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Onstage, my fragile mind stops being consumed by a paralyzing sense of dread. When I’m playing the keys with thousands of cheering fans, a euphoric rush courses through my veins, filling my brain with a boost of serotonin. There, under the glaring spotlight, I’m offered a small reprieve from my constant pain and bathe in the momentary joy and vitality.
While I stand on that stage, I’m rewarded with a sea of people who don’t think I’m a useless piece of shit.
When touring, I’m too busy to think while I’m playing show after show. There are no still moments, times when I’m trapped with the voices that suffocate me.
I grabbed a blonde chick and marched to my room. I stumbled into the room, made the chick put on a shirt that belonged to another man, along with a gas mask, and then I fucked her until we both passed out.
Seems like all I do now is fuck these girls in order to run away from a night that should never have happened with my best friend.
There’s no joy in fucking groupies anymore. My lackluster desire for them has gotten so bad that I only fuck them in the ass, force them to wear his t-shirt, and only call out his name while I’m balls deep in them.
Partying keeps the fuckin’ intrusive thoughts at bay. Thoughts that make me stare at my best friend like he’s my salvation in my dark, dystopian demonic hellscape.
Every time I see Iggy naked, I fiercely battle against my destructive desires.
But one night a few months ago, things got out of hand, and now I’m plagued by an insatiable need to have him writhe under me as he calls out my name in pure lust.
“I’m sayin’ if you wanna choke on a sausage instead of licking up clam, I’m your man.”
Iggy stood in front of me, his face earnest, and his vibrant blue eyes gazed at me with unmatched intensity. When people spoke about the beauty of blue depths, they tried to describe eyes like his. The color was so breathtaking that I wasn’t sure I could ever articulate anything of true value about them to capture the magnitude of their exquisite and captivating beauty.
Iggy and I were both dependent on chemicals to alter the way we perceived the world. I took drugs because I desperately needed to silence the cacophony of my mind, meanwhile Iggy got high because he thrived on the turbulence of chaos. We were a fucking match made in purgatory.
When Iggy and I composed or wrote music, we were on another plane of existence. Sex wasn’t even something we craved, because the music gave us a high so intense that we’d reject anything and anyone that could interfere with it. Guess one could say that music trumped coming for the both of us. There was this connection when we created a song that was almost otherworldly.
I realized the porn blasting on the television was no longer holding our interest. A wave of erotic desire and lust created by the other swept the two of us up.
I should have stopped it. Stopped us from going too far. But I didn’t. Iggy’s touch was incomparable to any sexual experience I’d ever had. With Iggy, there wasn’t a rush to get off. My mind wasn’t in a constant spinning motion of doubt, destruction, and disaster.
It was fun fucking my way across the globe with my best friend, until the only person I wanted to fuck was him.
always make them pick a safe word. Some of them assume they don’t need one, but they do. I’m rough. Way more aggressive than they could imagine. Most of them think Iggy is going to leave their bodies used and broken because he’s outgoing and flirtatious, but they’re wrong.
Degradation, primal, and breath play are what I bring to the table. When I’m taking control, manipulating their bodies, and forcing them to the brink, the voices quiet. In those brief moments of carnal manipulation, I’m not scared or frustrated. I focus my mind on the task at hand. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m onstage. I have control and I’m worthy.
For months now, all I’ve been doing is staring at my best friend the way I should look at the chicks we fuck together. It’s gotten to the point now that I want to only fuck women to see him naked.
He was never gentle. That was what I loved about fucking with him. It was a turn-on witnessing him come undone in the bedroom.
Normally Marley was so wound up, his whole demeanor controlled and fabricated. The only time I witnessed his animalistic side was when he was balls deep in some random chick. It was also the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I even wished I was the girl being held down, gagging. Which was fucked up because I’d never sucked a dick before, nor had I ever wanted to.
I groaned as I pondered how good that cock would be deep in my ass. I’d fucked guys before but I’d never bottomed, but in that moment I really wanted to bottom for Marley.
His eyes locked with mine, and in that moment Gretal-or-Girdle vanished. In my mind, only two people existed. Marley and me. I didn’t know if it was the Molly or my own burning desire for this man, but for the first time in my life, sex meant more. I lost myself gazing into his gray depths and came harder than I’d ever had.
There is such a ferocious burning desire for this man to use my mouth, taking what he needs. For him to own me, making me his, that for a moment, I think I’m hallucinating the aggressive movements of his hips pounding so vigorously into my mouth.
My eyes open and I gaze up at the lust-filled intensity in Marley’s eyes. A surge of pride blooms in my chest, knowing I put that look there. He knows it’s not some groupie making him feel good. It’s me. My tongue, my lips, my fucking throat.
“That’s it, like that. Good boy.”
Marley’s an anchor that holds me still in an ocean that wants to pull me under. No matter how much I spin in life, he’s there, a constant, and no way in hell am I fuckin’ that up.
How does one touch from this man set my entire world spinning?
A part of me wants him to never touch me again, while another would do anything to keep his hands on me forever. His touch is both an affliction an and assuagement. Trapping me in a turbulent abyss that brings the greatest heights and the lowest lows.
It’s Iggy who is the chaos demon that needs the high of disorder and insanity.
Fuck, I don’t even eat these women out. Never had a desire to put my mouth anywhere near their used cunts, but right now that pussy coated with Marley’s cum looks better than anything I’ve ever seen before. Like a desperate drunk, glaring at a bottle of mouthwash, I fall to my knees.
The strength of my consuming desire for Iggy has me frightened that one misstep and I’ll flush an eight-year friendship down the toilet. My lungs grasp for breath at the idea that I’ve crossed a line and went too far to the point I’ve ruined the only person who holds me still in a world that turbulently rotates, never ing me to get a steady footing.
I glance at the piano keys etched on my wrist and remind myself why I can’t miss a pill, because without them, I’m drowning. They are the frayed edges of the rope that give me hope I can be okay.
I never thought I’d find a man beautiful, but Iggy is a masterpiece. A smile falls on my lips as I think about how my feelings for him must have always been there under the surface, slowly simmering until it boiled over.
Yet that emotion that causes this irrefutable yearning for him, that causes every fiber of my being to burn, also causes my lungs to constrict and my mind to rage with debilitating fear. Loving your soulmate is earth-shattering because if things go south, you end up obliterated.
My heart couldn’t stand it if Iggy knew how fucked up I truly am. He doesn’t need to know that I’m on the brink of shattering and how I’ll drag him down with me. Like Humpty, I’m eventually going to fall from the wall of life, and not only will Iggy not be able to put me back together, I’ll make him break, too.
“To be honest, I’ve got no problem with you being on top, baby, but you kinda have to be a man to take charge, not a scared, pathetic boy.”
“Go ahead, be a good boy, and take what you really want. Go on, open that pretty little mouth and gag for me.”
Strong hands roam up my legs and grab my ass, drawing me forward. Bright blue irises peek up at me. Eyes that hold my soul within their depths and singe me to the darkest parts of my soul. I’m frozen in the moment, lost in this man's beauty as he kneels before me.
Women love an underdog story. It gets them crying from both their eyes and in between their thighs.
“Oh, Iggy, not what I meant, but I worry about Marley. He’s silent in his sensitivity. Men like him feel so deep but live in silence with their pain. You’re so different. I worry about you differently. I’m not worried about silence drowning you, but I am with Marley. With you, my concern is you’ll take stupid risks and hurt yourself living.”
I know it’s fuckin’ scary as hell. Sometimes our own stubbornness can derail our happiness. All I know, man, is if someone burrows themselves this deep under your skin, they’re worth everything.
I sit on the porch and light a smoke, thinking I’ve probably loved Marley Banks longer than I realized.
“Sweetie, not everyone should be a parent, but my boy loves you and I know he will go to hell and back for the people he loves. I promise, Marley, you’ll be safe with him.”
“Damn you, Marley,” Iggy grunts. “Damn you for making me want you. Damn you for making it impossible to see anything but you.”
hate how much I want you. I loathe how insane you make me. Most of all, I despise your push and pull to where you have me on the ledge of insanity, contemplating jumping so I can garner one last moment of peace.” Iggy lets out an animalistic, primal growl as cum shoots from his cock, landing on my lips. “Better lick up the mess, baby boy.”
Even through the rage, I can’t help thinking how absolutely heart-stopping Marley Banks is. I’m so taken with this man I can’t see straight.
The tip of Marley’s tongue slips out to lick the remnants of my lust from his lips. I groan as he swipes his bottom lip then the top, collecting my cum into his warm mouth. A mouth I want to fuck into submission.
The realization I will do anything to be with this man, even blow up my life, dawns on me.
The reality of being a junkie? You don’t care what you do or who you hurt in order to get the next high. For me, the high is the man on the bed licking my cum from his lips.
