Heavy Bass

This book is dedicated to the memory of Kenneth Dalton. The throb of the bass line made the back of my skull tingle, as I laid back in the plush leather lounger. It was wild out there, a blur of pheromones directed our way, a heavy hum of sound as our disciples sang along, rippling back over the stage. A tidal wave of noise. The scent of sickly sweet perfume mixed with a dozen kinds of liquor and sweat all mingled together, and it smelt like home. This was our kingdom. I found a delectable set of lips in the first row, and a rack that had me salivating like a starved dog. I hadn't had a decent f**k in days and my c**k throbbed beneath tight black leather trousers. We finished the set to a rousing swell of applause and when we stepped forwards for the obligatory bow, the audience roared in appreciation. d**k iron hard and adrenaline dragging me under with her sweet, frantic lull, I headed towards the stage doors. And I knew that that hot rack would be waiting for me. Call it Exalted Rock star intuition. Long tousled blonde hair, thick smokey black eyelashes and the flimsiest latex dress I'd ever seen, it all spelt out one thing. She was hungry, ravenous, she'd been watching me all night, one hand snaking up her thigh as she rocked her hips to my rapturous solo. Maybe she came as our eyes locked, her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were icy blue, like twin orbs of swirling topaz. And now here we were, in my expansive dressing room, her hands now unzipping my leather trousers. She was fast. I saw the telling signs of her own arousal, hard, pebbled n*****s straining at her tiny little black dress. Almost hard enough to slice through that latex to reveal hard fake t**s and darkened aureolas. Her lips were swollen red, pupils dilated till her eyes no longer held any shade of blue. I loved red lips. Red lips were my weakness. Give me a girl with a red stained pout and it reminded me of only one thing. Fuck. f**k me. She was talented. Just the right amount of tongue amorously paired with a little suction. If there was a perfect balance then s**t, the woman had it. Her hair brushed my stomach, touching the little hairs around my navel and I watched the length of me, disappearing into her pretty little head. This was why men got married, this had to be it. Luckily for me, I had a woman like her on tap whenever I wanted it. A never ending stream of lips and p***y. Life was good. Life was f*****g epic. She ran her tongue down every vein, fingertips dancing across my balls eliciting that familiar fire, that tightening provoked by her experienced hand. Her eyes were ablaze, lust ignited in a fire of cool ice, as she looked up at me through lashes fanning her cheeks. 'Jeff! Kid are you in there?' Paddy. f*****g Paddy. Always the one to rain on my parade. Not the first time. And definitely not the last. Party pooper. The blonde looked up, grasping my d**k in her hand as her eyes searched mine. I looked down at her hand, nails also painted scarlet red, grieving the loss of her luscious pout around my c**k. 'Should I go?' I ran my hand over my face, still slick with sweat from the show. 'Paddy go bug someone else....' The door burst open, and our manager Patrick O'Donahue stood there legs hip width apart, eyebrows raised as if to tell the girl to disappear. It wasn't the first time he'd caught a girl getting her knees dirty. We all did well when it came to the ladies, but let's just say that I clocked up more one night stands than the others combined. Blondie straightened her skin tight dress and scrambled from the room. I watched her pert little arse disappear and I groaned, rolling my eyes at Paddy. 'Jeff, I told you, there's a guy coming by to speak to you guys. And this could be big.' He strode in casually, because let's face it, this was a common occurrence. 'We're as big as it f*****g gets Paddy.' I jeered, leaping down from the lounger, my c**k still hanging out of my pants. It kind of added to the moment. I noted the pinkness of the skin where her lips had been. Bloody kill joy. 'One of these days Paddy, you'll chill out and leave me to a little R and R.' I winked at him. No way was I zipping up these pants till this monstrous erection calmed the f**k down. 'Sometimes I think you think the world revolves around you.' He pinched the bridge of his nose, feigning a headache that I seemed to effortlessly induce in him. He'd been with us since the early days, back when I was seventeen years old and he walked into that East London pub and set us on the road to stardom. And then mega stardom. 'I know this isn't the real world.' I gestured around the room, at the bottles of Cristal champagne stacked on my dressing table. 'But it's our world right now, and it has been for sixteen awesome years. I'm just enjoying the fruits of our labour.' Paddy sighed. 'Look, Jeff, put your d**k away and come out into the hallway. There's something you need to hear.' ............ The other guys were assembled out there, and I could tell from their faces that something was up. Neil Cross had been with us since Sonny James left the band some fourteen years ago, a drummer up there with Dave Lombardo and Danny Carey. He slapped my back as I joined them, and we all followed Paddy down the corridor. 'I can't believe that the record company would do this to us, when we're still selling seats.' Neil muttered, shaking his head, and Johnny piped up. He was our long standing guitarist, and a crazy bastard, the king of practical jokes. 'But we're not. That's the thing. We've got our hard core fans and we've just been going with it, we haven't put out any new material in five years.' Johnny regarded us with a shrug. He'd been gunning for a new set list for years, he was a pain in the arse sometimes. 'The fans don't want new material.' Piped up Xavier, rhythm guitarist and master philosopher. 'They want us. That's it. They want to breathe the same air as us. They want to immerse ourselves in the Initiative Experience. Nobody does what we do anymore.' 'Thats the point Xav.' Johnny explained, 'Everybody else has moved on. Unless we move with them we're washed up has beens.' 'Hold on one second.' I stopped walking. Up ahead, so did Paddy. 'What's going on?' I was missing something. Something had happened, and not while I was away getting sucked off by a buxom blonde. Our manager clasped his hands together, and I got the gist that the others knew more than I did. And that pissed me off. 'The VP from Gellar Records is upstairs in the conference room waiting for us to sit down with him and figure out where we go from here.' ................