by juliorama
Author’s Note: All real people in this fic are the property of themselves; the Monkees name is property of Rhino; the Beatles are property of…Michael Jackson? *shudder* Capitol? Someone other than me, basically. Please take this with a grain of salt and sense of humour.
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It took me a week to decide what to wear. I have to say, I’m not normally like this. I’m considered the most levelheaded of my friends, the one least likely to be swept away by nonsense, but this was something else. Something about him (you know, him, the one who changed his mind about playing) hit somewhere inside me. He had an aloofness that I recognized, though my own was in its infancy. He seemed to have no fear of himself or anyone else and I wanted him to teach me that. He had greatness, and I had the seeds of it, I knew, and I wanted to see first hand how to grow it. He’s my hero, my idol, my hope for breaking out.
I bathed carefully that morning and then again in the afternoon, the thought of breathing his air made me so nervous. The bottles of scent on my medicine cabinet shelf gleamed as I toweled myself off the second time. I pushed them all aside and reached to the back, picking up a potion I used sparingly. I’d found it in Arizona during a vacation and it mixed well with my chemistry; more than one person had been affected by it. My best friend said that it smelled like sex. It made me feel more confident as I smoothed it on my shoulders and neck and down my stomach. I picked up my brush and debated what to do with my still wet hair, finally arranging my bangs across my forehead like I normally did and fluffing out the waves a bit in the back.
I threw the towel in a heap in the corner of my room as I walked into it. My clothes were laid out neatly, waiting for me to fill them out. I’d have denied any accusations of planning to seduce, but that was what I had in the darkest recess of my cracked little brain, and my clothing was chosen to that end, a mix of things I knew looked good on me and that he would find attractive. The black turtleneck set off my pale skin and dark hair and clung to my slender frame in the right places. The faded jeans slid snugly over my butt and accentuated my long legs. I debated for a few moments about a string of beads but decided that simplicity was probably best in this case. My boots and jacket were the last things I put on, as I headed out the door.
My friends were waiting for me outside the venue, excited and not trying to hide it, as I was. We’d won backstage passes through a local radio contest, which made up for the fact that our seats were in the first balcony. I have to say that big crowds kind of scare me, but this crowd seemed to be well behaved if high spirited. Some high school girls behind us were debating which band member would make the best prom date; the few rows in front of us were taken up by a Girl Scout troop and their moms. Every here and there was a guy, on a date or on the make. I shook my head as the lights went down.
The pandemonium was instantaneous. The MC got the first letter of their name out and was overtaken by the screams. My friends and I stood because we had to but we didn’t hear a note they played. I caught a few glimpses of him between the waving arms, his face flushed with the excitement of playing, now amused by the hysteria, now bewildered. Girls jumped around on all sides and I found myself getting turned on just smelling the young hormones and being crashed into. They weren’t playing for long tonight and the knowledge that this was a unique experience drove the audience into a fever pitch of screeches and faintings. When they left the stage I was so aroused I could barely breathe.
We waited till the balcony was almost empty before we made our way to the main floor, passing several weeping heaps of girlhood on our way. I handed out the Kleenex I’d stuffed into my pocket for other reasons to some of the more pathetic cases. Security was so tight we had to flash our passes to get within ten feet of the stage, and we were escorted down a long corridor by a big, unsmiling guy with a bad attitude and a flash light he’d more than once tried to wield as a billy club. When I get famous, I’m gonna come back here and hire him.
The after party room was dimly lit with little candles. People were sitting on couches and pillows on the floor, their soft murmuring like singing to the exotic music coming from…where was it coming from? I couldn’t find a source except for one black speaker in the corner. The band was nowhere in sight, just these beautifully dressed people, speaking as softly as possible. A woman with extremely large pupils (Candlelight? Cannabis? It was hard to tell) greeted us and offered us drinks. I sipped at my water and sat down on the nearest pillow, my friends scrunching up close around me.
“Hey, isn’t that…?” M asked me. I took a hard look through the dimness and found someone too edgy for a teen magazine looking straight back at me. There was something about his eyes that unnerved me. For the first time that night, my bravado started to falter. We didn’t belong. He smirked at me, sensing my discomfort, then turned back to his beautiful blonde companion.
One by one they came into the room now, first the bass player, then the drummer. I sucked back my first instinct, to stand up and cheer, and just watched as they gracefully greeted their friends. I wanted to do that, I wanted to be like them, I wanted to inspire admiring glances like, well, like the ones I was giving them. I barely noticed that he’d come into the room until I saw him crouch in front of Mr. Edgy. The other man leaned forward and whispered to him, smirking at me again. He laughed without turning around.
I looked at my friends, each of them star struck. Apparently they’d missed that little exchange and I wasn’t going to share and ruin their evening. This fan business is nerve wracking if you have any integrity, though, at least in situations like this where your hero has already laughed at you before he’s even met you. He stood up to his full height, turned and faced us, looking each of us over. He saw me watching him and grinned. I smiled back reflexively. He looked at his companions and mine and when he was certain their attention was engaged elsewhere he cocked his head and walked out of the room.
“I’ll be right back,” I told M, who was busy talking to the bass player and barely acknowledged me.
I found him absently strumming a guitar in a tiny, bright dressing room; I stood back from the doorway just enough so I could spy. Without looking up he said, “You can come in, you know.” I couldn’t raise my head, I just shuffled in and perched on the edge of a folding chair across from him, ready to fly if the situation got any weirder than it was. Then he kicked the door shut and I jumped at the bang.
“Are you always this nervous?” he asked, his accent stroking me right down to the crotch.
I shrugged. “Only when I meet my idols.”
He nodded and strummed his guitar again. “How many idols do you have?”
I gulped. I don’t gulp frequently, but I gulped then. “Just you.”
He stopped and looked at me, squinting. “What’s your name?”
“Mike Nesmith,” I said.
“Mike Nesmith,” he repeated and stuck out his hand. “John Lennon, glad to meet you.” He leaned back in his chair and didn’t say anything else for a few moments and I was beginning to wonder if I’d been dismissed. He was watching his fingers when he spoke again. “You want to fuck me, don’t you, Mike?”
I was floored. I wanted to leave, I wanted to crawl out the window behind him, I wanted to be anywhere but here. This was really not turning out how I’d hoped it would. I couldn’t move. He looked up at me.
“Answer me, boy. You want to fuck me.” He leaned close to me, our noses almost touching. “You might get what you want if you give the right answer.”
I couldn’t speak. I’ll never know where I got the courage, but I kissed him and he let me. He touched my face, gingerly stroking my jaw line with his finger tips, then dipping below my collar and around to the back of my neck. He was getting into it now and he grabbed a fistful of my hair, kneading my scalp and moaning into my mouth. His right hand slid down my chest, grazing my left nipple, and tugged at my shirt. He pulled just enough out of my jeans to touch the flesh of my belly, running the back of his hand across it first, then his palm. He gently pulled at the hair below my navel. He broke our kiss and pulled my shirt up to mid-torso so he could kiss my chest. I looked up at the ceiling, I looked at the lights and then I looked in the mirror: John Lennon’s face was inches from my crotch. I was ready to come right then.
He looked up and saw me, turning his face to our reflection. The John in the mirror smiled. “We’re a pretty pair, aren’t we?” He reached up and turned my face to him. “You’re a pretty boy.” He buried his face in my chest again, sniffing as hard as he could. “And you smell wonderful.” He leaned back and unbuttoned his shirt and I dove forward, kissing and licking any exposed skin I could reach. I felt him shudder when I ran my tongue as delicately as I could along his collarbone. He tasted like soap and smoke and he was beginning to sweat. As I was peeling off my turtleneck he ground my nipple in his teeth and all I could do was sit there, my arms caught in the fabric above my head. I moaned and he smiled again.
“I thought you might like that.” I pulled my hands free and he immediately caught them up, standing us both and slamming me against the wall. He pinned my arms above my head. “That’s a good look for you, helpless like that.” I struggled against him but he held me fast. He was stronger than I thought. He brought his face close to mine again, my own face burning with shame. I was not used to being treated like this. He freed my arms and chuckled softly. “I’m not much of a dominant but I think you’d be fun to break.”
“I don’t think I’d like to be broken,” I managed. I hated being out of control.
He sat back down and reached for my belt. “That’s exactly why you’d be fun. That’s not what I want to do, though.” He unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. My dick bobbed in the air in front of him as he slid them down off my hips. “I’d much rather do this.”
I gasped as he took my penis in his mouth. He took the head in his lips, flattening his tongue against the underside. He licked up and down the length of me, down to my balls, then he sucked them, too, one at a time. His mouth was so…oh my God…wet and hot…I closed my eyes and grabbed his hair. He started stroking me and sucking me, gripping harder as I got harder, fondling my balls with his free hand. My dick was so hard…oh, shit, I was gonna come…I moaned louder and he backed off a bit, licking me gently but that just made it worse, oh God, my balls are getting so tight…I can feel it in all…I tried to control…I…he…he stopped. He looked up at me, eyes blazing.
“Not yet, pretty boy.”
He stood up and pushed me toward the edge of the counter, bending me over so my face was pressed down on the surface. I hadn’t realized how hot I was till I felt its coolness. He pulled his trousers down and leaned over me, his weight forcing all the breath from my lungs. He stroked my ass with his right hand as his left fumbled among the collection of bottles and tubes on the counter beside my head. He finally picked one up and uncapped it, squirting white jelly on his fingers and then rubbing them in the crack of my ass. I shuddered and he leaned down close to my ear.
“Are you a virgin, Mike?” he whispered.
I nodded.
“Then I’ll be very gentle.”
He pulled my jeans past my knees and spread my ass cheeks wider apart. He slowly inserted one finger, then another. I broke a sweat immediately, gulping for air. He reached around in front of me and started stroking me again and my mouth lolled open. I sighed. I heard a low moan from the other side of the mirror. Apparently, John was not the only Beatle getting a piece of ass.
He slid me back a bit and took my right hand, placing it on my own dick. I immediately got to work on myself. He pushed against me. His dick was thin, thank God, and he took it slowly. I gasped when the head finally breached me.
“Stop.” I whimpered.
“Am I hurting you?”
I caught my breath. “A little. Just give me a second.”
He stroked my hair gently. “We can stop if you want. It’s up to you.”
“Oh, no…I…you feel so good…I…”
“I can’t wait to watch you come,” he whispered. “Are you ready?”
Without waiting for an answer he pushed deeper inside of me. I gripped myself harder and faster, and he pulled out and plunged in again, deeper. Our strokes were synchronized within moments. My eyes closed and I moaned loudly.
“Open your eyes!” he ordered. His breathing was erratic and the sweat was beading on his forehead. His chest was flushed. I felt him hard in me, pounding, working toward some…THING! HOLY SHIT! AAAHHHH! AAAHHHH! I’M COMING! I just…oh…oh…who?…I…gotta…my balls are so…Oh God…
“Faster!”
He growled low and leaned down on me. He bit my shoulders and tried to put my head through the mirror. I spewed the motherlode of come onto the floor and felt my ass tighten around him. He stroked faster and his eyes popped open.
“Oh, Holy Mother of God…ehnnnn….IIIII….oh, fuck…” His sweat was dripping on my back, his face was screwed up in one of the silliest expressions I’ve ever seen. He gave one final mighty groan and collapsed on top of me, breathless. He kissed my temple and stroked my hair again.
“Well, former virgin Mike, we should get cleaned up.” He balanced himself to pull out, sliding my head forward again toward the mirror that…holy shit, there’s someone on the other side. Someone looking at me. I kept my head where it was and watched the pleasure on the ghostly face, eyes wide. Something about those eyes. Another low moan, then a louder one, then the face disappeared.
I turned to face John, his pants already pulled back up and his shirt on but unbuttoned. He was smiling at me.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked.
I nodded, picking up my clothes and untwisting them. I grabbed some tissues and started to mop up my come from the floor, but he stooped down next to me and took them from my hand. “Let me get that.” He finished and threw the sticky bundle in a trashcan, then sat on the floor next to me.
“Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded again. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You’ll feel vulnerable for a while. It’s natural.” He put his arm around me and pulled me close but I squirmed away. He put his hands up, a sign he was backing off. “There’s a bathroom down the hall if you…”
I stood and pulled my clothes on. It was one thing to do what we had done, but we’d been watched. I wondered if he knew.
“So, how are the Monkees, by the way?” he asked casually.
I just stared at him. “How do you…?”
He shrugged. “Your little guy, David Jones.”
“Yeah?”
“A friend of mine had to change his name because of your David. He’s trying different ones out right now.”
I buckled my belt and he stood. He took my face in his hands and kissed me long and deep. When we broke he brushed my hair off my forehead and kissed me there again, too. “Are you playing anywhere soon?”
“Downtown tomorrow night, Hammerjack’s.”
“I’d like to see you. Will you put me on the guest list?”
I laughed. “We’ve never been cool enough to even have a guest list, and now John Lennon’s on it? Hilarious.”
“Put us all down and one more, my friend, the former David Jones.”
“What should I put him down as?”
He thought a moment. “David…Filet…Cleaver…a knife of some sort. Oh, yeah, Bowie.”
We looked at each other for another moment. A door somewhere down the hall opened and closed. I cleared my throat. “I should get back to my friends.” He smiled and nodded and sat down, picking up his guitar again. I closed the door quietly behind me.
When I got back, only Micky was left behind, still talking to Paul McCartney. Most of the candles had burned the whole way down and there was wax in pools on the carpet. Mick’s face was a question mark as I approached.
“Where’d you get to, man?”
“Talking to someone,” I shrugged.
Paul smiled. “John and David, I’ll bet. Those two are always up to something.”
I nodded and shrugged again. This was twisted and I wanted away from it fast.
“Hey, Mick, you about ready to go? I have a headache starting and I want to get home before I can’t see.”
“Sure, man.” He extended his hand to Mr. McCartney as he got up. “It was great talking to you, thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime. Thank you for joining us.” McCartney shook Mick’s hand and then mine. “Good night.”
The air outside was cooling and smelled like rain. Micky sensed that I didn’t want to talk so we walked in silence for a few blocks. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Mike? Guess what?”
“What, Mick?”
He stopped in front of me, grinning wide. “We met the Beatles, man, how cool is that?”
“That’s pretty cool, shotgun. Guess what’s cooler?”
“What?”
I smiled wider than he had. “They’re coming to hear us tomorrow night, at Hammerjack’s.”
“Wow! Really? Wow…uh, wait a minute. Tomorrow?”
I nodded and started walking again.
“Paul said they’re flying to New York first thing in the morning.”
Sucked, suckered and suckerpunched, all in one night. A new record for me. All I could think about was every woman I’d ever lied to: yeah, I’ll call you, no, there’s no one else, of course I love you, why do you ask? Part of my ornery boyhood slipped away. Mick’s head was cocked to one side, looking at me.
“You okay?” I nodded. “It’s still early. Pete and Davy were headed down the street for beers and chicks. You wanna go?”
I took a deep breath. “That headache is still coming. You go on, I’ll see you in the morning.” He lingered for a moment and then pulled me into a bear hug, slapping my back.
“I love you, buddy.”
It was the only time he’d ever been affectionate like that with me. I hugged him back awkwardly, the intimacy of his touch a little too much to bear. He pulled away. “God, Mike, that stuff smells more like sex than usual.”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I tried, I just couldn’t. He slung his arm around my shoulder and steered me in the direction of home. We walked the rest of the way in silence and it started to rain, soaking us both to the skin.
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