Slater (Stranger In Palm Springs)
I met Slater in Palm Springs at a spiritual retreat. I was staying in a lovely, luxurious hotel, and was sharing a room with a woman I’d not met until I got there. The retreat was everything I’d looked forward to. Kundalini was popping from walls and spiraling up and out of the floors, and almost everyone looked wasted with positively glazed eyes. All in all, our Guru really came through for that one.
On the second evening, I came back to my room rather late. I remember being flushed with the intensity of the day. I thought my hotel roommate would be fast asleep, as she’d retired early the night before. When I walked in, the lights were on, and seated on the bed was a man. An enticingly magnetic man. His energy field bowled over me like a hot lava flow, and my ears began to go a bit dim. A bit like the way you feel before you’re going to faint, only I wasn’t at all faint. I had been pushed into a state of hyper-awareness. The roommate, I can’t recall her name, giddily introduced Slater as her boyfriend, that he’d been the bass player for this ridiculously cool and famous band, and at that point I stumbled slightly to get a bottled water. The entire time Slater was gazing at me with a slight smile on his face.
He was, like us, from Los Angeles. He wore his clothes like they were his own skin, just a long-sleeved flannel, slightly rolled up, ripped jeans, biker boots, and a belt that made me a little dizzy — the ordinary ‘bad boy’ uniform of most LA actors and musicians. On Slater, they were anything but ordinary. He wore a small gold hoop in his left ear lobe, his longish dark brown hair was slightly wavy, and he had a glow. He truly did. I’m sure I saw this because I was kundalini inebriated, but saw it, I did. The lower part of his forearms were completely inked up and beautifully intricate. Lots of blue and black. There was conversation, or rather, there was an ongoing monologue coming forth from the roommate. All the while Slater gazed at me, with that little smile.
She was sitting on the only chair, he lounged on her bed, and I was on mine. He never stopped gazing. I say that word because he was not looking at me. He was actively gazing at me, and I felt and knew unequivocally that he was drinking me in. I felt it like a sheet of magnetism that was also flowing back to him from me. I tried to stop it, because he was her boyfriend after all, and I do have boundaries, I do. It’s just that I had no choice. It was a force, and I was completely helpless and could do nothing but vibrate in its thrall. I didn’t really become conscious that he was very beautiful until almost an hour had passed. The roommate yawned suddenly, and announced she was going to bed. She asked S where he was staying. Gazing at me still, he started to say, “I came here on my bike”, when she cut him off and said, “Well it’s twin beds, so you can crash on the floor”. She’d been completely and astonishingly oblivious of the gaze tango between the two of us. He turned to her, accepted the offer, said good night to her, turned to me and said, “You need to take a walk with me”.
I stood up right away, and my entire torso took a dip, as if I were on a roller coaster. We stepped outside, and it was an exceptionally beautiful night, of the type one can only experience in desert country. I wasn’t in a daze so much as a compulsion to keep this feeling of exchanged magnetism going. When we’d gone about two blocks, we were getting out of a rather congested area, and a feeling hit me fiercely, like the gods were granting me my wish to do and be exactly who I’d always longed to be. S took my hand then and we began walking a little more briskly. Neither one of us had spoken a word, and it was not in the least awkward, because there was no need to speak. The energetic sparks of whatever was happening was its own language. Another block, and, still holding my hand, he began to jog towards an abandoned gas station. Palm Springs and its surrounding area never disappoint with its kitsch of abandoned gas stations and old diners. We came onto the old, cracked asphalt where broken gas pumps still stood. S stopped, and just… gazed, once again. The corner of one side of his mouth started dipping up.
“So, LA”, he said. “Yes”, I replied. “I know you”, he said. “Yes”, I said. At this point, we had somehow reached one of the walls of the old building. “I’m cutting it off with her. She talks too damn much”, he said. I burst out laughing, it was uncontrollable, and I began to feel I was going into hysteria when he pulled me into his arms, growling, “Come here”. He laid a kiss on me then, and as I look back now it makes me think of old Marlon Brando movies, and I can just see how our bodies met each other in that moonlit desert air. His taste was strong, overpowering, and familiar. Before I had a chance to even think about what was happening, or what I was doing, he pushed me, not fiercely, but not gently, against the wall, and breathed into my ear, “This deserves something special, don’t you agree?” Without giving me time to answer, S flipped me around, and with both arms holding me fast around my waist, he leaned into my hair, and started rubbing his stubble all over it. It started sending sparks, and it hurt a little, and it was very odd. And marvelous. He was whispering in my ear, but I had a hard time hearing because my body had suddenly gone into a state of hyper-arousal. I did hear him clearly when he said, “Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, you and me, we’re feeling it.” He dropped his hands and put them on my lower belly, holding me there, and not moving for an agonizingly long time. Then slowly, one hand began to move, smoothing lower against the fabric of my dress. He kept his other hand on my belly, and I couldn’t move. I don’t know if I was actually trapped, or if I just did not want to move, but we were two beings caught up in one another in the night.
I knew that we both waited with baited and hitching breaths as his hand tracked my body down, and down, until he reached my mound. When he cupped me, I almost started to weep with the intensity of my feeling. I gasped, and he leaned down and reached around my neck and found my mouth with his lips. It was a twisted position for me, but I loved it, and I had never experienced my knees buckling, but they did then. S was strong, and he had a firm grip, and he kept kissing me. He did let up a bit, but his hand had begun to find the shape, and indeed, the folds of my pussy. I was wearing a thin dress, and his fingers found my clit with no problem, because my wetness made the fabric of my dress very slick, and he began to play with me. One finger became my world, as he anticipated where each throb would arise. He had magic fingers, like the Hindu gods have many arms, and I began to vibrate and roll into a full body orgasm. That’s when I really started to fall, and again, he kept me upright. I sighed back into him, and I said something like, “What about you?”. He turned me around, and he was smiling. “That won’t happen until we get home”. I understood.
We left early the next day, Slate on his motorcycle, me in my car. He did break up with the roommate. I’d said good-bye to her, separately from him. It was awkward, after all, but the reality was that we were strangers. I drove directly to the address he’d texted me. We’d driven back to LA; me in my car, and Slater on his powder blue and scarlet Harley. He’d made it easy for me to follow, and there I was, in the middle of West Hollywood, parking my car. Turning off the ignition, I watched him dismount his bike.
Oh, my Lovelies! He was a treat on the eyes. Longish dark brown hair always covering an eye, both chocolate brown. I’d never liked beards, but his was sleek with a slight mustache, and trimmed to almost ridiculous perfection. It made me wonder why all men didn’t wear beards. He regularly bench pressed and cycled, and his body reflected it. He knew it too, but with a tongue-in-cheek quality that amused me. Our eyes met, and he leaned back on his bike. His face was beautiful, with its strong angles, and his luscious full-lipped mouth that strangely fit the high-powered masculinity. It also showed the harrowing journey he’d endured kicking the heroin habit that was unfortunately, a hazard of his having been a guitarist in that old band of his.
He peeled off his leather jacket, revealing a tight white T, slung it over his shoulder, and beckoned me out of the car with his index finger. His mouth did this slow smile that started on one side, and I was compelled to exit my car. He beckoned, still standing as he was, and I walked the few steps right up to him. He just looked at me for a long moment, and then, he grabbed my hips, with handfuls of my sundress, and pulled me in to him with some considerable power. It startled me, and I gasped a little. He laughed, tossing his hair out of his eyes. He turned me around and guided me towards his little blue house with his hand at my lower back.
“What was I thinking?”, you ask. I wanted to be inside, in private with this man, I wanted us to be undressing each other, I wanted us to be fucking and fucking and fucking. That’s what I was thinking. Slate had unleashed something in me the night before. We were lovers-on-the-verge-of-more, and I wanted more! His skin had a slick of sweat from the ride, and I was mentally tasting it, chomping at the bit to do so, when we reached the door. Instead of opening it, he turned to me. “So.” He did that slow smile. “We’re going to take this real slow. By real slow,” he opened the door, and ushered me inside. “I mean slow. Like this.”
I walked into his house and entered a museum. Framed vinyl records lined the walls, along with album covers, many covered with signatures, and sleek vintage electric guitars were placed against walls, and against anything that would hold them. Slate’s hand was at the small of my back, and he firmly guided me in, keeping me going until we’d walked to the back, and into a little galley kitchen. He reached into a cupboard, pulling out a ¾ full bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch Whiskey. Reaching behind me, he opened another cupboard door, and the set down two shot glasses. He raised an eyebrow, and I answered with a nod. I don’t really drink, but when I do I like my scotch to be excellent single malt and straight up. He had that half smile as he poured two generous shots.
I was dying. He’d stripped off that jacket, and since I’d only just met him the night before, I was mesmerized by the ink he had on his arms. He’d been wearing a long-sleeved flannel the night before, so I’d seen his wrists, and I knew he had them. But! Oh glory. Snakes! I. Love. Snakes. I know, it’s weird, but there are valid reasons, and that story doesn’t belong here. Slate’s tat artist was indeed gifted. Blue and scarlet snakes intertwined like vines, accented with charcoal, and Celtic crosses met in between each coupling. His arms were completely covered, and I looked at his throat, but it was just his beard and his skin. Beautiful, hot, vibrating skin. “You like?” He reached behind me again and flipped a switch. Lou Reed and Velvet Underground’s Heroin came pouring from everywhere. It was so loud, I didn’t answer. I just smiled and picked up my shot glass. He lifted his too, and we both took a sip. Before I knew it, my sundress was peeled down to my waist, I was turned around, bent over his sink, and his hands were reaching under the dress. “I thought you said slow!” I yelled this over the music, and his voice was in my ear, very low, and insistent. I heard him perfectly. “Baby, I’m gonna teach you my kind of slow”.
With that, I felt his hands grasp the sides of my panties, and he began to slowly roll them down. His mouth was still next to my ear, so I turned my head, and said in his, “Like this?” He just smiled and kissed me. I wanted him so, so badly. Slate had the power of activating my body with just his voice (we all know what that is!), and I was quivering, trembling with at the anticipation of discovering what would happen next. He managed to get my panties halfway down my thighs, and he pulled what I call the “Slater One-Two”. One hand firmly on my lower abdomen, his other began to tease me all over and around my pelvic region, going everywhere except my pussy. I loved this, and as I got wetter and wetter, I tried to catch his hands so I could place them directly where I needed them. Laughter rumbled against my back. Such a tease!
Finally, finally, his fingers found my clit, and I had an orgasm at that point. He played my clit and I could feel him trying to feel just where and how it throbbed while I was cumming, and even how he could prolong the shudders I experienced. I rocked backwards against his hard body. He loved it, and finally, he turned me around and began kissing my breasts and working my nipples with his tongue. I could have gone all day and night, but when I started to lift his T-shirt up, he said, “Nyunh-unh. Nope. Not yet.” “Okay. You haven’t even gotten off since we met last night, and -” “Shh.” He now had his hands on my shoulders because we faced each other, and his eyes were watching my breasts. I felt my stomach clench deliciously as the visual image of what we looked like together flashed across my mind. I looked up, and he was looking down. He reached over to the counter and dipped two fingers into the whisky. He began to paint the liquid lazily on and around each of my nipples. I was gasping, and laughing, and I said, “This isn’t fair!” “Look down,” he said, pinching and pulling on my nipples, eliciting little gasps from me. I let him do it because it just felt so damn good. “We’re going to get some food on our way over to the club, so this is all we can do. Don’t worry, the night will be long, and extra satisfying.”
Yes, I was a hot mess, and Slate was loving it. I liked him! I liked his teasing me! I liked that he wouldn’t let me get even close to teasing him back. Just when my nipples felt like they were going to go up in flames, he turned me around, and this time he did push me over the sink. He lifted my skirt with one hand, and with the other, he simultaneously pinned me against the stainless steel, while making sure his forearm protected me. My panties were around my ankles, and I still had on my sandals. They were kind of like espadrilles, so that they were tied, and there was no way I could kick them off. While I was devising my lingerie escape, his hand came down hard on the plumpest part of my right ass cheek. The slap resounded in the tiled space, and I don’t really remember if I gasped, yelled, or screamed. Shock waves began making me shudder.
Slate quickly turned me around, and, well, I don’t know how he knew, but some men are exquisitely intuitive. He picked me up in his arms and carried me to his sofa. Cradling me, he sat us down, and put my head against his shoulder. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t frightened, I was just plain in shock. He knew it. “I’m so, so sorry. I got carried away, and I didn’t ask you. These things need to be discussed, and I’m so, so sorry.”
I had been married to someone who’d degenerated into aspects of the character Mickey Rourke played in 9 ½ Weeks. I’d not been given any choice in accepting his Dom, and there had never been any aftercare. The ending of the marriage was a very dark time, and that late afternoon, I was almost healed, but not completely. I didn’t realize there were tears on my face until his fingers were there stroking them away. I really was ok; it was carryover PTSD. I wanted to experience these things the right way, with someone who really saw and felt me. Someone who ‘got’ me. I had no trouble telling him my story, as he held and stroked me.
“I just only met you, really, but I know — and this isn’t a hunch — I know that I am completely safe with you.” I told him this as I was raising my head to look into his eyes. He kept stroking my hair, and softly said, “You sense that, hm?” I nodded and put my head back on his strong chest. “How do you feel about being intimate with me after that?” A surge of pure lust and surprising tenderness for him rippled through me. “I hope that means yes; you want to continue”. He’d not once stopped caressing me. I laughed, softly, and sighed. “I want to experience that, Slate. My own enjoyment was stolen from me.” “Ahhh,” he said. So, you think I’m the one to erase those memories?” “Yes,” I said. “I do”. I took his gorgeous, weathered face in my hands, and kissed him on his mouth. He kissed me back, deeply, richly, warmly.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to take you on a rocker-bike adventure. You up for it?” I realized suddenly that my dress was still pooled around my waist, and I laughed as I started to tug it up. I was still sprawled across his lap, and I started taking in more of my surroundings. I looked down at his crotch, where his boner was reappearing. He laughed and squeezed his cock through his jeans. “Yeah?” I nodded, and he helped me get up. “What other clothes are in your bag?” This struck me as very funny, and I giggled. He tugged me in close with one arm and kissed me on the top of my head. “You sound good.” “I am Slate. I have meditation clothes”. “You live too far away to do a clothing run”. He looked at his watch (I can bet he still wears a watch these days too). “Ok, there’s time. We’re going to see a friend of mine on Melrose.”
We did. I got behind him on his Harley with the silver and scarlet helmet he handed me, and we whipped over several blocks to a unique clothing store, that specialized in performance clothing for musicians. Slate’s friend was a transplanted Londoner who made me smile with his impeccable upper-class accent. “Yeah, Simon’s slumming it,” Slate whispered loudly in my ear. I smiled too, because everything on display was either black, or red, with some purple here and there. “So, you’re getting some stuff first?” I asked, just as Simon began to eye me up and down. He suddenly disappeared, and Slate said, “No Baby, I’m getting you some stuff”. “What-“I started to protest, and he put a finger across my mouth. “Please. There’s something happening here, Bibi, and it screams to be marked somehow. You also need to be wearing pants to protect your legs on the bike later. going to a little club in Malibu. And a top”. Simon reappeared holding some clothing for me. Handing it over, he said, “Right over there, darling”, pointing to the opposite side of the shop. I was feeling a real sense of joy and freedom — the first real happy place since the painful debacle with T, several months earlier. I opened the ornate carved wooden door of the dressing room and entered.
I’d just slithered into a pair of black stretch velvet jeans, when there was a quick knock, and Simon walked in. I both gasped and laughed and said” Good thing I’m dressed!” He smiled, and said, “No honey, you’re not. That dress, as lovely as it is, must come off.” “A little privacy, please?” “Oh, tsk”, he shot back, and it occurred to me that Simon was not gay, as I’d first thought, and he was enjoying himself. “Those jeans need to be one size smaller.” He tossed me a blouse I’d carried in, and I had to scramble to catch it. I set it down, and turned to him, with my arms folded. ” Okay, deal. I’ll get this on, if you bring me that size smaller — and then knock and wait for me to open the door.” He winked, turned on his heel, and left. I quickly pulled off my dress and wondered if I needed a bra as I buttoned up the frothy, lacy blouse/shirt. I decided no, as I looked in the mirror. It was a confection of a shirt, all lacy layers of satin and soft silk that tapered at the waist, before falling very nicely to just below my hips. I was trying to decide which female rocker could do it justice when the knock came. He was right, the smaller size fit like glove, and I walked out.
Slate stood across the shop, turning when he heard me. He whistled low and smiled. “You look great, really hot. What size shoe do you wear?” I told him as I walked over. He chose a pair of tooled leather black and red cowgirl boots, and said, “Here. Take off the sandals”. “I’m paying- “ “Hush, lemme do this. It’s fun, I’ve still got royalty dough coming in that I don’t know what to do with, so please. Try these on.” Simon magically appeared, handing over a pair of thin silk anklets. “Bike jacket,” Slate told Simon. “Oh, come on!” I said. “I’m pay- “Slate just laughed. “So, are you my Daddy now?” I asked. We both got quiet. He put his arms around me and said, “Just let me dress you. I think we’re both having fun here. There’ll be time to figure us out”. I vibrated inside with those words. Simon came back and helped me into a short, cropped, leather jacket with fringe hanging from its long sleeves. It worked, like I was amazed at how it worked. I felt deliciously sexy and very naughty. We said good-bye, left and started walking towards where the bike was parked.
“The shop was empty, “I said, as we got ourselves situated. “Hey, that’s because it’s open to select clients, and only by appointment.” I couldn’t help laughing, and the beauty of it was that I really could see Slate’s enjoyment at the irony of being who he was. “We got out of there just in time,” he said to me over his shoulder, as he took a turn. Simon has a crush on you! Hey, I’m being serious. So, what are you hungry for? Pizza? Sushi?” We ordered take out sushi on West Santa Monica Blvd, and there we were, walking and talking as we ate with our fingers.
As it began to get dark, we sat at an outdoor cafe, sipping espresso. So many people came to the table to say hello, and some even asked him for his autograph. Without giving too much away, the story of Slate and all his band had been made into a major film with a major star about 10 years earlier. I’d love to spill the beans, but if I even hinted more than what I’m about to, I’d blow his cover, and I promised. It was all about a bunch of junkies, who turned into street hustlers, who became a band. He was a lot older than me, and all I can say is that the film drew its plot from the life story of the lead singer and starred an actor whose now major major box office but was then an unknown. Slate was played by someone too, and I still get a kick out of it when I think on it.
So, there I was, Miss Totally Clueless. I’d spent most of my adult life either in the acting world, or being a housewife raising babies, with an ex who was an uptight snob. Cool ex-junkie rocker bands had not been in my radar. Slate loved that I’d never heard of him, his fan girls, the groupies, or the long list of naughty scrapes he’d been known for. What was becoming apparent to me as we sat outside was that he still had fan girls/groupies/hangers on. Really sexy ones. About 5 had sauntered over in the thirty or so minutes we’d occupied the table, and ignoring me, draped themselves around him, saying things like, “Babe! So great to see you again”, and “Hey Slayer, got time for a little smooch?” I thought the whole show was partly hilarious — but the other part of me was secretly alarmed that I might have competition.
I was falling for him; I was just beginning to be aware of that. He’d taken off his sunglasses and would look at me when he was being fondled, with slightly closed eyes, as if he were both embarrassed on my behalf, and worried about what I was thinking. Got to say, he handled those women with great charm and good grace. Guys also stopped by to slap him on the back, and do ‘cool guy stuff’, making sure they were seen. LA is a trip!
He stood, suddenly, putting out his hand to me. I took it, and he drew me up. “Time to get on the road, but first,” and his arms went around me and pulled me close, “Let’s give these folks something to remember”. With that, he bent me backward like that famous photo taken at the end of WW ll, where the sailor grabbed a nurse on the street and laid one on her.
Slate, being the Scorpio sun he was, also had three planets in Leo which made him into a lover of showmanship and the spotlight. He made that kiss last, too, and people started whistling, calling out and clapping. Jayzuss, I’ve had some super spectacular experiences that I rank as Memorable High Fun!
“Hey! That your girl now, Slayer?”, someone called out. He broke the kiss and started us walking towards the sidewalk. He called loudly over his shoulder, “No, man! This is my Lady!”, and he emphasized the word as we walked away, his arm around my shoulder. Soaring on cloud nine, I made my way with him back to the bike. I hopped on behind him, loving it when he pulled my hands to meet at his mid-section in front, so that I was plastered against his body, as I perched behind him. I loved the feel of those hard muscles moving under his T-shirt. He also wore leathers, but my hands and arms were inside his jacket. I still hadn’t seen him naked! I easily visualized his six-pack because they were that apparent to my hands.
Oh God, I was getting so wet, and when he took a turn to get on the 405, I became aware that I was on the verge of drooling, too! He bent his head slightly to be heard over the wind and traffic noise. “Have you been to the — — Club?” I had to almost shout, it was so windy and loud. “No, but everyone’s heard of it!” He grinned, and we spent the next twenty minutes zipping in and out and around cars as we made our way up the 405 towards Malibu.
We made if off the freeway and zipped over to the infamous club. It stood high on a small cliff overlooking the Pacific, and we made our way up the long driveway. A valet trotted over, and Slate gave him the keys to his Harley. “This time, no free rides, Luis. Make sure your guys are on the same page”. He took my hand, and we walked, fingers clasped, to the door, and on inside. The club was hopping. A tall, slightly disheveled man was about to brush past us, then stopped long enough to give Slate a fist bump before walking out the door. I did a double-take, embarrassing myself. When you’ve lived in LA for a while, you become accustomed to being in the grocery produce section shopping alongside celebrities. But Nick Nolte just did it to me. “Yeah, he’s a regular here. Good guy,” then, lowering his voice and moving his mouth closer to my ear, “He needs to watch that alcohol intake, though”.
We were walking straight to the back deck, and it seemed to me that people parted for us — or I should say, for Slate — making it an easy and fluid path to the open-to-the-air back portion. There was a blues band playing on the inside, but it was the kind of sound that wasn’t difficult to be heard over. Four people got up from a round table as they saw us approaching. “All yours, boss,” one of the men said. “Let Jackson know that Slayer’s here, and to start setting up”. He turned to us, smiling, and said to me, “I don’ t believe I’ve had the honor…”. Slate introduced us, and I immediately liked Caleb. He had crinkly, smiling eyes, wore a bandana around his head, and he said to us both, “What’ll you have?”
Smiling up at Slate — he was tall enough that I had to — I said, “I’ve already had my whiskey for the day”. “Just get Barry to bring us two sparkling with — he looked at me — lime? Yeah. I’m playing, remember, Cabe?” Caleb said, as he started to walk away, “If you weren’t, the night would be a lot darker. I brought Bertha for you”. Slate grinned, and we sat. “My bass guitar. You know I play bass, right?” I nodded automatically, taking it all in. I hadn’t known that! The table was too big for just the two of us, but nobody sat back down. There seemed to be a lot of hovering all around us, but there was a sense of buffering space between us and everyone else.
Just as I was thinking that a woman with ebony hair falling long, and straight down her back was suddenly there, and she straddled Slate on his chair, put her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth. The fact that she wore an extremely short skirt that exposed her long, toned, and tanned legs, was making me a little anxious. “Yo! Lace! You’re being fuckin’ rude!”, Slate said this, half laughing, while pushing her up and off him. She stood, put her hands on her hips, and looked down at me, with one beautiful eyebrow raised. “Who’s this?”, she asked, in a tone that I just couldn’t make out. “Jesus, Lace, ever heard of being polite? This is Bibi, she’s my guest. She’s my date for the night, and she is also my new Lady. Bibi, this is Lacey”.
Lacey had both of her eyebrows raised, but she wasn’t hiding her smile. She stuck her hand out and took mine in a surprisingly strong grip. “You can call me Lace. All my friends do.” She sat in one of the chairs and said to me, shooting Slate a quick look, “Hey, don’t mind me. This guy and me? We’re like siblings, only I like him a whole lot more than my real brother. Think of me as just one of the guys, singing backup in his band”. I shot a look at Slate. I didn’t know he was still playing! “Nah,” he said, reading me, “Nothing official, just for kicks, and mostly here, when I feel like it.” A waitress set down our sparkling waters.
The blues band inside had stopped playing, and a new set up was being arranged. Caleb arrived and offered Slate a sleek red guitar. He took it, and crooned, “Hello Bertha. Hello, my baby girl. Have you missed me?” He picked it up and kissed the frets. Lacey cackled, but I was entranced as Slate began to tune ‘Bertha’. I was hearing little shouts from the inside. “Slayer’s playing tonight! He’s here!” Lacey said to me, “You look so familiar, and I can’t place where I’ve seen you… you an actress? Done a film like, recently?” I sighed. At the time I had a long-running local fast food chicken commercial running. It paid my bills, and more. “I wish,” I told her. It’s probably the Chick-fil-A thing you’ve seen me in. I mostly do theatre, but my film resume isn’t that memorable.” “That’s IT!” She cried, pointing her finger at me. “You’re really fuckin’ funny!” I smiled, but inwardly grimaced. Yes, I loved being a comedienne, but here I was, at a super crazy cool place where cool people hung out, and I was “that funny chicken girl”. If I was going to get recognized, which I really didn’t care about, let it please not be, “Hey! There’s that funny chicken girl.”
Slate said, still busy tuning, “It’s an honest living, and you ARE really cute in that thing”. I opened my mouth, more of a gape, and he said, “Although, you are much… more… beautiful… womanly in person, as in sexy… as in really fuckin’ hot. Yeah. Just sayin’.” He looked up then and our eyes danced together. “Sorry. Don’t mean to swear so much.” He gave me a huge smile, lighting up his whole face. A chant had begun inside and was increasing in volume and speed. “Slayer’s here! Slayer! Slay — er! Slay — er!” “Play for us!” “Come ON! SLAY ER!!!”
He stood up, handed Bertha to Lace, and took my hand. “Where are you taking me?” I asked nervously. “I want you where I can see you, for many reasons, the main one being, you are now my muse, and I want you to be close”. There was a small circle of roped off chairs in front of the small music stage, and we walked through as a bouncer guy unclasped the barrier, then fastened it after us. The club was small, but the security was serious business. Four guys and Lacy joined Slate, and the crowd whistled and hooted.
It wasn’t a large place, but it wasn’t tiny, and the din began to increase. I was shocked when Slate went up to a mic, brought a harmonica to his mouth, and began to blow. There was so much about this man that I didn’t know. I sat, entranced, as the bluesy riff began to settle the crowd. God! Even thinking about those moments of discovery, of hearing that rhythmic howling coming out of his harmonica, I get wet. Can’t help it. Another guy then started to riff on what I figure was the lead guitar… I really am clueless about this stuff, and I have had relationships with two serious musicians! No excuse. Ah well, I am who I be. Whatever style music it was, I loved it. It was part blues, part rockabilly, and part something I couldn’t name. All I knew was that Slate was strumming Bertha, and I could feel the deep notes in my belly. I think that’s impossible, but I felt it. They played a few songs, and the lead guitarist sang out in a great tenor, and then Lace joined him with her surprising bluesy/growly soprano. I wish I were better at describing this!
There was a shift, and the notes of a new song began. Suddenly, Slate had the main mic in his hands, and he was singing. Ah, God. His voice was a deep baritone, and he was wailing. Before I knew what was happening, he was beside me, and pulling me up on stage. “I need to feel my muse on my body!” he shouted, and the crowd responded appreciatively, and loudly. I just went with it and allowed him to put me in front of him, and to place my hands on his thighs. I didn’t care that I was being ’seen’. I didn’t care that I didn’t know what was going to happen next. All I knew was Slate. His hard and now sweaty body braced behind me, I let my head fall back on his chest.
“Good girl,” he soothed into my ear, and then he was handed Bertha. I don’t know how he did it, but he began to play that damn guitar against my belly, and it was hot. I mean the vibrations were going right through me, and this was an out and out blues thing, it was low and sexy, and it sounded like fucking. I had my eyes closed, and I think he could have taken me right there in front of everybody, and I wouldn’t have cared. I handed the reins right over, all the while enjoying the feel of him, the sway of us, and the group pleasure we all enjoyed. Time just… floated and vibrated… and pounded, insistently.
I must have tranced, because he was pulling me down, and we were on the floor below the stage. We both got handed waters, and I started to gulp, and then almost swallowed my tongue when he whipped his T-shirt right over his head and threw it on a chair. His chest. That torso, those tats. The fluidity of the skin over the muscles. Those powerful and elegant arms. The vee that travelled down his belly beneath the waistband of his leather pants that hung low on his hips. Oh God. He was looking at me, and I was looking at him, and we both nodded at each other. He handed Bertha off to someone, grabbed his T-shirt and whipped it over his head, put an arm around me and started walking us both towards the door. There were boos and “Come on Slayer! It’s too early to leave!” He threw up his other arm and caught his leather jacket as it was tossed to him. “I’ll be back next week!”, he yelled, and his band took that as their cue to go into a rockabilly riff. I caught a thumbs up and a grin from Lace as I looked back before walking outside.
Now that it was approaching midnight, there was quite a crowd outside, being held back by two beefy bouncers. There were a few shouts of “Slayer!”, and “Don’t go!”, and then we were making our way back to West Hollywood. It was, as before, windy, and noisy, so I just melted against him from behind as we flew down the road.
We made it back, he opened his front door, and we walked inside. I turned, as he did, and we looked at each other for a moment. Then with a growl and a pounce, we were on each other. I was trying to get his T off, while he was almost ripping the buttons off my shirt, and we both laughed, because we weren’t getting anywhere. “Now hold on there a minute, Miss Scarlett,” he said in a thick Southern drawl” Let me help you out here.” He whipped his T over his head and started to back me against his living room wall — the one with the least number of guitars in the way. The speed had slowed, but the urgency was intense, and building with every breath. “I want to feel your tongue in my mouth,” Slate whispered, and he lowered his face to mine. We kissed, and he resumed undressing me. It was a luxurious meeting of tongues, indeed. He played with the inside of my mouth, running his tongue along the sides and the roof, and it tickled a little, but I loved it. He lifted his head, and said in a low voice, “I can’t believe how fucking hard you make me.”
“Let me feel you, I want to feel you”, I breathed, and I put my hand flat against his lower belly, and let it slide inside the waistband of his pants. We were looking at each other as I did this, and, not taking his eyes from mine, he took my hand out, unzipped the leathers, and then took my hand again, placing it on his glorious, thick, long, huge cock that had immediately sprung free. I looked down as I felt him in my palm. There are cocks. And then there are COCKS. Slate’s cock was so beautiful, I became a little bit insane. He was throbbing and pulsing in my palm, and I think I whimpered. I went down to my knees without even thinking about what I was doing, and I took him in both of my hands. His skin was like marble; he looked like he’d been carved from it, only he was alive, so alive, and he was both steel hard and smooth as velvet as I caressed his shaft with my fingers, lightly, lightly, up and down, and back again. I kissed the head, and immediately, pre cum appeared, looking like a little jewel adorning his tip. I delicately licked it clean, and he moaned. “No! Not yet, Bibi, baby, I won’t last, I’ve been insanely turned on since last night, it’s excruciating, and I want — I need to make this a beautiful thing for you. Okay? Hm? Oh… GOD DAMN”, as I couldn’t resist running my tongue all the way down his shaft and up again.
“Okay, okay,”, he pulled me up, laughing and panting, and pulled me into him. Kissing me, he brought one hand to my throat, and slowly started bringing it down my chest. He pulled back and looked at my body. I was so aroused at this point that my breathing was coming in sharp, fast little pants, and when his eyes hit my lower belly and traveled down to my pussy, I discovered something wild about the way my body reacted to Slate. He gave me eyegasms. That’s my word for the explosion of intensely erotic sweetness that welled up wherever his eyes touched my body when I was intensely aroused. This was the first time, and I did what one might call ’swoon’. I saw stars, as if I weren’t getting enough oxygen, and my legs, already shaking, just gave way.
“Whoa, come here.” He gathered me into his chest before I went completely down, picked me up, and kissed me and then I felt him moving. “I’ve got you, you’re all right, you’re safe. You’re safe with me, Babe”, and then he was laying me down on something soft, and I realized it was his bed. He had my face in his hands, and he whispered, “I need to know you’re okay. I’m not going any further if you want to stop. I want to “, at that, I pulled him closer so we could really look into each other’s eyes. “Slate. Slate! I’m, I’m fine! You overwhelm me, that’s all! I love your body! I love your big hard cock! I love the feel of you against my tongue! I want you to fuck me, I want — I want — “Something primal had unleashed itself in me that night. “Please, please, please, I want you to be inside my pussy!”
The words came out as pleas and gasps, and then his full body was on top of me, and he braced his upper torso with his arms and looked down at me. “You want me to fuck you? Hm? Is that what you said? You want me to put my big cock against your pussy, like THIS?” He slammed his hips against me, and began moving his body back and forth, up, and down, using the strength of his upper body to stay in place, and that of his lower to move his dick and I felt his heat deliciously rubbing my pussy lips and my folds. “Un hunh… yes… oh…Ohhhhh!” I was almost crying with bliss as he took one hand and brushed all over my wetness. He rubbed his hand across his chest, went back for more, and rubbed two fingers on his lips, and then mine. “You’re so sweet, you know that hunh?” His mouth was on me, and in a flash he had me sitting up, straddling him, facing him, and his back was to the wall.
“Oh yeah, I just want to bask in the glory of your pussy, just gimme a sec here, do you know what a pretty little cunt you’ve got there, hm? Lay back for me darlin’, that’s it.” My entire pussy was having a time of it, she was throbbing and pulsing, and gushes of wetness poured out whenever he spoke. I had what I now call a “wide on”. I almost lost consciousness again as I felt his fingers exploring me. “Oh baby, you are just so pretty, and now I can see every secret here,” and with that, he placed his thumb on the most sensitive place on my clit. She reared up to meet his touch, and I was a panting mess. “I got to know you very well, right here, already, and you weren’t naked,” and he was now holding the flat of two fingers across and just barely above my dancing clit. “I know when I touch you right here,” and I felt the tip of a finger just under the hood, “you’re going to throb and get even wetter. Another finger went to my entrance and started tracing light circles. My breathing was coming in loud, fast bursts of pants, my hips were undulating into his hand, and when I moaned, “Oh! God! Slate”, he brought his hands back under me, and I was once again underneath him. He placed the tip of his cock at my entrance, and then started sliding it up and down my slit. “Oh yeah, this’ll do, you’ve got me all lubed up”, and we looked into each other’s eyes. He looked feral, and I know I did. He brought his mouth down to my ear. He snarl-whispered, “You want me to fuck you, as I recall, and I can’t think of anything else that will come close”. He began to push into me, and then he thrust, powerfully, and this gave him enough incentive to thrust again, and he was buried in me, balls deep. “It’s so very nice to meet you, Bibi”, and he began fucking me as if both our lives were at stake.
TO BE CONTINUED