Chapter 13

Brit, already dressed, nudged Joe awake. “Oh okay. Hi,” he said, moving out of bed carefully.

Brit gazed amusedly at the bounce of his piss hard-on. “Wish we had time for that.”

“Just need to piss.”

“I made coffee if you want.”

“Thanks.”

He put on sweat pants and a t-shirt to make it easy dressing and headed to the bathroom. Once done, Brit waited for him sitting on a counter sipping her coffee. Joe made his. “Ready?” she asked.

“Let me get my keys and wallet.” He pocketed them in the small pockets somehow and followed Brit out of the apartment, locking up behind him.

During the drive, he asked, “Do you ever get any sleep?”

“Don’t need much I guess. I crash sometimes after school and that helps me for late nights.”

“What happens when your energy wanes?”

“Don’t get clinical on me Joe!”

“Sorry.”

“Right after I was almost raped and ran away when the folks didn’t believe me...”

“Wait. You were almost raped?”

“When I was twelve. I hadn’t even had my menses yet. My mom was a full on stage mom, had me in commercials and TV and a couple movies since I was like a baby. One of the directors was like Henry, except more of a pedophile. Anyway it made me not want to audition anymore and when I refused and ran away, mom had me see a shrink and there were drugs to control my ... kinetic character. Now I’m not opposed to drugs except the ones that make me a zombie slug, so that didn’t last. But yeah, bipolar. It was ADHD when I was a kid. Pills and more pills, which I refused to take. Do I wind down and get all morose? Maybe sometimes but fuck that, I guess I just power through it,” she laughed. “Maybe I don’t have the imagination to look at the world as a bad place out to get me or that I’m not worthy of being in the world or whatever.”

“You don’t think you have an imagination?”

“It’s like my brain doesn’t have time for that shit. I guess I’m just really present in the world like time’s a wave I’m riding and I have fun with it and it’s exhilarating the way it is when you’re riding a wave, but it’s past is past and future isn’t really there so why worry about it?”

“Sounds sort of Zen.”

“Like Zen meditation? No way.”

“No, it’s like when I’m writing and I just write and I’m not worried if I’m writing shit or the great American novel, I just let it flow and trust the present which is informed by everything past I experienced, all there, available, like my whole unique universe is with me in each moment of composing.”

“So you’re saying Zen is like the wave.”

“I guess I am.”

“That’s cool.”

“I guess it’s a sort of trust. You trust that you’re okay riding the wave and you’re not worried where it takes you.”

“Except when it’s like a bad trip or when I get really stoned and get paranoid. I guess those are times when my imagination takes over.”

“I guess drugs can have a way of fucking up who you are.”

“I guess so. I don’t really do a lot of drugs which probably surprises you.”

“I don’t think you need any,” Joe laughed.

Brit laughed too, saying, “Probably not.” And when the laugh ended, she explained, “I guess I indulge when it’s around me, when someone passes me a joint or a bottle or offers me some coke. Speed sort of slows me down and I don’t like that chemical taste so I avoid it. It’s probably the one thing that Johanna would do and I wouldn’t because mostly I like being in her state of mind whatever she’s taking, like we get drunk or stoned or trip together. Sex too for that matter. I just like experiencing things with her.”

“So last night was different, you being with me and Johanna being with Lindy.”

“Yeah, but I guess I realized it would be okay when I jumped you. I think it’s because we both like both of you, and somehow even if we hardly know you we feel like we can trust you, and we really did it together. I mean in a way there’s like two sets of empathy, how I’m close with Jo and you and Lindy are close, so it’s like we’re all sharing the experience even if it’s two separate things.”

“Makes sense,” Joe nodded.

“Does it?” Brit laughed.

‘“Yeah it does.”

“Okay.”

They arrived at her house. “Could you like wait here so you can take me to school?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks. I shouldn’t be too long.”

She rushed out, her departure feeling like a great disturbance in space/time, like her presence had a star’s energy creating great heat, and her sudden absence turning the place where she’d been into a black hole, an intense nothingness sucking the fun out of the universe. Joe sighed, leaned into that space she’d been to open the glove compartment and get a notebook he kept there for such moments when his thoughts needed to be written. He wrote a poem about her.

Joe first began writing when he was pre-adolescent and the stories reflected his immature mind, silly and nonsensical. Adolescence brought him to poetry, rhymed verse becoming blank verse becoming free verse, his rebellious and obsessive mindset requiring it to be the only writing medium in which he would be creative. Later, when his partnership with Stuart first germinated, a realization struck him, that what he wanted was his words to be heard, an intention of his poetry as well, but almost always they sat silent on the page, unvoiced except when read to oneself, and the inner voice wasn’t enough. So he wrote plays and film scripts, only two of each were produced, but that satisfied. The other thing that satisfied, coming from his youthful story writing, was having the described scenes actually visualized. He’d done that to some extent with his parallel talent, discovered much earlier than his story writing, that of drawing, either portraits or landscapes or the inner images of his mind in doodles, and the talents combined with his earliest cartoons, and since they came from some of his early stories they had the silliness and nonsense to them. But sets and background for his plays and films made his visuals come alive, even more so, and probably more than the voicings which tended to be minimal, in the games he created. Ultimately the trajectory of his creative desires became complete with a full length basically mainstream movie and the animating of his comics.

But, in a way, Joe always felt himself to be a poet even if few of his poems had ever been published, none since school. Some might consider it a hobby, a side thing, but to Joe it was fundamental. Poems would gel his thoughts, express his upset or his joy, open his mind to penetrate a block. They were personal and unprofessional, which was the point. Everything else he wrote had a purpose, a public intent, whether it was the limited sales of his self-published comics or even the plays and film scripts that had never come to fruition. Even his days of aimless doodling ending when he embraced the poet in him. When he drew he drew for a purpose, sketching out characters and such.

By the time Brit returned to his car, dressed for school, looking mostly the same except more feminine with her thigh length skirt, though compensated by calf high army boots, her army green backpack matching, which she placed on her lap, Joe had written her poem, what she had inspired.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Just a poem.”

“Can I see?”

He handed her the notebook and started up the car. “Directions?”

“Oh sorry.” She told him the next couple turns.

By the time he parked in front of the several buses unloading students she had finished it.

“It’s really cool.”

“Thanks. You can keep it if you want.”

She laughed. “Like a sketch but with words. Aren’t you an artist?”

“You want me to sketch you?”

“If you want. I have a few minutes.”

She gave him back the notebook and using a sketching pencil and an eraser for shaping the lines he sketched her atop the poem, somehow incorporating it. He’d been quick since an early age but had gotten a lot quicker, with details giving her character so it was too specific to be a caricature. Within five minutes he finished.

“That’s so cool. You have to sign it.”

He did when she handed it back, and he tore the sheet carefully out of the notebook and handed it to her. She leaned into him for a quick kiss before bouncing out the door.

Joe found the petite, tough Italian woman when he returned home, her clothing one of his button down shirts made her look unexpectedly cute. She sat at the dining table sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette, a small bowl stained with previous cigarette butts no longer there she used for an ashtray. “Lindy still sleeping?” he asked.

“Yeah. You should probably join her.”

“I actually feel pretty awake.”

“The Brit effect,” she laughed.

He laughed too. “Probably.”

“You drop her off at school?”

“I did.”

“Figured. I don’t know how this will work in the future, but it’s the two of us or not at all.”

“Understood.”

“So if she flirts...”

“I don’t think she’s capable of flirting. Too much...”

“Subtlty?”

“Maybe, but I was thinking more of manipulation.”

“You know what you’re getting with her,” Johanna agreed. “But I don’t think she’s shallow.”

“I don’t either. I think she’s very present.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I give you a ride?” Joe asked.

“I should have gone with you guys, because I’ll need to go to her place to grab my guitar, and my car’s there too. I thought I’d be sleeping in, but it was like as soon as you guys left I felt her absence or something.”

“I’m not surprised,” Joe chuckled. “If you want you can take a shower or bath, and I’ll drive you there.”

“You saying I smell?”

“Everyone smells after sex.”

“True.”

“If you don’t mind me being too flirtatious, I like how you smell.”

“For a guy you don’t smell too bad either.”

They shared a chuckle.

“I think I’ll take you up on the bath.”

“Cool. You’ll find some bath soap and some oils if you want to smell pretty.”

“Smelling pretty isn’t my thing,” she smirked.

While Johanna bathed, Joe sat at the drafting table basically given to him by Stella, who told him, “I just end up working my ideas on my canvases.” He had a box of various colored pencils and another of felt tip pens, but on the large sheet before him he used his trusty black drawing pencil and eraser sketching out a scene from memory of the Conspiracy playing on stage, though exaggerated with a punk anger and placed in some dank basement bar. He had his heroine large in the forefront, her perspective, and Ariel grinning and bouncing, at least the suggestion of bouncing, to her left, probably yelling over the music how great the band is. He’d probably bring a small sketchbook to the showcase or whatever gig they might have, giving nuances of reality to the faces, but they’d be drawn characters, fictions really so being exact copies of the actual people wasn’t really necessary. More reminders of who they are in relationship to how Joe wanted them to be in his drawings.

He suddenly stopped and smiled and kept his pencil and eraser and grabbed a small sketch pad and knocked on the bathroom door. “It’s me,” he told her. “Is it okay if I come in?”

He heard her growled laugh and her answer, “You’ve seen me in the altogether. Why not?”

The water and the suds atop it covered most of her, just her somewhat thick shoulders and above could be seem by Joe. One might describe her as having a sparkplug body, somewhat thick everywhere, but both her small, resilient breasts and her strong round ass stood out most appealingly. What she allowed him to see had its appeal as well, her expressive face with its prominent Italian nose and deep brown mischievous eyes and her subtly pointy chin and her somewhat full lips, and especially, having coaxed her thick shoulder length nearly black brunette hair atop her head via a couple of lacquered chopsticks, a surprisingly long neck.

He sat on the commode and explained, “I did a drawing of Brit before she dashed off to school and thought it only fair that I did one of you.”

“Sounds fair,” she chuckled, and lifted her torso higher so her firm pointy tits appeared, especially sexy with the shine of water. “Like this?”

“However you want, and you don’t need to pose if you don’t want. I’m quick.” He already started drawing.

“However I want? Maybe sexy?” Her hands came up and fondled her nipples, making them jut out a quarter inch. “Maybe the entire sexy me?” she giggled and stood, a hand moving down to her dark patch of pubic hair, trimmed at the edges but fairly full, and she brought a leg up, her foot resting on the edge of the tub, opening herself up to him, her middle and pointing fingers sliding into her vagina but with the slightest of angles so he could also see the curve of what could only be described as a bubble butt. With thumb and finger continuing to caress her nipple, essentially framing it for him, he had the entirety of her sexiness presented to him.

It took longer to draw her entire body, but Joe had a good memory, so when she was essentially masturbating in front of him, time her benefit too, she moaned, “I need something else. That shower head, does it have pulse setting?”

“I believe it does.”

“Could you...”

He set aside the drawing, turned on the portable shower head and adjusted it to pulse, handing it to her. He kept drawing, a lot from memory at that point, while she fingered herself and the let the water pulse on her clit. “Drain the water, Joe,” she moaned, and when he unstoppered it and the water receded, she sat at the bottom of the tub, legs spread over its edges, finally achieving orgasm. Her ecstatic face became the final thing he drew.

He showed her the result while she recovered in the bath. “I’m not that sexy.”

“You definitely are.”

“What are you going to do with that?”

“Give it to you. Do you want me to sign it?”

“Yes please.”

“How are you going to explain it?”

“She trusts me. She’ll trust me when I tell her you never touched me. You’re hard?”

His cock tented his sweat pants since he wore nothing beneath it. “Uhm, yeah?”

“Masturbate for me?”

“So you’re as interested as Brit?” he asked while pulling down his pants and grabbing his cock. Understanding his need, she kept her body open for him to look at, caressing her nipples and pussy lightly.

“Though they do nothing for me sexually, and none have been inside me, or anything resembling them, since I was experimenting when I was fifteen and figured things out, but they do fascinate me, especially when they ejaculate.”

“Pretty soon,” Joe groaned, fisting himself harshly.

“What are you imagining?”

“Don’t need to.”

“Fucking Brit?”

“Fucking you.”

She laughed and plunged her fingers into her pussy. “Go ahead.”

“I bet you’re fucking tight.”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

“And mouthing those firm tits of yours, suckling at your teets. Holding that incredible ass, feeling the taut skin give to my grasp. Feeling the walls deep inside barely giving way and resisting when I pull back.”

“Sort of like a fist,” she laughed.

“Nothing ... like a ... fist. Oh fuck!” he grunted.

“Let me see!”

He let go except to hold it at its base, guiding the spurts to his thighs, nothing else needed, friction and imagination had accomplished what was needed already, and the rest was ejaculations eventually petering out to just oozing. He grabbed toilet paper to clean himself up.

“Impressive,” Johanna grinned.

“Thanks.”

“Now go away and let me shower off the soap.”

He nodded and left her bringing the pad and the erotic image of her on it.

Lindy greeted him a couple feet away wearing a gauzy robe. “Johanna still in there?” she asked, more curious than concerned.

“Yep.”

“Let me see.”

He showed her the drawing.

“That’s hot Joe.”

“I’m giving it to her. I did a drawing earlier of Brit before she went off to school and thought it was only fair. The erotic part was her idea. No touching.”

“No doubt. She obviously got off. You did too.”

“She wanted to watch me spurt.”

“Don’t blame her. She inspired you?”

“She’s a sexy lady.”

“I think if I joined the daughters of Lesbos it would be because of her.”

“Not Brit?”

“She’s a lovely girl, but that’s the point I think. Too lovely. Too girly. There’s the masculine and the feminine with Johanna. Her hard body. Her attitude, taking no shit from anyone. And her confidence.”

“I never realized how incredibly sexy she is until I got to gaze at her for the drawing.”

“She’s definitely hot, and I don’t need the picture to see it. Do you think we could make a copy?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m dropping her off as soon as she’s dressed. Want to come?”

“I’d love to cum, but she tapped you out.”

“With what you’re wearing I don’t think that would be a problem. Just sit and spread em and I can start on your relief.”

“I should clean up first,” she said hopefully, moving towards the bathroom.

Joe couldn’t help chuckling. “I don’t blame you, but Johanna made it clear it would be the two of them or none at all.”

“I could be persuasive. She does seem to like my body.”

“Lin!”

“Fuck! Sorry. I don’t have to be drunk to be messed up.”

“What’s wrong?” Johanna asked, emerging from the bathroom wearing a towel.

“I’m sorry,” said Lindy.

“Sorry about what?”

“Joe told me I can only be with you when Brit’s around.”

“Getting hot over Joe’s drawing.”

“I already knew how hot you are.”

“Believe me I feel the same. And Joe wouldn’t mind more time with my hot and crazy girlfriend. But it really has to be all or nothing for us to work. I know it’s weird that I give into Brit’s thing for cocks, but it is a thing for her, spurting cocks, and nothing else about the guy besides that. Even a substitute cock doesn’t work because of the lack of spurting and because I’m really not into penetration beyond fingers and tongue, I like my lovers soft and female and only want me to be that way with them, or with her. Except everything changed with you two. I’ve never been with another woman since we started going out, and Brit’s interest in Joe goes beyond just his cock, however impressive it is. I’d say we have to be doubly insistent that we’re together when we’re with you except it’s how we already are. That said, I think we’re going to need some time with each other to commiserate what happened last night. Truth be told I’d like it to happen again, especially the way you’re dressed right now, Lindy.”

“You too, but I better get changed.”

“I’d rather you not, but you probably should. Since my clothes are still out here, maybe close the door? Joe’s seen me naked, seen me fucking masturbating, so...”

“Right. But first, could I get a copy of Joe’s drawing?”

“Why not, and maybe Joe can draw you like you are now?”

They laughed and Lindy went up to the bedroom.

“Are you serious about the drawing?” Joe asked.

“About Lindy in a transparent robe? Not until I confer with Brit,” she decided while dropping the towel and scooping up her clothes.

“I should probably change too.”

“If you guys want to fuck, I can wait.”

“That’s okay.”

“Have her wait,” they heard and laughed.

“I’d say I’ll be right back, but probably not,” Joe admitted.

“I don’t blame you.”

Joe found Lindy in bed naked and masturbating. He took over, his tongue for Lindy’s fingers, and didn’t mind the taste in the least. He got hard sucking her, but after making her cum, she decided she wanted more oral and wanted Joe’s cock, so they formed a sixty-nine, which turned into her riding him wanting his cock inside her for her next cum. Once accomplished a few strokes later, Joe shifted things so that he took the dominant position, stroking deep and hard but at a medium pace. Again she came like that, and her orgasm doing complicated things to his penis deep inside her promoted his closing in on his own climax, speeding up his thrusts though keeping them just as long and hard, and sending him over just as she reached one last one, more intense than the others had been by several magnitudes, perhaps feeling his throbs and the hot spurts jetting into her womb.

“Do you think she’d mind if we shared a quick shower?” Lindy asked while they relaxed together.

“I don’t think she’s in any hurry.”

“Then let’s go,” Lindy hopped out of bed and headed into the studio naked, Joe chuckling, also naked behind.

“Unfair,” said Johanna with a laugh, sitting at the drafting table.

They made their shower brief and unavoidably sensual. They ended up sharing a towel and while drying, heard a knock on the door. “Uhm, your friend Stella is here,” said Johanna, carefully opening the door bearing coverings for them, for Joe his sweat pants and for Lindy a more conservative robe.

“Thanks,” Joe smiled. “Stella’s cool, but...”

“You’ve tempted lesbians enough for today,” Johanna growled before shutting the door.

Lindy blushed and Joe chuckled.

Both ladies were looking at his drawing on the drafting table. “Johnny’s showing me the band and her girlfriend,” Stella said.

“We’ll just go change,” Joe said while thinking, “Brit really does look like Ariel.”

“Stella showed me how to operate the copier,” Johanna winked.

“Impressive Joe,” Stella chuckled.

“Uhm, thanks.” This time he blushed.

By the time they changed and returned to the studio, Stella was showing Johanna her art, Johanna obviously impressed.

“Did she tell you she’s got a painting at the Getty?” Lindy announced.

“I don’t always toot my own horn,” Stella grinned.

“It’s the best piece in the room,” Lindy added.

“I really like the beautiful darkness,” Johanna critiqued. “It’s quite wonderful.”

“Thanks Johnny.”

“You should really check out her band, Stella,” Joe promoted. He knew she liked dark music when she painted, older and newer requiems, some dark modern operas as well as early eighties goth music like early Cure and Bauhaus.

“Any samples?” Stella asked Johanna.

“Nothing great, just some shitty demos and live tapes. Oh wait, Henry sent me some pretty great sounding recordings off the mixing deck from our last show. Just my songs which was nice of him but kind of an asshole move,” she said to Joe who nodded.

“Let me set up my speakers for your Bluetooth,” said Stella. “I just need to shut off the Bluetooth from my computer.”

“Sure.”

“Can I get you anything Stella?” Lindy asked.

“Coffee would be great. Oh I’ve got half dozen donuts. Help yourselves.”

“You sure?” Johanna asked.

“I really don’t need them,” she tapped her tummy.

“Thanks.”

They were all filled: Jelly and cream and an éclair which everyone decided to leave for Stella.

Because of the donuts, Lindy decided to make a pot full of coffee.

“Ready,” said Stella.

“I’ll wait for coffee and donuts,” Johanna decided.

Once the coffee brewed, they sat at the dining table, picking out their choice of donut, leaving Stella the éclair, and Johanna played the recording.

“Funky,” Stella decided, moving her head to the beat or to Johanna’s funky bass. “Reminds me of early Red Hot Chili Peppers, but cooler I think. Or Gong. You heard of Gong?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend’s brother turned me onto them early on. He writes most of the songs and does the spacey keyboard shit. His best friend and finally his lover does the arpeggio guitar leads.”

“And you play the bass.”

“Yeah, and sing on these songs with Kate backing me. Mostly we do Tom’s songs and she sings lead.”

“Your bass is extraordinary.”

“Thanks. Soledad, our drummer is pretty great too.”

“She is.”

“Kate’s pretty good at rhythm and she does some nice Curtis Mayfield type fills, but mostly she’s got the sweeter voice and she’s a good shouter.”

“But you’ve got the real rocker voice, not sweet but expressive. You really get what you’re singing. Your songs?”

“Yeah. Music and lyrics.”

They listened to the rest of the songs, Stella chuckling several times at the cleverness of the lyrics and laughing outright at the fuck you go home song at the end.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah Stella?”

“I’m profoundly impressed. Why have I never heard of you guys?”

“We’re young for one. Soledad and I are the oldest. I just turned twenty recently and Soledad’s maybe a couple months older. We’ve been together since we were sophomores in high school and were like the main band playing parties and at high school dances, but have always been a local phenom. That changed to some extent maybe six months ago when we finally got rid of our drummer, who wasn’t all that great and would tend not to show up at rehearsals. Hiring Soledad was what pulled everything together, and we started getting gigs around town but mostly like these punk clubs where the same people would show up. Things started changing when we did opening gigs and people who never heard of us got exposed, and those not completely caught up on the featured band actually seemed to like us. Kind of a struggle between those and the impatient ones who’d end up booing us if we went on too long.

“I guess our biggest break came when we headlined at the Roxy, though it was like the worst night to play, but the booker likes us and he gave us a chance. Henry ended up being there.”

“Henry, Connie’s director.”

“More Joe’s director since he’s directing Joe’s film, but yeah. I won’t go into specifics about what happened with Henry, because I’d rather forget, but out of that he decided he wanted us in Joe’s movie, which will be a definite plus if it actually happens and people go and see it and so forth. His interest is in me over the rest of the band, which could cause all kinds of problems except Joe’s stepping in making sure it doesn’t.”

“What kinds of problems and how is Joe fixing them?”

“May I?” Joe asked.

“Please do. This is what you’re good at.”

“Okay, so the band had always been Tom’s,” Joe started. “Which already had its problems, wouldn’t you say, Johanna?”

“Yeah. Tom had problems giving me more than a couple songs a set.”

“Is his songs better?”

“No,” Lindy said. “It’s a male ego thing.”

“Of course,” Stella nodded.

“To be fair,” Johanna explained, “it’s his design, which you dig, right Stella?”

“Yeah, there are derivations as we said, but the combination is completely unique.”

“Anyway,” Joe continued, “you had this fragile ego confronted by Henry’s arrogance, even if he was right to realize where the greater talent lay.”

“Thanks big guy,” Johanna grinned.

“So Henry bribes Tom to rehearse a bunch more of Johanna’s songs, basically a mini set at the end of the concert, which is what you just heard.”

“I wish he’d sent the whole damn concert,” Johanna griped.

“Bottom line,” Joe continued, “Tom is good, very good, but Johanna is better. Better songs. Better presence. And with them all bunched together at the climax of the show, Tom realized he’d been an ass not letting her do her songs. But then it gets worse. My friend Dave steps in. He picked up Kate at the show you just heard.”

“Kate the slut, who’s slept with every band member who’s got a dick and ended up nearly breaking up the band herself in Fleetwood Mac style by being Tom’s girlfriend...”

“I thought Tom was sleeping with the lead guitar guy.”

“Finally. Tom’s bi, but didn’t realize he’d be better off with Gary, who’s been his best friend for most of his life, than being with a girl, especially a slut like Kate. Kate fucked the drummer, another reason he got kicked out, probably the main one even if he was always our weakest link, and then she goes and fucks Gary. Fucking cunt, pardon my French.”

“No apology needed. She sounds like a complete cunt.”

“A walking cunt as my girlfriend would say.”

“So there’s already a delicate balance,” Joe starts again.

“The whole Fleetwood Mac mess with mixed band members. At least that’s been resolved.”

“Except Dave and Kate.”

“The cunt rises again.”

“Dave’s actually a good guy aside from being a complete horndog. Unfortunately he stepped into the potential mess of Conspiracy with his ego inflated by Henry choosing him to do the score of my movie, which is fine because he’s definitely capable, and then he’s fucking the band slut and probably conspiring with her to kick Tom out.”

“Not going to happen.”

“A huge mistake, because Dave has no clue how essential Tom is to the sound of the band. Imagine the band with Johnny’s funk bass and Soledad’s synchronicity with her combined with a conventional keyboard accompaniment, disco riffs or at best some P-Funk Bernie Worrall support, maybe some playful funky synthetic noise, but absolutely nothing new.”

“Wait,” Stella stopped things. “I get that Tom created your unique sound, but he’s been a dickhead not letting you do your songs. I mean your songs and your singing and your bass playing, does it matter who’s behind you?”