Dave2112
Level of Cherry Feather
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(This is a long story. In fact, I think it is the longest that may have ever been posted on the forum. However, Jo and I hope you take the time to fall into this as we have. From the time we started to the time we finished we have been through quite a lot. Intense discoveries and unexplored directions. The story of these characters cannot be told in a few paragraphs, and they have become very dear to us. They are....very close to us. I cannot thank Joana enough for working with me in so many ways, opening me to a collaboration beyond just the literary. - Dave)
(I was actually pretty sad when I got to Jade's final sentence. It's truly something special to me. A lot of heart and soul went into writing this. Thank you again to Dave for showing much patience in my journey through this and for the much editing I have caused you. To all of you who take the time out to read this; Thank you and always remember: There is always something buried deep..find it..exploit it..own it. - Joana)
Love Does Not Play Nice....Part One
Funny thing about stage fright. If half the people who think they have it actually grew a set and got onto one, they’d realize it’s all bullshit. Yeah, I’m sure there are those who honestly can’t handle being in front of a crowd for whatever deep-seated reason they might have….Mommy didn’t love me enough, I’m only an attention ***** online….whatever. But, most people just think they’d be overwhelmed because of the images they put into their own minds. The crush of a throng of bodies, the paranoia of a thousand eyes all focused on you. So, for people unable to bring themselves to step onto a stage, put themselves out there and do what they do best, I always let them in on a little secret.
You can only see the first two or three fucking rows, anyway. Well, at least when the lights are up, the fog’s curling around your feet, the smoke from a hundred cigarettes (and who knows how many joints) floats up and hangs like a cloud of pure vice….and 10,000 watts of almost painful sound is flying past your ears, threatening to take your head with it and out into the street.
It’s the polar opposite of stage fright for me as I play to those first few rows. The stage is my home, my den. It’s where I can be what I am in my innermost core, the primal things that the world can’t touch, the parts that the sheer force of the music rips from your flesh, leaving the bare bones of animal energy. The guitar in my hands is like a weapon, and I’m bashing it over and over against the skulls of those who dared come close to my den…the rest of my pack behind me, snarling, waiting for an opportunity to maul what’s left.
I see the faces in those first few rows. Female, mostly. They usually are. The power, the passion and the musical rage all draw them in. They circle, converge, pounding their fists in the air, leaning over the edge of the stage. If I’m a representation of something iconic, a living role being played out live….then so are they. My leather and denim is mirrored by their silicon and lipstick. All made-up, all trying to show the most colorful patterns and plumage. I give back, showing them the interest they crave….
...and it’s almost too easy. I sneer at a stray thought. If any of these girls who just wants to fuck one of the boys in the band had any real idea what she’d be getting herself into with me….she’d bolt out the back door and run along home, crying to Mommy about how the Big Bad Man Scared Her.
I don’t play nice.
Maybe it’s the kind of music that gets my blood boiling, maybe it’s the years of existing as some sort of living stereotype…or maybe it’s the fact that I was tying up my sister’s Barbies when I was a kid. There’s just certain things I like to do that either make chicks go screaming out into the night, or turn them into purring kittens willing to do whatever you want them to. There’s no middle ground. And that’s the problem with the Chicks in the First Few Rows. They’re all the same. Predictable. No challenge. Nothing to counterbalance the feral energy, creating a feedback loop like the one I’m coaxing out of my guitar, making their little panties wet while I strike a pose I’d taken a thousand times before….back arched, guitar held high, head back….feeling the end of the song in my blood and snapping back forward to throw sweat onto the stage, to drop the guitar across my crotch, to stand back exhausted but empowered with my shoulders back, to gaze triumphantly over the mass of bodies….
….to see her.
There’s this small window of time between songs when the concept of the First Few Rows doesn’t apply. The lights balance out, the crowd spaces itself evenly and you can see farther. Not well, but enough to make out the shapes of people, and even a few faces. Hers isn’t a shadow, but a beacon. In a moment that freezes itself in time, I see her walk in the back door and along the bar, taking a seat and looking at the stage. Well, half-looking, maybe…I can’t tell. It happens so quickly. The sounds around me fade away a bit. Why did I notice this one out of everyone here? Maybe I was looking in the right place at the right time…or maybe it was because she didn’t look like the others. She wasn’t flashy, she didn’t look like a French *****. Subtle in her beauty, or at least what I could capture of it in a brief moment. I was suddenly taken over by a desire to explore that shadowed beauty more closely…wondering….drawn in….
“Hey!” my bassist pokes me in the back, leaning in to draw close to my ear, “Dude! Come on! What the fuck?”
What? How long had I been standing there? I don’t do this shit. I shake it off, sinking back quickly into my role of Rock God. I approach the mic and get ready for the next song, but…no. I don’t want to do that one. There’s another, usually later in the set, but I feel the need to play it now. There’s a raw twitch in the pit of my stomach, something I can’t ignore, a feeling that needs a soundtrack. I step away, speak quickly to my bandmates and inform them of the change. My drummer rolls his eyes, but doesn’t care. As long as he gets to beat the shit out of his kit, he’s happy.
“You guys sound like you want some more!” I shout into the mic, a subtle sneer settling onto my lips as the unavoidable roar issues forth from the collective sea of estrogen and alcohol. I look down and it’s all lipstick and breasts and multi-colored hair. But while my banter is directed at them, my eyes peer through, trying to find her. Somehow, the vague outline of her form, now working her way forward, comes into view. An exotic surge grabs me by the balls as I see her push some trollop out of her way. My kinda fuckin’ girl. I think she gives me a look…hard to tell. What is that look? I can’t get a fix on it from here, and certainly not in this godamn state my mind has chosen to settle into.
I throw it aside. This is MY time, MY arena. I own this. I lean into the mic, dropping my voice into a snarl, a liquid growl…for her? No. Maybe. Fuck it.
“Anyone here ready to….hunt?” I raise my voice at the last word, soaking in the response of screams and letting it build, cutting it off at its highest point, “Metallica, bitches!”
I throw myself off the mic, launching into the opening riff of the song, the familiar pose taken, the lights flashing on, focusing on me….panning out, joined by others as the rest of the band kicks in….it flows over me, I become part of the music. The drums slam in time to the flashing lights and I can feel them reverberate in my chest cavity, pumping my heart for me. The intro to the song in full swing, the raw power flowing out over the stage, circling the figures at the edge, drawing them in, drawing me to them as I approach the mic to belt out the lyrics.
And it’s almost as if someone else is singing them. I’m not playing the song as much as feeling it, encapsulating it….as hard as I try, my eyes cannot keep from scanning the press of bodies, searching for her…the words come out of my mouth, but my mind is elsewhere…they only echo in my head as I finally catch a glimpse of her in the crowd, standing there, straigtening herself? No….yes….and then…the words take on meaning, and now I am belting them out for her, unexpectedly, but somehow…naturally.
…out of the new day’s mist, I run…..
She weaves into the crowd, lost for a moment.
…out of the new day’s mist I come…
She reappears in the midst of the throng of bodies.
…I hunt, therefore I am….
For the space of one instant, a click of time itself, our eyes meet on the last line then lose their connection. I throw myself into the song, my decision blasting its way into my brain. Play for her. Just do it. Don’t ask questions…follow your instincts….
I approach the edge of the stage for the solo…ignoring the hands grabbing at my boots, pulling them away when I feel too tight a grip. Get the FUCK off me. I see her wander back into my line of sight, more illuminated, clearer, she’s fought her way up front and I focus a quick look at her…her blond hair smooth and straight, her eyes…blue? Yes…blue. Why do I notice that? Her body slim, tight…tensed. Why? Her face drawing me in, tunneling my vision. I want her, and I don’t even know why. It’s not a decision, it’s an instinct.
I drop to my knees and my fingers thread over the frets, picking out individual notes in a lightning fast repetition, the guitar between my legs phallic, empowering. Primal. I can feel it….playing the notes, sending them like bullets from a gun, aiming at her. She’s angered me. Why? She threw me, and I don’t like to be thrown. Not in my den, not on my stage. But, is it anger…or just lust? I don’t care…either one works for me…both base emotions, instant reactions. I swallow them. The notes mix with the thoughts, a million a second, swirling around my head, and I let go, allowing it to wash over me. Closing my eyes, the greens, reds and blues of the lights filtering through my lids, burrowing into my brain…..notes, beats…drum and heart…vibrations, screams….
And it ends. The song fades away, echoing off the walls, absorbed on the return by the bodies. I stand there, panting, drained. But fired up, filled….by….something. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I scan the crowd…and she’s disappeared into it.
I fucking hate gigs like this, man. Too many broads and over-boozed men bouncin' around in attire that should be outlawed for their type. You know the type…the I'm-trying-too-hard-to-look-young kind? Women in tops cut way too low, exposing obvious 'enhancements' as they like to call them, and the men? Ugh. It's either one or the other…over-muscled or weaklings.
Propping a smoke between my lips, I glare steadily at a roid-head checking me out...muscles don't do that for me, chief...move along. Exhaling a plume of blue tinged smoke I turn my attention to the stage.
Now, it’s easy to wonder if I hate it so much, then why the hell am I here? Easy, really. My friends ragged on me that there was a band playing tonight that could actually hold their own well, and every once in awhile slammed out a couple of "pretty on target 'tallica." And…well, I don't know why else...I was just drawn to be here for some reason. I try not to focus on the latter.
So here I am brushing elbows with other metal heads and broads desperate to get into the pants of the lead man. Closing my eyes momentarily I let the music roll through my body. My friends were right…they COULD play…and that guy...the one up front making love to the crowd...he’s...well...what the fuck is he?
Snapping my eyes open, I squint through the hazy smoke billowing through the sea of bodies and decide to go in for a closer look. Slowly I circle around the outer edge of the crowd. I get hung up momentarily as some drunk, overly made-up bimbo slams into my shoulder. I don't much like to be touched by strangers. Spinning on my heel enough to push into her, glaring hard into her eyes and hissing through clenched teeth I growl, "Watch where you’re fucking stumbling, we're not all shitfaced like you."
She sizes me up, her actions as sloppy as her makeup. Instilling confidence that I could take her if she really wanted to roll. And I'm always up for a fight. She must have gained some common sense because she simply (kind of) walks away mumbling.
Good. As much as I would enjoy wiping her makeup off with my fists, I need to get closer...I still haven't figured out why yet. Perhaps it’s the fact that the music is actually really decent, or maybe it’s because the lead carries himself in a too self-assured manner and I need to sniff out any flaws.
I don't know. But I stop dead in my tracks as they begin pumping out Of Wolf and Man. Frozen in place I absorb every lyric, every note. This is my song. Raw…powerful.
...I hunt…therefore I am...
Locking my eyes on the frontman, boring my gaze into his skin. My lips curl into a sneer. My body tense...ready. This song changes me. Brings out my best side...although many would argue it's my worst. Ehh, fuck 'em. I don't care.
...Shape shift...Nose to the wind...
Wait....is he looking at me? He IS! Jesus...this one’s different...I can tell...he's...a little too focused...
Fear in your eyes...It's later than you realized...
Shaking my head, I drop my gaze to my clothes. The last thing I need is THIS dick thinking I want into his pants like the other drooling chicks here. Absently brushing a hand over my black halter top and picking a piece of invisible lint off my blue jeans I stand up straighter, pulling my shoulders back.
FUCK! What the hell am I doing? Lookin' down like I'm intimidated...who the hell is he?!
I find myself elbowing through the crowd, pushing my way closer to the stage. My need to be swallowed in the shadows disappearing…this man intrigues me. I don't even know him from Adam...but…he’s giving off something, and I have a feeling I'm the only one who is perceptive enough to read him. Or maybe he just wants me to be? OK, seriously, Jade. Get a fucking grip. I coach myself, sucking down a deep breath as I finally break through the crowd settling directly center stage.
Looking over his bandmates I realize they're all way too easy to fuck with. But when I trail my eyes over the lead’s form again, it hits me. This one was a challenge. I couldn't gauge him, and when that happens for me...then something truly interesting could occur.
I personally have been through the ins and outs of many relationships. I've been burned, and I've been battered. But never knocked down. It’s made me strong...stubborn…assured. I love a challenge in all aspects of life, and I've interacted with many men who think they have 'it' and then tuck their tail between their legs and scamper off to play with some ninny who is as pathetic as they are.
His eyes are hard as he scans the audience, his voice booming through the speakers as he shoots the shit with the responsive crowd. They eat it up, but I stand...watching...silent. He absently strokes the cords of his guitar, his fingers steady...strong. I can't help but wonder what those hands would feel like on my body.
JESUS CHRIST, bitch! Relax. I curse myself, shaking my head and focusing back on his face. Strong features, firm jawline...yeah...he is different. Before I have a chance to continue my evaluation of him he drops his gaze to the front of the crowd, locking onto my eyes, a lazy grin plastered on his face as I FEEL his eyes wander my body...burning hot through my clothes. I step back slightly thrown, catching myself but refusing to break eye contact as he smirks...amused?
Little does this crowd know there’s something brewing...I don't even know what it is...but I am curious to find out more…
Raising an eyebrow at him I turn on my heel and head toward the back exit. I know they only have a couple songs left to play, and I have had my own fill of groupies.
Popping open the back door, I inhale deeply, taking in the warm breeze permeating the air. Propping against the dirty wall, sliding a cigarette out of my pack and between my lips. Sparking my lighter and inhaling deeply I lean my head back, still feeling that lead's eyes trailing up my body. Rolling my shoulders back, I take another deep drag off my smoke, my head filled with questions. Questions needing answers.
I’m going to find out. An unspoken challenge had popped up. And I LOVE challenges.
My name is Jade. And I do not play nice.
“Damien!”
Huh?
“Yo! D!” Mike, my drummer and best friend barks as he chucks a broken drumstick at my back. Turning, I glare at him, but it’s a glare of brotherhood, a shared aggression understood only within the pack. “You pullin’ a Bang-Out or what?”
Yeah, a Bang-Out. Maybe I am…well, no. Maybe. I don’t fucking know. It’s a little term we musicians use when one of us has a line on some tail and opts out of the obligatory packing up of the truck we haul all this crap around in. Hell, I’ve banged-out a hundred times, so has everyone else in the band. But for some reason, this time the term offends me. I’m not thinking of banging this chick…well, ok….a little. But that’s not the foremost thing in my mind. It’s something about her…a challenge. A chance to hunt, hone my skills. Just fucking do something that makes me feel plain and damn simple good. Something that’s not easy for a change.
Well, they don’t need to know that.
“Yeah guys,” I say as I turn to walk away, my hand in the air in mock dismissal, “I’m bangin’ out, ok? Catch you guys tomorrow.”
“Later, bro! Have fun now…” Mike teases as he goes back to lugging his drums up the ramp and for one small moment, for some little reason I can’t put my finger on, I want to punch my best friend in the face. It passes.
Fun. Something tells me this isn’t about fun. It’s far more natural than that. Something in me, something I’ve let lie more dormant than I should, draws me to this girl in a whirlwind of intrigue and my endless search for a true connection. And those connections I seek can only be forged in fire. Leather, steel, rope…whatever. Yeah, like I said, I don’t exactly play nice and not every girl can deal with that. It’s why not every girl interests me even though in my position I could have any one I wanted. I let the irony of that roll around my brain for a moment. The primal urges to hunt and take and restrain…the very same things that make me what I am and allow me to enjoy life so very much are the same things that keep me so often lonely for a real partner.
I walk down the back alleyway, the rear exit to the club, and see her standing against the wall, smoking lazily, a group of four guys hanging around her. A feeling surges through me, a wash of heat over my shoulders and I try to shake it off. What the hell is that? Jealousy?
No…I know exactly what it is. It’s that same feeling a predator gets when other, lesser hunters circle the prey he’s chosen. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. I’ve let the pickings become too easy, and that’s on me. So, I let this feeling wash over me, take it in….befriend it. This is good. It settles into a nice internal glow as I close within feet of where she’s still standing, holding her ground so casually. I like that.
“So, what are you guys gonna do,” I ask to none of them in particular, “draw straws?”
“We’re talkin’ to the lady,” the big one says, all full of that confidence assholes only muster around their friends, “havin’ a little conversation…”
“Not anymore,” I cut him off, standing between her and him, “Time to go home boys.”
Ok, two of them are drunk enough to push over where they’ll probably just ooze into the pavement, but the big one and his nasty-looking friend could be a problem. Go for the biggest one, I learned that lesson all the way back in high-school. Sad how so little has changed. I stare him down, or I should say up as he’s got at least a full head on me…but the difference doesn’t even register. He’s in my fucking way, and I don’t play nice when things are in my way.
“You lookin’ to get your ass kicked, shithead?” Big One says so predictably as his eyes dart to his friend, closing ranks like a good little monkey.
I fix my eyes on him, watching him scan for his back-up and it sickens me. You got thirty pounds on me, douchebag…challenge me alone or go the fuck home. I don’t have the time or patience for this shit and I’ve never been one to play this juvenile game of posturing anyway. I slip my hand out of my pocket, bringing with it the butterfly knife I carry, flipping it out and letting it lie comfortably in my palm, my gaze never leaving his face.
“I don’t think your little friends are sober enough to carry you home, chief,” I intone evenly, “so call it a fucking night.”
Big One backs off, his two inebriated friends already stumbling away and the other one looking around like there’s a fly buzzing around his head or something. I watch them scamper off, suck my adrenaline back down my throat and turn to face the girl…
…with her own butterfly in her palm. Her eyes piercing, ready. Relaxed, but coiled in a way I feel few others would notice.
“I didn’t need your help, man.” She says to me, confident, but not angry. A relaxed bit of bravado.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I return, arching an eyebrow and absently spinning the knife and replacing it in my pocket. I gaze at her from her feet up, quickly, not lingering. Chick like this probably gets enough of that. Her jeans tight, but not overly so, complimenting her legs, but not squeezing the shit out of them. Her black halter top just short enough, showing a little skin, but not advertising herself as easy. She looks good, real good. Naturally good. Her demeanor and the aura of confidence only adding to the overall presentation. But, there’s something underneath that….what is it? I need to find out.
“So,” she says, leaning back against the spot of wall she’s claimed and lighting another smoke to replace the one still burning where she dropped it pulling out the knife, “you always hang around back doors looking for women to rescue? They pay you extra for that?”
Sly. A little ungrateful maybe, but for some reason I didn’t expect anything else. Not from this one. I remember seeing her inside during the show, those brief moments still stringing themselves together in my head. Losing her in the crowd, trying like hell to focus on playing as she reappeared later, almost challenging me from the front row. Was it a challenge…curiosity? One thing I know it wasn’t. She stood out from the bimbos throwing themselves at me just in her confidence alone, no invite into her pants…but in that fleeting moment, perhaps an invite to follow. And now, I have to find out.
“Damien,” I offer my name, holding out my hand.
“Your parents actually give that to you or does it just make you feel mean?” she replies as she hesitates for one brief moment to extend her own hand. It’s that little hesitation that clues me in, lets me start reading her a bit. Tough, yes…but interested. Holding her ground, but not trying to push me away. It’s an unspoken mind-push, she’s sizing me up. I can sense that. But, I sense something else as well. She’s not pushing too hard. Remembering the knife, I’m certain if she really wanted to fuck with me, she would. I take her hand and give it a hard shake, the one I usually reserve for guys. Our eyes lock as she returns the squeeze. Damn, it feels nice. “I’m Jade.”
“And you poked at my name? I know a stripper named Jade.”
Her eyes widen, but just a little. Then, down to slits. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” Sweet. Cool with me. I decide not to take the bait, shrug it off. She waited around for a reason, and she can throw lines at me all she wants. This is my game, baby. I change up the topic, see how she reacts.
“Nice move in there.”
“Huh?”
“Movin’ that bimbette along like that. Yeah, they can be a pain in the fucking ass when they’re drunk.”
“Oh, that?” she replies offhandedly, maybe just a bit too much effort in the ease at which she says it, “Please. She had it coming, she was in my way.”
“You always knock down things in your way?”
“All the time, chief,” she exhales the words with her smoke, then eyes me, “So, you know those assholes?”
“No,” I fix her with a hard stare, “they were in my way.” I grin as I let that hang, seeing what she does with it.
“Really?” as she cocks her eyebrow at me, dropping her cig and crushing it beneath her thin-heeled boot. To her credit, and my amusement, she returns the gaze hard, “In the way of what, exactly? You think I’m gonna swoon now or something? Listen, if you think just because you scared off some little boys that I could handle without any help…”
“Hey!” I bark, adding just enough bite to it to make her jump a bit, then bringing it back down, “just wanted to talk to you, is that a problem?” Yeah, I can sense her, the defensiveness, the walls she so obviously carries with her. Walls that I was growing more intent on breaking down. Remember man….she waited around here for something. Time to find out what that something is. I turn away, slowly.
“Sorry,” she says, just a little too quickly. Good. “I just hate places like this and the assholes that come with it.”
“So why’d you come?” I ask her. Voice even…press her. The predatory part of me slips into gear…don’t give her room to maneuver. If she can handle it, then maybe she is different. I like different.
“Heard you guys did some passable Metallica. You do.” She says it with a smirk.
“So why’d you stay?”
There. Drop the gauntlet. Draw her in. Make her play my game. Shit, I don’t even know this chick, and I’m already probing the defenses. Just the fact that she has them excites me. I’ve had way to much easy lately. Jade, my dear, show me what you got.
She steps up and closes in, setting herself up straight. Nice.
“I wanted to let you know your solo was off.”
“Really?” I reply, stepping forward just a few inches, letting her feel the press, the realization of what was happening just starting to awaken my instincts. As much as I want to let my eyes drop down over her body, her scent damn near demanding that I do, I can’t let go of her stare. I won’t. Not me, bitch. “And how did you know I’d even come over so you could enlighten me?”
“I was hopi--I knew you would. You guys are fairly predictable.”
You think I didn’t catch that, sweetie? Yeah, you can harden your face all you want, doing your best to cover it up, but you don’t get away with slips like that. I mentally chalk up the point. God, this feels good. The whole conversation starts to take on a flow of its own, the raw emotions building, knowing I have her attention, but it’s not enough for me. I want to have her. And in that moment, I make up my mind to get what I want tonight, that she’s a girl who can draw that out of me. I don’t yet know how, but getting there is the real challenge. The end result….well….we’ll just have to see what else she throws in my way.
Our stare-down in full swing, the words flowing from somewhere outside that interminable eye-lock, I relax my gaze, see if I can shake her, throw her off. Bring her slowly into my pace. She’s a tough one, and it won’t be easy. But I can do this. I have to. There’s no question about that now. My voice eases, but my eyes never leave hers. If anyone’s dropping this lock, it is not going to be me.
“Wanna hear a really good version of that solo, then you can see how wrong you are?”
“I’m not wrong about Metallica, dude….trust me. I obviously know more than you do.”
“Ok, if you say so. I got ‘em live in Houston, bootleg. Wanna give it a listen and feel stupid?”
I see her eyes widen just a bit. I’ve hit a nerve. I can almost smell it. She’s not gonna easily just come off with me, not Jade. Gotta open a door here. Let her think it’s her decision. Hell, maybe it will be. Maybe it is. What the fuck, man? Don’t let her get to you. Focus.
For one fleeting second, I catch her eyes dropping ever so slightly…looking me over? Thinking? I don’t know. I can’t sense everything with this girl, and even that gets me going. But she flinched. Opened up just a little. Yeah, there’s interest. She thinks she’s gonna scare me off, she’s got another thing coming. But, lying beneath my confidence is a healthy flow of respect for her. She carries herself strongly, pushes back. I like that. This doesn’t mean I can’t feel the attraction rolling off of her…as it’s probably rolling off of me. I do my best to contain it. Maybe not enough, though. It’s in the fucking air, hanging around us like a ring of smoke.
“….it’s back at your place, right?” I hear the end of her sentence. DAMMIT! I lost myself for a moment. She’s sucking me in. Knock it off. Ok, point for her, and I’m sure she’s already chalked it up, the look on her face amused. Yeah, you earned that one, baby. “Hey, you even listening to me, or you too tired from playin’ rock star?”
Ooohhh…keep talkin’, sweetie.
“Yeah, I heard ya,” doing my best to recover, angry with myself but not letting her see one fucking ounce of it, “So, you wanna hear it or not?”
I turn on my heel, and start to casually walk away. I flash her the most subtle grin I can muster, letting my head trail in the turn, holding her face for just that extra moment. Time to really tell what the fuck is going on here. Is she all talk, like so many others (although I find myself praying she’s not), or can she back it up? I take a big chance and decide not to look back. This is in her court now. If I get to the car and she stays behind, well, at least I had a bit of an interesting conversation. I have to know. I have to know if she’s up for this. My need to coax her along, this overpowering need to hunt and take and all of the primal things that are swirling around in my gut, threatening to blow it open….all have to be tempered with control. She ain’t pulling me in here. It’s the other way around or it’s just not gonna happen.
The several steps I take seem interminable, drawn out through time. Come on, baby, don’t let me down. Don’t be all fluster and bravado. Show me that what I sensed wasn’t wrong…
“Hey!” she shouts behind me, the click of her heels the most welcome sound I’ve heard all night. Not fast, of course, not Jade. But the sound excites me, and the second I hear it, my heart surges, the game on in full. She’s taken the bait, and the trap is set. However, one little voice surfaces among the swirling raw emotions. A tiny bit of realization that, even with the best hunters, the prey can be more than the trap can handle. And if anyone fits this analogy, it’s gonna be Jade. And I can’t wait to find out.
She catches up to me as my hand hits the car door handle. She places hers on mine…it’s a hard grasp, and the touch is electric, forcing its way up my arm like little tendrils of arcing current. It’s a challenge. And I like a challenge.
“Nice ride,” she says with a confident wink and a sideways grin, “let me drive it.”
"Are you gonna drive it like you mean it, or are we on a Sunday stroll?"
He has no idea. None.
Just like in the alley. Cocky and confident. I dug that, it intrigued me. But this was my game. He was kinda cute though back there...I'm a little thrown by his attitude, though. He carries himself like I do. But with a bit more...Oomph.
"Hey..HEY! Watch it, girl!" His words snapping me back to the present.
Oops. Almost took out a stop sign. I really need to focus.
Pressing my foot firmly on the accelerator and placing my other foot up on the seat I begin shaking another cigarette out of my pack.
"This is a nice ride, man." And it really is. Sleek, well maintained. Jet black '86 Camaro. Drove like a dream, with enough ass to really go. Nothing like those souped-up rice burners. No, this car was as confident in its natural mechanisms as its owner. “I guess I can give you that. What with paying all those strippers I figured you'd have some shit box layin' around." I couldn't stop that one. He needs to know I'm on his level now, perhaps a few steps ahead…I...I don't know.
I shoot him a side glance to gauge his reaction. I had to see if I impacted. His eyes bore directly into mine, it’s so piercing I almost choke on my hit.
"No, hon. I prefer the back alley girls, trying to cover up the real reason why they’re hangin’ around after a show."
Har. Har. Har. Very funny.
Okay...maybe he was kinda right...he interested me! Give a girl a break! But I’m still having trouble gauging him. I fucking hate when that happens, and it rarely does. I'm usually far more keyed to the signals your everyday douchebag gives off.
But not this one, man. Nosiree. He’s just...different. I mean, yeah...I could’ve handled those losers in the alley, but when I saw him coming forward I couldn't help but feel a bit of relief. Was it because of HIM or the fact that I wasn't alone with Bozo and Co?
Damn. He looks good too. I let my eyes drift slightly from the road, checking him out from the corner of my eye. He’s kicked back, clad in baggy blue jeans and a black button up. Untucked, of course. A cigarette of his own held casually in reverse between his thumb and pointer finger.
He catches me looking and grins at me, asking quite bluntly, "What? Is my fly down?"
"Pfftt...I was just examining my surroundings..." I quickly bring my eyes back to the road. Screw him. I wasn't looking...much. Okay, maybe I was. OK, what the hell is wrong with me?! This guy isn't anything important…a very good guitar player, cute, assured...confident...okay...
"Turn a left here, the house on the right." Flicking the stub of his cigarette out the window, he cracks his knuckles absently.
Right. I need to center. Badly. We're just going to check out some music, Jade. MUSIC. Nothing more…although...STOP IT!
Parking the car I finally let my mind focus on where we are. And we’re in the middle of nowhere. I mean...nowhere. A wooded area the only backdrop to the tri-level split in the foreground. Decent sized house. Lots of land...but no neighbors.
"Do ya need a map to the front door?" He’s waiting on the front stoop, his arms crossed over his chest, a cocky grin plastered on his face...strong features...bedroom eyes...nicely built body…
"No! I was just curious as to how many bodies you have packed around here. It's a bit…out a ways isn't it?" I’m not nervous...I’m just trying to figure him out, yeah...that sounds right.
"Okay, Jade. Steady up, girl." I mutter to myself, under my breath, nearly falling backward as I pass him through the entryway, his scent filling my nostrils. It’s calling me, testing me. I can taste it.
"No bodies. I just like my privacy. Y'know...when I'm not playin' Rock God for you and your friends."
Grinning, he shuts the door, walking a few paces to the living room and tossing his jacket on the lazy-boy.
"Yeah…yeah...that's you...Rock God...My HERO." I’m still a little twisted from his smell, burning fresh in the back of my brain. But damned if I’m going to let him know this. I need to get away for a second.
"You got a bathroom, or am I expected to go out back and dig a hole?" Turning to face him, placing my hands on my hips. I want him to see that I’m confident. And maybe convince my heart to stop doing back flips into my throat too.
"Down the hall, second door on the right. You thirsty?" He stands in the kitchen, eyes locked onto mine. He’s asking if I want to drink, but the way his voice sounds it feels as if he’s insinuating something else. Something...well, draw your own conclusions.
"N-No." Crap. My voice cracked...I hope he didn't catch that.
I glare at him, trying to shake off this vise that’s creeping into my body. I really need to get to that bathroom. "No. I'm straight....thanks though." Shrugging, he goes into the fridge and cracks a beer, I watch him drink...he even looks good chugging a beer.
Shit.
"Don't you have to pee, or fix your makeup or...whatever girly things it is that you do?"
Oh shit. Yeah. Bathroom...right. Where was it again?
Oh…first door on the right...that's it.
I pad down the hallway, looking at the actual interior; It’s not bad...no sign of female life, but not a disaster area like some bachelor pads I have seen before. Blech. No, this guy is actually fairly decent. No fancy decorations or pictures of naked chicks plastered on the walls...it’s an almost…intimidating subtle. I can only imagine with this character though, what the walls would say if they could talk.
Yes, I am still having trouble pegging him.
I push the first door open and pause about...90 seconds too long. It’s his bedroom. The domain, the lair, the whatever the hell single men refer to it as nowadays. It’s sure as hell NOT the bathroom. But, hey, I'm here...might as well look around, right?
Right.
I cock my head backwards, checking to see if he’s still standing there, he’s not. Cool. I hear some type of banging around coming from the living room, probably searching for that CD.
Okay...I'll just peek for a second. Then go fix myself up. Yes, I am a hardass...but I do want to look nice..
Sliding into the room, keeping the door open. The last thing I need is him thinking I'm purposely snooping. I can just say it was an accident, and I was curious to see what a ROCK GOD’S room looked like. Ha. I like that.
Wow. Nice...
A king size bed takes up a bit of the room, black comforters and pillowcases, black candles, red candles...purple?
It’s dark, but a few beams of light from his outdoor floods shine through the blinds, illuminating the room just enough so I can see. Wandering towards the well-stocked book shelf I trip on something, cursing as I slam into the dresser trying to avoid landing on my ass. That would've looked real pretty, but the impact of my back hitting the dresser made a loud enough noise that I know he would be in the room any second. I still need to see what I fucking tripped over.
Natural curiosity and all.
Stooping over, I pick the item up. It feels almost like a belt...a really short one...what the hell is a ball doing...ohhh..
It’s a ball gag.
Straightening back up again, absently running my hand over the slight cut in my back the dresser caused I begin examining this...thing. I've never seen one of these in real time. Sure, your everyday bondage mags and forums that touch base on it. I’m a part of those forums...but not for the strict bondage aspect...that was a debated flavor, one that I’ve always been curious to sample.
I hold the ball part of the gag in the palm of my hand, it’s a bright red ball...almost like one of those jawbreakers. It has a little bit of weight to it, but nothing too extreme. So THIS is it! That's what I was having a hard time with! He's got a fetish for bondage. I try to take solace in that quite obvious (now) realization, but I can't quite completely shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing...another puzzle piece that’s hiding.
Fixing the candles that I knocked over in my heroic feat to not make a complete ditz of myself, I twirl the gag around, kind of enjoying the leather spinning effortlessly around my thin wrist. Well, now I guess I don't feel so odd about my own base fetish. Not like he'll ever know it, anyways. But he was sloppy! He left it hanging about...now I've got to break his balls.
Screw the bathroom. This little discovery helps to calm me down...a little bit. I still can't shake that warm feeling that hits me directly in the chest whenever I think about his actions back at the alley.
Jeez…why am I letting this get to me? He's probably a closet submissive. Now that I could have FUN with..
Shutting the door behind me, I strut down the hallway, still twirling the gag. I can hear Metallica coming from the speakers in the living room.
Good tune. Plastering on a shit-eating grin, I walk into the living room..
...."Ohhh Damien,...I always knew you were the strong silent type…but isn't this a bit much for you?"
Yeah, clever. He deserves it though. He needs to know that it'll take a lot more than sarcastic remarks to even begin to break down MY walls. And if he thinks that he’s going to have the upper hand in this little exchange, then he's got another thing coming.
...Right?...YES, Right.
I heard her. Both times.
When she stuttered almost imperceptibly before….and when she did whatever it was she did in my room. I knew she was going to do that, something just tells me this isn’t the kind of girl who goes where you tell her to. Well…not off the bat, anyway.
Digging around for the CD and letting the last of the Belgian Ale slide down my throat, I think back on our drive here. Why did I let her? That’s my fuckin’ baby sitting out in the driveway. But…she followed me. That’s something. Fuck, that’s everything. Chick that self-assured ain’t coming if she’s not looking for something. But…what the hell is she looking for? I’m starting to get an idea, no, scratch that…I’ve had that idea all along, I just needed to know…but there’s something else under all of that haughty charm that’s evading me, something she’s hiding. Its aura hangs around her, but it’s colorless, transparent…harder than hell to read. And that bothers me. I can usually read most women fairly well. That ain’t ego, it’s just perception. Those little things they desire but won’t tell you. It’s a simple matter of being attuned to signals.
She drives like a maniac. Point for her. That little exchange was nice. She was checking me out, come on. Trying to be subtle, but please. I’m just hoping I was more subtle. Fuck, she looked nice driving that beast, the night wind coming in through the window billowing in her fine hair. Some really raw part of me wanted to just pull over and nail her in the front seat, but the other 99% shoves that thought aside. There was more to her. A lot more.
I hear her walking back up the hallway, the “trip to the bathroom” so painfully obvious. Which is why I always leave a little something lying around. I don’t flaunt my kinks like a new tattoo or anything, but I sure as fuck don’t hide, either. You have to think something’s wrong for you to feel shame about it.
And I don’t.
Do you know how many times a woman will go through your bedroom thinking you don’t know? Dropping some clues around actually saves me a lot of time and explanation I really don’t feel a need to go into. I like things reactive. If that reaction is running out the door screaming, so be it. At least I know I saved myself a lot of crap and that she wasn’t going to click with me anyway. On the other hand, if that reaction is a leap across the room into my arms with those tiger-eyes some chicks get when they’ve either had too much or maybe they’re just bondage sluts at heart…well, I guess it serves that same time-saving purpose, doesn’t it? It’s a test, and I like to use them. I know it’s not playing nice….but I don’t. I guess I could come up with a million explanations…but laying traps just makes me feel good. It’s part of my nature as a hunter. Sue me.
However, when Jade comes back into the room, there’s a third possible outcome that I hadn’t considered.
“Ohhh, Damien,” she purrs, “I always knew you were the strong silent type…but isn’t this a bit much for you?” She’s swinging the thing on her wrist, just itching for a reaction.
She actually thinks she has me. I can smell it all over her. The smug grin, the cocky words…she’s loving this. I’ll bet she thinks I’m some kind of closet submissive or something. Yeah, she’d love that, wouldn’t she? I turn slowly, holding the moment as I let her wonder why I haven’t freaked out yet…and allow myself a fleeting image of the gag buckled firmly behind her head. Pull it in, dog…ain’t gonna be that easy. And who likes easy anyway?
“Oh, that’s not for me,” I say loosely, holding her stare and letting the casualness of my explanation sink in, “it’s for women who like to be tied-up. I happen to dig bondage, it’s just my thing.” If she had any idea how big a thing…
She pauses. Good. I’ve thrown her. I can hear her well-crafted plan of breaking my balls crash in around her. A sound catches in her throat, like I’d stolen her next line on its way out. She stands for a second, and a look crosses her face. She hasn’t run out, and I can almost feel whatever it is that’s tugging at her.
I’ll give her credit. She composes herself extremely quick. Fast on her feet, I like that. Still twirling the ballgag on her wrist, she walks up to me, passes me by and lets it drop to the floor as she faces the stereo, hands on the glass front. Her wheels are turning a million RPM and I hear their whine. But, her inherent “cool” returns. I ease back and let her decide her next move. She’s drawing in, and I can taste it.
As she leans into the stereo case, her shirt rides up just a bit and I can see a small but fresh cut. So that was what I heard. “Jade, what did you do?” I ask as I casually bring myself up behind her.
“Huh?”
“Your back, you gotta little blood there.”
She looks over her shoulder and draws her eyes down…but doesn’t move her position. Interesting. Extending my hand, I lightly stroke her back to the side of the cut. Her skin is….well, amazing to touch. As cool as I’m projecting, my mind races through thoughts of my hands roaming every square inch of it. And I feel I’m not the only one, from the smooth intake of breath between Jade’s lips.
“You sure it’s ok, hun? I ask her.
“Yeah,” she replies, a barely noticeable rock of her hips, “It’s good….it’s…good.
Now that I noticed. I back away slowly, fighting my urge to run my fingers all the way up her back. No, there’s more yet, I can feel it. Ain’t right. All casual again, my small slip in mental control firmly planted beneath the heel of my psyche, I lazily cross my arms. Jade turns her head back to the pretty lights of the stereo, her voice changing quickly, back to that girl walking out of my bedroom with a ballgag swinging off her wrist.
“Looks pretty big, that gag” she says without looking back, “what is that, a two-inch?”
“Inch and a half, actually. You’d know a Two if it was in your mouth, hun.” Hmmm…there’s knowledge there, and the rush that hits my gut is as welcome as a long-awaited friend. She flinches almost imperceptibly at the remark, and I know she’s enjoying this…on some level I have to define.
“So, you’re a control freak,” she throws back, pretending to look over the flashy little lights. The fact that it’s a statement, not a question, intrigues me. She’s way too comfortable…and she’s probing. I know it.
“Kinda,” I reply, fighting with myself to keep this thrill-of-the-hunt down to a controlled level and throw information out there off the cuff, “more of a….reaction junkie, but yeah, I like control. Dominance.”
“Beating on women makes you feel dominant?” She’s not shy about it, that’s good. She’s testing, I can sense it in every subtle phrasing she chooses.
“I don’t hurt, doesn’t do it for me,” I even out my voice, going from nonchalant to serious in one downward turn, “it’s just a primal thing. When I’m with a woman, I’m driven to possess her completely…own her…dominate her….consume her….”
She turns, her eyes flash briefly, but again she composes quickly. Not as quickly as the last time though…interesting. It’s falling into place.
“So, I was right.”
Ok, she’s got me on that one.
“’Scuse me?” I ask, my eyes searching hers.
“The solo, chief. You fucked it up.” A smile crosses her lips. Changing the subject…or is she trying to play me?
“It’s a live version, they’re all different. A fan would know that.” I let a sideways smirk cross my face. Eyes still locked, the exchange quickening. She moves in a little, and I can swear I see her shaking just a bit. Maybe. No, I can. She wants to talk about it, I know it. She’s not scared, I know that as well, it’s the same rush I’m getting, unspoken….hanging. Back on topic, I press her. “You shouldn’t sneak around people’s bedrooms like that, a girl could get in trouble.”
Her eyes boring into mine. “Oh, please, what are you gonna do, handcuff me and bring me down to the station?”
“I don’t like cops,” I lower my pitch, “but the handcuffing might not be a bad idea.”
“I’d like to see you try.” She says it with a half-chuckle, but her gaze is dead serious. Does she know that I see it? Yes…she does. It’s an opening line if I’ve ever heard one. A throw away jab, but filled to the brim with boiling intention.
I close the remaining inches to see if she backs off. It all starts picking up speed. No backing off now. I lean in close and move to put my arm on her…she pulls back just a hair, then catches herself, steeling…and I pass my arm to her side, past her to hit the Off button on the stereo. Pulling my arm back slowly, Jade standing her ground, I let my face almost brush the side of hers and lower my voice to a hoarse whisper as my mouth crosses range of her delicate ear.
“I know you would.”
If conflict had a shine, Jade’s was blinding me. Still standing close enough to feel each other’s breath, she lets just the first sound of a word, a thought, escape her lips. Then, as if she’d made a decision so quickly that she even caught herself off guard, she replaces it with a question. And its importance is unmistakable to me as she scans my eyes, hers serious and honest.
“Were you really gonna cut that guy?” Just like that.
“Yes.” No hesitation. She expects none…and it is the truth, “I don’t like people fucking with what I want.”
She simply stares as I raise my hand up to her face, cupping her cheek with my palm. Her skin is smooth, soft…alive. Her eyes fall closed as she presses into the touch, her slender neck tipping ever so slightly. She turns her head, closing the distance between her moist lips and my hand, and I can feel it, a struggle, like she’s fighting…grasping…
…and she snaps her eyes open. Pulls off of my hand. Backing away, she keeps her eyes locked on me as if she’s trying to say something so utterly important, the visual press almost crushing.
Without a word, she turns and makes for the door. A sensation surges into my gut, and in that moment it becomes so certainly clear. I know that look, I’ve seen it before, but I can’t remember when as intensely. My mind races back, the entire night flashing by like a movie reel on rewind…back…back…
Back to the alley. My opening move in this game. Turning and walking away, seeing if she’d follow. She did…and so will I.
The familiar rush of excitement, the primal emotions, the beckoning of my soul to return to the days of freedom, fire and fucking…it swallows me. As does the realization of the truth about Jade.
As much as I need to hunt…she needs to be caught.
My strides long and purposeful, I step to the door as she’s reaching it, her hand on the knob. I stand behind her, letting the contact of my body against her back barely become tangible as my arm drops to grab hers in my grip. Her breath draws in once, sharp, but steady.
“You don’t want to go anywhere,” I say, my voice controlled but instilled with the ancient force that’s driving me as I lean in closer, “you really don’t and you know it.”
I spin her around, quickly….sharp. She leans back against the door as I press her arm down, gliding my grip down to her slim wrist. I can see the change flow over her so totally that it almost becomes its own color. Her eyes piercing, she speaks back in a tone that absolutely forges this chase into wrought iron. There may have been some wavering in her voice before but now it’s all clenched teeth and the focus of a demon.
“Yeah? What if I do? It’s not like you could stop me. I do what I want and I eat guys like you for breakfast, asshole!” She tenses her arm, pulling it upward to her chest, testing my strength. I let her do it, but maintain my grip. I pull myself in close, face-to-face, my own teeth showing through snarled lips.
“I hope you had a big one today, then…you’re gonna need it.”
In a move that surprises even me, she drives her free hand up, her clenched knuckles driving into my ribs, twisting her hand to grind. Instinctively jerking back, I hiss…at once angered by the flash of pain and excited by her drive to inflict it. I lose my grip on her arm. I make a note that it won’t happen again. She shoots past me and into the center of the room, hands on her hips, risen up straight and doing her best to stand strong.
“And here I was thinking you just might be a challenge,” she says with a sly grin, “I have to say I’m really disappointed, little boy.”
Fire itself shooting through me, I realize that there isn’t a man in the world who doesn’t react to that insult. She’s pushing back hard, really hard. I like this one. I like her so much that I am going to fucking take her down.
Advancing on Jade steadily, I see her eyes dart around, scanning the room. Forget it, bitch…this is MY den…and this is MY game. She sidesteps quickly, bolting for the kitchen area. Four long strides and I’m on her, grabbing a handful of silky blond hair and pulling back, almost spilling her backward. Instead, she flies right into me as I wrap my other arm around her waist, lifting her off the floor.
“Put me the FUCK down!” she yells, clutching at my arm with her hands, trying to claw me, “let me go NOW, you PRICK!”
“Is that any way for a pretty little girl to talk? IS IT?” I bark, returning her insult and dragging her backwards toward the couch. I pull steadily at her hair, and the sharp breaths she sucks in are a sweet mixture of both intensity and….desire? Oh, fuck yes. Think I can’t read you, baby? There are certain sounds a girl makes when she likes her hair pulled, and they’re flowing outta Jade strong.
Halfway to the couch, she does manage to get her nails in and she presses hard. I feel them sink in, breaking skin as I suck in the pain, letting it fuel me. “Is that all you got, bitch? Little kitty scratches?”
“Not even close, loser!” she shrieks as she slams a leg back and scrapes her boot down my shin. Growling loudly, I fall back, bringing Jade with me. The struggle becomes kinetic, flailing limbs…twisting bodies…heavy breaths.
But, while her fighting grows desperate, mine takes on a focus. A purpose. I’m done toying with her, I know what she’s got and I know I have more. Much more. I let her feel how overmatched she is in strength and it feels good. So very fucking good. She grabs at my arms and I slap them away. She pulls hers in tight and I pry them off her chest. Rolling around, I get Jade on her stomach and sit squarely on her firm ass.
“Get the fuck OFF ME! NOW, Damien! Don’t make me FUCKING hurt you, shithead!”
“I told you,” my voice evening out but showing the exertion of the battle to get her down and letting the breaths accentuate the words, “It’s not….about….hurting!” I lean down, letting her hear my words clearly in her ear as I drop my tone, “But I WILL calm you the fuck down, little girl….and then we can work on that language.”
There’s one thing that will make a winged demon turn into a squirming wreck…
…and it just happens to be a particular interest of mine. The big one. The one that I’m very good at.
I bring my hands down to her sides, a large part of her skin bare, her black shirt riding up with the ferocity of the struggle. The first touch is a song in my brain, her smooth skin warm and soft. Gripping her slender waist, I start to tickle her. The sounds that issue forth from her lips are sweet music.
“AAIIGHH!!! HAHAHAHASTOPITSTOPIT!!!!” she howls as my fingers press and roll against her sides, “I…I….I’ll KILLYOU I’LL FUCKING KILLYOU!!! NOOONOOOSTOOOOOOP!”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, and I’ll try really hard to be scared!” I growl at her as my fingers probe into her flesh, the muscles of her stomach contracting, tightening, allowing me to dig harder, glide skin over muscle in quick, steady movements. She’s howling with laughter and threats, desperately trying to throw me off as I start to lose myself in tickling her. There’s something about a woman laughing against her will that excites me, that ability to control those reactions and take the fight out of her. Of course, she’s forcing her hips up and down, but I notice something. The way she’s grinding them. Well, I’ll be damned.
Is there some part of her actually enjoying this? Well, Damien…you may just have to explore this possibility, dog.
(I was actually pretty sad when I got to Jade's final sentence. It's truly something special to me. A lot of heart and soul went into writing this. Thank you again to Dave for showing much patience in my journey through this and for the much editing I have caused you. To all of you who take the time out to read this; Thank you and always remember: There is always something buried deep..find it..exploit it..own it. - Joana)
Love Does Not Play Nice....Part One
Funny thing about stage fright. If half the people who think they have it actually grew a set and got onto one, they’d realize it’s all bullshit. Yeah, I’m sure there are those who honestly can’t handle being in front of a crowd for whatever deep-seated reason they might have….Mommy didn’t love me enough, I’m only an attention ***** online….whatever. But, most people just think they’d be overwhelmed because of the images they put into their own minds. The crush of a throng of bodies, the paranoia of a thousand eyes all focused on you. So, for people unable to bring themselves to step onto a stage, put themselves out there and do what they do best, I always let them in on a little secret.
You can only see the first two or three fucking rows, anyway. Well, at least when the lights are up, the fog’s curling around your feet, the smoke from a hundred cigarettes (and who knows how many joints) floats up and hangs like a cloud of pure vice….and 10,000 watts of almost painful sound is flying past your ears, threatening to take your head with it and out into the street.
It’s the polar opposite of stage fright for me as I play to those first few rows. The stage is my home, my den. It’s where I can be what I am in my innermost core, the primal things that the world can’t touch, the parts that the sheer force of the music rips from your flesh, leaving the bare bones of animal energy. The guitar in my hands is like a weapon, and I’m bashing it over and over against the skulls of those who dared come close to my den…the rest of my pack behind me, snarling, waiting for an opportunity to maul what’s left.
I see the faces in those first few rows. Female, mostly. They usually are. The power, the passion and the musical rage all draw them in. They circle, converge, pounding their fists in the air, leaning over the edge of the stage. If I’m a representation of something iconic, a living role being played out live….then so are they. My leather and denim is mirrored by their silicon and lipstick. All made-up, all trying to show the most colorful patterns and plumage. I give back, showing them the interest they crave….
...and it’s almost too easy. I sneer at a stray thought. If any of these girls who just wants to fuck one of the boys in the band had any real idea what she’d be getting herself into with me….she’d bolt out the back door and run along home, crying to Mommy about how the Big Bad Man Scared Her.
I don’t play nice.
Maybe it’s the kind of music that gets my blood boiling, maybe it’s the years of existing as some sort of living stereotype…or maybe it’s the fact that I was tying up my sister’s Barbies when I was a kid. There’s just certain things I like to do that either make chicks go screaming out into the night, or turn them into purring kittens willing to do whatever you want them to. There’s no middle ground. And that’s the problem with the Chicks in the First Few Rows. They’re all the same. Predictable. No challenge. Nothing to counterbalance the feral energy, creating a feedback loop like the one I’m coaxing out of my guitar, making their little panties wet while I strike a pose I’d taken a thousand times before….back arched, guitar held high, head back….feeling the end of the song in my blood and snapping back forward to throw sweat onto the stage, to drop the guitar across my crotch, to stand back exhausted but empowered with my shoulders back, to gaze triumphantly over the mass of bodies….
….to see her.
There’s this small window of time between songs when the concept of the First Few Rows doesn’t apply. The lights balance out, the crowd spaces itself evenly and you can see farther. Not well, but enough to make out the shapes of people, and even a few faces. Hers isn’t a shadow, but a beacon. In a moment that freezes itself in time, I see her walk in the back door and along the bar, taking a seat and looking at the stage. Well, half-looking, maybe…I can’t tell. It happens so quickly. The sounds around me fade away a bit. Why did I notice this one out of everyone here? Maybe I was looking in the right place at the right time…or maybe it was because she didn’t look like the others. She wasn’t flashy, she didn’t look like a French *****. Subtle in her beauty, or at least what I could capture of it in a brief moment. I was suddenly taken over by a desire to explore that shadowed beauty more closely…wondering….drawn in….
“Hey!” my bassist pokes me in the back, leaning in to draw close to my ear, “Dude! Come on! What the fuck?”
What? How long had I been standing there? I don’t do this shit. I shake it off, sinking back quickly into my role of Rock God. I approach the mic and get ready for the next song, but…no. I don’t want to do that one. There’s another, usually later in the set, but I feel the need to play it now. There’s a raw twitch in the pit of my stomach, something I can’t ignore, a feeling that needs a soundtrack. I step away, speak quickly to my bandmates and inform them of the change. My drummer rolls his eyes, but doesn’t care. As long as he gets to beat the shit out of his kit, he’s happy.
“You guys sound like you want some more!” I shout into the mic, a subtle sneer settling onto my lips as the unavoidable roar issues forth from the collective sea of estrogen and alcohol. I look down and it’s all lipstick and breasts and multi-colored hair. But while my banter is directed at them, my eyes peer through, trying to find her. Somehow, the vague outline of her form, now working her way forward, comes into view. An exotic surge grabs me by the balls as I see her push some trollop out of her way. My kinda fuckin’ girl. I think she gives me a look…hard to tell. What is that look? I can’t get a fix on it from here, and certainly not in this godamn state my mind has chosen to settle into.
I throw it aside. This is MY time, MY arena. I own this. I lean into the mic, dropping my voice into a snarl, a liquid growl…for her? No. Maybe. Fuck it.
“Anyone here ready to….hunt?” I raise my voice at the last word, soaking in the response of screams and letting it build, cutting it off at its highest point, “Metallica, bitches!”
I throw myself off the mic, launching into the opening riff of the song, the familiar pose taken, the lights flashing on, focusing on me….panning out, joined by others as the rest of the band kicks in….it flows over me, I become part of the music. The drums slam in time to the flashing lights and I can feel them reverberate in my chest cavity, pumping my heart for me. The intro to the song in full swing, the raw power flowing out over the stage, circling the figures at the edge, drawing them in, drawing me to them as I approach the mic to belt out the lyrics.
And it’s almost as if someone else is singing them. I’m not playing the song as much as feeling it, encapsulating it….as hard as I try, my eyes cannot keep from scanning the press of bodies, searching for her…the words come out of my mouth, but my mind is elsewhere…they only echo in my head as I finally catch a glimpse of her in the crowd, standing there, straigtening herself? No….yes….and then…the words take on meaning, and now I am belting them out for her, unexpectedly, but somehow…naturally.
…out of the new day’s mist, I run…..
She weaves into the crowd, lost for a moment.
…out of the new day’s mist I come…
She reappears in the midst of the throng of bodies.
…I hunt, therefore I am….
For the space of one instant, a click of time itself, our eyes meet on the last line then lose their connection. I throw myself into the song, my decision blasting its way into my brain. Play for her. Just do it. Don’t ask questions…follow your instincts….
I approach the edge of the stage for the solo…ignoring the hands grabbing at my boots, pulling them away when I feel too tight a grip. Get the FUCK off me. I see her wander back into my line of sight, more illuminated, clearer, she’s fought her way up front and I focus a quick look at her…her blond hair smooth and straight, her eyes…blue? Yes…blue. Why do I notice that? Her body slim, tight…tensed. Why? Her face drawing me in, tunneling my vision. I want her, and I don’t even know why. It’s not a decision, it’s an instinct.
I drop to my knees and my fingers thread over the frets, picking out individual notes in a lightning fast repetition, the guitar between my legs phallic, empowering. Primal. I can feel it….playing the notes, sending them like bullets from a gun, aiming at her. She’s angered me. Why? She threw me, and I don’t like to be thrown. Not in my den, not on my stage. But, is it anger…or just lust? I don’t care…either one works for me…both base emotions, instant reactions. I swallow them. The notes mix with the thoughts, a million a second, swirling around my head, and I let go, allowing it to wash over me. Closing my eyes, the greens, reds and blues of the lights filtering through my lids, burrowing into my brain…..notes, beats…drum and heart…vibrations, screams….
And it ends. The song fades away, echoing off the walls, absorbed on the return by the bodies. I stand there, panting, drained. But fired up, filled….by….something. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I scan the crowd…and she’s disappeared into it.
I fucking hate gigs like this, man. Too many broads and over-boozed men bouncin' around in attire that should be outlawed for their type. You know the type…the I'm-trying-too-hard-to-look-young kind? Women in tops cut way too low, exposing obvious 'enhancements' as they like to call them, and the men? Ugh. It's either one or the other…over-muscled or weaklings.
Propping a smoke between my lips, I glare steadily at a roid-head checking me out...muscles don't do that for me, chief...move along. Exhaling a plume of blue tinged smoke I turn my attention to the stage.
Now, it’s easy to wonder if I hate it so much, then why the hell am I here? Easy, really. My friends ragged on me that there was a band playing tonight that could actually hold their own well, and every once in awhile slammed out a couple of "pretty on target 'tallica." And…well, I don't know why else...I was just drawn to be here for some reason. I try not to focus on the latter.
So here I am brushing elbows with other metal heads and broads desperate to get into the pants of the lead man. Closing my eyes momentarily I let the music roll through my body. My friends were right…they COULD play…and that guy...the one up front making love to the crowd...he’s...well...what the fuck is he?
Snapping my eyes open, I squint through the hazy smoke billowing through the sea of bodies and decide to go in for a closer look. Slowly I circle around the outer edge of the crowd. I get hung up momentarily as some drunk, overly made-up bimbo slams into my shoulder. I don't much like to be touched by strangers. Spinning on my heel enough to push into her, glaring hard into her eyes and hissing through clenched teeth I growl, "Watch where you’re fucking stumbling, we're not all shitfaced like you."
She sizes me up, her actions as sloppy as her makeup. Instilling confidence that I could take her if she really wanted to roll. And I'm always up for a fight. She must have gained some common sense because she simply (kind of) walks away mumbling.
Good. As much as I would enjoy wiping her makeup off with my fists, I need to get closer...I still haven't figured out why yet. Perhaps it’s the fact that the music is actually really decent, or maybe it’s because the lead carries himself in a too self-assured manner and I need to sniff out any flaws.
I don't know. But I stop dead in my tracks as they begin pumping out Of Wolf and Man. Frozen in place I absorb every lyric, every note. This is my song. Raw…powerful.
...I hunt…therefore I am...
Locking my eyes on the frontman, boring my gaze into his skin. My lips curl into a sneer. My body tense...ready. This song changes me. Brings out my best side...although many would argue it's my worst. Ehh, fuck 'em. I don't care.
...Shape shift...Nose to the wind...
Wait....is he looking at me? He IS! Jesus...this one’s different...I can tell...he's...a little too focused...
Fear in your eyes...It's later than you realized...
Shaking my head, I drop my gaze to my clothes. The last thing I need is THIS dick thinking I want into his pants like the other drooling chicks here. Absently brushing a hand over my black halter top and picking a piece of invisible lint off my blue jeans I stand up straighter, pulling my shoulders back.
FUCK! What the hell am I doing? Lookin' down like I'm intimidated...who the hell is he?!
I find myself elbowing through the crowd, pushing my way closer to the stage. My need to be swallowed in the shadows disappearing…this man intrigues me. I don't even know him from Adam...but…he’s giving off something, and I have a feeling I'm the only one who is perceptive enough to read him. Or maybe he just wants me to be? OK, seriously, Jade. Get a fucking grip. I coach myself, sucking down a deep breath as I finally break through the crowd settling directly center stage.
Looking over his bandmates I realize they're all way too easy to fuck with. But when I trail my eyes over the lead’s form again, it hits me. This one was a challenge. I couldn't gauge him, and when that happens for me...then something truly interesting could occur.
I personally have been through the ins and outs of many relationships. I've been burned, and I've been battered. But never knocked down. It’s made me strong...stubborn…assured. I love a challenge in all aspects of life, and I've interacted with many men who think they have 'it' and then tuck their tail between their legs and scamper off to play with some ninny who is as pathetic as they are.
His eyes are hard as he scans the audience, his voice booming through the speakers as he shoots the shit with the responsive crowd. They eat it up, but I stand...watching...silent. He absently strokes the cords of his guitar, his fingers steady...strong. I can't help but wonder what those hands would feel like on my body.
JESUS CHRIST, bitch! Relax. I curse myself, shaking my head and focusing back on his face. Strong features, firm jawline...yeah...he is different. Before I have a chance to continue my evaluation of him he drops his gaze to the front of the crowd, locking onto my eyes, a lazy grin plastered on his face as I FEEL his eyes wander my body...burning hot through my clothes. I step back slightly thrown, catching myself but refusing to break eye contact as he smirks...amused?
Little does this crowd know there’s something brewing...I don't even know what it is...but I am curious to find out more…
Raising an eyebrow at him I turn on my heel and head toward the back exit. I know they only have a couple songs left to play, and I have had my own fill of groupies.
Popping open the back door, I inhale deeply, taking in the warm breeze permeating the air. Propping against the dirty wall, sliding a cigarette out of my pack and between my lips. Sparking my lighter and inhaling deeply I lean my head back, still feeling that lead's eyes trailing up my body. Rolling my shoulders back, I take another deep drag off my smoke, my head filled with questions. Questions needing answers.
I’m going to find out. An unspoken challenge had popped up. And I LOVE challenges.
My name is Jade. And I do not play nice.
“Damien!”
Huh?
“Yo! D!” Mike, my drummer and best friend barks as he chucks a broken drumstick at my back. Turning, I glare at him, but it’s a glare of brotherhood, a shared aggression understood only within the pack. “You pullin’ a Bang-Out or what?”
Yeah, a Bang-Out. Maybe I am…well, no. Maybe. I don’t fucking know. It’s a little term we musicians use when one of us has a line on some tail and opts out of the obligatory packing up of the truck we haul all this crap around in. Hell, I’ve banged-out a hundred times, so has everyone else in the band. But for some reason, this time the term offends me. I’m not thinking of banging this chick…well, ok….a little. But that’s not the foremost thing in my mind. It’s something about her…a challenge. A chance to hunt, hone my skills. Just fucking do something that makes me feel plain and damn simple good. Something that’s not easy for a change.
Well, they don’t need to know that.
“Yeah guys,” I say as I turn to walk away, my hand in the air in mock dismissal, “I’m bangin’ out, ok? Catch you guys tomorrow.”
“Later, bro! Have fun now…” Mike teases as he goes back to lugging his drums up the ramp and for one small moment, for some little reason I can’t put my finger on, I want to punch my best friend in the face. It passes.
Fun. Something tells me this isn’t about fun. It’s far more natural than that. Something in me, something I’ve let lie more dormant than I should, draws me to this girl in a whirlwind of intrigue and my endless search for a true connection. And those connections I seek can only be forged in fire. Leather, steel, rope…whatever. Yeah, like I said, I don’t exactly play nice and not every girl can deal with that. It’s why not every girl interests me even though in my position I could have any one I wanted. I let the irony of that roll around my brain for a moment. The primal urges to hunt and take and restrain…the very same things that make me what I am and allow me to enjoy life so very much are the same things that keep me so often lonely for a real partner.
I walk down the back alleyway, the rear exit to the club, and see her standing against the wall, smoking lazily, a group of four guys hanging around her. A feeling surges through me, a wash of heat over my shoulders and I try to shake it off. What the hell is that? Jealousy?
No…I know exactly what it is. It’s that same feeling a predator gets when other, lesser hunters circle the prey he’s chosen. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. I’ve let the pickings become too easy, and that’s on me. So, I let this feeling wash over me, take it in….befriend it. This is good. It settles into a nice internal glow as I close within feet of where she’s still standing, holding her ground so casually. I like that.
“So, what are you guys gonna do,” I ask to none of them in particular, “draw straws?”
“We’re talkin’ to the lady,” the big one says, all full of that confidence assholes only muster around their friends, “havin’ a little conversation…”
“Not anymore,” I cut him off, standing between her and him, “Time to go home boys.”
Ok, two of them are drunk enough to push over where they’ll probably just ooze into the pavement, but the big one and his nasty-looking friend could be a problem. Go for the biggest one, I learned that lesson all the way back in high-school. Sad how so little has changed. I stare him down, or I should say up as he’s got at least a full head on me…but the difference doesn’t even register. He’s in my fucking way, and I don’t play nice when things are in my way.
“You lookin’ to get your ass kicked, shithead?” Big One says so predictably as his eyes dart to his friend, closing ranks like a good little monkey.
I fix my eyes on him, watching him scan for his back-up and it sickens me. You got thirty pounds on me, douchebag…challenge me alone or go the fuck home. I don’t have the time or patience for this shit and I’ve never been one to play this juvenile game of posturing anyway. I slip my hand out of my pocket, bringing with it the butterfly knife I carry, flipping it out and letting it lie comfortably in my palm, my gaze never leaving his face.
“I don’t think your little friends are sober enough to carry you home, chief,” I intone evenly, “so call it a fucking night.”
Big One backs off, his two inebriated friends already stumbling away and the other one looking around like there’s a fly buzzing around his head or something. I watch them scamper off, suck my adrenaline back down my throat and turn to face the girl…
…with her own butterfly in her palm. Her eyes piercing, ready. Relaxed, but coiled in a way I feel few others would notice.
“I didn’t need your help, man.” She says to me, confident, but not angry. A relaxed bit of bravado.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I return, arching an eyebrow and absently spinning the knife and replacing it in my pocket. I gaze at her from her feet up, quickly, not lingering. Chick like this probably gets enough of that. Her jeans tight, but not overly so, complimenting her legs, but not squeezing the shit out of them. Her black halter top just short enough, showing a little skin, but not advertising herself as easy. She looks good, real good. Naturally good. Her demeanor and the aura of confidence only adding to the overall presentation. But, there’s something underneath that….what is it? I need to find out.
“So,” she says, leaning back against the spot of wall she’s claimed and lighting another smoke to replace the one still burning where she dropped it pulling out the knife, “you always hang around back doors looking for women to rescue? They pay you extra for that?”
Sly. A little ungrateful maybe, but for some reason I didn’t expect anything else. Not from this one. I remember seeing her inside during the show, those brief moments still stringing themselves together in my head. Losing her in the crowd, trying like hell to focus on playing as she reappeared later, almost challenging me from the front row. Was it a challenge…curiosity? One thing I know it wasn’t. She stood out from the bimbos throwing themselves at me just in her confidence alone, no invite into her pants…but in that fleeting moment, perhaps an invite to follow. And now, I have to find out.
“Damien,” I offer my name, holding out my hand.
“Your parents actually give that to you or does it just make you feel mean?” she replies as she hesitates for one brief moment to extend her own hand. It’s that little hesitation that clues me in, lets me start reading her a bit. Tough, yes…but interested. Holding her ground, but not trying to push me away. It’s an unspoken mind-push, she’s sizing me up. I can sense that. But, I sense something else as well. She’s not pushing too hard. Remembering the knife, I’m certain if she really wanted to fuck with me, she would. I take her hand and give it a hard shake, the one I usually reserve for guys. Our eyes lock as she returns the squeeze. Damn, it feels nice. “I’m Jade.”
“And you poked at my name? I know a stripper named Jade.”
Her eyes widen, but just a little. Then, down to slits. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” Sweet. Cool with me. I decide not to take the bait, shrug it off. She waited around for a reason, and she can throw lines at me all she wants. This is my game, baby. I change up the topic, see how she reacts.
“Nice move in there.”
“Huh?”
“Movin’ that bimbette along like that. Yeah, they can be a pain in the fucking ass when they’re drunk.”
“Oh, that?” she replies offhandedly, maybe just a bit too much effort in the ease at which she says it, “Please. She had it coming, she was in my way.”
“You always knock down things in your way?”
“All the time, chief,” she exhales the words with her smoke, then eyes me, “So, you know those assholes?”
“No,” I fix her with a hard stare, “they were in my way.” I grin as I let that hang, seeing what she does with it.
“Really?” as she cocks her eyebrow at me, dropping her cig and crushing it beneath her thin-heeled boot. To her credit, and my amusement, she returns the gaze hard, “In the way of what, exactly? You think I’m gonna swoon now or something? Listen, if you think just because you scared off some little boys that I could handle without any help…”
“Hey!” I bark, adding just enough bite to it to make her jump a bit, then bringing it back down, “just wanted to talk to you, is that a problem?” Yeah, I can sense her, the defensiveness, the walls she so obviously carries with her. Walls that I was growing more intent on breaking down. Remember man….she waited around here for something. Time to find out what that something is. I turn away, slowly.
“Sorry,” she says, just a little too quickly. Good. “I just hate places like this and the assholes that come with it.”
“So why’d you come?” I ask her. Voice even…press her. The predatory part of me slips into gear…don’t give her room to maneuver. If she can handle it, then maybe she is different. I like different.
“Heard you guys did some passable Metallica. You do.” She says it with a smirk.
“So why’d you stay?”
There. Drop the gauntlet. Draw her in. Make her play my game. Shit, I don’t even know this chick, and I’m already probing the defenses. Just the fact that she has them excites me. I’ve had way to much easy lately. Jade, my dear, show me what you got.
She steps up and closes in, setting herself up straight. Nice.
“I wanted to let you know your solo was off.”
“Really?” I reply, stepping forward just a few inches, letting her feel the press, the realization of what was happening just starting to awaken my instincts. As much as I want to let my eyes drop down over her body, her scent damn near demanding that I do, I can’t let go of her stare. I won’t. Not me, bitch. “And how did you know I’d even come over so you could enlighten me?”
“I was hopi--I knew you would. You guys are fairly predictable.”
You think I didn’t catch that, sweetie? Yeah, you can harden your face all you want, doing your best to cover it up, but you don’t get away with slips like that. I mentally chalk up the point. God, this feels good. The whole conversation starts to take on a flow of its own, the raw emotions building, knowing I have her attention, but it’s not enough for me. I want to have her. And in that moment, I make up my mind to get what I want tonight, that she’s a girl who can draw that out of me. I don’t yet know how, but getting there is the real challenge. The end result….well….we’ll just have to see what else she throws in my way.
Our stare-down in full swing, the words flowing from somewhere outside that interminable eye-lock, I relax my gaze, see if I can shake her, throw her off. Bring her slowly into my pace. She’s a tough one, and it won’t be easy. But I can do this. I have to. There’s no question about that now. My voice eases, but my eyes never leave hers. If anyone’s dropping this lock, it is not going to be me.
“Wanna hear a really good version of that solo, then you can see how wrong you are?”
“I’m not wrong about Metallica, dude….trust me. I obviously know more than you do.”
“Ok, if you say so. I got ‘em live in Houston, bootleg. Wanna give it a listen and feel stupid?”
I see her eyes widen just a bit. I’ve hit a nerve. I can almost smell it. She’s not gonna easily just come off with me, not Jade. Gotta open a door here. Let her think it’s her decision. Hell, maybe it will be. Maybe it is. What the fuck, man? Don’t let her get to you. Focus.
For one fleeting second, I catch her eyes dropping ever so slightly…looking me over? Thinking? I don’t know. I can’t sense everything with this girl, and even that gets me going. But she flinched. Opened up just a little. Yeah, there’s interest. She thinks she’s gonna scare me off, she’s got another thing coming. But, lying beneath my confidence is a healthy flow of respect for her. She carries herself strongly, pushes back. I like that. This doesn’t mean I can’t feel the attraction rolling off of her…as it’s probably rolling off of me. I do my best to contain it. Maybe not enough, though. It’s in the fucking air, hanging around us like a ring of smoke.
“….it’s back at your place, right?” I hear the end of her sentence. DAMMIT! I lost myself for a moment. She’s sucking me in. Knock it off. Ok, point for her, and I’m sure she’s already chalked it up, the look on her face amused. Yeah, you earned that one, baby. “Hey, you even listening to me, or you too tired from playin’ rock star?”
Ooohhh…keep talkin’, sweetie.
“Yeah, I heard ya,” doing my best to recover, angry with myself but not letting her see one fucking ounce of it, “So, you wanna hear it or not?”
I turn on my heel, and start to casually walk away. I flash her the most subtle grin I can muster, letting my head trail in the turn, holding her face for just that extra moment. Time to really tell what the fuck is going on here. Is she all talk, like so many others (although I find myself praying she’s not), or can she back it up? I take a big chance and decide not to look back. This is in her court now. If I get to the car and she stays behind, well, at least I had a bit of an interesting conversation. I have to know. I have to know if she’s up for this. My need to coax her along, this overpowering need to hunt and take and all of the primal things that are swirling around in my gut, threatening to blow it open….all have to be tempered with control. She ain’t pulling me in here. It’s the other way around or it’s just not gonna happen.
The several steps I take seem interminable, drawn out through time. Come on, baby, don’t let me down. Don’t be all fluster and bravado. Show me that what I sensed wasn’t wrong…
“Hey!” she shouts behind me, the click of her heels the most welcome sound I’ve heard all night. Not fast, of course, not Jade. But the sound excites me, and the second I hear it, my heart surges, the game on in full. She’s taken the bait, and the trap is set. However, one little voice surfaces among the swirling raw emotions. A tiny bit of realization that, even with the best hunters, the prey can be more than the trap can handle. And if anyone fits this analogy, it’s gonna be Jade. And I can’t wait to find out.
She catches up to me as my hand hits the car door handle. She places hers on mine…it’s a hard grasp, and the touch is electric, forcing its way up my arm like little tendrils of arcing current. It’s a challenge. And I like a challenge.
“Nice ride,” she says with a confident wink and a sideways grin, “let me drive it.”
"Are you gonna drive it like you mean it, or are we on a Sunday stroll?"
He has no idea. None.
Just like in the alley. Cocky and confident. I dug that, it intrigued me. But this was my game. He was kinda cute though back there...I'm a little thrown by his attitude, though. He carries himself like I do. But with a bit more...Oomph.
"Hey..HEY! Watch it, girl!" His words snapping me back to the present.
Oops. Almost took out a stop sign. I really need to focus.
Pressing my foot firmly on the accelerator and placing my other foot up on the seat I begin shaking another cigarette out of my pack.
"This is a nice ride, man." And it really is. Sleek, well maintained. Jet black '86 Camaro. Drove like a dream, with enough ass to really go. Nothing like those souped-up rice burners. No, this car was as confident in its natural mechanisms as its owner. “I guess I can give you that. What with paying all those strippers I figured you'd have some shit box layin' around." I couldn't stop that one. He needs to know I'm on his level now, perhaps a few steps ahead…I...I don't know.
I shoot him a side glance to gauge his reaction. I had to see if I impacted. His eyes bore directly into mine, it’s so piercing I almost choke on my hit.
"No, hon. I prefer the back alley girls, trying to cover up the real reason why they’re hangin’ around after a show."
Har. Har. Har. Very funny.
Okay...maybe he was kinda right...he interested me! Give a girl a break! But I’m still having trouble gauging him. I fucking hate when that happens, and it rarely does. I'm usually far more keyed to the signals your everyday douchebag gives off.
But not this one, man. Nosiree. He’s just...different. I mean, yeah...I could’ve handled those losers in the alley, but when I saw him coming forward I couldn't help but feel a bit of relief. Was it because of HIM or the fact that I wasn't alone with Bozo and Co?
Damn. He looks good too. I let my eyes drift slightly from the road, checking him out from the corner of my eye. He’s kicked back, clad in baggy blue jeans and a black button up. Untucked, of course. A cigarette of his own held casually in reverse between his thumb and pointer finger.
He catches me looking and grins at me, asking quite bluntly, "What? Is my fly down?"
"Pfftt...I was just examining my surroundings..." I quickly bring my eyes back to the road. Screw him. I wasn't looking...much. Okay, maybe I was. OK, what the hell is wrong with me?! This guy isn't anything important…a very good guitar player, cute, assured...confident...okay...
"Turn a left here, the house on the right." Flicking the stub of his cigarette out the window, he cracks his knuckles absently.
Right. I need to center. Badly. We're just going to check out some music, Jade. MUSIC. Nothing more…although...STOP IT!
Parking the car I finally let my mind focus on where we are. And we’re in the middle of nowhere. I mean...nowhere. A wooded area the only backdrop to the tri-level split in the foreground. Decent sized house. Lots of land...but no neighbors.
"Do ya need a map to the front door?" He’s waiting on the front stoop, his arms crossed over his chest, a cocky grin plastered on his face...strong features...bedroom eyes...nicely built body…
"No! I was just curious as to how many bodies you have packed around here. It's a bit…out a ways isn't it?" I’m not nervous...I’m just trying to figure him out, yeah...that sounds right.
"Okay, Jade. Steady up, girl." I mutter to myself, under my breath, nearly falling backward as I pass him through the entryway, his scent filling my nostrils. It’s calling me, testing me. I can taste it.
"No bodies. I just like my privacy. Y'know...when I'm not playin' Rock God for you and your friends."
Grinning, he shuts the door, walking a few paces to the living room and tossing his jacket on the lazy-boy.
"Yeah…yeah...that's you...Rock God...My HERO." I’m still a little twisted from his smell, burning fresh in the back of my brain. But damned if I’m going to let him know this. I need to get away for a second.
"You got a bathroom, or am I expected to go out back and dig a hole?" Turning to face him, placing my hands on my hips. I want him to see that I’m confident. And maybe convince my heart to stop doing back flips into my throat too.
"Down the hall, second door on the right. You thirsty?" He stands in the kitchen, eyes locked onto mine. He’s asking if I want to drink, but the way his voice sounds it feels as if he’s insinuating something else. Something...well, draw your own conclusions.
"N-No." Crap. My voice cracked...I hope he didn't catch that.
I glare at him, trying to shake off this vise that’s creeping into my body. I really need to get to that bathroom. "No. I'm straight....thanks though." Shrugging, he goes into the fridge and cracks a beer, I watch him drink...he even looks good chugging a beer.
Shit.
"Don't you have to pee, or fix your makeup or...whatever girly things it is that you do?"
Oh shit. Yeah. Bathroom...right. Where was it again?
Oh…first door on the right...that's it.
I pad down the hallway, looking at the actual interior; It’s not bad...no sign of female life, but not a disaster area like some bachelor pads I have seen before. Blech. No, this guy is actually fairly decent. No fancy decorations or pictures of naked chicks plastered on the walls...it’s an almost…intimidating subtle. I can only imagine with this character though, what the walls would say if they could talk.
Yes, I am still having trouble pegging him.
I push the first door open and pause about...90 seconds too long. It’s his bedroom. The domain, the lair, the whatever the hell single men refer to it as nowadays. It’s sure as hell NOT the bathroom. But, hey, I'm here...might as well look around, right?
Right.
I cock my head backwards, checking to see if he’s still standing there, he’s not. Cool. I hear some type of banging around coming from the living room, probably searching for that CD.
Okay...I'll just peek for a second. Then go fix myself up. Yes, I am a hardass...but I do want to look nice..
Sliding into the room, keeping the door open. The last thing I need is him thinking I'm purposely snooping. I can just say it was an accident, and I was curious to see what a ROCK GOD’S room looked like. Ha. I like that.
Wow. Nice...
A king size bed takes up a bit of the room, black comforters and pillowcases, black candles, red candles...purple?
It’s dark, but a few beams of light from his outdoor floods shine through the blinds, illuminating the room just enough so I can see. Wandering towards the well-stocked book shelf I trip on something, cursing as I slam into the dresser trying to avoid landing on my ass. That would've looked real pretty, but the impact of my back hitting the dresser made a loud enough noise that I know he would be in the room any second. I still need to see what I fucking tripped over.
Natural curiosity and all.
Stooping over, I pick the item up. It feels almost like a belt...a really short one...what the hell is a ball doing...ohhh..
It’s a ball gag.
Straightening back up again, absently running my hand over the slight cut in my back the dresser caused I begin examining this...thing. I've never seen one of these in real time. Sure, your everyday bondage mags and forums that touch base on it. I’m a part of those forums...but not for the strict bondage aspect...that was a debated flavor, one that I’ve always been curious to sample.
I hold the ball part of the gag in the palm of my hand, it’s a bright red ball...almost like one of those jawbreakers. It has a little bit of weight to it, but nothing too extreme. So THIS is it! That's what I was having a hard time with! He's got a fetish for bondage. I try to take solace in that quite obvious (now) realization, but I can't quite completely shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing...another puzzle piece that’s hiding.
Fixing the candles that I knocked over in my heroic feat to not make a complete ditz of myself, I twirl the gag around, kind of enjoying the leather spinning effortlessly around my thin wrist. Well, now I guess I don't feel so odd about my own base fetish. Not like he'll ever know it, anyways. But he was sloppy! He left it hanging about...now I've got to break his balls.
Screw the bathroom. This little discovery helps to calm me down...a little bit. I still can't shake that warm feeling that hits me directly in the chest whenever I think about his actions back at the alley.
Jeez…why am I letting this get to me? He's probably a closet submissive. Now that I could have FUN with..
Shutting the door behind me, I strut down the hallway, still twirling the gag. I can hear Metallica coming from the speakers in the living room.
Good tune. Plastering on a shit-eating grin, I walk into the living room..
...."Ohhh Damien,...I always knew you were the strong silent type…but isn't this a bit much for you?"
Yeah, clever. He deserves it though. He needs to know that it'll take a lot more than sarcastic remarks to even begin to break down MY walls. And if he thinks that he’s going to have the upper hand in this little exchange, then he's got another thing coming.
...Right?...YES, Right.
I heard her. Both times.
When she stuttered almost imperceptibly before….and when she did whatever it was she did in my room. I knew she was going to do that, something just tells me this isn’t the kind of girl who goes where you tell her to. Well…not off the bat, anyway.
Digging around for the CD and letting the last of the Belgian Ale slide down my throat, I think back on our drive here. Why did I let her? That’s my fuckin’ baby sitting out in the driveway. But…she followed me. That’s something. Fuck, that’s everything. Chick that self-assured ain’t coming if she’s not looking for something. But…what the hell is she looking for? I’m starting to get an idea, no, scratch that…I’ve had that idea all along, I just needed to know…but there’s something else under all of that haughty charm that’s evading me, something she’s hiding. Its aura hangs around her, but it’s colorless, transparent…harder than hell to read. And that bothers me. I can usually read most women fairly well. That ain’t ego, it’s just perception. Those little things they desire but won’t tell you. It’s a simple matter of being attuned to signals.
She drives like a maniac. Point for her. That little exchange was nice. She was checking me out, come on. Trying to be subtle, but please. I’m just hoping I was more subtle. Fuck, she looked nice driving that beast, the night wind coming in through the window billowing in her fine hair. Some really raw part of me wanted to just pull over and nail her in the front seat, but the other 99% shoves that thought aside. There was more to her. A lot more.
I hear her walking back up the hallway, the “trip to the bathroom” so painfully obvious. Which is why I always leave a little something lying around. I don’t flaunt my kinks like a new tattoo or anything, but I sure as fuck don’t hide, either. You have to think something’s wrong for you to feel shame about it.
And I don’t.
Do you know how many times a woman will go through your bedroom thinking you don’t know? Dropping some clues around actually saves me a lot of time and explanation I really don’t feel a need to go into. I like things reactive. If that reaction is running out the door screaming, so be it. At least I know I saved myself a lot of crap and that she wasn’t going to click with me anyway. On the other hand, if that reaction is a leap across the room into my arms with those tiger-eyes some chicks get when they’ve either had too much or maybe they’re just bondage sluts at heart…well, I guess it serves that same time-saving purpose, doesn’t it? It’s a test, and I like to use them. I know it’s not playing nice….but I don’t. I guess I could come up with a million explanations…but laying traps just makes me feel good. It’s part of my nature as a hunter. Sue me.
However, when Jade comes back into the room, there’s a third possible outcome that I hadn’t considered.
“Ohhh, Damien,” she purrs, “I always knew you were the strong silent type…but isn’t this a bit much for you?” She’s swinging the thing on her wrist, just itching for a reaction.
She actually thinks she has me. I can smell it all over her. The smug grin, the cocky words…she’s loving this. I’ll bet she thinks I’m some kind of closet submissive or something. Yeah, she’d love that, wouldn’t she? I turn slowly, holding the moment as I let her wonder why I haven’t freaked out yet…and allow myself a fleeting image of the gag buckled firmly behind her head. Pull it in, dog…ain’t gonna be that easy. And who likes easy anyway?
“Oh, that’s not for me,” I say loosely, holding her stare and letting the casualness of my explanation sink in, “it’s for women who like to be tied-up. I happen to dig bondage, it’s just my thing.” If she had any idea how big a thing…
She pauses. Good. I’ve thrown her. I can hear her well-crafted plan of breaking my balls crash in around her. A sound catches in her throat, like I’d stolen her next line on its way out. She stands for a second, and a look crosses her face. She hasn’t run out, and I can almost feel whatever it is that’s tugging at her.
I’ll give her credit. She composes herself extremely quick. Fast on her feet, I like that. Still twirling the ballgag on her wrist, she walks up to me, passes me by and lets it drop to the floor as she faces the stereo, hands on the glass front. Her wheels are turning a million RPM and I hear their whine. But, her inherent “cool” returns. I ease back and let her decide her next move. She’s drawing in, and I can taste it.
As she leans into the stereo case, her shirt rides up just a bit and I can see a small but fresh cut. So that was what I heard. “Jade, what did you do?” I ask as I casually bring myself up behind her.
“Huh?”
“Your back, you gotta little blood there.”
She looks over her shoulder and draws her eyes down…but doesn’t move her position. Interesting. Extending my hand, I lightly stroke her back to the side of the cut. Her skin is….well, amazing to touch. As cool as I’m projecting, my mind races through thoughts of my hands roaming every square inch of it. And I feel I’m not the only one, from the smooth intake of breath between Jade’s lips.
“You sure it’s ok, hun? I ask her.
“Yeah,” she replies, a barely noticeable rock of her hips, “It’s good….it’s…good.
Now that I noticed. I back away slowly, fighting my urge to run my fingers all the way up her back. No, there’s more yet, I can feel it. Ain’t right. All casual again, my small slip in mental control firmly planted beneath the heel of my psyche, I lazily cross my arms. Jade turns her head back to the pretty lights of the stereo, her voice changing quickly, back to that girl walking out of my bedroom with a ballgag swinging off her wrist.
“Looks pretty big, that gag” she says without looking back, “what is that, a two-inch?”
“Inch and a half, actually. You’d know a Two if it was in your mouth, hun.” Hmmm…there’s knowledge there, and the rush that hits my gut is as welcome as a long-awaited friend. She flinches almost imperceptibly at the remark, and I know she’s enjoying this…on some level I have to define.
“So, you’re a control freak,” she throws back, pretending to look over the flashy little lights. The fact that it’s a statement, not a question, intrigues me. She’s way too comfortable…and she’s probing. I know it.
“Kinda,” I reply, fighting with myself to keep this thrill-of-the-hunt down to a controlled level and throw information out there off the cuff, “more of a….reaction junkie, but yeah, I like control. Dominance.”
“Beating on women makes you feel dominant?” She’s not shy about it, that’s good. She’s testing, I can sense it in every subtle phrasing she chooses.
“I don’t hurt, doesn’t do it for me,” I even out my voice, going from nonchalant to serious in one downward turn, “it’s just a primal thing. When I’m with a woman, I’m driven to possess her completely…own her…dominate her….consume her….”
She turns, her eyes flash briefly, but again she composes quickly. Not as quickly as the last time though…interesting. It’s falling into place.
“So, I was right.”
Ok, she’s got me on that one.
“’Scuse me?” I ask, my eyes searching hers.
“The solo, chief. You fucked it up.” A smile crosses her lips. Changing the subject…or is she trying to play me?
“It’s a live version, they’re all different. A fan would know that.” I let a sideways smirk cross my face. Eyes still locked, the exchange quickening. She moves in a little, and I can swear I see her shaking just a bit. Maybe. No, I can. She wants to talk about it, I know it. She’s not scared, I know that as well, it’s the same rush I’m getting, unspoken….hanging. Back on topic, I press her. “You shouldn’t sneak around people’s bedrooms like that, a girl could get in trouble.”
Her eyes boring into mine. “Oh, please, what are you gonna do, handcuff me and bring me down to the station?”
“I don’t like cops,” I lower my pitch, “but the handcuffing might not be a bad idea.”
“I’d like to see you try.” She says it with a half-chuckle, but her gaze is dead serious. Does she know that I see it? Yes…she does. It’s an opening line if I’ve ever heard one. A throw away jab, but filled to the brim with boiling intention.
I close the remaining inches to see if she backs off. It all starts picking up speed. No backing off now. I lean in close and move to put my arm on her…she pulls back just a hair, then catches herself, steeling…and I pass my arm to her side, past her to hit the Off button on the stereo. Pulling my arm back slowly, Jade standing her ground, I let my face almost brush the side of hers and lower my voice to a hoarse whisper as my mouth crosses range of her delicate ear.
“I know you would.”
If conflict had a shine, Jade’s was blinding me. Still standing close enough to feel each other’s breath, she lets just the first sound of a word, a thought, escape her lips. Then, as if she’d made a decision so quickly that she even caught herself off guard, she replaces it with a question. And its importance is unmistakable to me as she scans my eyes, hers serious and honest.
“Were you really gonna cut that guy?” Just like that.
“Yes.” No hesitation. She expects none…and it is the truth, “I don’t like people fucking with what I want.”
She simply stares as I raise my hand up to her face, cupping her cheek with my palm. Her skin is smooth, soft…alive. Her eyes fall closed as she presses into the touch, her slender neck tipping ever so slightly. She turns her head, closing the distance between her moist lips and my hand, and I can feel it, a struggle, like she’s fighting…grasping…
…and she snaps her eyes open. Pulls off of my hand. Backing away, she keeps her eyes locked on me as if she’s trying to say something so utterly important, the visual press almost crushing.
Without a word, she turns and makes for the door. A sensation surges into my gut, and in that moment it becomes so certainly clear. I know that look, I’ve seen it before, but I can’t remember when as intensely. My mind races back, the entire night flashing by like a movie reel on rewind…back…back…
Back to the alley. My opening move in this game. Turning and walking away, seeing if she’d follow. She did…and so will I.
The familiar rush of excitement, the primal emotions, the beckoning of my soul to return to the days of freedom, fire and fucking…it swallows me. As does the realization of the truth about Jade.
As much as I need to hunt…she needs to be caught.
My strides long and purposeful, I step to the door as she’s reaching it, her hand on the knob. I stand behind her, letting the contact of my body against her back barely become tangible as my arm drops to grab hers in my grip. Her breath draws in once, sharp, but steady.
“You don’t want to go anywhere,” I say, my voice controlled but instilled with the ancient force that’s driving me as I lean in closer, “you really don’t and you know it.”
I spin her around, quickly….sharp. She leans back against the door as I press her arm down, gliding my grip down to her slim wrist. I can see the change flow over her so totally that it almost becomes its own color. Her eyes piercing, she speaks back in a tone that absolutely forges this chase into wrought iron. There may have been some wavering in her voice before but now it’s all clenched teeth and the focus of a demon.
“Yeah? What if I do? It’s not like you could stop me. I do what I want and I eat guys like you for breakfast, asshole!” She tenses her arm, pulling it upward to her chest, testing my strength. I let her do it, but maintain my grip. I pull myself in close, face-to-face, my own teeth showing through snarled lips.
“I hope you had a big one today, then…you’re gonna need it.”
In a move that surprises even me, she drives her free hand up, her clenched knuckles driving into my ribs, twisting her hand to grind. Instinctively jerking back, I hiss…at once angered by the flash of pain and excited by her drive to inflict it. I lose my grip on her arm. I make a note that it won’t happen again. She shoots past me and into the center of the room, hands on her hips, risen up straight and doing her best to stand strong.
“And here I was thinking you just might be a challenge,” she says with a sly grin, “I have to say I’m really disappointed, little boy.”
Fire itself shooting through me, I realize that there isn’t a man in the world who doesn’t react to that insult. She’s pushing back hard, really hard. I like this one. I like her so much that I am going to fucking take her down.
Advancing on Jade steadily, I see her eyes dart around, scanning the room. Forget it, bitch…this is MY den…and this is MY game. She sidesteps quickly, bolting for the kitchen area. Four long strides and I’m on her, grabbing a handful of silky blond hair and pulling back, almost spilling her backward. Instead, she flies right into me as I wrap my other arm around her waist, lifting her off the floor.
“Put me the FUCK down!” she yells, clutching at my arm with her hands, trying to claw me, “let me go NOW, you PRICK!”
“Is that any way for a pretty little girl to talk? IS IT?” I bark, returning her insult and dragging her backwards toward the couch. I pull steadily at her hair, and the sharp breaths she sucks in are a sweet mixture of both intensity and….desire? Oh, fuck yes. Think I can’t read you, baby? There are certain sounds a girl makes when she likes her hair pulled, and they’re flowing outta Jade strong.
Halfway to the couch, she does manage to get her nails in and she presses hard. I feel them sink in, breaking skin as I suck in the pain, letting it fuel me. “Is that all you got, bitch? Little kitty scratches?”
“Not even close, loser!” she shrieks as she slams a leg back and scrapes her boot down my shin. Growling loudly, I fall back, bringing Jade with me. The struggle becomes kinetic, flailing limbs…twisting bodies…heavy breaths.
But, while her fighting grows desperate, mine takes on a focus. A purpose. I’m done toying with her, I know what she’s got and I know I have more. Much more. I let her feel how overmatched she is in strength and it feels good. So very fucking good. She grabs at my arms and I slap them away. She pulls hers in tight and I pry them off her chest. Rolling around, I get Jade on her stomach and sit squarely on her firm ass.
“Get the fuck OFF ME! NOW, Damien! Don’t make me FUCKING hurt you, shithead!”
“I told you,” my voice evening out but showing the exertion of the battle to get her down and letting the breaths accentuate the words, “It’s not….about….hurting!” I lean down, letting her hear my words clearly in her ear as I drop my tone, “But I WILL calm you the fuck down, little girl….and then we can work on that language.”
There’s one thing that will make a winged demon turn into a squirming wreck…
…and it just happens to be a particular interest of mine. The big one. The one that I’m very good at.
I bring my hands down to her sides, a large part of her skin bare, her black shirt riding up with the ferocity of the struggle. The first touch is a song in my brain, her smooth skin warm and soft. Gripping her slender waist, I start to tickle her. The sounds that issue forth from her lips are sweet music.
“AAIIGHH!!! HAHAHAHASTOPITSTOPIT!!!!” she howls as my fingers press and roll against her sides, “I…I….I’ll KILLYOU I’LL FUCKING KILLYOU!!! NOOONOOOSTOOOOOOP!”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, and I’ll try really hard to be scared!” I growl at her as my fingers probe into her flesh, the muscles of her stomach contracting, tightening, allowing me to dig harder, glide skin over muscle in quick, steady movements. She’s howling with laughter and threats, desperately trying to throw me off as I start to lose myself in tickling her. There’s something about a woman laughing against her will that excites me, that ability to control those reactions and take the fight out of her. Of course, she’s forcing her hips up and down, but I notice something. The way she’s grinding them. Well, I’ll be damned.
Is there some part of her actually enjoying this? Well, Damien…you may just have to explore this possibility, dog.
