When All of Your Wishes Are Granted, Many of Your Dreams Will Be Destroyed
Go watch some porn
It had been an enjoyable evening. Marilyn had been sick the last few days and didn’t want me around him. He hates people seeing him when he’s feeling vulnerable, even me. This afternoon he had gotten so frustrated with me trying to look after him that he called a taxi and shipped me off to Pogo’s to spend the rest of the day with him. Pogo and I had steadily made our way through a bottle of whiskey as we sat in his living room, talking music and life, while the muted TV played old horror films. As we got progressively drunk the conversation inevitably strayed on to Pogos sexual exploits. Not that you had to get Pogo drunk to hear all about his very active and sordid sex life. He was telling me at a mile-a-minute about a threesome he had recently had with a pair of groupies who he persuade to take part in what can only be described as a blow job version of Russian Roulette. “And it was the blonde who won” He finished finally with his Cheshire cat grin plastered all over his face.
“Or lost” I offered,
“Or lost” Pogo pondered, looking genuinely thoughtful for a moment. He took a gulp of his alcohol before fixing me with his cool eyes, “I bet you and Manson have got some stories to tell” he probed. Pogo, like the other band members, was well aware that Marilyn and I fucked. We had getting shit-faced and fucking on the tour bus one time too many to thank for that. However it still remained a very private affair. We were never explicitly passionate off stage in front of others and the topic was strictly off limits, at least when Marilyn was around. I wouldn’t have minded having our relationship made common knowledge and exposed to mockery or scorn but Marilyn wasn’t ready for all that. Our onstage escapades were his double bluff; make it look like another chance to be provocative and push the boundaries so that people dismiss the possibility of true feelings. When I quizzed him about his need for secrecy he employed his usually tactics of turning things around on me and getting angry, telling me “stop smothering me Jeordie, your worse than a fucking chick!” The hush around Marilyn’s and my love life seemed only to fuel the bands curiosity and they all knew that I was the one likely to let details slip under the right conditions; being smashed to pieces and away from Marilyn.
“No doubt” I replied, looking disapprovingly at him. Truth is I would love to talk about our sex life but I know I’d feel bad betraying Marilyn’s implicit trust.
“You know when you asked if I had any speed and I said I didn’t? Well….I lied.” Pogo said, flashing me another grin.
**********************************************
I crawled into bed, finding Marilyn’s lips and was surprised when they moved beneath mine as I’d expected him to be sleeping. With deceptively strong arms he turned me around and snaked them around my bare torso, pulled me close, gliding his hands over my chest and then briefly grasped my throbbing cock. “You’ve been getting high without me baby?” his voice deeper than usual murmured against my ear. My arousal was immediate, whenever I found myself in his bed,
“Missed you” I whispered, grinding my ass into his lap. He shook me gently
“Not tonight baby” his reply came dreamily. I liked him best when he was sleepy, with all his rough edges sanded down. I sighed loudly, pushing his hand back down to my erection. “No baby” he said more firmly, rocking me more vigorously. “Go watch some porn.” Was his suggestion before he kissed the back of my head and pushed me towards the edge of the bed. We both knew I wasn’t going to be able to leave him alone, never mind sleep with the drugs pumping through my body.
“You wouldn’t “go watch some porn” if you were horny” I sulked
“I’m sick baby” He sniffed as if to give confirmation. I begrudgingly rolled out of bed, giving up on getting fucked tonight and pulled on one of his old jumpers which swamped me but smelt comfortingly of him. I made my way into the living room where I sunk into the large arm chair. I was now feeling a little less bad about talking to Pogo about us. After more whiskey and a fair amount of speed I had been jabbering about my sexual frustrations; how I missed being the one in charge sometimes and was fed up with always being the one getting fucked. Pogo had helpfully suggested a prostitute, as he saw it, the answer to a multitude of life’s problems. At the time I had dismissed the idea. I like women a lot but I adore Marilyn, and however much he frustrates me I’d never be unfaithful to him. I had voiced something along these lines, although far less concisely, to Pogo. When I noticed just how high his eyebrows were raised I knew I’d said too much. I stopped talking abruptly. The room seemed deadly quiet without the chatter of my voice. Pogo finally broke the silence with “you’ve really fallen for him.” A statement, not a question. “Dude, you really need to take this number” he continued, shaking his head sadly and copying a number from his phone onto a scrap of paper he picked from the floor. The digits were simply accompanied by the word “HOOKER.” I smiled and slipped it into my wallet, not wanting the dig myself any deeper into a hole by protesting.
I looked over to the cabinet now, where I had abandoned my keys and wallet when I came in. Was a hooker completely out on the question? I nibbled my fingers as I considered the possibilities. Perhaps a night with a hooker could go down without Marilyn finding out, although he can read my face like a book and I’m sure he would see my betrayal and guilt written there. I wonder how he would react if I told him beforehand that I wanted a hooker, whether he would be ok with it or by its threat be persuaded into changing his ways in the bedroom. The ridiculousness of these last two possibilities makes me smile to myself. It strikes me as unfair that Marilyn can mess around with women all he wants and I am expected to remain exclusively his…and then the idea comes to me. How about a threesome? I was so enthused by the idea that I went immediately to retrieve the number from my wallet and make a phone call.
“Or lost” I offered,
“Or lost” Pogo pondered, looking genuinely thoughtful for a moment. He took a gulp of his alcohol before fixing me with his cool eyes, “I bet you and Manson have got some stories to tell” he probed. Pogo, like the other band members, was well aware that Marilyn and I fucked. We had getting shit-faced and fucking on the tour bus one time too many to thank for that. However it still remained a very private affair. We were never explicitly passionate off stage in front of others and the topic was strictly off limits, at least when Marilyn was around. I wouldn’t have minded having our relationship made common knowledge and exposed to mockery or scorn but Marilyn wasn’t ready for all that. Our onstage escapades were his double bluff; make it look like another chance to be provocative and push the boundaries so that people dismiss the possibility of true feelings. When I quizzed him about his need for secrecy he employed his usually tactics of turning things around on me and getting angry, telling me “stop smothering me Jeordie, your worse than a fucking chick!” The hush around Marilyn’s and my love life seemed only to fuel the bands curiosity and they all knew that I was the one likely to let details slip under the right conditions; being smashed to pieces and away from Marilyn.
“No doubt” I replied, looking disapprovingly at him. Truth is I would love to talk about our sex life but I know I’d feel bad betraying Marilyn’s implicit trust.
“You know when you asked if I had any speed and I said I didn’t? Well….I lied.” Pogo said, flashing me another grin.
**********************************************
I crawled into bed, finding Marilyn’s lips and was surprised when they moved beneath mine as I’d expected him to be sleeping. With deceptively strong arms he turned me around and snaked them around my bare torso, pulled me close, gliding his hands over my chest and then briefly grasped my throbbing cock. “You’ve been getting high without me baby?” his voice deeper than usual murmured against my ear. My arousal was immediate, whenever I found myself in his bed,
“Missed you” I whispered, grinding my ass into his lap. He shook me gently
“Not tonight baby” his reply came dreamily. I liked him best when he was sleepy, with all his rough edges sanded down. I sighed loudly, pushing his hand back down to my erection. “No baby” he said more firmly, rocking me more vigorously. “Go watch some porn.” Was his suggestion before he kissed the back of my head and pushed me towards the edge of the bed. We both knew I wasn’t going to be able to leave him alone, never mind sleep with the drugs pumping through my body.
“You wouldn’t “go watch some porn” if you were horny” I sulked
“I’m sick baby” He sniffed as if to give confirmation. I begrudgingly rolled out of bed, giving up on getting fucked tonight and pulled on one of his old jumpers which swamped me but smelt comfortingly of him. I made my way into the living room where I sunk into the large arm chair. I was now feeling a little less bad about talking to Pogo about us. After more whiskey and a fair amount of speed I had been jabbering about my sexual frustrations; how I missed being the one in charge sometimes and was fed up with always being the one getting fucked. Pogo had helpfully suggested a prostitute, as he saw it, the answer to a multitude of life’s problems. At the time I had dismissed the idea. I like women a lot but I adore Marilyn, and however much he frustrates me I’d never be unfaithful to him. I had voiced something along these lines, although far less concisely, to Pogo. When I noticed just how high his eyebrows were raised I knew I’d said too much. I stopped talking abruptly. The room seemed deadly quiet without the chatter of my voice. Pogo finally broke the silence with “you’ve really fallen for him.” A statement, not a question. “Dude, you really need to take this number” he continued, shaking his head sadly and copying a number from his phone onto a scrap of paper he picked from the floor. The digits were simply accompanied by the word “HOOKER.” I smiled and slipped it into my wallet, not wanting the dig myself any deeper into a hole by protesting.
I looked over to the cabinet now, where I had abandoned my keys and wallet when I came in. Was a hooker completely out on the question? I nibbled my fingers as I considered the possibilities. Perhaps a night with a hooker could go down without Marilyn finding out, although he can read my face like a book and I’m sure he would see my betrayal and guilt written there. I wonder how he would react if I told him beforehand that I wanted a hooker, whether he would be ok with it or by its threat be persuaded into changing his ways in the bedroom. The ridiculousness of these last two possibilities makes me smile to myself. It strikes me as unfair that Marilyn can mess around with women all he wants and I am expected to remain exclusively his…and then the idea comes to me. How about a threesome? I was so enthused by the idea that I went immediately to retrieve the number from my wallet and make a phone call.