Beautiful Losers - Part Eleven

I was late for rehearsal because of the snow. The rest of the band was already sitting around writing up the set-list for the gig on Thursday. It was only an hour's set, so we didn't have problems finding enough songs.

Once we'd decided on the order, we ran through the songs that way, working on the transitions. Although it was cold outside, and I hadn't even warmed my voice up, it felt effortless. The notes just came fluidly. I had all the control I could ever hope for. As we finished the set, Tom, the guitarist, gave me a surprised look.

"Wow. You're sounding really good. Especially on 'Slide'. Practicing any?"

"No, not really. Maybe no sleep is good for my voice."

Matt, the keyboardist snickered. "Or maybe it's sucking all that cock."

I grimaced at him. "Fuck you!"

He sneered at me. "No thanks, I'm off the fish. Unlike others, no names mentioned."

"Were you at the Warehouse on Saturday.

"Oh yeah."

I turned around to look at Dave, the drummer, who also frequented the club. "Hey, I wasn't there. I heard it from him," he said, pointing at Matt.

Tom shrugged. "Well, I don't give a shit. Your voice sounds great. Whatever you're doing, keep it up. We have an A & R rep from San Fran coming on Thursday."

"Who?" I asked. This was news to me.

"Some indie label guy. Max told me. But it's a pretty big company. And they're looking to sign. So... "

"So it's serious."

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Apparently so. Max sent them our demo. They've seen the download hits off the site and the MySpace page. I don't think they'd bother sending someone up for nothing."

Lindsey, the bass player, gave a whoop. "San Francisco! I've never been to San Francisco. Went to L.A. once, but only the airport. It was shit."

"Should we go through the set again?" I asked. If the guy really was going to be there, we had to be perfect. It was a good venue, good sound equipment, and even so-so lighting.

Shaking his head, Tom packed his guitar back in its case. "Can't. I'm on the late shift at the post-office."

"Oh, by the way. I've had an offer from someone who wants to do set design for us."

Tom shook his head. "We don't have the money for that."

"No, he said he'd do it for free."

Matt looked interested. "Like video running behind us, that kind of stuff?"

"I guess so. I'll ask him what he has in mind."

Smirking, Matt laughed. "Who is it? That weird guy, Stevo? Because that boy is a freak. He's going to do stuff with dead animals rotting and crap."

"It's not Stevo." I hesitated for a moment. "It's Sebastian Crandall"

He rolled his eyes. "One of the faggots you're fucking."

I looked at him with disgust. "Don't use that word. I hate that word!"

"Faggot?"

"Yes. Stop it."

"Honey. I can call them whatever I want. I AM one."

That kind of took away my thunder. I looked over at the other members. "Do any of you have a problem with letting this guy have a go at some design for us? It's free, for god's sake. At worst it won't work and we can say 'thanks but no thanks'"

Lindsey shrugged. "It would be nice not to have to play up against a brick wall, don't you think?"

Dave stood up from his drum kit. "I don't give a shit. As long as the guy from SF signs us to a deal. I'm tired of playing for no money."

Shrugging his coat on, Tom nodded. "Tell him sure." He was halfway out the door. "He does know our music, right?"

"Oh, of course. He loves it! He's been coming to our gigs for ages." That was a total lie, or rather, I had no idea. I knew he'd been to see our last gig, because he went with Jean and Jean had never missed a single show I'd played, since the band started.

Matt sniffed. "Fine. But none of the rotting animal shit."

_ _ _ _ _

I seriously considered not going over to Jean's. I hadn't had a lot of sleep, I was tired, and had lived through 48 hours of extreme ups and downs. I didn't think I could handle any more of it. But if I didn't go, I knew that Jean would only be phoning up, acting petulant or sulky, or both. I also considered calling him and pleading sickness, but that would only elicit a visit from Jean in his 'angel of mercy' persona, bearing hot and sour soup from Wang's.

Lindsey was putting her gear in her car as I walked out into the loading zone of the rehearsal studio. "Want a ride?"

"Sure. I guess. Where are you going?"

"West end," she said, smiling.

Lindsey and I weren't great friends or anything. Whenever she wasn't playing with the band, she was studying or at school. A year away from a law degree, I could never figure out why Lindsey played - the rest of her life was so damn normal. But she said it kept her from taking the world too seriously. I could see that.

I climbed into her little Honda. It always amazed me that she could fit her bass amp in the back, but it did. It was cold in the car and we had to wait for the engine to warm up.

"So..." she said, rubbing her ungloved hands together. "You've got a boyfriend, finally."

My state of singledom was, it seemed, talked about more than I knew. I tucked my hands in my jacket pockets to try and get them warm. "I don't know yet. Too soon to tell."

"Matt said gay boyfriend, or just bi?" she asked, looking at me with an expression I couldn't really read. It wasn't derision, or disapproval.

I shrugged. "Both? I guess?"

Slipping the car into gear, she pulled out onto an almost empty street. The snow ploughs had done their job so the driving was good. "Both? I know I'm being nosy, but how could he be both."

I had no idea why I said it - we weren't all that close, but I did. Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't going to ask about Sebastian's dick, or be bitchy about faggots? "It's two people, actually."

"Ah," she said, quietly. "Gotcha."

We drove in silence for a while. As we crested the bridge, she said, "It's hard with three people."

I sighed. "Yes, I think it is. I don't think it's going to work out."

She nodded, quiet for a while. "With three people, it's got to be about love - for everyone. Otherwise, there's not enough reason to get through the rough parts."

"Is this the voice of experience?" I was seeing Lindsey with new eyes. It had never occurred to me to wonder what her personal life was like. I knew she was married. I'd met her husband a couple of times after shows. He worked in construction, or something. "I thought you were married?"

"I am," she said, turning onto Robson Street. "But at one point, there were three of us."

"Here's good, Lindsey." She was coming up to the corner of Thurlow. I could walk from there easily, and I thought the exercise would do me good. "So what happened?"

"Not enough love, I guess. Good luck with yours." Pulling the car up the curb in a no-stopping zone, she gave me a smile. "See you on Thursday."

"Yup. You too. And thanks for the chat, Lindsey. I appreciate it."

_ _ _ _ _

I could have walked further - I needed to think - but the cold was damp and it bit at my exposed skin. When I reached Jean's apartment, I didn't feel right about using my key, even though I'd had it for four years. Somehow, it just didn't seem polite. I rang the buzzer.

"Have you lost my key, you careless bitch?" squawked Jean through the intercom.

"No. I just..." Suddenly it seemed stupid not to have used it. "I left it at home," I lied.

Jean met me at the door to his apartment, wearing a very sexy black and red kimono. It was a new one I hadn't seen before. Instead of just waving me in as he usually did, he flung his arms around my neck and smooched me loudly. I felt like a 9 to 5 husband arriving home after a day at the office.

"How was the Meridian?" I unzipped my jacket and shrugged it off. The apartment was pretty toasty compared to the outside and it gave my cheeks that pleasant tingling sensation. I could smell chocolate.

"Oh, good! Chef Maurice was in top form and kissing ass beautifully. He even sent us home with a little doggie bag."

There were candles all over the living room and, for no apparent reason, a couple of sheets spread out on the floor. Sebastian was sitting on one, propped up on pillows, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. "Hey sugar!" he said with a fake southern accent. "We're havin' ourselves a lil' ole picnic. Sweets for the sweet."

The coffee table was littered with bottles and bowls and fruit. In the middle sat a copper fondue pot over a burner. The scent of rich, dark cocoa was almost overpowering. The room looked like a calorie rich opium den.

Jean pulled me down beside him on the floor and poured me a snifter of something. "Poire?" he said, passing me the glass.

The harsh pear brandy warmed my chest as I swallowed and lit a little fire all the way down to my tummy. I feared it would also hit my bloodstream pretty quick.

"Okay, so, here's a fork for you." Jean held out a long, thin, two pronged thing. "And there's fruit: Strawberries, raspberries, orange segments, and banana. Take off the shirt."

"Sorry?" I said, taking the weird little fork.

Opening his kimono, sliding it off, Jean was completely naked beneath it except for the smears of chocolate. "Shirt off. You can't play with food fully clothed."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, and dipped a long white finger into the fondant pot. It came out dripping with chocolate. He leaned across the table and offered it to Jean, who engulfed it with obscene relish.

They made me smile. Suddenly I didn't know why I had been so worried about coming here. The brandy might have had something to do with it, but watching them do that for each other just made me melt. God, I was lucky to know these men. Lucky to be with them.

When Jean finished cleaning off Seb's finger, he glowered at me. "Come on, Shirakins. Get naked."

I climbed over to the other side of the coffee table, glass in hand, and lay down on a pile of pillows. "If I say something, would you both promise to listen and not be upset?" I looked from Sebastian to Jean and back. "Seriously."

"Promise," agreed Sebastian. He looked over at Jean and something passed between them.

"Sure. I promise," echoed Jean.

"I'm tired. I'm emotionally exhausted. I don't want to play with food. I just really want to cuddle up on these pillows and watch you get chocolate coated. That's what I want more than anything."

Jean scowled. "But, we brought home the chocolate so that you could..."

"Jean!" said Sebastian. It was short and sharp and full of business. "Don't."

I sighed in deep contentment and leaned back against the pillows, watching them in the flickering candlelight.

The presence of the sheets on the carpet became clear. Sebastian lay Jean down on his front, and straddled his hips. He speared one of the orange bits, dipped it in deepest part of the pot and let hot drips of the chocolate land in little spatters all over Jean's back. Jean responded with sounds might have been either pain or pleasure. The fruit, it seemed, was not intended for consumption; it was employed to good purpose as a paintbrush to slide through the chocolate puddles on Jean's back.

The game then progressed to Sebastian removing all the chocolate off Jean, using only his mouth. For all his strategizing and manipulation and cleverness, Sebastian did have a weakness. He was a sensualist. Watching him lick and suck up the smears and puddles and drips of chocolate was to witness someone who could completely lose themselves to taste and sensation. He was an extremely generous lover.

After assuring himself that Jean's back was clean, he flipped him over, and smiled lasciviously at Jean's very vertical cock. "That," he said, "is going to take a lot of chocolate."

Spearing a strawberry, he stirred it around the pot, digging down to were the hottest chocolate was and, testing the temperature on his finger first, held the coated fruit above Jean's cock, letting a thin ribbon drizzle over the head. Jean twitched and gasped.

"Too hot?" he asked, his voice all innocence.

"Ahhhh...too fucking hot," moaned Jean. But his meaning was clear.

A few applications from the fondue pot, and Jean's dick was coated with warm, liquid chocolate.

Now I understood why Jean had complained when I said I was tired. Now I understood what the chocolate was for. I cringed. I was such an ungrateful cow.

So, when Sebastian looked over at me, and crooked a finger, I didn't refuse. I thought, okay. Here comes the lesson. And I really do like chocolate. But instead, he just dragged one of the bigger pillows next to Jean's hip and patted it. "Lay down, Shirakins. Put your head here, and pay attention."

I giggled, finished off the last of the Poire, and did as instructed. What I had was a view of the living room, partially obstructed by a massive, chocolate-coated cock. Until Sebastian nudged Jean's legs apart and knelt between them.

Jean peered down at us and laughed. "Oh my god! It's Christmas!"

"Ignore him for a bit," said Sebastian. "Lesson number one: giving head is not fucking. You are never going to get as much friction, so don't even bother thinking about it like that. Head - really good head - is about sensation, for the giver and the receiver. I'm not talking about blowjobs in public toilets: it's not really the blowjob that gets you off there, it's the risk. Are you following?"

"Yes," I whispered. Why hadn't I ever really noticed just how handsome Sebastian was?

"Lesson 2: lips, tongue, teeth, the roof of your mouth, and the entrance to your throat. All different textures - all different tools. Watch."

He slipped out his tongue, forming the tip into a definite point and, starting from the base of the underside of Jean's cock, he licked a thin path all the way up to the head. I watched a drift of chocolate sauce build on the end of his tongue. Sebastian looked at me, swallowed it, and grinned. "Okay?"

"Okay." I felt the blood creeping up my neck.

With his thumb and forefinger, he delicately held Jean's cock at the base and laved the whole head of it with the flat of his tongue, taking up the chocolate and devouring it. "Still with me?"

I heard Jean groan, "Yes!"

I nodded.

Sebastian opened his mouth and lowered it over Jean's cockhead. I noticed that he was careful to hold his lips in a way that completely covered his teeth. He let his lips form a seal, just below the head, and did something I couldn't see, but was obviously very effective. Jean's hips twitched and I was pretty sure I saw his cock actually swell a bit. Sebastian's cheeks hollowed a little as he sucked, and then he drew himself away.

"So far, so good?"

I propped myself up onto my elbow. "What did you do with your tongue when you had his head in your mouth?"

"Ah. Boy clit,' he said and grinned. "Scoot around a bit. See the place on the underside where the head meets the shaft? That's the most nerve rich part of most men's cocks. Some are kind of dead there, but then some women don't have very sensitive clits either. Usually, though, it's nicely reactive. And just like a woman's clit, you can't really be too rough with it or it gets oversensitized. So, onwards?"

"Yes, please," I said, snuggling back down to my vantage position on the pillow.

"So, no more talking for a bit, or poor Jean will go insane."

I smiled and nodded.

After that, Sebastian really went to work. He edged his mouth all the way down around Jean's cock, until his lips were pressed to the base, pulling up in long, even strokes, sucking all the way up, until the head was almost out of his mouth, and then plunging back down. Every so often, he changed his technique, pulling up without sucking, letting his teeth trail lightly up the shaft. At one point, he engulfed the whole of Jean's cock and I watched him move on just the last inch or so, swallowing as he did, and breathing through his nose.

There was probably a lot more to learn but, very soon after, Jean, who'd been getting progressively more vocal to the point screaming, arching his hips and begging, finally came. But even without the noises or the movement, I think Sebastian could tell exactly how close to orgasm Jean was.

For the first time, I realized that giving head was having extraordinary power over someone else's pleasure, if they'd let you. The other thing I noticed was that Sebastian really liked the sensation of Jean coming in his mouth. It wasn't just a matter of 'well, that's a job well done' or a 'oh, good, honey, you came' sort of thing. The way he sucked Jeans cock as it flooded into his mouth made it absolutely clear that he physically got off on the sensation of it. Of course, the erection tenting his pants was another clue.

When he finished, he grabbed my head with his chocolate covered fingers and kissed me, spilling Jean's cum into my mouth: part chocolate, part Jean. There must have been knowledge transfer there, because I shuddered as I tasted the creamy texture of it, and I sucked Sebastian's tongue with wicked abandon.

As we stopped kissing, Sebastian gave me a strange, lopsided grin. "Next time he gets hard, it's your turn."

losers1

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