Cock Roulette (Part Two)

Click here for part one.

This is a serious choice I have to make. On one hand I have the Musician; sexy, familiar, and knew how to please me. On the other is the Bassist of the band who is drop dead gorgeous, intriguing, and probably wants to make me cum more than the boys.

Dick verses pussy is always a difficult choice for the sexually overt. Both are like gourmet chefs offering dishes as different in flavor, texture, and course as noodles to ice cream. While I consider myself heterosexual my hormones, particularly when intoxicated, prefer “attractive-and-close.”

Only two drinks in. Its anyones game.

The clairvoyant Drummer finds his way back to me, arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. My attraction to him is endless. There is some unbreakable sexual chemistry built on the concept that we can’t. But every year that passes, every milestone in life, and every drunken night together weakens this ‘use to date my best friend’ excuse along with our resolve.

He lands a kiss on my lips out of no where. Was tonight the night? I’m shocked. Did he mean to do that? Pow! Another one, a longer one, clears my confusion.

“I want to fuck the shit out of you,” his words are slurred and low. He takes the last swig of his drink, pulls me in front of him with his hands cupping my jaw and lands a third kiss. “But he can’t find out.”

No, tonight was not the night. We would fuck. But not tonight; not with this many witnesses. I didn’t care but the ‘bros before hoes’ mentality was still strong in some bromances. He was already chancing a risk with public PDA.

The guitarist steals me like a rodeo cowboy, wrapping his arms around me like a lasso and reels me in. We look like a couple. And I can tell that he wishes we were. He declares that we have this connection and that he’s never met anyone like me. I might believe him if it wasn’t a line I heard all the time.

Having an allergic reaction to commitment and emotion, I make my way to the bar for another drink to settle my nerves. Before I can order the Lead Singer slides a shot glass of bourbon towards me with that come-hither stare singers have perfected over the years. Maybe its the mascara but that look dampens panties in the masses.

One bourbon, one whiskey, and a beer later the bad boy with the good lyrics has stolen my attention. We’ve gotten more flirty as most musicians and their fans get post-show when liquor creates spirits and music makes them dance in the most ghoulish of ways.

Leads are typically always womanizers. Not by choice but by necessity. When that much pussy is laid at your footsteps, you have no choice but to wade through them on the way out the door. But on the particular occasion that you have one entertain you for an hour like a Capuchin monkey, you’ve received the best compliment they can give you.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He is perfectly cued. He knows that enough time, conversation, and drinks have passed for that to be an obvious question.

“Where?”

“Just across the street.” Just far enough to pull me out of the direct grasp of the guitarist, Drummer, and the girl Bassist. Clever.

“I’m game.”

“Me too,” chirps the Bassist from the shadows of the bar. The three of us flee the scene and park ourselves at a table meant for two. Hours pass and I feel like a child of divorce all over again. Love me more. Initially an undertone amidst the typical conversation between friends, flat-out transform to declared challenges between the band mates.

“I can eat pussy better.”

“No, you can’t.”

Like bickering children. I accept their challenge and offer the solution in the form of a three-sum. A pussy eating contest. There would be two winners. I am the first.

…to be continued.

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