Page 44 of Revelry

From behind the curtain I hear her laugh. It’s such an infectious sound it makes me smile.

Ali: Yes, that’s completely wrong, you fucking pervert.

Me: Come have a drink with me.

Ali: Hell no. You might molest me. Not to mention that I find your penchant for bestiality abhorrent.

Me: You’re absolutely right. I probably would molest you.

Ali: You wouldtry. You’re not winning that bet, Coop.

Me: We’ll see.

I set down the phone and begin playing the first few bars of a song I wrote with Zed when we were seventeen. A song about forgetting who we are and allowing our primal instincts to take over. “Raw” stayed in the charts at number one for a consecutive eight weeks. It helped our first album go platinum, and I know that she remembers it all too well, because I caught her mouthing the words to it the other day as she sat in Zed’s lounge room and watched our jam session.

My phone buzzes again and I check the message.

Ali: Pervert.

Me: You know I’m still waiting for my tits pic.

Ali: http://www.cumontitslover/tumblr.com

I follow the link and let out a strangled gasp when the page shows me an endless stream of GIFs, all of them hot tits decorated in come. I readjust my cock within my jeans and type out a response.

Me: Jesus, woman, are you trying to fucking kill me?

Ali: It would make winning that bet awfully hard for you.

Me: It’s already fucking hard. So, so hard.

Ali: Good night, Cooper.

Me: It’d be an even better night if you came and had a drink with me.

Ali: No, then it would be a terrible night.

Me: How so?

Ali: Because I have no intention of letting you win that bet. And if I came out there now, I’d surely give in.

Me: The bet is irrelevant. The point is you’d be coming.

Ali: Who says I’m not right now?

I glance at the text with a curious expression, wondering what she means because she doesn’t appear to be joining me, but then the unmistakable sounds of her breathy moans fill the front of the bus and I about jizz in my pants.

Me:Touché. Tou-fucking-ché, Ali-Cat.

Cooper hadn’t been wrong when he’d said living on a tour bus would be an experience. It was an experience, and then some. We had been on the road for six days, visited six different states, and the boys had played sold-out shows in San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. When Taint wasn’t doing sound check, jamming, song writing, or performing to thousands of screaming fans, we hung out in the lounge, playing Xbox, snacking on chips and American candy, or my personal favourite: snacking on candy while the boys worked out on the bus. When I needed space, I disappeared to my bunk, closing the curtain and effectively shutting out the rest of our little world. Too often, though, Cooper would climb into his bunk and text me. Today was one of those days.

Coop: Hey, look. I’m on top again.

Me: Yes, and?

Coop: Well, how is it for you?

Me: Meh. Kinda boring. You’re pretty heavy, too. You should let me be on top.

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