Nothing in the world was more exciting than being backstage with Izzy Rich before his show began. The unbearable anticipation. The unimaginable tension. The mystifying transformation. Unpredictable. No way of knowing when it would come and when it would end, not that it mattered to him either way. He lived for the moment and would die for it all: the rock and roll, the glitter, the makeup, the flamboyant clothes, the drugs, the booze, the debauchery, and the androgyny. Who would dare join him on the ride? I did as many others before and after me.
He was overloaded with so much anticipation, adrenaline, and tension that it welled up in his crotch. Everyone backstage could not stop looking at it. Izzy’s beloved groupies could not stop touching it. Every single one of them titillated him, hoping they would be the lucky one chosen to set the angry beast in Izzy’s loins free before he would embark on the concert stage and perform in front of thousands.
Thirty minutes. Only thirty minutes to apply his lipstick, mascara, eye shadow, eye liner, and face powder. He was the master multitasker, so he managed to do that and before the show. He earned a reputation for being a last-minute man, but he could deliver a mind-blowing concert as rehearsed without a single misstep.
Even when it came to a quickie, sex with Izzy was absolute perfection, a performance for the ages. He made it seem so easy. Because, for him, it was. Izzy’s dressing room was usually wide open like a book. What went on inside was unabashedly displayed for peeping toms like me who couldn’t help but watch and stare. How could I not? Izzy’s desperate, star-craved groupies were gorgeous with their sequined high heel shoes, body glitter, sparkly eye shadow, gloss-heavy lips, gaudy earrings, and colorful skin-tight pants, booty-shorts, and skimpy tops. They were too physically phenomenal for words.
He’d have as many as ten in his dressing room, where they’d all sniff a line of cocaine and drink a couple shots of whiskey with him. He’d make all of them laugh with his crass jokes. He could drive them all crazy with the way he’d caress their hairspray-drenched tresses, fondle their cheeks with the tip of his polished fingernails, and whisper naughty nothings into their ears with his hand on a breast or two. Or up a skirt, cupping a crotch. Or two. Not a single one of these glitter groupies was left untouched. He shared his focus and attention with all of them at once, and how he did it was as mysterious as space and time. When the “thirty minutes” call came from management, he had no choice but to make all the groupies leave his dressing room.
Except for one.
The one that stayed behind would be the luckiest bitch on Earth. I never thought it would be me, his own drummer. It started out as a joke, a tease. Neither of us ever thought it would become something more.
“Fresh out of pussy tonight?” I asked Izzy as I stepped into his dressing room. We were performing at London’s Hammersmith Odeon that night. “It’s a ghost town in here.”
He was sitting down, organizing his makeup appliances on the countertop. To my astonishment, not a single woman paraded around the room, sniffing out his boner like a ravenous dog. “I wanted to see if I can perform without needing some assistance beforehand.” He winked.
“Oh, this I’d like to see!” I laughed, sitting beside him. “Did you lose a bet or something?”
“Yes, you guessed it! Fucking bets.”
He was Izzy’s manager from Trident Studios. “Dare I ask what the bet was?”
“A blasted drinking game, that’s all. If I lost, I would go one show without having a groupie give me a ‘helping hand’ or ‘jump-start,’ as he calls it. So, here I am!”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in.”
“How are you taking it so far?” I snickered, kicking back in the chair.
“Not very well. I’m just dying for a blowjob!”
“Poor baby.” I snorted. “Want me to suck it for you?”
“If you suck cock as well as you play the drums, I might consider it.”
Though I perceived the hint of sarcasm in his voice, his enticing, bright blue eyes told me he was serious. He stared at me with an intoxicating mixture of gentle feminine innocence and strong manly lust.
“You ever sucked cock before?” he asked as he eyed the mirror, brushing his fox-red bob and giving it a shimmering sparkle with hairspray.
“No.” I bit my lower lip.
“How the bloody hell would you know if I was bluffing or not? I’ve only ever told you stories about my past relationships and sexcapades with women.”
“And one trans-woman.”
Odette, my ex-girlfriend. “And?”
“You liked her cock, didn’t you, Johnny?” he stated as fact.
I nodded slowly. “Yes, I did.”
“You wanted to touch it, hold it, kiss it, and suck on it, but she wouldn’t let you. You pretended you didn’t care, but I could tell how badly you wanted her dick.”
Everything he said was the absolute truth. But I’d be damned before I gave him the satisfaction of knowing it. “So what makes you think that I’ve sucked cock since she and I broke up?” I continued to interrogate him. “Have you ever seen me go down on a bloke?”
He shook his head, placing his brush on the countertop. “But I’ve seen the way you flirt with men and work your charm on them, the same as you do with women. If you can charm the knickers off women, then, you’ve charmed the boxers off men, too. Have you not, Mr. Maxwell?”
“I sure have, Mr. Rich,” I proudly admitted.
“You like sucking cock?” he asked bluntly.
I swallowed my shyness, feeling more at ease. “It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”
“I’ve never had a bloke suck on my cock before a show.”
He gave me that look again. I snapped my head toward the mirror, looking myself over. Disheveled dirty blond hair partially obscured my light blue eyes, my lids painted with shimmery green eye shadow. The eyeshadow almost matched my dazzling green coat, and the pink sequined tie atop my frilly white blouse was the perfect complement to my salmon-painted lips.
But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes off his crotch. He wore shiny, bright red vinyl pants that hugged his erection. They outlined the shaft and mushroom-like head so clearly I couldn’t ignore it. It was thicker than I had ever seen. He noticed my staring. I swore I saw his cock twitch for me. I couldn’t tear my eyes of him, and I didn’t know what to say. We were mute. All we could hear was the screaming, the chants, the cheering of his fans. It was all so far off, and yet so close within our reach. Their anticipation was like our own. Desperate. Needy for release. Now.
“You want to be the first man to go down on Izzy Rich before we go on?”
He had read my mind.
“I’d be honored, but—” I turned my head, looking at the door. “What if we get caught?”
“Lock the door.”
Without saying a word in response, I walked over and locked it.
My heart was beating fast and loud. I thought I could almost hear his as well, louder than the cheers of his glitter-faced fangirls and red-lipped, sparkly-haired fanboys. What a strange, unnerving sensation it was. Maybe it was the unknown…the forbidden. He was my boss. We were bandmates. More than that, we were best friends. No, closer than that. We were like brothers. Yet I had been drawn to Izzy Rich sexually from the moment I auditioned to be part of his band, The Diamonds. That was three years ago in 1970, at the dawn of Rich Girl, his famous, critically acclaimed glitter rock opera.
The first time I laid my eyes on him in person, I thought he was a woman. He had me and every drummer at the auditions gawking. His slender, shapely body sat on the most voluptuous, womanly ass, thighs, and hips I’d ever seen. His fox-red bob framed his high cheekbones in a feminine curl, and he walked in his sapphire blue five-inch fuck-me pumps like a goddess. He easily pulled off the androgynous alter-ego he had been perfecting since the day he was born. His alter-ego was himself. Izzy Rich was the epitome of androgyny at its most natural and striking best, more divine than most men and women will ever come across in their lifetime.
“Ready?” he murmured, his voice deep, daring.
Izzy stood tall, cupping his cock in the palm of his hand, tempting me. As I walked toward him, he yanked down the zipper of his pants. My mouth instantly watered the moment I saw it. His dick was long and impressively thick. The veins were full and prominent, and the head wonderfully plump and glistening with pre-come. Izzy had one of the finest cocks I had come across. Sure, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but I’d never looked at it like this.
Izzy gripped the base of his dick and gave it a playful wave. “You sure you can handle all this?”
I swallowed hard. “I can handle it just fine.”
“That’s the spirit.” He sat down in his chair again and kicked his head back with a sigh.
I went to my knees in front of him and rested my hands on top of his glittering, five-inch platforms. He trembled as I pressed my lips to his smooth, hairless scrotum. I slapped and teased it with my long, wet tongue. I glanced up, looked at him over the arch of his cock, and drank in the sight of him. He clenched his eyes shut and smiled. As I sucked on his huge sac, he let out a high-pitched whine.
“Hot damn,” he cooed as he ran his fingers through my hair. I sucked on his balls as he went to work sculpting his face into a god / goddess of glam. I saw Izzy pick up the cherry-red lipstick and slide it over his thick, pouty lips before I closed my eyes to concentrate on how good Izzy’s dick felt in my mouth.
I circled the head of his cock playfully with my tongue. Izzy acted composed and focused on applying his makeup, but I could feel his legs tremble under my hands. He bucked and forced half of his cock into my mouth, then he began thrusting into my mouth as if some barrier had broken between us. The more I sucked at him, the thicker I thought his cock became. I didn’t know if it was wishful thinking or my excitement, but I didn’t care. I wanted to give the best head he’d ever had.
I could still hear the cheers and cries of Izzy’s fans, but they were slowly being drowned out by the wet sound of my mouth on his cock. Izzy gasped, and the slap of his balls against my chin seemed deafening. I opened my eyes again in time to see him gliding the thin, wet eyeliner brush along his glittering golden eyelids. He stood up slowly, his legs trembling, but I didn’t let go of his cock. I clutched at his bare ass cheeks, my fingernails biting into the soft flesh. I rode his cock with my mouth, faster and harder, as I clung to him. His moaning grew louder, and I pulled back enough to catch my breath and gaze up at the genderfuck masterpiece that was his face. His makeup was perfect, unbelievably beautiful.
Izzy grinned down at me, and he licked his pearly white teeth. He caressed my hair once more as he pressed his cock against the side of my mouth and grazed his smooth, soft fingers along my cheek to fondle his cockhead through my skin. He pressed his palm against my cheek as I continued to suck and pump him. His eyes rolled back, and his grip on my face tightened as he took control of the blowjob. His thrusts were determined, controlled, and I knew why. He was so close to coming, I could feel it. He was right on the edge. I felt that tell-tale swelling of him in my mouth, until—
Someone knocked at the door.
We froze. Benson, our guitarist, shouted through the door. “We are on in ten minutes!”
“Okay!” Izzy replied, only a slight shake in his voice. He waited to see if Benson was going to try and open the door, but he didn’t. We heard the muffled sound of his feet as he walked away.
The moment we were alone again, Izzy grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked hard, and forced his entire cock down my throat in a merciless move that had me flailing to remain upright. He pushed my face firmly against him. I couldn’t breathe with my nose crushed against his body. He started to fuck my mouth, thrusting furiously. My head spun and my eyes watered as I fought against my gag reflex. I could feel mascara run down my rouge-colored cheeks as he roared. His come flooded my mouth. He pulled his cock back before pushing it down my throat again, making quick thrusts to prolong his pleasure. I licked the underside of his cock as I swallowed around him. After I drank down those first thick and hot spurts, I sucked hard, gulping loudly.
“Fuck!” he shouted. “John, where the bloody hell did you learn to suck cock like that?”
My answer was simply to not stop sucking.
“You lied to me. You don’t like sucking cock. You fucking love it.”
Well, he couldn’t be more right about that. I loved cock, and if he could see it, then all the better.
I drew harder on his cock until my jaw ached, trying to show him how much I loved sucking his cock. He cried out, twisting his hands in my hair, and I felt his dick pulse in my mouth. I looked back up at him, and he gave me a breathless, toothy grin. I was flying high, and when his cock was drained, I gave one last, long suck before letting him slip from my mouth. I placed a lingering kiss on the wet, silky-smooth tip of him.
Izzy panted, the smile on his face smugly satisfied. “Now that’s what I call a blowjob.”
I couldn’t help the rush of pride I felt as I got to my feet, wiping at my lips, chin, and cheeks. “Did I live up to your standards, Mr. Rich?” I asked, heart racing to hear his answer.
“You gave better head than any woman who’s gone down on me before a show.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He tucked his impressive cock back into his pants, and then zipped himself up again. “You were phenomenal, baby,” he cooed with a wink.
That was the first time he ever called me baby, and it wouldn’t be the last. I looked into the mirror to see how badly the blowjob had ruined my makeup. Unlike Izzy, I was a fucking mess.
Time was ticking. I grabbed a tissue and wiped away the smears of lipstick, and then I quickly reapplied it. Rivulets of gray and glitter ran down my cheeks, dried remnants of the mascara my tears had run. I caught sight of Izzy in the mirror. He hung golden chandelier earrings on his ears and he slipped into a short-sleeved golden shirt with a long V-neck that revealed his hairless chest. He topped that off with a flowing red vinyl jacket that fell down to his buttocks and matched his pants. He looked at me in the mirror as he wrapped a black and red feather boa around his neck. His transformation from eccentric pretty boy to glam rock royalty was almost complete.
He posed, showing off every inch of his body to its best. “How do I look?”
“Like Izzy Rich. How do I look?”
“Like a whore.”
My cheeks burned at the plain statement. “Classy,” I muttered. I focused on my reflection again and snatched up a tissue. “Thanks to you, I have to do my makeup all over again, dammit.”
“No, you don’t.” He leaped toward me and joined me at the mirror. “I like this.”
He grinned. “It’s kinky. It’ll remind me of how I fucked your throat so good, it made you cry.” He smacked my ass, and I thought he was implying that my throat wouldn’t be the only place he’d fuck me to tears.
The final prop to his transformation was his electric guitar. Once the strap was over his shoulder and the guitar in his arms, he plucked the strings. In that moment, he was a man on top of the world. And I knew from the instant he’d step out onto that stage, he was ready to fall from it.
The heels of my platforms clopped loudly in the wings. Panting, I caught my breath, and smiled when I saw Benson, Phil, Tim, and Larry standing single file near the stage sideline, as glammed up as I was. I stood behind Larry.
“Where the bloody hell were you, man?” Phil asked me, smoothing down his shiny piano key tie.
“Last-minute piss. Sorry.”
Larry snorted, cradling his purple bass guitar. “Took you long enough.”
Benson raised his brow at me. “You okay? What’s with the mascara tears?”
“Too much mascara. Made me all teary. Didn’t have time to fix it.”
Tim’s eyes lit up as he embraced his shiny bronze saxophone. “Finally, the man is here.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Izzy sashaying toward us. His fans couldn’t have seen him, yet they roared as if they knew he was back there.
“It’s show time!” Izzy said joyfully, a proud mama-papa bliss in those baby blues.
He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then he shaped his fingers, four of them, into a heart. After he spun on his heels, as graceful as a ballerina he stopped and pointed one finger at us. Quickly and in unison, I and the gang reenacted the same I love you signal back at him.
“You’re on, Diamonds!” someone from management shouted.
I shook the last-minute tension out of my hands, taking one last breath. Benson stepped to the stage first. The crowd’s roar boomed, spiking higher when Phil, Tim, and Larry went. Then it was my turn. The gold, purple, and pink stage lights weighed down on me. The sauna-warm smoke in the air surrounded me. As I drew toward my drum set, The Diamonds in rhinestone-studded words on the center base drums, flickered before me. My glossy bronze cymbals, wind chimes, toms, snares, and many microphones all waited for me. I set my left foot on the bass pedal and looked out to the sea of faces. In that moment, the stage was as much ours as it was Izzy’s. I picked up my drumsticks and raised my arms high, tapping them. The light glared down on us. The fans screamed louder, feeding off us like we were feeding off them. We were eaten alive by love. Their love. But their love wasn’t for us. The Diamonds were nothing. Izzy was their love, the man they paid to see, the rock star they were waiting for.
And their wait, at last, was over.
The lights dimmed. The adrenaline rush made me so hot that hell seemed like a sauna, yet it soothed me and made me shiver from head to toe. With my foot tapping into the bass pedal, the beater knocking on the base, I banged lightly on the toms and snares, nodding my head to the upbeat rhythm of Benson and Larry’s guitars, Phil’s piano, and Tim’s saxophone.
As we played, a single fuchsia stage light centered on a microphone. Izzy, standing in the wings, cooed into the mic, “Love.” The howling turned into maddened screaming. My ears popped, and I whipped my head back, pounding the bass pedal with my foot, my cymbals rippling song.
Still obscured from view, Izzy sang with moxie in his voice. “There’s always time to make it, can’t fake it, baby. My love. There’s never a wrong or a right when you can just take it.”
The fuchsia lighting crept to the wings and froze on that spot, teasing the audience, keeping them waiting. And then Izzy sashayed out from the dark. The floor trembled beneath my feet as Izzy yanked the microphone off from the stand and sang menacingly, “Take me!” The lights shone on him, strobing as I banged my toms, snares, and cymbals like a madman. As I played, plumes of rainbow smoke enveloped Izzy. The rock-star aura wasn’t that or the lights.
It was him.
The moment he strummed that first wicked chord, leaped into the air, and opened his vermillion lips, the goose bumps broke out on my arms. The energy he possessed burst forth like a powder keg and affected everyone around him: the audience, the band, the backstage crew. He moved his hips, slid his hand down his body, and sang as if he were fucking the very beat and groove of his own music. Or, better yet, fucking a woman and his ego at the same time. When Izzy lay on his back and belted into a mic, he was pretty much jacking off. Only Izzy could pull that off without looking like a sleaze. It was crazy, hyper, and such a goddamn turn-on. I wonder that half the audience didn’t come when Izzy hit a high note. As Izzy’s voice rose above the screams of the women jostling to be closer to the stage, my heart raced.
That voice. His voice. I knew what the critics said. I knew what the fans thought. But for me, it was everything and more. High and low. Male and female. It slithered through me, heated me from the inside out, and left me panting. How could one man be gifted with such a bluesy, soulful voice? The heartache and triumph in those notes made my mouth dry. I now knew he uttered some of those intimate sounds in the throes of passion. I thought about that blowjob as Izzy writhed and crooned at the edge of the stage. In the midst of the music was the answer to why the ladies—and the men—would trample their way to get a foot closer to the stage. It was sex. Pure, unadulterated sex. It screamed into their minds and shook their bodies to the core. Every song was a chance for them to be fucked by that voice.
With four albums to pull material from, Izzy strung them along, tiptoeing them through his world, a place without labels, without shame, and no apologies, only dripping with need. And, God, did it make them need…make me need. The heat from my body was trapped in my clothes and even in my platforms, drowning me. My arms were tired, beat down from the music, but the concert was only beginning.
As we played, the fans reached out to Izzy, desperate for a glance or a touch, and Izzy never disappointed them. They’d stretch to brush his platforms, or he’d deign to bend over and allow their fingers to tease his wrist or palm. It was all a show for Izzy, a power trip full of glitter, throbbing beats, and swooning fans, and I wanted a piece of him. Not the fame, but him, a glitterotica fantasy, mine. I caught my breath, my focus hard on the rhythm, harder on him. Why him? Damn him. Why did he make me feel like this for doing nothing more than being himself? With every chameleon-like transformation of his—eight costume and makeup changes—I wanted to scream, for I was Izzy Rich’s number one fan. Who was kidding?
As Izzy was singing, “Don’t use me to define your laws,” he stopped, and then drew his microphone toward the fans. They sang, “Because even diamonds have flaws!” back at him. Izzy stood, smiling, nodding to them singing the rest of the chorus. All his fans were number one, and yet I foolishly felt I was the only one. But then again, what fan didn’t believe the same? The men screamed, but it was the women, the glitter rock queens, dominating the glitter rock kings. I took a deep breath and mouthed, “Whoa!” My drumsticks on my lap, I breathed in the heat, licked the beads of sweat from the corner of my mouth, tasting lipstick. Izzy had exited the stage, but his fans screamed as if he were still there.
When he returned, they went wild. Deep inside, so did I.
Izzy wore a shimmering gold, pink, blue, and teal colored cat suit that hugged his body. His pumps matched the color-blend in glitter. Izzy’s hips swayed seductively as he caressed the mic stand from top to bottom. Izzy turned his back to the audience, stretching his arms behind his back as he grooved his body against the microphone stand, shaking his ass. He turned around, shimmying his chest, kicking his leg up, flashing his thigh. He jumped and landed on his knees, his legs spread, his groin bulging. His shoulders swung back to the floor, and his back arched as he played a catchy, rolling guitar riff.
It was the sex-charged melody to “Dirty Dancer.” Izzy let out a manic, orgasmic howl, shaking his head, his guitar solo dominating him, dominating me until he stopped cold. All I could do was ogle him as the lights dimmed until only one light was shining on him. He curled his fingers around the mic stand and bobbed his hand on it in slow jerks.
“Nobody likes to dance alone,” he crooned with a most menacing smile of lust. “Oh, no,” he cooed, his head shaking with a tinge of innocence. “Not even a dirty dancer like me.”
The band and I softly played the harmony of the song.
Izzy crept across the stage to his left, belly dancing. He crept to the right side, leaning back as he strutted, swaying his ass slowly, scooting deeper in his groove. Center stage, Izzy stood sideways and bent over. The audience roared as he caressed his body from legs to shoulders. The band and I stopped.
“Ladies at the Hammersmith Odeon tonight…” he purred into the microphone. They screamed deliriously. “Who wants to rule the world with me on this stage? Make it ours.”
Thousands of hands reached out to him as he sashayed to his right, walking the length of the stage, his silhouette a most beautiful shadow. He walked the length of the left side and stopped at the center stage. He struck a pose, bent over, and swayed his hips like the hot tramp that he was. The audience threw knickers on the stage. Izzy had an armful of them. He sniffed them. He tossed them in the air. As they were falling, he was shoulder-rolling and hip-shaking, strumming on his guitar madly. His bodyguards stepped out from the sidelines.
He stopped. The audience screamed louder as Izzy pointed at one woman. I wondered who he’d bring up on the stage this time. She was a gorgeous, short-statured, wide-eyed Latina bombshell with long-flowing coily dark hair, glowing light brown skin, red lips, and sparkling eye shadow. The bodyguards took her close to Izzy and stepped aside.
A gap divided her and Izzy. He curled his finger to her in a come-hither motion. She broke out in a scream as if he was making love to her. I breathed slowly as he shimmied toward her. He stooped down to her height, wrapped his arms around her, and lifted her up from the ground. He whispered questions the audience couldn’t possibly hear. But I knew exactly what he’d ask, every time.
“May I have permission to touch your body? Your ass, your thighs, and your breasts?”
The woman nodded her head excitedly. “Yes!”
He stopped whispering to her and said into the mic, “You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to. I only want you to feel me…” He caressed her cheek. “Like I’m feeling you.”
He strummed on his guitar.
“You don’t need to know how to dance for me, honey,” he sang. I picked up my drumsticks, banging on my toms and snares, my foot on the pedal, the band playing as Izzy crooned to her, “As long as you’re dirty, let’s show the world how freaky-deaky you and I can be!”
I whipped my hair to my hyper, galloping drumming, to Izzy’s androgynous, otherworldly voice. Oh, how he danced in circles around the girl. Still screaming like a maniac, she gawked as he’d stop to stroke her thighs and pat her bottom as he sang. As the music grew hotter, I drummed with my hip thrust, turned on by the woman, a slave to him, and to Izzy. My cock throbbed as he bumped his crotch against her ass, caressing her thighs, belly, and breasts while singing the last verse. Her pleasure was my envy, taking me over. The air was hot, and it wasn’t because of the lights. Sweat bullets were dripping down to my neck.
“Man or woman,” he sang to her in a shout. “Dance with me!” he howled and dared. “Be the man and the woman that you see, baby, outside and within the dirty dancer inside of me.” Caressing her cheek with one hand, strumming on his guitar with the other, he sang “Or…” He lowered his knees and inched his face closer to hers as he crooned, “Or you can just…”
Izzy’s guitar was silent. So was I and the band.
Instead of singing kiss me, Izzy pressed his lips to hers. The woman held on to him as they snogged. Passionately, deeply. The audience screamed. My heart beat so fast my drums couldn’t compare. That most supreme onstage kiss seemed to last forever, but in reality, it didn’t. In my head, I counted the seconds, the only numbers that mattered. Five, four, three, two…
When my head counted to one, Izzy broke the kiss. His bodyguards rushed up and took the woman by her arms. She screamed, “Izzy, I’ll never let go! I love you!” as they pulled her away. Izzy bowed and blew her a kiss as his bodyguards escorted her back to the front row.
“Kiss me till our lips hurt…” Izzy sang helplessly. “Kiss me till we can’t dance dirty anymore.”
As the audience roared, I sighed, wishing that he’d kiss me until our lips hurt. Oh, if only… The lights darkened. Izzy dashed to the wings for his Delilah Starr drag.
I took a deep breath as I drummed to the pounding beats. Our music went on for three minutes, and then it segued into the theatrical melody of the Rich Girl theme. The harmony washed over me—the lively, dramatic piano and the soaring, sweeping romantic guitars. The aching saxophone was bleeding a tragedy, my heroic drums lifting it into heaven. The lights dimmed; the stage was dark again. And then a sparkling diamond-like light nearly blinded me, but it wasn’t the lights. It was Delilah Starr.
She was statuesque in her diamond-studded five-inch pumps. Her off-the-shoulder ruby red furs waved as her diamonds sparkled around her neck, in her ears, on her wrists, and over the bodice of her body-hugging, sequined white dress. Her diamond-studded art-deco headdress brought a touch of elegance to her bob. Her face was porcelain perfection with long lashes, her lids painted with shimmery black eyeshadow. Her cinched waist complemented her hourglass figure and her big, round breasts, but they were only an illusion. That ass was not. It was natural. Perfect. Like her.
As I sounded the wind chimes, she struck a pose, holding her head high like a queen, stroking her diamonds and furs. When she caressed her bare shoulders and hugged herself, rocking slow, I was breathless. She was untouchable. A diva. A dark twisted fantasy. A beauty. A dream. A nightmare.
We pulled five songs from the Rich Girl album, sung in a medley. Every passionate beat from my drums was for her as she belted her songs. Even the way she’d strut, those breasts bouncing, those hands to her hips, her ass shaking, was a revelation. She jumped off the piano, landing on her heels. She twirled toward center stage and froze in the spotlight.
“I’m not a boy. Not even a poor boy.” She stepped back, the light following her. “I may have been that once, but now…” She pressed a balled hand to her chest. “A girl is what I am, and what I was always meant to be. Not just any girl.” Her head cocked up high, she belted triumphantly, “I’m Delilah Starr, a rich girl! Yes, world, that’s me. This is me. A rich girl is all that fame—my fame—is seeing.” She looked out to the audience, embracing herself as she wailed, “But will my man love me for who I really am? A human being!”
As she sang the last verse, she unembraced herself, her arms open. “If I could pray, I’d pray to be his wife.”
Surrounded by darkness, only one light shined on her. She sat on her knees, her hands in prayer. The audience was eerily quiet as she closed her eyes, and, after seconds of silence, she belted, “God. I’m praying that my love won’t take my life!”
Delilah stood. My drumming rolled. And then—
“Baby?” Delilah cooed ecstatically in her weak voice, reaching her hands out to her love. “Can’t you see?” She stepped closer, touching her heart as she crooned, “I love you like I love…me.”
The audience shrieked when the sound of a gunshot cracked the air.
Delilah’s scream was heart-piercing. Liquid red bled through the dress and dripped from Delilah’s chest to her stomach. Another shot went off. She crashed to the ground in a loud thud. The light shined on her, her headdress glittering. A chorus line of men appeared with cameras, snapping pictures. Placing my drumsticks on my snares, I stood. The band and I together drew toward her slowly and somberly, shooing the paparazzi away. They were gone, and we were alone. I covered Delilah’s wide-open eyes with my palm. When I moved it away, they were closed. I placed my hands underneath her headdress. Benson stood to her right, Phil to her left, their hands beneath her body. Larry had her by the ankles. Roadies pushed out a diamond-bedazzled stretcher for Delilah. We carried her away and set her on the ground backstage. She seemed lifeless, even when only playing dead.
Crouched on my knees, I said into Izzy’s ear, “Wake up. You aren’t dead yet.”
He didn’t flinch, blink, or move. I patted his cheek. He still didn’t budge, not even a little. I felt panic on my face and saw it on everyone’s faces, too. My hands shook, my mind blown, dizzy, racing. As I was about to check for Izzy’s pulse, he popped his eyes open.
“Boo!” he declared in his voice, not Delilah’s.
My heart dropped. “Wanker!” I growled after he jumped back on his heels, cackling.
He grabbed my wrists, and he laughed louder as I was about to wring his neck, our foreheads almost touching. “I had you fooled, Johnny, ha!” He let go of my wrists and pointed his finger at everyone. “I had all of you fooled!”
Larry, Tim, Benson, and Phil gave him the middle finger, and crew members slapped his ass with their clipboards, many on his team pelting him with paper balls.
“Sorry, everyone. I had to do that. I’m such a baddy!” Izzy cackled, smearing the fake blood from the plunging neckline of his dress to his chest, sucking the red stuff off his fingertips.
“All right, Izzy, your show’s not over yet,” someone from management said. “Twenty minutes.”
I watched as Izzy’s assistants helped him remove his gear as fast as possible, storing his headdress, furs, shoes, and diamonds in a safe. Izzy dashed to the hall. After a quick water break, I headed back to where he went off to, to the only place where I wanted to be.
Izzy’s bodyguard, Rick, barked at the men and women crowding the halls as I pushed my way through. Rick stepped aside when he saw me, then he stood behind me and blocked the door. I knocked three times. Paused. Knocked on it three more times.
“Come in, Johnny!” I heard Izzy shout.
The groupies behind us howled and screamed, chanting Izzy’s name.
I rushed into the room, slamming my back against the door and locking it quickly. I looked ahead, crossing my arms and shaking my head. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of marijuana. “Well…somebody’s having a party.”
Izzy stretched out in his chair, wearing only red panties and a bra stuffed with fake titties. He was smoking a fat blunt.
“Any time is the right time to party,” he said with a wink.
I laughed. “You got to get dressed. We have—”
He removed the silicone breast form from his bra, squeezed it, and tossed it at me. It flew over my head, hitting the wall. That cracked me up. “Ha! You missed!”
He tossed the second one across the room at me, but I ducked.
“Missed again!” I laughed.
The blunt in his mouth, he leaned forward and unlatched the hook from his bra, revealing his perky, dark pink nipples. He threw the bra at me.
“Ooh.” I shook my head and tsked. “Close, oh so bloody close.”
“But this is no cigar.” He waved the reefer at me. “Want some?”
I looked at the clock. “We only got—”
“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time.” He puffed the blunt, holding in the smoke and coughing harshly. “Here. Take it.”
When I swiped it from him, he crossed his legs, flashing me his nude thigh. I looked for only a split second and then I leaned against the wall, pressing the hot bud against my mouth, sucking in the skunky aroma. I closed my eyes and coughed when I felt that tickling, burning itch in my throat.
“Good stuff, huh?”
I nodded. “I needed this.”
“I bet you did.”
When I opened my eyes, he uncrossed his legs, spreading them.
“There’s a lot more if you want it,” he said, caressing his bob.
Flaccid, it was still an exquisite beast, stealing my breath. My mouth watered, my throat craving it. I turned my back toward Izzy, sucking the blunt, already feeling a heady buzz sabotaging my brain.
I heard him snort. “Damn, you really needed it bad, didn’t you?”
“The reefer. What did you think I was talking about?”
I cleared my throat, unsure what to say. I took two more hits and turned around. Izzy had his back to me, standing before a rack of stunning, outrageous frocks. “Can’t decide what to wear?”
He looked over his shoulder. “I waited for you. Pick one for me, Johnny Angel.”
I smiled at him calling me by that nickname. “My pleasure, captain.”
Standing beside him, I pressed my hand to my chin, rubbing it. “Hmm…” My eyes lit up. “Ooh!” I took out a sky blue, baby pink, and white striped three-piece ensemble of a butch blazer, a femme mini-top, and a slutty skirt. “This is going to look hot. Put it on.”
He looked at the rack. “What about—”
“You’re going to wear it, Izzy!” I barked. “We don’t have all bloody night.”
Izzy’s eyes widened, and he smiled smugly. He shivered, but I wasn’t sure if that was an act or if he was submitting to me. “Well, then.” His voice changed to a woman’s. “As you wish, sir.”
I’d never heard him use that warm, sweet voice before. Izzy looked at me with those seductive eyes and naughty smirk as if he knew that my cock twitched with that as you wish, sir.
I sat in Izzy’s chair, smoking the blunt as I watched him fit into the outfit. The mini-top was cut at the midriff, so his toned abs were proudly bare, shiny with sweat. The skirt hugged his ass, showing off his legs. The blazer made him look militant, a kick-ass woman. He shook his rump, turned around, and faced me with a grin. “Brilliant choice, Johnny,” he said as he slipped his feet into a pair of glossy white pumps.
“And you almost doubted me, didn’t you?”
“Like I’d ever do that.” He posed in front of the mirror, checking himself out.
“Want more of this?” I waved the blunt at him.
“Snub it out. I’ll save it for after the show.”
I got off the chair and drew to the ashtray on the table, doing as told. “What about this?” I asked about the two lines of cocaine on the table. “Is it for later?”
“It’s for now. For us.”
“Aw, you were thinking about me.”
I returned back to his chair. “Such a doll you are. Sometimes.”
After he inserted the pearl earrings in his ears, he went toward me. Not seeing it coming at all, I gasped when Izzy jumped in my lap. I flailed back a little as he straddled me, his arms slumped over my shoulders. How tempting it was to ride my hand up Izzy’s skirt to squeeze his beautiful ass. I jumped nervously again when he reached into my pocket and removed my lipstick. Exposing the slender, smooth tip, he looked at my lips with a serious expression as he glided the salmon-pink hue over them.
“Your lips. Smack them.”
I pressed my lips together, spreading the smooth and luscious lipstick evenly from upper to lower lip, and then smacking them, flashing Izzy a smile. He slipped the applicator back in my pocket.
He looked into my eyes and at my lips. “Now you look like a doll.”
“Instead of a whore?”
“You’re a pretty mess, and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” He cupped my face, and my eyes widened when he licked the dimple of my chin.
“You’re so bloody stoned!”
“No, I’m not.”
He licked me again. I could hardly keep a straight face. I snorted. “Ah, you and your dimpled-chin fetish.”
He ran his tongue from my left cheek to my lower eyelid, and I had to hold back my moan. “Bloody hell, Izzy.” I chuckled. “What are you doing?”
“Licking off your sweat,” he said breathily. “And your mascara lines.”
I didn’t bother asking why. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t enjoying it. I let him do it to my other cheek. The way his long tongue danced along my skin was strangely exciting. He licked my cheeks not once, but twice. It was hard not to love the smooth texture of his tongue. The warmth of his breath. The plump softness of his lips brushing along my flesh as he licked me. My legs trembled when he started to suck my skin. I squirmed, and then I squeaked. My moan wasn’t all that broke free.
Izzy looked down at my boner.
“Bloody hell. This is embarrassing.”
“Why? What’s the big deal?”
“Average and fat is sexy, too, you know,” he said, gazing deeply into my eyes. “Addictive.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” He nodded at my hard-on.
My cheeks burned hotly as my cock throbbed. “How would you know that?”
“I’ve watched the groupies go down on you many times,” Izzy said, caressing the back of my neck. “How they ride you. They can’t seem to get enough of your cock.”
“Um, um, um,” he laughed. “Hell, for someone who’s as much a freak as me, you sometimes act like such a virginal schoolboy.”
“Since I’ve known you.” He pinched my cheek. I chuckled. “What’s funny?” he asked.
I smacked his wrist as he tried to pinch me again. “I never knew you were a peeping tom.” I bit my lower lip. “I thought it was only me peeping on you.”
I gasped when Izzy unbuttoned my pants, and I snickered when he yanked down my zipper. “Funny, Izzy. You can stop now.”
“You want me to stop?”
“No! I mean—” He pulled my pants down lower, exposing my pubic hair. “Bloody hell, Iz.” I breathed slowly, in disbelief of what was happening. “You are serious.”
“You sucked off my cock. So, I’ll wank off yours.”
“That’s…” I gulped, nervous and excited. “Fair…”
He put his hand down my pants, our eyes meeting as he squeezed my fat, average-length cock. When he wrapped his fingers around my big cockhead, a bud of pre-come formed instantly.
I trembled when he squeezed me hard. “Izzy…”
He relaxed his grip on my cock. “John, if you don’t want me to do this, I’ll let you wank it, okay?”
“No, no, I want you to do it,” I squeaked, my voice shaking. “It’s…the time…”
“We have plenty of that.”
I looked at the clock from across the room. “We got only t-ten minutes…”
My cock throbbed more than ever when Izzy squeezed me harder. “I can do this in two.”
He yanked my pants down to my knees. The rings on his fingers were cool, making me shiver. I swiveled my hips when Izzy slowly wanked my cock. I closed my eyes and bucked slowly into the hole of his grip. When my eyes fluttered, I saw him spit a thick saliva wad into that hole. So warm, so wet. He squeezed me, wanking me faster. I whimpered when Izzy thrust his tongue into my ear. When he sucked me there, my sweet spot, my body melted. I panted as he fucked my ear with his tongue, wanking me at the same time. My toes curled in my platforms when he gently tugged my diamond stud with his sucking. My hands shook when he wanked faster. He sucked my ear harder, the tip of his tongue teasing the backing of my earring. I writhed as he panted with me. I opened my eyes, wanting to squeal, to beg, cry for more, but I thought about Izzy’s bodyguards and the fans hearing me through the door, and I bit my lower lip hard.
His fingers felt like a cock ring around the base of my big sack. Except better. My balls bulged when he tightened his fingers around me. He wanked me so feverishly that my eyes rolled to the back of my head. And then I looked down, marveling at Izzy’s right hand. I bucked, I let out a pained gasp. Izzy moaned desperately, my ear in his mouth, as I was coming. I gasped at how sticky his hand was, more from my come than his spit, as he was still wanking me. My teeth gritted from the overwhelming pleasure. My cock was soft, but he kept going.
“That’s enough!” I ordered, my voice shaky.
“Yes, sir!” Izzy squeaked. He clearly sounded submissive that time. Not a tease, not being sarcastic. It was the real deal. He let go of my cock and took his tongue out of my ear. His eyes lit up when he looked at his hand. Even his diamonds were glazed with my come. “Damn, Johnny.”
“Sorry.” I blushed, reaching out for a tissue.
He got off my lap. As I reached out for a clean towel instead, I froze, watching him remove his rings. He sucked my jizz off them, one by one. Setting them on the counter, he held his hand up and licked from his wrists to his fingertips, lapping up more of my come. I leaned back in the chair, pulled up my pants, zipped, and buttoned myself as he swallowed. I breathed slowly. What to say, what to think? I looked down, shaking my head. What happened was surreal, and yet as ordinary as breathing.
“Towel,” he ordered. I tossed it at him. He caught it, drying his hands and fingers.
I looked at the clock. “Bloody hell. You were quick.”
He slipped his rings back on. “Told you so.”
Standing on his knees before the table, Izzy looked over his shoulder at me.
I grinned, sitting on my knees beside him. With our tightly rolled piece of paper in hand, our noses raced from the beginning to the end of the line. My nose burned and tingled. Izzy rubbed his nose, and he smiled goofily.
He giggled. “Feeling it, baby?”
The rush of euphoria made me giddy, too. “I can feel everything.”
He draped his arm over my shoulder, letting out a bubbly, obnoxious giggle. He took my hand, and we stood looking at each other. Unsure if it was because of the reefer and coke, suddenly, all I could think about was kissing the man. I dared myself. Go ahead. Kiss Izzy. I closed my eyes, drawing my lips toward his. As I did it, I could’ve sworn this lips were drawing closer to mine, too, until—
I opened my eyes, blinking.
Izzy raised his brow. “What are you doing?”
“What did you think I was doing?”
“I’m asking you, silly. You tell me!”
“God, we are stoned. That’s what it is.”
“That’s what I love about you,” he slurred. “Us mucking about like this. I bloody love it.”
“I love…” I stopped. “I love that, too, Izzy.”
He hugged me, and I hugged him. He held me closer, rocking me. I smiled warmly, and then gently let go of him. “Okay, okay. Seriously, Iz. We need to go.”
He turned his back to me and unlocked the door, but before he opened it, I touched his shoulder. “Wait. Iz…”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“Everything we did here tonight was…fun.”
“But was it, like, only for laughs, I guess? Like, does it change anything between us?”
He blinked. He grinned. And then, he burst out in laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “Izzy, c’mon. I’m serious!”
“I don’t bloody know! All I know is that…” He cackled. “You’re something else tonight!”
He laughed harder, he made me laugh harder. I forgot what I asked.
He opened the door. There were no groupies; only his bodyguards. Hand in hand, we ran down the hall, the clopping of our heels echoing. He let go of my hand and left my side as soon as we were surrounded by the entourage. I rushed to Phil, standing behind him, rubbing my nose. The Diamonds were on for the encore.
They chanted Izzy’s name when The Diamonds returned to the stage. The air was hotter, the smoke more colorful, and the lights heavier than ever. I looked out at the audience as I struck my cymbals, toms, and snares, pumping my feet madly on the bass pedal. I bobbed my head to the melody of Izzy’s song. The darkness to me intensified the audience’s screaming that was as hard as my drumming, numbing my hearing. A bright, loud purple light crept to the wings. Izzy danced backward toward the mic, rolling his shoulders and shaking his ass. He spun on his heels and stopped to show off his ensemble. I smiled proudly. His fans were cheering about my choice. Izzy turned around again with a hip wiggle and a pelvic thrust.
He blew kisses, giving a bow and a curtsy. “Everyone have a bloody good time tonight?” He giggled boyishly when the audience roared. He put the stand between his legs and wanked it fast, immediately taking me back to the dressing room. I grinned, my cock throbbing as Izzy squatted and bobbed his ass above the floor, pressing his lips to the center of the stand. He slowly licked the silver head of the mic, sealing his sweet affection with his kiss. Izzy rolled his shoulders and cooed in the most wicked voice, “Who wants some more?”
His fans screamed so loud I almost couldn’t hear my drums.
Putting his hand up to his ear, Izzy purred, “Ladies! Let me hear you. Do you want some more?” Their horny screams grew as I and the band jammed light and low. He stopped and cooed, “Boys! Now it’s your turn.” They were screaming and hollering before Izzy said, “Do you want some more?” He giggled as they shouted at the top of their lungs. I smiled when Izzy declared, “You got it, ladies and gents and those who identify in-between or nowhere at all.” He spread his arms. “You’ll have all of me, tonight and forever!”
The purple light followed him as he crossed to his guitar. The crowd went wild when he put the strap over his shoulder. He cradled the guitar in his arms and rocked his hips as the audience roared. He made it screech and howl pure sex and rock and roll, but then he suddenly stopped playing, pointing at us. “But first, I must introduce…”
The band and I played in the same tempo, my cymbals chiming, my snares and toms knocking.
“My band,” Izzy said, sounding breathless. “These old and young dudes up here, they’re the extension of me.”
The audience howled, “The Diamonds!”
Izzy giggled. “That’s right, riches. I love my boys. They’re my divas, especially…” He raced to the piano and howled, “This is my lovely piano man, Phil Weintraub!”
The audience cheered as Phil rocked it out on his piano, his soulful keys dark, playful, and romantic. No matter how many times I heard him play, I was in awe of his major brilliance.
“Ooh,” Izzy moaned. “He’s bloody amazing with his fingers.”
After Phil’s solo, he danced toward Tim. “And this man here, he sure can blow. This is my sax man, Tim Murphy. Give him a hand, my glitter rock and rollers.”
They cheered as Tim blew his horn louder. Izzy bobbed his head, rolling his shoulders to his soulful, bluesy solo. Then Izzy shimmied over to Benson and Larry, standing between them as the two were grooving on their guitars.
“And these two, Benson Campbell and Larry Dorsey, they sure know how to party!”
Benson had his solo, then Larry had his. As the two played together, Izzy went down on his knees before them. Then Izzy, Benson and Larry faced each other. The three jammed, their unique guitar stylings electrifying. The three did the pelvic thrust, crotches touching. Izzy, strumming on his guitar, grooved toward me.
“And here’s the best for last, the man who loves to bang as much as I do, my drummer boy…” He stopped playing his guitar, and he howled, “Jonathan Maxwell!”
A radiant glow warmed my face as the audience applauded. Standing behind me, Izzy grabbed two canisters from the floor. He popped them open, and as I did a few rolls on my drums, he dusted glitter over our heads. We head banged, and glitter from our hair rained down, sprinkling the drums. He gave me my thirty-second solo. I banged wildly as Izzy shouted and danced. Then everyone jammed as Izzy scooted center stage, his hips jerking and head rolling as he started singing. Throughout the entire three-song encore, I was reminded yet again that a boundless number of women and men wanted him as much as I did. When the encore was over, Izzy jumped, landed on his pumps, and surrendered, dropping to his knees.
The band stopped and stood behind him. Izzy let go of the microphone and covered his eyes with his arm. I saw sweat, mascara, and glittered tears rolling down his cheeks. Moving his arm away, he grabbed the microphone and sat on his knees.
His voice quivered. “Thank you. All of you. You’re wonderful. Fucking beautiful.” He rubbed his eyes, smearing his tears. “See what a wreck you make out of me? I live and die for you.”
He pointed at his fans, looking tired and out of air, but his smile was strong. He shook his head, and a stage crew member tossed a towel to him. He stood, wiping his face. With a hair flip, he held his arm high, waving the towel like a flag. His face was nude, free from the makeup, glitter, and glam. Proudly au naturel, Izzy’s god / goddess face was now exposed for his fans to worship. And how they did. Izzy stood still, looking out to them. He tossed the towel to them. Many hands jostled to catch it. It was a young man. When he screamed—
I thought it was me.
I and the band clapped for Izzy. He took one giant breath of the hot, smoky, glittery air and gave the audience one last spellbinding grin. We backed away. Izzy was center stage, alone. The purple, pink, and gold lights shone on him. He cupped his face in the palms of his hands. “This is me.” He smiled, opening his arms. “And I am you.” He blew the last kiss. He turned to his band, and we embraced one another, all joined hands. We bowed to the fans up to the count of three. “Good night, Hammersmith Odeon. Good night, my darling riches.” Izzy waved. “God bless you all.” He did the heart sign to his chest. “I love you.”
We waved good night as Izzy exited the stage. One by one, we exited, too. Those final cries, shouts, and screams that rang in my ear may have harkened the end to another spectacular Izzy Rich concert, but it was only the beginning to what was yet to come. A new dawn, a new day, a new adventure in the world of Izzy’s tour, a day in the life of his rock and roll. Another concert, as new as the first. A new sensual daydream. A new hopeless fantasy. A new heady trip into the realm of my unreality, of my undying wish that one day Izzy Rich would be mine.
Even with shades over my eyes, I could already see the many flashing lights. I could hear the groupies from outside the exit door of the venue. When Izzy’s bodyguards opened the door, hundreds must have been waiting for him. They screamed, chanting Izzy’s name. I ran behind Tim as the five of us dashed to the limousine. As soon as we were inside and the door closed, I kicked back in the plush seating, removing my shades and wiping sweat from my brow. We were waiting for Izzy.
Benson patted his afro, doing the same. “A drink, anyone?”
Phil slicked back his short brown hair. “Ale, please, B.”
“The baby bottle of rum for me,” Tim ordered, his Welsh accent coarse.
I crossed my legs. “Cider, B-man. Make it snappy!”
“Why not ask for the moon, all of you?” Benson chuckled as he went into the fridge crowded with booze. He handed us our poisons of choice. “What about you, Larry?”
He leaned back, running his fingers through his long salt-and-pepper hair. “Nah, I’ll pass.”
After I twisted the cap off my bottle, the sound of mayhem shook the limousine walls. Izzy’s name was all I could hear. I watched him through the dark glass of the limo as I sipped my bubbly. He strolled down the red carpet like a supermodel, showing off his frock and newly dolled-up face. He stopped to hold, kiss, and shake as many hands as possible, sign as much merchandise as he could grasp, and autograph his name on skin—on the breasts and asses of oh so many sexy women and on the chests and stomachs of very pretty men. As the guys and I were laughing and talking, from time to time, I’d look out the window again, seeing Izzy still giving love and appreciation to his fans. I nursed my cider as Tim kicked back a third drink, and Benson and Phil were on their fourth.
Someone from management shouted, “Izzy, we’ve got to go!”
Izzy rushed to the limo with his four guards in tow. We could still hear the fans screaming and chanting his name as he got in and the limo moved off. Izzy wiggled himself between Larry and me.
“Everyone’s doing all right?” he asked like a concerned parent.
“Splendid.” Phil smiled.
“Tad bit tipsy,” Benson slurred, reaching out to straighten Izzy’s tie clumsily.
“Oh dear, some feathers are missing,” Tim said, caressing Izzy’s boa. Larry playfully stroked the bald parts.
“Shh,” Izzy whispered to the boa, petting it. “No one can harm you now.”
“How are you feeling, Iz?” I asked him.
“Bloody fantastic!” Izzy howled, his arm flirtatiously over my shoulder. “What a show tonight. I’d say that was one of the best performances we had at the Hammersmith. All of you killed it.”
I took a swig from my bottle. The cider was almost flat. “No, you did.”
“It’s a wonder that you aren’t knocked out cold right now,” said Larry.
Izzy jumped in the seat. “I have so much energy now, I don’t know what to do with myself!”
Benson laughed. “I’m sure you can think of something to do.”
Tim snorted. “Or someone who can do something to you. Maybe tire you out.”
Izzy grinned and nodded. “I’ll tell you what, boys, the after-party tonight is going to be jamming. I invited a lot of supermodels. My date tonight will be with Yasmin Ahmed.”
Our jaws dropped. I nearly panted at the thought of her striking dark brown skin, regal face, thick lips, seductive brown eyes, petite body, and long, breathtaking legs.
“You lucky dog.” Phil smirked.
Izzy beamed. “We’ve been keeping in touch since we bumped into each other at one of my Vogue shoots,” he said hyperly. “We never had time to meet face-to-face again until now. I asked her out on a date and invited her to the party this morning.”
“Wow, this morning?” Phil asked, sounding surprised.
“She flew straight from Somalia to London just to see me,” Izzy squeaked giddily.
“Lucky bastard,” I said. “You know she’s one of my favorite African models.”
“Speaking of African models, Gobey Elmi will be at the party, too. Another favorite of yours.”
My eyes lit up. “Damn. Who else did you invite?”
“A few lesser known models that I’ve had my eye on.”
“So basically,” Tim said, “a lot of the world’s most beautiful people are coming to the party.”
“Everyone, except for Izzy,” I said, laughing. Everyone else laughed, too, even Izzy.
“Maybe I’ll come. Maybe I won’t. It’s up to Yasmin. So, anyway. What’s everyone’s plans for tomorrow?”
“What’s tomorrow?” Tim asked.
“Whatever you want to make of it.”
“That’s right. We actually have a day off tomorrow.”
“You deserve it, boys.”
“Well, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Larry said. “Sleeping in.”
Tim and Phil nodded to that.
“Oh dear, that sounds dreadfully boring,” Izzy scoffed with a playful snicker at them.
“Of course you’d say that.” Tim chuckled. “You hardly ever sleep.”
“I don’t need sleep. Music and sex keeps me up.”
“Literally.” Larry laughed, looking at Izzy’s groin.
“Geezer.” Izzy caressed the wrinkles on Larry’s face. “I’m surprised you can still keep yours up.”
Larry cackled. “All on its own! Only the wifey gets to jump this bone.”
“I don’t get how you can still stay committed on tour,” Benson said. “I can’t stand one day without fucking a hot lady. Or two. Or three.”
Tim, Phil, Benson, and I toasted and drank to that.
“That’s what my right hand is for. I look, but don’t touch. Except myself.”
“That’s a good husband,” Izzy said. “How’s ol’ Nancy?”
“She’s doing well. And the little ones miss me like crazy, I hear.”
Izzy crossed his arms with a pout. “I wish I was in your shoes,” he mumbled.
Larry smirked. “I know, love. But you got plenty of time. Don’t rush a thing like that.”
“Not too much time left. I want to be a family man by the time I’m thirty.”
“That only gives you nine months, Iz,” I said.
“Don’t remind me.” He sighed and looked at me. “What are your plans tomorrow?”
“Visiting the folks.”
He beamed. “Send them my love, especially to baby Zachary. How old is he now?”
“Three. Growing like a weed, I hear, and taking after his uncle Johnny when I was his age. Being such a brat already, but I bloody adore him for that, I do. Takes so much after Emma, too.”
“I still remember when she was pregnant, as big as a house when I met her.”
“I know! Jeez, time flies when we’re having way too much fun.”
“Especially you, baby John, you party animal,” Phil teased.
Izzy looked at me. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that at my parties, you get a lot of tail.”
My eyes widened. “Who told you that?”
“You. You were drunk.”
“What did I say?”
“That you have sex six times a day.”
“Yeah, right. And you have sex like, what, eight times a day?”
“And more.” He winked.
“I must have been bluffing. I’m lucky if I make it to three.”
“How many times today?” he asked, that question catching me by surprise.
My cheeks blushed warmly. I wasn’t thinking of what happened before the concert but what Izzy and I did. “I lost count.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He stroked my shoulder. “My boys having a bloody good time.”
“I’m having a bloody good time all right.” I grinned. “And I’m only getting started.”
A rock star is always a rock star. Day in, day out. From sunrise to sunset. In life and in death. Izzy was living proof of that. No matter where he went, who he was with, or what he was doing, he was Izzy Rich, the Prince of Glam Rock. He lived in a world of excess very few people in the universe were lucky enough to be in. I was one of those few lucky ones to eat, drink, live, breathe, and be it, letting it take a life of its own in me, with him. As his bandmate, as his close friend. I could only wish he was my lover.
Alone in my hotel room suite, after taking a long shower, I sat at the edge of my bed with the phone on my lap. I dialed the number to my parents’ place. After three rings, our family butler, Nolan, answered. As usual, his voice was a ray of sunshine.
Twirling the phone cord around my finger, I said, “I know it’s late. I was going to call you this morning to let everyone know that I’ll still be making it to brunch tomorrow, but—”
“No need to explain. We know how busy you are.” Nolan chuckled.
“Just got back from the Hammersmith. Izzy said it was one of our best shows there.”
“Still the perfectionist, is he?”
“You kidding me? He works us like mad, but he’s so worth it.”
“How is Mr. Rich?” Nolan asked, sounding eager to know.
“Nolan, is that baby John?” I heard Emma’s voice in the background before I could respond.
“At Mum and Papa’s place already?” I snickered when she took over the phone.
“They couldn’t wait to see the baby. You know how they are with him.”
“Jared is the worst. How’s my brother-in-law?”
“Overseas in India on business.”
“Damn, I was hoping I’d see him tomorrow. Who else is coming?”
I scoffed at the mention of our older brother. “He can kiss my bisexual ass.”
Emma sighed. “I thought you’d moved on.”
“He’s the one who hasn’t moved on! The way he bloody looks at me always brings me back to when he said that Izzy’s a…” I gritted my teeth and growled. “A freak, a faggot like me.”
“John, calm down, please. It’s not as if he said it to his face.”
“Oh, if he did, I would’ve punched him, seriously I would have!” I fumed.
“I wanted to slap him, too. Always a bully.”
“He’s disgusting. And in front of family on Boxing Day of all days.” Emma was about to speak, but I continued, “And he never apologized, the bastard. Anyway, I’m going to Izzy’s party soon.” I told Emma about Yasmin Ahmed. She was thrilled and jealous.
“If those two ever got together and made babies…”
“The world would explode. I hope I’ll meet her tonight, if Izzy actually comes to the party.”
“How is Izzy?”
“He’s still wonderful.”
“You still love him,” Emma said teasingly. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“Nolan’s out of the room, right?”
I lay down in the bed. “You’d think after three years, I’d get over this silly…I guess it’s puppy love. Whatever it is, I can’t help how I feel, Emma. Is that foolish of me?”
“Well, he is Izzy Rich.”
“Don’t I know it. And I love everything about him, Emma.”
“Ask him out, already.”
I let out a laugh so hard it almost made me choke. “You’re crazy. I’m in no rush to date again, honestly. Nothing serious, anyway.”
“You’d date Izzy in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t happen. Besides, I’ve been extra careful since Odette.”
Emma broke the sudden silence between us. “I hate that bitch.”
“Hey, watch it.” I sat up. “I was going to ask that bitch to marry me.”
“That was a long time ago, John.”
My lips trembled. “Not long enough for me to forget her.”
“I wish you would.”
I rubbed my temples, shaking my head, unsure of what to say to that. I looked at the time. “Oh, got to go! Yasmin is waiting for me downstairs.”
“I wish! Anyway, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I’ll be there half past noon.”
“I’ll tell Nolan and Mom and Dad.”
After we hung up, I got dressed in silver and purple striped pants and a matching-colored vest with no shirt. In the bathroom, I smeared dark purple on my lips, and applied mascara, blue eye shadow, and face powder. With silver platforms on my feet, I stepped out of the hotel and made my way to the club by myself. Without any drugs in my system, I could feel everything.
Lights flashed everywhere, but it was the glitter instead of the paparazzi. In the club, all around me, women and men were dressed in glitter. Glitter in their hair. Glitter on their shoes. Glitter on their clothing. Glitter on their faces. Hell, even glitter in their eyes.
I could hardly taste the ecstasy in my mouth, but I felt it to the core of my marrow. I was floating in my mind. The weed was to blame for that, but it was also the atmosphere that skyrocketed me to the moon, around the world, and back in the speed of a zillion miles. Then again, both ecstasy and weed had nothing on this reality.
Booze was everywhere. Ecstasy, cocaine, and LSD were piled high in bowls and lined on silver platters, passed around like candy. Far more addicting were the beautiful people in attendance. Hardly a face in the club hadn’t been on the cover of a magazine. The male supermodels were dressed as drop-dead gorgeous women. The female supermodels, debonair men. Those lady-men kissing their fellow lady-man. Those sir-women kissing their fellow sir-woman. In twos, in threes, in fours, and more. My head was spinning, trying to keep up with the orgies. But who was counting the fucks, the kissing, groping, fingering, tonguing, S&M, and buggering. My lips were sore, my tongue was numb, my fingers were sticky, my palms were red, my asshole was gapped, and my cock was throbbing.
And the after-party was only beginning.
On a couch behind the curtain of the lounge room, I couldn’t believe it. Gobey Elmi was giving me the rim-job from heaven. I had no idea that he was gay until now. I gasped at the way his long tongue split my asshole in two. He wrapped his toned arms around my thighs and pushed my legs up high, tongue-fucking me deeper, harder. I moaned, looking down at him from between my legs, caressing his cheeks, smudging his pink glitter.
“You got one sweet ass,” he cooed, his Nigerian accent so bloody deep and sexy.
I shivered, caressing his bald head. “Bottom bitch.”
He nodded, licking the crack of my ass.
My cock twitched as he kissed my asshole. “You’ve been greedy enough.” He whimpered when I gently pushed his head away from my bottom, blowing him kisses. I pulled my pants back up, zipping and buttoning myself as he blew a kiss back and left. I closed my eyes, grinding my teeth while grinning. The darkness, music, and drugs took over. The high was my life. I hugged myself, in my own world, until a most adorable lisp cooed into my ear.
Silky-soft hands caressed my face. I opened my eyes, lying sideways and smiling goofily at Andrea Biggins, London’s one of few plus-sized models. She wasn’t a top model, but she was my star, topless, wearing only her knickers. Her shoulder-length brown hair sparkled with glitter, framing her gorgeous fair-skinned face. Her red lipstick was smeared, and her eye shadow was fucked, too. Oh how her smile, and her gapped teeth, made me shiver.
“Why, hello again, sexy. Missed me?”
Andrea straddled my lap. I wrapped my arms around her body, smacking her big ass, her soft, warm flesh rippling beneath my palms. As I sucked on her tongue, I rolled her hard nipples with my fingers, pinching them, making her squeal. When I pulled her nipples toward me, she moaned my name, louder when I smacked those jugs until her flesh warmed beneath my hands. I caressed her pussy, feeling a thick wet patch.
“Oh, Andrea, darling.” I slapped her muff, and she swiveled. “You’re so wet.”
She gyrated harder with a growl, looking down at me. “Fuck me!”
“Haven’t I fucked you open enough times already, you naughty minx?”
She let out an orgasmic laugh when I grabbed her tits, biting down on her left nipple.
Running her fingers through my hair, she trembled as I sucked, spinning my tongue around her velvety-soft areola. I stopped and let the nip slip from my mouth, sucking as much of her other tit in my mouth as I could. With my free hand, I cupped her other breast, rolling a throbbing, wet nip between my fingers. Andrea moaned, writhing. I opened my eyes, suckling on her harder as she pulled my hair with trembling fingers. As I greedily sucked some more, I moaned, slapping her nipple around with my ruthless tongue. I nursed on her nip as Andrea cried for more. I let go with a loud wet sound, smacking her tits.
“Why did you stop?” She pouted.
I panted. “Water.”
She was about to raise her hand to call a waiter, but I grabbed her wrist and growled. “No.” Tightening my grip around her wrist, I leaned and hissed into her ear, “I want you to get it.”
I let go of her wrist. “Why should I?” she sassed.
I batted my lashes. “I love your walk.” I licked my lips. “Makes me want to fuck your ass silly again.”
She grinned, caressing my face. “Slut.”
“You’ve seen nothing yet, sweetie.”
She shivered when I licked her ear. She was practically melting on top of me.
“C’mon.” I pushed her off me and smacked her ass. “Get what I asked for, baby. Please.”
Her dopey smile made me chuckle. She made only a step and was about to fall to the floor.
“Whoops!” I got up from the couch quick, holding her up. “What happened?”
“It’s your fault! You do this to me.”
I pinched her butt, smacking it again as she walked toward the bar adjacent to the lounge room. Stepping out of the lounge, I eyed Andrea, my cock throbbing as her ass jiggled. My cock also twitched at the sex shows going on—so many dildos, butt plugs, sex swings, bondage toys, and floggers being put to use by all the drunkards, druggies, dykes, faggots, and bisexuals. The party was a Garden of Eden. Who needed the apples when all of us were the forbidden fruit?
I felt Izzy’s presence like light in the room as he entered, glammed and dressed in clothes nearly identical to mine. He commanded the room as much as he did a stage, camera, recording studio, or photo shoot. Ruling by his side was Yasmin Ahmed, elegance in human form. I forgot how to breathe. She was even more otherworldly than in the magazines and on the runways. People turned their heads to gawk at the two, but nobody did or said anything. Everyone minded their fuckery. After wiping my mouth, I returned to the lounge, lying on the couch. I turned my head when the curtain opened and Andrea came back with my water.
“I saw Izzy Rich!” she squealed, jumping, those tits bouncing fast.
“Shh!” I put a finger over my mouth, shaking my head. “Don’t behave like that.”
“It’s really him,” she said fast three times. I snatched the bottle from her hand as she said, “I knew he’d look gorgeous in person, but bloody hell, he’s not of this planet.”
“Silly girl. You’re a model. You see beautiful men like him every day.”
“None like him, though.” She sat on my lap. “Izzy Rich is the supermodel’s supermodel.”
“Well, I can’t argue with you about that.”
“I’m curious, Johnny.” She smiled naughtily. “What’s Izzy really like?”
I drank the water slowly, squeezing the bottle like a cock. “Izzy’s all sorts of things.”
“I mean, like, is he really as…confusing as he seems?”
I took another sip of water. “Izzy is confusing, but not confused.” I set the bottle on the table.
She got off my lap, rushing to the curtain. “Fuck,” she said when she opened it.
I rolled my eyes. “What now?”
She looked at me, and I saw excitement and fright on her face. “He’s coming here.”
“Is Yasmin still with him?”
She nodded. “Johnny, I’m getting nervous. What do I do? What do I say?”
“Come back here.” I patted my lap.
She straddled me and my boner. “I want to scream. This is so overwhelming!”
I growled, covering her mouth. “What did I bloody say?” I whispered hotly into her ear.
I let go of her mouth. “I don’t remember…” she replied.
Covering her mouth again, I whispered, “Notice how nobody’s freaking out like you are?”
She nodded slowly.
“There’s only one rule at Izzy’s parties, one only.” I stared deeply into her eyes. “Be a freak, but don’t freak over him. Treat him like any other guest here and you won’t be escorted out. You want to make a fool of yourself and get banned from here and from all his parties?”
She shook her head.
“You will act normal around him, understand?”
All I could hear her say was “Yes, sir” against my palm.
I let go of her mouth and licked her ear as I murmured, “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.” I stroked her thigh and her back. “You’ll be a really good girl for me?”
She cooed breathily, “I promise.”
“Keep calm, as you are now.” I yanked down my zipper. “And blow me.”
Her eyes lit up, and straight away she pulled down my pants, her head between my legs. I licked my lips when she engulfed my cock with her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked and pumped.
“That’s a good girl.” I swiveled my hips to the motion of her bobbing, twisting my fingers in her hair. “Mmm. Filthy.”
“Did somebody say filthy? Why, that’s my middle name! Izzy Filthy Rich.”
Izzy made me smile, but Yasmin’s playful and snotty giggle made my cock twitch in Andrea’s mouth. I looked over my shoulder, even more in awe at Yasmin’s striking presence. Her dark brown afro was boyish, yet had a femme-sophistication. The gold hoop earrings in her ears, the gold hue of her eyelids, and the zebra-striped red and gold body-hugging dress brought out the rich glow of her skin. She and Izzy were arm in arm. Together, they were more than a star-power couple. They were more perfect than sin.
“See, I knew that was Johnny,” Izzy said to Yasmin. “I know his voice anywhere.”
I arched my back, looking down at Andrea.
She stopped. I saw embarrassment and arousal. She was about to pull up, but I kept my hand to the back of her head, being in control of her cock-sucking. I flashed a smile at Yasmin.
Her eyes lit up, and she graced me the most seductive grin. “So you’re Jonathan Maxwell?” she said, her thick Somalian accent alluring and sexy.
I slowly pushed Andrea’s head away from my cock. I got up from the couch, pulled up my pants, zipped myself, and approached her. “Enchanté, Ms. Ahmed.” I took her hand, giving it a kiss.
Yasmin batted her lashes at me with a most stunning red-lipped pout.
Izzy’s eyes lit up when he saw Andrea. He pointed a finger at her. “Ah, I know who you are.”
Andrea’s jaw dropped. “Y-you do?”
“The Body Beautiful. Ms. Andrea Biggins. I’m a fan of your body…of work, I mean.”
She froze, gawking at Izzy, her mouth open.
Yasmin smirked. Izzy said, “Ms. Biggins?”
I glared at her. That didn’t work. I sat down beside her and snapped my fingers at her eyes and ears.
She blinked and blushed, biting her lower lip. “I’m so bloody sorry, Mr. Rich.”
“Darling, please, call me Izzy.” He winked at her. I caught him eyeing her breasts.
“Izzy, I’m very flattered that you know me.”
“What can I say? I have an eye for young and refreshing talent like yourself.” Izzy took Yasmin’s hand, drawing toward Andrea and me. Izzy sat next to me, Yasmin sat beside him.
Andrea gawked at Izzy again, as dumb and mute as ever. She snapped out of it again this time when I nibbled on her shoulder. “Stop it!” She chuckled loudly when I did it harder.
I let go and grinned. “Now are you done being starstruck?”
“As if you aren’t.” She looked at Yasmin. “John’s a big fan of yours.”
“I know. Izzy told me.”
I grabbed my water, taking a sip to distract from my infatuation and my surprise.
“You’re even cuter in person than how he described you.”
I nearly choked on the water as I swallowed. “You don’t say?”
Izzy cleared his throat and put his arm around Yasmin’s waist, scooting her closer to him and making her sit on his lap. When she crossed her legs, she flashed her thigh. Izzy stroked it.
“What else has he said?”
“That you’re the youngest son of Charles Maxwell. Maxwell Diamonds are my favorite.”
“I’ll definitely let my old man know. He’ll be flattered to know that.”
Andrea slapped my shoulder. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you’re the son of a millionaire?”
I smirked. “I’m too humble, I suppose.”
“If my family was that stinking rich, I’d tell the whole bloody world about it.”
“I like my privacy, and I’m grateful my parents let me and my siblings grow up away from the spotlight.”
“They did a fantastic job, let me tell you.” Izzy looked at Andrea and Yasmin. “I had no bloody clue who John was when he auditioned for my band. The eeriest thing was, before the auditions, the first company I had in mind for Delilah’s headdress and shoes was Maxwell Diamonds.”
Andrea and Yasmin looked stunned.
“Unfortunately, the collaboration never happened because—”
“No, no, let me tell them!” I laughed. “First of all, my parents never took me being a drummer seriously. They thought it was a phase. And they thought Izzy was odd, like, really bloody odd.” Izzy snickered as I continued, “They thought he was a woman, and they nearly had a heart attack when I told them he’s a man. Oh, their reaction! They didn’t understand how he could be a boy-girl, girl-boy, and why he’d wear makeup, women’s clothes, and be such a shouter and screamer. They were petrified!”
“They must’ve freaked out when you were hired to be in Izzy’s band,” Andrea said.
“They practically wanted me committed when I told them that I was auditioning.”
Yasmin asked Izzy, “When you met the Maxwells, did you mention wanting to work with them?”
Izzy winced. “It wasn’t appropriate. I was almost going to call Mr. Maxwell and pitch the idea to him after we’d meet, but Johnny changed my mind. He was like…” He imitated my voice when he mocked, “‘It would be too bloody weird, having two Maxwells working for you.’ Ah, well. At least Jonathan’s family likes me now.”
“Like you? They adore you, Iz.”
“I noticed something,” Andrea said. “You two are dressed alike. Was that on purpose?”
We both chuckled. “No,” we said and shook our heads at the same time.
“It doesn’t surprise me at all that you two have the same taste in fashion.” Yasmin smiled.
“And in women,” Izzy purred, kissing Yasmin’s cheek.
I cleared my throat, looking at Yasmin. “Has Izzy been behaving with you, love?”
Izzy sucked the side of her neck, making me gulp at how much skin he was sucking in. Yasmin closed her eyes and moaned, her lips quivering, nodding. She moaned louder when Izzy cupped her little breasts in his palms, circling her nipples with his thumbs. He kissed each hard nip back and forth. She caressed his bob as he sucked her nips through the fabric of her dress. My cock twitched, and Andrea was turned on, too.
“You naughty devil!” Yasmin laughed when Izzy crept his hand up her dress.
“My secret’s out!” Izzy winked at Andrea, touching her knee. She squeaked.
“Ooh, look at that, Iz.” I snorted. “You hit her G-spot.”
“Johnny!” She covered her face and fanned herself. “Bloody hell. Mr. Rich, I’m—”
“Nuh-uh…” Izzy leaned over to Andrea’s ear. “Am I making you forgetful?”
“No, sir. I mean…”
“Sir will do, too,” Izzy slurred, circling Andrea’s nipple. “Or you can call me Mistress, if that gets you off. You don’t need to be nervous around me. It’s not like I bite. Much.”
Andrea gasped. “Fuck. Am I dreaming?” She closed her eyes and whimpered when Izzy nibbled the side of her neck, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. In unison, he groped Yasmin’s breasts, teasing her nips, making her moan, making the two moan together.
With a snicker, I pinched Andrea’s ass.
“Ouch! Johnny!” she yelped.
Izzy let go of Andrea’s skin between his teeth. “What did he do?”
“He pinched me!”
“You see? You aren’t dreaming.”
She looked at me and then at Izzy. “I feel like I’m Alice and have fallen down the rabbit hole.”
“And here I am, the Queen of Hearts! And bad boy Johnny here is the Cheshire Cat.” Izzy reached out to caress my cheeks, poking my tiny dimples. “See how he grins.”
“See how he’s blushing! He hasn’t glowed like this until you came,” Andrea said.
I sucked her bottom lip in my mouth to shut her up, giving it a pull and tug.
“Izzy…” I heard Yasmin sigh. “Johnny’s even hotter than how you described him.”
I gasped in Andrea’s mouth as we snogged, my hard-on intensifying. I panted, looking at Yasmin and then at Izzy.
He whistled at the scantily clad glam-boi waiter. “Shots. Brandy.” Izzy grinned when the boi returned with the brandy, placing the shots on the table. I reached out for mine as did Izzy, Yasmin, and Andrea. “Cheers,” Izzy said. We clinked our drinks together.
“Wait,” I said before anyone chugged their brandy, looking at Andrea with a sly smirk. “Remember what you did for me earlier, baby? Show Izzy and Yasmin.”
She faced her back to us. Izzy and Yasmin watched as she put her arm behind her back, sticking her butt out. Slowly, she set her shot glass on her ass. It stayed, and not a drop of liquor was spilled.
Izzy whistled and clapped.
Yasmin slowly placed her shot glass on Andrea’s ass. “It can hold two glasses!”
“Now that’s impressive,” Izzy said.
“This ass is bloody amazing!” Yasmin grinned.
“Damn right it is,” I said. “God, I love this body.”
I set my shot on the table, sitting down on the floor on my knees before Andrea’s ass, rubbing her from there to the back of her knees, back to her ass again. Andrea squeaked when I kissed her ass cheeks, brushing my lips against the light pink handprints I left behind from earlier. When I turned my head to my left, my eyes lit up to see Yasmin’s face. She was also on her knees, caressing Andrea’s ass with me. Instead of using our hands, we used our tongues to tease Andrea’s bottom. Even when Andrea shivered, the shot glasses remained on her ass.
“Now I’m really thirsty,” I murmured to Yasmin. “Are you?”
Yasmin leaned in and kissed me. When our tongues touched, I moaned. When we broke the kiss, I reached for Yasmin’s glass and she reached for mine. We twined our arms together. I dipped my tongue in her brandy, and she dipped her tongue in mine. Then, together, we drank our liquor. A drop trickled from my lip to my chin. My heart raced when Yasmin caressed my cheek, licking the brandy off my chin, the tip of her tongue wiggling against my little dimple. I shivered when she sucked me there, but I shivered all the more when I saw Izzy stand, coming toward Andrea with the last two shots. She cried when Izzy sucked on her lobe, pulling her knickers down and pouring the brandy over her ass.
It rushed and trickled from her bottom, down her legs, to the back of her feet. I pounced on Andrea’s snatch. I sucked her pussy lips more greedily to the flavor of the brandy, Andrea’s musk, and her juices. Andrea moaned louder when my tongue slipped right into the wide and wet gap of her pussy. Spreading her labia, I shoved my tongue deeper, her pink velvet clenching around me. I heard Yasmin moan, noticing her sucking the brandy off Andrea’s thighs. Andrea’s pussy made clicking sounds for me as I tongue-fucked her. I heard not only Andrea, but some other soft, girlish moaning dominating hers. When I pulled out, I saw Izzy making out with Andrea. But not for long.
My mouth watered when Izzy pulled out his magnificent monster cock.
Andrea’s mouth dropped. “Whoa. Now that’s a cock.”
“It’s yours…” He looked down at Yasmin as he wanked himself. “And yours again, darling.”
Seeing the two stand on all fours before Izzy’s cock made me whip out mine. I wrapped my hand around it and wanked myself with slow thrusts as I closed my eyes, imagining Izzy saying…
“Johnny Angel. Show them how you can suck a mean cock.”
I opened my eyes. Izzy’s focus was only on Yasmin and Andrea. The two kissed every inch of him. Envy and arousal made me pant and gasp all at once. I wanked myself faster, my legs shaking. They took turns sucking on Izzy’s cockhead like a lolly as he moaned, caressing their heads. The two cupped his balls, stroking his velvety softness with their thumbs. Gawking at the three, I rotated my hips, thrusting into the hole of my grip. I gasped as Yasmin sucked Izzy’s balls and Andrea pumped her mouth on Izzy’s cock. Or tried to. She was struggling, not even close to taking half his length.
“Deeper, a little deeper, Ms. Biggins,” Izzy panted, caressing her cheek.
I was tempted to say, “That’s how he loves it. Deep-throat. He loved fucking my throat,” but I kept quiet, amused to see Andrea trying to take more of Izzy’s cock, but her gag reflex triggered. She pulled out in a hurry and coughed. Yasmin moaned, still sucking on Izzy’s sack.
“Too much, darling?” Izzy said, not sounding surprised or offended.
“You’re so hung. I’m not used to a cock like yours.”
“Suck on Johnny’s cock like you were before. That was sexy. His cock’s perfect.”
My eyes widened with disbelief. His words echoed in my ear: his cock’s perfect.
Andrea ran her tongue along my length from base to cockhead, melting me. I ran my fingers through her hair, moaning, hearing Izzy’s words in my head over and over. As she pumped and sucked, my gaze was on Izzy. Our eyes met. His hand went to the back of Yasmin’s head, and he pushed her down on his cock. He quivered when her lips pressed against his body. His grunting made me shiver as he banged her throat with passionate, rhythmic thrusts, his balls thudding fast against Yasmin’s chin. Licking my lips, I thrust into Andrea’s mouth faster. When Izzy and I looked at each other, I wondered if he was thinking about fucking my throat again? Not later. Now.
Izzy pulled out, his cock dripping with saliva. He sat on the couch, wrapping his hand around his monster, giving it a shake.
“Fuck…” I cried out.
Izzy lifted Yasmin’s dress, revealing her dark, petite ass. He pulled her knickers to the side, and then I groaned at her cunt. Stuffed with Izzy’s cock. Already stretched out. And he wasn’t all the way in yet. Izzy spread her ass cheeks, thrusting slowly. I moaned at how Izzy’s cock tugged the rim of her cunt every time he pulled back. When Yasmin cried faster, Izzy drilled into her, driving Yasmin and me crazy. I didn’t bother wiping the drool from my mouth at Izzy pounding that pussy, making it juicy, her cunt scent perfuming the air. Harder and faster, I fucked Andrea’s frothed mouth.
“Izzy, Izzy…” Yasmin groaned. “I want Jonathan in my ass while you’re inside me!”
I blinked, thinking I only imagined she said that.
Izzy spread her ass cheeks wider. “You heard her, Johnny…” Izzy moaned, stretching her wider, thrusting to the hilt.
I didn’t think they really meant it until Andrea pulled off, my cock sloppy with her spit. I froze, still in disbelief as Andrea grabbed a lube bottle, drizzling the lube on my cock and spreading it around.
“Fuck my ass, John, please…” Yasmin cried desperately.
I gulped hard, my hands shaking when I drew toward Yasmin, my eye on a most beautiful, puckered, dark little asshole. I rubbed my cockhead against it. My cock twitched at how warm and soft it was. Izzy kept Yasmin’s ass cheeks spread for me as I popped my cockhead in deep. My base pressed against her rim, and I let out a shout when I felt Izzy’s cock inside her, too, our swiveling, thrusting, and grinding in perfect symmetry.
“Oh God!” I felt a tongue in my asshole. “Andrea, you filthy bitch!”
Slapping my hand behind her head, I pushed her into my ass as she rimmed, keeping her there. I fucked Yasmin’s tight little ass deeper, cringing from the mind-blowing pleasure of Izzy’s cock rubbing against mine as he hammered into Yasmin. Izzy, Yasmin, and I moaned harder and louder together. Andrea’s moan vibrated against my asshole. Izzy silenced Yasmin’s cry by kissing her, yet I could still hear her scream even with his tongue in her mouth. I panted, feeling and watching Yasmin’s ass widening rounder as I pumped faster, harder. I whimpered, pulling out from Yasmin’s ass quick, pushing Andrea’s head away from my ass. I turned around in a hurry, facing Andrea, wanking my cock fast.
“Drink me, baby!” I squeaked.
On her knees, Andrea opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue. I squeaked harder, wanking faster as I came inside her mouth. Andrea sucked on my cock, drinking more of me. I heard Izzy’s grunting and groaning, skin slapping maddeningly against moist skin. My knees weakened at Andrea sucking me dry, but also at how the party guests were fucking harder, no doubt, because of us. When I had no more jizz to give to Andrea, she pulled off. I kissed her, my heart beating fast. Yasmin sprawled on the couch, the top of her dress down, running her hands through Izzy’s bob as he licked his come off her tits, lapping every drop of himself. When they kissed, they swapped his load back and forth. After they swallowed, Izzy wrapped his hands around Yasmin’s breast, making it bulge. He sucked the breast whole with loud and wet suckling sounds, the two moaning. He sucked on Yasmin’s other breast.
“Christ…” I said as I tucked my wet, limp cock in my pants, not bothering to zip myself.
Yasmin squealed when Izzy let her dark little nip escape from his mouth. He then scooped Yasmin into his arms and on his lap, his arms around her belly. Andrea and I returned to the couch, sitting next to each other as before, panting. Izzy placed his arm over my shoulder, caressing it as he looked at me.
Andrea and Yasmin smiled at Izzy and me.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you smiling at us like that?”
Yasmin looked at Izzy, caressing his hair. “I want to watch you and Johnny kiss.”
I raised my brow, trying to not look or sound too excited. “Pardon?”
“Now that would be a bloody turn-on!” Andrea declared.
I looked at Izzy, eager to see what he’d say.
He looked at only Andrea and Yasmin, thrusting his tongue against his cheek. “You know what would turn me on right now, ladies?” he slurred. “You two. Sixty-nine. Eat each other out like mad bull dykes while Johnny and I watch.”
The two grinned and obeyed him. I was waiting for Izzy to kiss me while they were busy eating pussy. Andrea and Yasmin came, but our kiss didn’t.
On the couch, we leaned back, sharing the rest of the blunt that we’d smoked earlier at the Hammersmith Odeon as we watched the nymphomaniacs in play. It was a lot of tongue-in-pussy action, but I needed a kiss. Just one kiss. I desperately hoped it would happen, even if it was only for entertaining two models. Izzy refused to let them have it. In my head, I didn’t bother asking why, and I didn’t let my disappointment tear me apart. There and then, I came to the most disheartening conclusion. Everything that had happened between Izzy, Andrea, Yasmin, and me was only an all-or-nothing foursome she-bang.