’s face exploded into the biggest, happiest grin ever seen on earth. Tonight was absolutely fucking perfect. “Race you,” he challenged.
The two naked metalheads jumped up off Carlos’s mattress, making a beeline for the kitchen, hair and cocks flailing everywhere. Carlos determined that their food was still warm enough to eat, and the microwave was asked to stand down from duty.
Seconds later, pairs of chopsticks feverishly attacked the takeout boxes as they sat on Carlos’s couch. The TV was still on, but it was little more than background sound.
They sat side by side as they hungrily smashed food into their faces, each lost in their own internal worlds, wondering what the next few weeks would bring. They were each thinking about how to arrange leave from work to go on the tour.
It was easy for Carlos to take leave from Eternal. It wasn’t cool to just disappear overnight, but he had enough time to let his workmates know that he was heading out on the road again without causing chaos. He knew the tribe at Eternal would wish him well, and they’d willingly cover his shifts. He wondered whether anyone from the bar had seen the TV commercial Swallow had cut.
It was completely different where Pete worked. His colleagues liked him. They appreciated his intellect and recognised his potential to do well in law, but none of them gave a shit about Pete’s band. Pete had even prepared a fake name in case a colleague ever asked what his band was called, but the question had never come up. His colleagues’ enthusiasm for his extra-curricular creative activities ranged from indifferent to negative to ‘is this guy serious about his career?’ to ‘if word got out that we’ve got a satanist on our payroll, it’d be a bad look for the business’.
Pete had been selected for an internship based on his stellar grades. The senior partners who completed his final pre-employment interview insisted that Pete work hard, and indeed he had. There was no evidence to suggest his grades, attendance or performance had been affected by the time he spent with his musical friends. Concerns only arose for the first time when Pete requested time off at short notice to visit Canada. He was asked for a reason, and when he explained that it was to tour with his band, deep worries began to emerge at senior levels. Even though Pete’s request was granted, they worried that their intern wasn’t prioritising his career, nor that he had the best interests of the firm at heart.
Pete heard Carlos snoring lightly beside him. He was due to rise early tomorrow morning, but there was a weight on his mind. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.
While Pete wasn’t completely committed to his career and study right now, he knew how stupid it’d be for him to throw all his hard work away. But he also knew that opportunities in the music industry were unpredictable, and it’d be madness to let this one slip away. He remembered the frowns and furrowed brows he received when he asked for leave to tour Canada, and he expected more of the same again. He knew he had to have the conversation tomorrow — the longer he left it to ask for time off work, the less likely he’d get it.
“Hey, Carlos,” Pete whispered, gently awakening him. “I need to get up early tomorrow. I’m really sorry, but I came here straight from law school where they don’t care much how I dress, but I can’t go into the office in a t-shirt and jeans. I’ll need to go back to my place to get changed first.”
Carlos’s eyelids fluttered briefly. “Cool, with me, dude. Wake up when you want, and fix yourself a coffee and something to eat, but I’m gonna sleep.”
Pete smiled before kissing Carlos on the lips. He rolled over onto his side and checked the alarm on his phone before relaxing. He felt Carlos’s arms envelop him from behind.
*
Pete rose with the sun the following morning. He brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush he’d left in Carlos’s medicine cabinet (Carlos had done the exact same thing at Pete’s place) and threw last night’s t-shirt and jeans back on. He lovingly ran his hands through Carlos’s thick black mane of hair and kissed him on the cheek before leaving. He ubered back to his apartment where he made himself a coffee and dressed for the office. Ties weren’t mandatory at his law firm, and he usually hated wearing them, but today, he wore one for good luck.
He walked briskly through the office doors at 8.45am, takeout coffee in hand. He switched his computer on and began to organise his day. After checking his emails, he requested an appointment with Human Resources to discuss a request for time off work.
He’d been working for about an hour, struggling to focus, when the phone on his desk rang. The voice on the other end of the line confirmed an appointment with James, from HR, at 10am. He tidied up a few loose ends and rode the elevator up three floors.
James came out to greet him. He was in his late 40s or early 50s, balding and greying, and wearing a dull but otherwise unremarkable beige suit. His face was pale and thin. He wore glasses, but the frames were way too large for his face, giving him a slightly comical appearance. “Hello, Peter, good to see you.” He led Pete into his office. “Please, take a seat. What can I do for you today?”
Pete got straight to the point. “I need to take some time off work. Probably two weeks at least, but maybe a few days more.”
James checked Pete’s personnel file and frowned. “It says here, Peter, that you took some time off not very long ago.”
“I know. Yeah, that’s true. But I need some more.”
James’s frown persisted. “We have a very generous leave plan at our firm, four weeks per employee each year on full pay, but you’ve used up more than half of your yearly entitlement already. According to your file, you only have a week and a half left for the rest of the year. It will be very difficult for us to grant this request, because not only will it mean your entitlement will be exhausted until the end of the fiscal year, but when you get back, you’ll owe *us* time.”
Pete was prepared for this. “That’s no problem. If I’m in the red, I’ll work for free until the time is made up. I can come in on Saturdays. I’m already working around my law school classes on weekdays as it is.”
James’s frown turned into an uncertain smile. “Now, Peter, we both know that can’t happen.”
“But … but this is really important to me! I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t!”
James asked for justification. “Not that it’s any of my business, but can you tell me *why* you need to take time off that you haven’t yet earned?” In this scenario, reasons acceptable to James would include the death or terminal illness of a family member, but probably not much else.
“I’m in a band, and we’ve been offered the opportunity to play some shows with other similar bands in cities across the US.”
James sighed. “Isn’t your band the reason you gave last time you took time off work?”
“Yes. Kind of,” said Pete, “except that was for shows in Canada.”
James furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure about this, Peter. To be honest, I’m feeling quite uncomfortable. I’m going to need to think about it. If you were seeking time off that you’d earned, I wouldn’t have as much of a problem, but … you see … you’re asking for time off that you aren’t yet entitled to. Are you able to change the dates so that your planned leave fits within your available envelope?”
(‘Fuck, listen to the way this cunt talks,’ Pete thought to himself. ‘Did he eat a dictionary for breakfast?’)
“That’s the thing,” Pete began. “At the moment, I don’t know the exact dates I’ll be away, but at present, all I know is it’ll be two to two-and-a-half weeks, sometime next month. But the exact timing is out of my control. It’s even out of my band’s control.”
James stood up from behind his desk and smiled thinly. “I’ll have to consult with others. I’ll get back to you this afternoon, Peter.”
Pete rode the elevator back to his desk. He tried to concentrate on work, but failed dismally. What would he do if they said no? He’d have to choose between his career and his band.
Lunchtime rolled around, and he headed downstairs for a toasted sandwich and a strong coffee. He ate quietly, thinking deeply, wondering what he’d do if HR said no. He thought about texting Carlos, but eventually decided against it. Better to wait until he heard back. On a whim, he visited an electronics store and bought a pocket-sized miniature tape-recorder and a blank cassette. He tested the device before returning to the office, just to make sure it worked.
Around 2pm, his desk phone rang again. “Good afternoon, Peter,” said James. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but do you have a minute to spare?”
“Sure,” Pete replied. “Your office? I’ll be there in a minute.” He pressed record on the tape-recorder and put it in his pocket.
As he rode up in the elevator, an aviary of butterflies magically appeared in Pete’s stomach.
James opened the door to his office. “Peter, welcome. Please come in again. Take a seat.”
Pete sat in the same chair he was sitting in this morning.
James sat back down behind his desk. “I’ve been speaking with some of the partners, Peter, and like myself, they’re concerned that you’re seeking some more time away from work so soon after your last absence. Your internship is important to us, and we’d like to think it’s important to you, too.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, as if about to share some important confidential information. “I’ve been exactly where you are right now, you know. Many years ago, I was a junior employee here myself, and I know from first-hand experience the temptation to travel and party. I mean, you’re only young once, right?”
Pete gazed at the dull man sitting behind the desk and wondered if he’d ever been to a party in his life.
“But,” James continued, “if you travel too much and party too hard, Peter, I worry that it’ll eventually get in the way of your studies and your career. We’ve been very impressed with your work so far, Peter. We’ve all heard about your success with the McCray account, so please accept my belated congratulations. But I’m worried that your … err … umm … extra-curricular interest in music … has the potential to hinder your short-term performance and restrict your long-term career opportunities.” He paused for a second. “If you really apply yourself, Peter, you could become a partner here one day. No question about it. I’ve seen some very talented interns come through this place, but you’re one of the best, brightest and most promising I’ve ever seen. As a fellow law professional, I’m begging you, Peter, don’t throw it away.”
Pete echoed James’s last words. “Don’t throw it away? What do you mean by that, James?”
James grimaced. “We can’t agree to your request, unfortunately, but we can offer you a $20,000 bonus if you agree to leave your band and refocus on your career. That’s how highly we value you, Peter, and it’s a measure of how much we want to keep you.”
Pete didn’t understand, and the money didn’t matter. “But … wait a second … if you value me that much, surely you can let me take some time off for this one tour?”
A sigh escaped from James’s thin lips as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll freely admit, Peter, that I don’t understand much about the modern-day music business. I’m much more of a classical man myself. All the people who wrote the music I listen to are dead, and their creative copyrights have long since expired. But I’m led to believe that musical acts who are invited onto corporate travelling ventures such as these have proven themselves, at least to some limited and narrow extent, to be competent in their creativity and execution, and have demonstrated an ability to attract paying audiences?”
Pete laughed nervously, wondering if James talked to his wife in advanced legalese. “If you’re asking if we rock out, James, then yeah, we do.”
“Then will this travelling venture be your last?” asked James. “Or will there be subsequent ventures?” He took his glasses off and cleaned them nervously. “You *do* see where I’m going with this line of questioning, don’t you Peter? If this particular venture is successful and others follow, I foresee a future where you spend more time away from the office than at your desk.”
Pete remained silent.
“That’s our final offer, Peter. A $20,000 bonus if you agree to leave your band.”
“You don’t understand, James,” Pete replied. “It’s more than just me being in a band. I’m emotionally connected. You see, my boyfriend is in the band too.”
James cleared his throat. He had no idea Pete was gay. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut about him maybe being a partner one day. Never gonna happen.
“So if I left the band,” Pete continued, “it’d cause problems for my relationship, which in turn would make it hard for me to focus on work. The way I see it, you’re asking a lot of me, both professionally and personally, when all I’m asking for is the time off that I’ve already earned, plus a few extra days which I’ll make up for free when I get back, meaning the firm isn’t out of pocket. If you think I’ve got so much long-term potential, what difference does a few days here and there make? Isn’t there any room for some flexibility?”
James raised his eyebrows. Pete made a good point, he thought, but he needed to divert the conversation to give himself some space to think. He was still trying to come to terms with learning that the firm had hired an intern who was gay. “What is your band called, if I can be so bold as to inquire?”
Pete’s pre-prepared answer for this question was ‘Ring Cycle’, a name which, ironically, James might’ve appreciated; but in this moment, he felt the need to be completely honest. He cleared his throat and spoke boldly. “My band is called ‘Ass To Mouth’. In case you’re wondering, it describes a sexual situation where two people are engaged in anal sex, which is subsequently followed by oral sex.”
James was speechless to the point of repulsion. How unhygienic. He resolved to check Pete’s sick leave records.
“One of the other bands on the tour is called Boipussy. You know how a woman’s vagina is colloquially called a pussy? Well, it’s the same thing for men who like to be anally penetrated. Their asshole is their pussy, but because they’re boys, we call it their boipussy. Or sometimes, their bussy.”
James’s face flushed beet red.
“And my previous boyfriend is in Boipussy. He plays every show with a buttplug buried in his ass. A buttplug, by the way …”
“STOP!” James raised his voice. He reached into his top drawer for a Xanax and swallowed it dry. “I really don’t wish to know about your depravities.” He flopped back into his chair so hard it nearly toppled backwards. He took a few deep breaths and rubbed his temples. He could feel a migraine beginning to build. “Peter, please listen to me very carefully. Given what you’ve just disclosed, I no longer believe you’re an appropriate fit for this firm, and I would like to ask you to consider your position.”
Pete suddenly became defiant. “You mean, you’re asking me to quit?”
“I believe so, yes.” James patted his forehead with a handkerchief.
“But you only just finished telling me how awesome I was.”
James found it hard to explain. “When it comes to the law, you are. But I had no idea what you get up to in your spare time.”
“Why are my spare time activities any of the firm’s fucking business?”
James recoiled at Pete’s language. “Well, Peter … because … firms in our line of work have reputations to uphold, and I am concerned that if word gets out that we have an intern who’s in a rock and roll band with a name as unsavoury as yours, we might lose market share. Please, for the good of the firm’s reputation, I must ask you to resign your internship.”
The lawyer inside Pete kicked into overdrive. He leaned forward in his chair. “If I do, it’ll cost you, and you know it.”
James was shocked. “What are you insinuating?” he whispered.
“First of all,” said Pete, “I won’t be resigning without adequate compensation. Otherwise, you’ll have to fire me. And if you do, I’ll sue.”
“On what grounds?” The Xanax wasn’t kicking in.
“Unlawful termination. You’ve just blown a summer wildfire’s worth of smoke up my ass telling me how much potential I have, but you resent me having a life outside of work. It isn’t any of your goddamn fucking business what I do outside this building, just so long as I work hard while I’m here and I study hard at law school. And that’s *exactly* what I’ve been doing. You can’t fire me for under-performance, and you can’t fire me for shitty grades, so all you’ve got is ‘we fired him because he’s in a band, and some fuckwit in HR didn’t like the name of it’. See how far that takes you in court, James.”
Pete took a deep breath before continuing. “You mentioned that law firms trade on reputation. Well, just take a look at how revered this firm is after McCray. I fucking slugged my guts out on that file, knowing the firm’s reputation would be enhanced beyond belief, but I only got paid in kudos. So you can shove your belated congratulations up your well-remunerated watertight ass.”
James went on the counter-offensive. “You don’t have any evidence for anything I’ve said. It’s your word against mine, and you’re just a lowly intern. Who in the world is going to believe you?”
Pete’s response was cool as ice. “Anyone who listens to the tape in my pocket will believe me.”
The remaining colour drained out of James’s already pale face. “That’s entrapment.”
Pete shook his head in pity. “I’ve studied the law, James, and you haven’t. I think you’ll find it isn’t. There’s no reasonable expectation of privacy here. I mean, look around you. This is a fucking office.”
James said nothing in response.
Pete began his final summing-up. “Think back to the start of the day, James, and consider how badly you’ve screwed this up. No court in the land is going to think my offer to work for free to make up for a small amount of lost time is unreasonable. And like I said, if you want me to leave quietly, I will, but it’s gonna cost you. But first, spare a thought for *my* tattered reputation. Think about *my* record of hard work and excellent grades. Everyone says ‘suck it up during your internship, because the financial rewards will come later’. Well, where are *my* future financial rewards?”
“Fifty thousand,” said James. Sweat was pouring down his forehead. He knew how badly he’d fucked up.
Pete laughed in his face. “Double it.”
“OK,” spluttered James.
“Now double it again. If you care about this firm’s reputation, I assume you won’t want this conversation to be dragged through the courts or smeared across the news. I’m serious, James. You know you have no legal reason to fire me, but if you want me to quit, there’s a price tag.”
“Peter, I … you must understand that I can’t. Not without authorisation from the board.”
Pete smiled sweetly. “Sure you can, James. I’m not especially hungry for money. Your $20,000 ultimatum to quit my band was an insult, but now you’re asking me to give up on everything I’ve ever worked for, merely minutes after begging me ‘don’t throw it away’.”
James’s breathing was uncomfortably shallow. His migraine had exploded into a fireball right behind his eyes.
“Make it 500K,” Pete stated. “An even half-mil. And I’ll leave without a word.”
“Non-disclosure agreement?” pleaded James.
Pete shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, why not. Draw one up, and I’ll sign it as soon as you compensate me for quitting my internship and destroying my legal career. But just so you’re aware, I didn’t come to work today expecting to have this conversation. All I wanted was a couple of weeks off work so I could go on the road with my band. I didn’t know my leave balance was in danger of being overdrawn, and I had no idea my simple request would threaten my career. Like you’ve acknowledged, I’ve worked hard, and there are no black marks against my name. And like you said, I have serious potential — actually, no, let’s turn that into past-tense, I *had* potential. And that’s what you’re gonna have to pay me for. Half a million ought to at least partially compensate me for the lifetime I’m gonna spend behind a bar pouring drinks when I could’ve been a high-dollar lawyer.”
James’s hands were trembling. “Like I said, Peter, I’ll need to take it to the board.”
“You do that,” said Pete, “but I’m not bound to secrecy until you do”. He stood up and left James’s office, catching the elevator three floors lower. He logged off and packed up, leaving his papers and files exactly as they were when James called. Without a word and without any goodbyes, he collected his belongings and left the building.
Waves of relief flooded over him as he walked out into the street. He yanked the tie from around his neck and threw it into a trashcan. It was a hot day, so his coat was next: he gave it to a homeless man for extra warmth on a chilly night.
He texted Carlos: hey I need 2 talk 2 u 2nite
Carlos: cool I’m back behind the bar at eternal 2nite but I’ll have a break around 8
Pete: call u then
Pete was about to put his phone back into his pocket when it rang. James was on the line, asking Pete to come back to the office to sign his termination form, plus one other document that he didn’t want to mention on the phone.
Pete returned to his office for the final time. The second document was a non-disclosure agreement. Pinned to the top left-hand corner was a check for half a million dollars.
He signed the documents and pocketed the check. He’d deposit it tomorrow.
He kept the tape, just in case.