Mike looked away from the huge picture window inside his new home in Houston.  He missed Micky very much, but he knew he made the right decision.  His life was wonderful.  No more L.A., with its phoniness; he was home where he belonged.  "I never should have left," he sighed.  If only Micky hadn't turned into an overgrown baby, he would have asked him to move to Houston with him.

He couldn't believe it had been one year since he laid eyes on Micky.  He often called Peter and Davy asking how Micky was, but they always gave vague, indirect answers.  Mike shook his head, cursing himself for thinking about him.  "We're history.  I'll probably never see him again."

"Sir, is there anything I can get you?" the flight attendant asked.

"No, thank you.”  Micky responded.

"Is this your first trip to Houston?"

"No, I've visited several times."

She gave him an extra pillow.  Their eyes met and she quickly looked away.  "Just in case."

He gave the pillow back.  "I don't need it."

"Okay, sir."

Of all the places, why was he going to Houston?  Nothing was there for him... Yes it was, dammit!  "Forget about him Mick,” he whispered over and over.  He closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep.  The flight wouldn't be long, but he needed his rest.  "Sleep---sleep".  The word echoed in his mind. 
It had no meaning in his life.  Sleep is for people with no worries, who aren't afraid of dreaming, he believed.  Sleep for him was passing out after being high all night.

"Bye...." the voice inside his dream sang.

"No!"

"Bye..."

"I said no!"

"Goodbye...."

He twisted in his sleep and abruptly sat up screaming, "NO!"

"Sir, sir, is everything all right?" the flight attendant asked.

"Yes," Micky caught his breath, "I'm fine."  He wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled.  "Really, I'm fine."

"Yes, sir."

What was he doing?  What was he trying to prove?  The relationship was over.  He tried everything to please Mike.  He gave his whole heart and soul and got nothing in return but empty promises and a broken heart.  The only explanation for their breakup was Mike grew tired of him.  Tired of him?! 
How?!  He laughed at his jokes, pleasured him when he was in need, allowed him to berate him when in one of his ‘moods’, and supported him.  He was the perfect friend and lover, at least he thought he was. What had he done wrong?

Too many questions.  Too many questions.  Micky lowered his head to his knees in agony.  The pain was unbearable.  "Oh God, it hurts." he groaned.  He held his head tightly, sitting still for several minutes.  Finally, the pain subsided.  He lifted his head and looked around the plane.  His eyes focused on a red head three rows back.  She looked up and smiled.  Micky stood and walked to the plane's lavatory, glancing at the redhead as he passed by.  She stood up and followed him inside.  No words were exchanged.  She kneeled to the floor and looked at him.  He unzipped his pants and grabbed a hand full of her hair.  Without hesitation, the redhead serviced him.  His orgasm was hard and fast, as usual, and he smiled when she was done.  She walked back to her seat; seconds later, Micky appeared and slid back into his seat.

"Mr. Dolenz, wake up." the flight attendant whispered.  "The plane's about to land."

Micky opened his eyes.  "Thank you.”  He sat up and buckled his seat belt.  He rubbed his temples and sighed.


The flight ended, much to Micky's delight.  He stood up and grabbed his carry-on bag.  He looked over his shoulder only to see the redhead lick her lips and smile at him.  He gave her a faint smile back.  'Why did she do that?' he wondered.  He shrugged his shoulders and headed off the plane.

Standing outside the airport terminal, Micky waited patiently for a taxi.  It gave him time to think, would it be wise to see Mike, or would it be too painful to look into those dark, brooding eyes again.  Mike made it clear he no longer wanted to be with him again, but he never said they couldn't be friends anymore.

Ever since their breakup, he felt he wasn't functioning.  For two weeks he stayed locked inside his bedroom crying and cursing Mike for abandoning him.  Then one day, he climbed out of bed and woke up in a blue room surrounded by drug induced zombies wickedly smiling at him.  He had no idea how he got there.  He staggered home, body aching, and a low dull pain in his head.  A block of time gone.

Micky held his suitcase tight.  A small tear streaked his face.  "What's happening to me?" he whispered.

Mike walked up the staircase from his recording studio to his bedroom.  He opened the door surprised to see a partial nude blond lying seductively on his king size bed.  He closed the door and leaned against it.  "How'd you get up here?" he asked.

"Are you disappointed I broke in here, or disappointed that I cut our rendezvous short a few days ago?"

Mike walked over to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.  "I'm tired of your teasing, bitch."

She kneeled on the bed and removed her white sheer robe, exposing tanned breasts.  "I thought teasing is what you did best Mr. Nesmith."

He leaned down and bushed his lips across hers.  "So Audrey, that is your name right?"

"That's right, asshole," she growled.

He swallowed hard.  "I assume you are planning on finishing what we started."

"Remember, I call the fucking shots darlin'.  You just follow along.”  Her tongue traveled down the center of his chest, back up again, softly licking his erect nipples.  Mike slid his shirt from his shoulders; his hands playing in long, feathery hair.

"Here you are sir." the taxi pulled up in front of a two story, ranch style home.

Micky looked out the window, a nervous wreck.  Maybe this was a big mistake.  He sat trying to figure out what to do.

The cab driver looked in the rearview mirror.  "Sir?"

"I'm going.”  Micky stepped out of the car and grabbed his suitcase.  He walked up the long, winding driveway to the front door.

Mike laid between Audrey's pale, white thighs, her long legs wrapped snuggly about his waist.  His mouth tasting the sweetness of her neck, and breasts.  He thrusted deep inside her, enjoying every wave of desire enveloping him.  She never allowed him to go this far.  To feel the insides of her, her warmth and wetness, made his cock even harder.  At this point she would be telling him the game was over---but today was different.  She wanted him, and he was giving it all to her.

Micky placed his suitcase down next to him and rang the doorbell.  Moments later, a tall man wearing a dark suit opened the door.  "May I help you?"

"I'm here to see Michael Nesmith.  I'm Micky Dolenz.  An---old friend of his."

The man glanced up the mahogany staircase and smiled.  "Mr. Nesmith is busy at the moment.  Would you care to come back later?"

Micky took a deep breath.  Still avoiding me, huh Mike?  "I just got off a plane.  I came here directly from the airport to see Mike."

"Sorry, sir, but as I said, Mr. Nesmith is busy.”  The man closed the door.

Micky banged on the door, yelling, "Come on, man!  Let me in!"

A squad car slowly passed a house.  Not to cause a scene, Micky grabbed his suitcase.  "I'll be back!"

Micky walked down the street noticing a diner not to far away.  He hurried to it and walked inside.  He sat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee.  He lowered his head and shut his eyes.  "Oh God, it's happening again.”  He mumbled.  His head pounding in pain.

"Are you all right?" a man sitting next to him asked.

Micky lifted his blood red eyes.  "Yes, why do you ask?"

"You seem troubled."

"Do I fucking look troubled?!”  Micky yelled.

"Calm down, man.”  He touched his arm.  "I know what you need."

"What do you suppose I need from you?" he frowned.

The man removed a small bag from his pocket.  "Your sanctuary."

Micky snatched the bag from the man's hand and surveyed the contents.  "That's fine, but that's not all I need."

"I can score anything you want."