Amazing picture of Sasha Pivovarova for Vogue, found here.
In which Alice watches John sing and swoons, twice. There’s also some sex in unfamiliar places.
He was worried about me, about how down I felt last week, so he spent the rest of the week with me. He wore the same shirt to work for three days in a row. We laundered it. It was hard to say goodbye on Saturday, even though it was only for a couple of hours. He went home to pick up more stuff and I went to see one of my friends at a gallery in Hipsterville before reuniting with John in Boring Place that evening. As soon as I said hello to her, my phone rang, and another one of my friends, my posh friend, said: ‘Listen, is your boyfriend down Hipster Road?’ ‘Yes, yes, he is’ ‘Does he carry a bike on his shoulder?’, ‘Yes, he does! What are you doing in this neighbourhood?’ She’s been living in Big City for a few years, and it was the first time she’s adventured out in the treacherous waters of hipsterdom. It was a pleasure to see her. We chatted briefly, then I dashed off to see a show, where I sat down next to a lovely girl and we started arguing the merits of different productions. That was fun.
In the evening, I took the train back to Boring Place, where John’s band was going to play. It felt strange to go back there late in the afternoon, when, for years, I ran away from it. I used to live there until a few months ago. I think of that time as some sort of slumber or, at worst, purgatory. I knew John was going to be busy before the gig and I didn’t want to get there too early, so I stopped by my favourite bar, I found a quiet corner, and sat down with a glass of sweet wine and my book. That lifted my spirits.
John was waiting for me outside the venue, with an extra wristband and a big smile on his face. It felt like we hadn’t seen each other for ages. In a few minutes, his band were on stage. John kissed me hurriedly and told me not to ‘break the fourth wall’. He had a cold, but he sang beautifully, all the boys did, with a sound full and clear. Their bodies drew fantastic silhouettes on the shiny blue set, like characters from a fairy tale. John screamed and growled and held notes improbably long. His gestures were larger than life. I knew he knew I liked that and he smiled just for me. The boys were very pleased with themselves that evening. ‘One of the best gigs we’ve ever played’, they said. Back in the audience, John hugged me and I caught a whiff of musk.
When the second band started playing, John excused himself to go and buy a bottle of rum for his friends. I sensed the fun was going to be in the green room so I followed him there. The boys were silly and quite drunk, making a mess of the place, being little divas, throwing chips at each other and out on the street… until one of them sat at the piano and they started to jam.
I have to stop for a second here and remind you that, even though I like John’s current band (it grew on me), I loved his previous one, the almost famous Old Band. They made the kind of gut-wrenching music that inspires deep passions. The lyrics were clever. They were amazing live. In that band, John’s voice shone and dripped with sex-appeal. It was hard not to fall in love with them. About half of the members of the Old Band are in the new band. Their old fans still follow them around, although they disbanded a few years ago. Anyway, there’s a song of theirs I love which might have helped me fall in love in John. I’m still obsessed with it. I’m trying to engineer an Old Band reunion just so I could hear it live. Given how important the Old Band became for me, it’s kind of surprising that John only mentioned it after we’d seen each other a few times. Any other boy would have played the band card before. Not him, and that’s one of the many reasons I love him. That reminds me of a conversation I had with Deena at the end of that weekend, in which I told her how much I’m still surprised as I discover new things about John. ‘As long as they’re good surprises’, she said. ‘Well, he did tell me all his secrets in the beginning’. ‘So there was no other way to go but up. Interesting strategy’.
The boys started playing some covers, until one of them said, sheepishly, ‘How about we play some of the old songs?’. I could not believe my luck. I stood by the piano, grinning, wide-eyed. They started MY song, but, when it was time to sing it, my very tipsy boyfriend could not remember the lyrics. He felt bad. I told him it didn’t matter, I still had fun.
After the show, we went to a club and we danced and we kissed and he sang to me and danced around me, until, rendered silly by drunkenness, he put his hands up my skirt again and again, annoyingly. The last thing I wanted was for his friends or mine to see up my skirt. He pushed me against the wall. I pushed him back.
He whispered filth in my ear. I want to lick your titties. I want to fuck you. But most of all, I want to lick your dirty pussy, he said. He appeased me with more dancing and silliness. I was fine, until, at the end of the night, he started complaining about his looks. I had run out of patience a while ago. ‘God, you’re such a girl! How many times should I tell you I love your body and wouldn’t change anything about it, you silly goose?’ ‘No, I hate it, hate it’, he said, punching his chest. ‘For fuck’s sake, John, cut it out’, I snapped. ‘If I could go home right now, I would’. ‘Then why don’t you?’, he said, without thinking or meaning it. Tempers rose. It was my turn to be a little drama queen. I turned on my heels and walked to the train station, being determined to wait for the sunrise and the first trains there, with a book. He came after me, convinced I was being unreasonable. He insisted to stay with me, no matter what, whether I wanted to go back home or sleep at his friends’. I decided I’d rather sleep in a bed after all. He had no recollection of his offensive behaviour, so I rolled my eyes and decided it wasn’t worth a big fight. The whole episode lasted about ten minutes. We kissed. We made out. ‘I hate you’, I said, punching his shoulder. ’I hate you too’.
We walked through a park at night to reach his friends’ house. We crossed a bridge. He jokingly threatened to throw me in the weir. ‘I’m not afraid of you’, I said. He pushed me against the rail and lifted my skirt and put a hand down my panties… I only objected because it was too light and there was a CCTV camera pointed at the bridge. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a darker corner. He pulled down my panties and rubbed against me, but his cock wasn’t hard enough. We enjoyed the thrill and I can’t wait to make it happen, have sex in a park, soon enough. We left, hand in hand, stopping to kiss deeply. He took my fingers and pressed them against his bum. ‘Sometimes I feel so gay’, he said. He has no recollection of that either.
We reached his friends’ house close to four in the morning and were surprised to find them awake and engaged in a serious conversation. So serious, in fact, that their fists were itching and had to take it outside. Mind you, these guys have known each other for half their lives and they never fight. It was the rum, John later said. John rushed after them outside and did his best to prevent a disaster. When they came back in, more than an hour later, he surprised me with his tact, calmly explaining their perspective, finding analogies, and refusing to take sides. He has skills. I’ve witnessed many arguments and attempts at reconciliation, but nothing as smooth. I wondered how he could be so poised and clever after drinking so fucking much.
It was morning by the time we went to bed in his friends’ guest room. Off went our clothes. His rubbed his cock against me. I asked him to go down on me first. We fucked. He pinned me down and pulled my hair before we orgasmed, getting off on the pretence of overpowering me. That was hot. We fell asleep with our limbs entangled improbably. His cock was still inside me and he stole all the pillows. I woke up early, as soon as the sun started shining through the curtains. I didn’t feel like going back to sleep, so I stroked and tickled his his face until he woke up with a smile. ‘What do you want?’, he asked, knowing exactly what the answer was. We sixtynined. He buried his face between my buttocks. He licked my bumhole, his cock growing hard. He entered me from behind while I grabbed the headboard, until we grew tired and agreed he wouldn’t come. Still horny, he straddled me and pushed his cock in my mouth, while I played with my pussy. We fucked again and, some time later, I spooned him with one arm, having one hand between my legs. I could see his face and his cock from over his shoulder. His hand moved feverishly. So did mine. That was hot. He knelt in front of me while I lay down, with my legs spread for him, showing me how he liked to touch himself. He gave up before I did. I put my head in his lap and held his cock in my mouth while I made myself come. He finally came too and his come tasted of beer. We hugged and we chatted and joked around for a while, holding together for dear life, until I said: ‘You know what I would like? I would like you to fuck me from behind, standing, and then I want to have your semen trickle down my legs’. So we did.
I’m not sure what we were talking about later. We were trying to get ready for breakfast, or, rather, brunch, when I mentioned how much he enjoyed pulling my hair last night. ‘Oh yeah, did you like that too?’, he asked, grabbing his cock. He pushed me face down on the bed again, with a hand between my legs. His cock found me easily and slipped in. He pulled my hair and bit my neck while he pinned me down. It felt amazing. We came together. ‘I wish I could scream’, I said, when I finally caught my breath.
We walked in the sunshine with wobbly knees, hand in hand. ‘So, why did we have that big fight last night?’, he asked me. I told him about his attempt to disrobe me on the dance floor. ‘It was a bit rapey’, I said. ‘But I didn’t rape you last night, did I?’ ’No, you did not’, I said, in a voice so warm that it surprised me. We wondered what passersby would make of our exchange.
Going back to Big City, we went to a picnic in the changing weather and he came back to mine again, even though he hadn’t planned to. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, again.
I had to pee really badly. ‘Do you want to pee on me?’, he asked. He had told me about his fantasy of going down on me while I pee, of receiving the hot baptism of this thing from inside me. ‘Can you go if I watch you?’ ‘Oh yes, I can’, I said, directing him to the shower. I lifted a leg up high, making room for him to kneel in front of me. He moaned and writhed and closed his eyes in pleasure. I stopped the stream a few times. He then joined me in the world’s smallest shower and I washed him thoroughly. We ended up in bed again, his cock in my mouth, my bumhole in his. I could see his asshole opening up just a tad, rhythmically, begging to be buggered. I spit on a finger and rested it on his bumhole. A few minutes later, I slid it in, while he licked and sucked and moved his head up and down between my legs, alternating between my pussy and my bum. I pushed my finger back and forth while he breathed faster and faster. I knew he wanted more, so I took out my bottle of lube and a deliciously shaped dildo with a slightly bulbous head. I warmed the glass in my pussy, while he continued to lick it, and then pushed it up his bumhole and moved it around. I could tell how much he loved it. I continued to suck on his cock while fucking him and then he asked if he could fuck me. Oh, fuck he did, while I contorted myself to reach the dildo inside him and moved it in and out. ‘That was amazing’, he said, blissed out. ‘That was an amazing orgasm’. I smiled.
The following weekend, we travelled to Boring Place again. We went to a show that afternoon, a modern interpretation of an old tale with amazing direction and an unexpected vampire plot. We decided to spend the night there after agreeing it was kind of hot to fuck in other people’s beds. There were no arguments this time. We danced. We kissed. We joked around. We were there again because his band was headlining a local festival. We watched a few other bands before. ‘Don’t they look like zombies?’, I asked, during a set that lacked expressiveness. ‘Look at their faces’, I pointed. They were incredibly apathetic. ‘Vampires in the afternoon, zombies in the evening’, he said.
We walked on the street, holding hands. It was cloudy. He put on his shades and said it was for my own protection, with him being a rock star and all. I giggled. ‘Can you please sing me a song?’, I asked. ‘What song?’ ‘A Pulp song – Underwear?’ ‘Oh, not Pulp again’, he rolled his eyes, but started doing his best Jarvis impression, the lowered voice, the shrugs, the pointing. ‘Your Jarvis is too sleazy!’, I complained when I could stop giggling. ‘But Jarvis IS sleazy, have you listened to The Professional?’ I loved my song. I laughed and laughed so hard my tummy hurt and we stumbled into the venue exhausted from laughter.
His friends were biting the nails because of the long wait. The venue was smaller and the sound was ropier than last time. It took them some time to get into it, but they nailed a few songs. In between the songs, people chanted requests, a song of their old band. Jacqueline was there. ‘He’s so cute, no? And he is passionate. I like passionate. If I was straight…’, she said. I smiled. Connor made fun of me because, as he said, I was swooning. ‘And swooning is socially unacceptable in our circles?’ ‘Quite right’, he confirmed. Their fans continued with their request between songs. They hadn’t rehearsed their Old Band songs in a while, so, to my surprise, they decided to play one for the encore. It was a treat. The energy was amazing. All the people in the room bounced up and down with big grins on their faces, knowing they witnessed something special. A treat. I was glowing after the gig, even though they still hadn’t played MY song.
John just asked me if I’m free this weekend and said he had a surprise for me. Is it THAT song, I wonder?