I was pretty pissed at Shanna, and definitely riled up. I wanted to yell and vent – but the one person I couldn’t yell and vent to was the one sleeping in my bed.Make that his bed.That I had slept in.See, it was already complicated.And it was complicated even more by the fact that I was afraid everything Shanna was saying might be the truth… even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.If I hadn’t still been feeling nauseated, I might have gone back to the restaurant and started a bender. (A Kaitlyn-sized bender, not a Shanna or – God forbid – Riley-sized bender.) But I still felt like somebody had dumped a whole bunch of ick into my stomach, so I headed up for the band’s suite instead. I reasoned that Derek was still sleeping, and there was no way that Riley was up… so no danger there. And I might just be able to catch a sympathetic ear from Ryan.When I knocked on the door, though, all I heard was a soft British voice saying, “Come in.”“It’s locked,” I said.“Just a minute,” Killian
One of my biggest problems was that the jealousy came back. With a vengeance.For the first five or six days after we slept together, Derek only had eyes for me. No matter how beautiful the groupies and models and actresses were who flirted with him, he didn’t give them anything other than the obligatory (but still dazzling) smile. Boobs came out en masse, but the most risqué thing he signed was a girl’s arm. And then he would turn away and put his arm around me, and walk me through the crowd introducing me to rock legends and movie stars.The green-eyed monster was still lurking in the background, but it wasn’t gnawing at my guts like it had before.Then… something changed.I think it was an exceptionally beautiful hotel concierge. Brunette, six feet tall, crystal blue eyes. She didn’t know who Derek was, and she didn’t give a damn. She was polite but perfunctory, and acted entirely blasé during the beginning of their interaction.Derek was having none of it.He turned up the charm t
Jesus it was good.I was so turned on that I felt swollen down there… but I was soaked. Dripping.He felt bigger than I’d ever felt him before. Thicker. Just the sheer size of him pressed firmly up against the inside of me… but with the lube from the condom, and my own juices, he slid inside easily, all the way.I groaned with pleasure as he rocked back and forth, his entire length slowly easing up inside me, filling me completely.His hand reached around to my breasts again – but this time he was more forceful.Hungrier.He clutched at my left boob, his fingertips pinching my nipple harder than before, and he growled in my ear, low and feral and full of desire.I felt his hips draw back from my ass, and his cock slid almost all the way out of me – just his head teasing me, threatening to slip out – and then his cock plunged back inside and his hips pressed firmly against my ass.He slid his left arm underneath me so that I was lying on my side, wrapped in his arms. He hiked up my t-s
In the midst of all this angst, Glen from Rolling Stone started calling more often.At first it was just to check in, with a slight note of urgency. Hey, how’s it going? Are you getting good stuff? When are you coming back?But then the conversations began to get more and more charged. More negative. More domineering.Look, you need to wrap this up.This is going on way too long.We’re not spending any more money on this.It was the money part that really ticked me off. When he told me that, I hadn’t had my own hotel room for twelve days, and I hadn’t charged a goddamn thing on the Rolling Stone credit card for ten. I ate with Derek, either alone or with the rest of the band, and everything else was essentially free.I told him that.“I don’t care,” he shot back. “We sent you out there to do a job, not go off on your own little fantasy vacation.”Asshole!He absolutely had a point: I was here to do a job. And I wasn’t doing it.But it was obvious he was just using the money angle to m
It wasn’t like she wouldn’t talk to me. She already had, back on my very first day on the tour bus:To fuck hot chicks.I… what?To fuck hot chicks.What are you talking about?Why I do it. To fuck hot chicks.That wasn’t what I was going to ask.Oh. Well, that’s the answer, anyway. To fuck hot chicks.O-kaaaay… moving on. What’s the best part of being a rock star?Fucking hot chicks. I mean fucking chicks that’re hot. Not chicks who are fuckin’ hot. I mean, I want ‘em fuckin’ hot, but if you don’t get to fuck ‘em, what’s the fuckin’ point, right?She was perfectly willing to be interviewed… if you can call that an ‘interview.’No, I wanted more. The real person, not the caricature. What Killian had given me on the ride out to the desert.Which Riley was apparently willing to give me, too. But just like Killian, she had a price.With Killian, it had been participating in a psychedelic holiday.With Riley, it was a bit more… Rileyesque.“I really need to do an interview with you,” I to
The first thing I asked her – after she’d downed all four shots – was how long she’d known she was gay.“Forever,” she said, and belched.“What’s your earliest memory, though?”She stared off into the distance and actually gave it some thought. “There’s actually two things I remember. One was Mr. Hopkins.”“Mr. Hopkins?”“Yeah. He was this old asshole I had to live with when I was little.”I frowned, but thought better than to ask about it now. After all, she was actually talking, and she hadn’t even propositioned me yet.“Anyway, he said, ‘Riley, one day you’re gonna grow up and get married and have kids of your own.’ I was, like, four or something, and I didn’t know shit about sex… but I saw all the men and women who were married on TV, and I just knew that was never gonna happen for me.“So I was like, ‘Nunh-unh.’“And he was like, ‘Oh yes you are.’“And I was like, ‘Nunh-unh.’“And he got really mad and was like, ‘Yes you ARE.’“And I was like, ‘NUNH-UNH.’”Maybe it was the shot o
The night – and Riley’s story – continued amidst a flurry of shots.She talked about the various punk rock bands she’d been in through the years, including the one she’d started when she was sixteen, called ‘Fuck You.’ When she first heard Cee-lo Green’s song by the same name, she immediately changed the band name to ‘Punk Rock Bitches’ because she didn’t want people thinking she took her band name from a Top 40 hit. That would have been very un-punk rock. (Although, technically, the Top 40 hit was titled ‘Forget You,’ and ‘Fuck You’ was the naughty, alternate version… but that didn’t seem to matter to 16-year-old Riley.)She talked about how she started playing the drums when she was five years old, using overturned pots and pans as the bass and snares, and lids suspended on fishing line as the cymbals. Growing up, she got practice time on other kids’ real drum sets by trading them alcohol she shoplifted. She didn’t get her own set until she was seventeen, just three years before she
We were hurtling towards the end of the tour like a runaway train.Things became a blur. One night of partying blended into the next; the concerts seemed to be one unending performance; one city transformed into another. I could barely distinguish between what happened in Vancouver versus Boise versus Denver. The only way to differentiate were things that were vastly out of the ordinary, like my interview with Riley. I’ll always remember Seattle because of that night. But otherwise, the only indicators were different skylines and the weather, and when you spend most of your time inside hotel rooms or concrete stadiums, every city looks the same.There were things that stood out, of course – both good and bad.One of my favorites was the time we were walking down the street on one of the band’s nights off. I don’t remember what city; it doesn’t even matter. But Derek, Ryan, Riley, and I were passing by a karaoke bar downtown when we heard somebody inside start singing one of Bigger’s h