Y’know, I was going to make this post all about my thoughts on what Amanda Fucking Palmer recently wrote on her blog, but that would be absolutely redundant. I mean, like, to the letter, practically.
So, here: Please simply read “why i am not afraid to take your money, by amanda fucking palmer.”
Previously: Alex Kent and Heather Leighton decided to cut their date short… to rush back to her place. Carson Meunetti embarrassed himself auditioning for a band that was out of his league.
Heads up, people: This installment of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” contains explicit written depictions of sexual acts. It is not suggested for readers under the age of majority, or for anyone offended by sexual content.
“The Party, Part One”
It was well past nine o’clock by the time Carson drove up to Abbeque Valley to pick up Lina, spent a few minutes making small talk with her folks and little brother, drove back down to San Clemente and finally reached Preston VanHart’s house. It took another ten minutes to find a place to park.
“I’m gonna have to circle around.” Car chuckled; it was self-evident. “Obviously.”
“Yeppers.” Lina looked out the window at the parked cars.
Carson grinned. “Looking for someone?”
Lina sat back in her seat and sighed. “Not really.” She brushed imagined hair away from her forehead. “More like looking to see who’s not here.”
“Same diff.” Car found a spot about eight houses down the street, almost at the corner. He was glad for his little Volkswagen Bug as he slipped into the tiny space between the red curb and a pickup truck’s front bumper. “Are you gonna–”
“I don’t know.” Lina sounded impatient. “Okay?”
They’d been friends for a long time. Carson knew when to back off. “Okay.” He made a point of waiting until she looked at him, and then he smiled. “Really… okay.”
She looked grateful. “Thanks.”
They got out of the car and walked up the slight incline. Carson was surprised at the relatively low level of noise leaking out of Preston’s house. He could hear laughter and voices and an undercurrent of music, but nothing to give the neighbors cause to call the cops just yet. It figured – Preston wasn’t really one to blast his music. It was more important it be unique and uber-cool; it didn’t need to be loud to make you want to plug your ears.
The front door opened as they walked up. Crystal Dubois tipped the gray porkpie hat on her head. Pale makeup accentuated her dark eyes and red lips. She affected a carnival barker’s nasal tone. “Carson Meunetti, plus one!” She reached out her hand and Lina shook it.
“Hi. I’m Lina.”
“Crystal.” She gave Car a quick hug and whispered “kinda young…” in his ear. Her breath smelled of clove cigarettes.
He gave her a friendly leer, which she returned as she ushered them both inside with a wave of her arm. “C’mon, awreddy, yer lettin’ all the noise out.”
Inside, the lights were low. From the glowing stereo came a whine of feedback before the speakers screamed, “There’s a time to fuck and a time to pray but the Shah sleeps in Lee Harvey’s grave,” between machine gun splashes of percussion and guitars. Car saw that a few people lingered just inside the door and in the living room, but most seemed to be in the kitchen and out back. If Car knew this crowd, a few people would be in Preston’s room getting smoked out.
Ah, and there was Eric Finn, clustered near the stereo with Ian and Tammy. Finn raised his hand and beckoned; this confused Carson before he realized the wave was intended for Lina.
Behind him, someone hollered, “Hey! Carson fucking Meunetti! Dude!”
Carson automatically turned toward the kitchen and the source of the call. Lina touched his arm. He glanced back to return her quick, uncertain smile before she crossed the room to Eric.
“Dude!”
Much closer now, the owner of that voice punched Carson on the forearm.
“Hey!” Carson turned toward him. “Jim — dude, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
They clasped hands. “Yeah, I came down with Brett Flannery; you know him?”
“No, I don’t think so…” Car checked on Lina one more time. Was it cool to leave her? Was she okay?
Jim grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Let’s get beered up and caught up, dude. How’s it going? Fuck! Fucking Carson Meunetti!”
Car let himself be led. “I know, huh? I haven’t seen you since… uh… junior high.”
“Totally,” Jim nodded. “Fuckin’ gnarly. So, like, how was high school and stuff, right?” He laughed, and just to be perfectly clear, said, “Hardy har, yuk yuk!”
Carson flinched a little when he saw Cary O’Dell, the short, musclebound guitarist from the Donny Zombie Murder Show, turn from the refrigerator with a beer in his hand. Cary saw Carson, turned to the guy next to him, and mumbled something Car couldn’t catch.
Cary’s friend laughed and looked at Car. Cary’s eyes and lips were narrow and smirking. “Hey, bro. Awesome practice the other day.”
As soon as Heather’s car stopped moving, Alex popped onto the driveway and jogged around to open her door for her.
“A gentleman.” Heather smiled.
“I aim to please.”
“Hm…” Heather rented a room in a house in Tustin. “Back here.” She walked him to the door and led him inside.
“It’s not much.” She flipped the wall switch near the door and a lamp next to her bed illuminated the room with soft light. “It’s a place to sleep.”
Alex put his arms around her. “Or not sleep.”
“Or not sleep,” she mumbled.
As they kissed, her tongue small and strong and slick, he ran his hands from the nape of her neck to the rise of her ass and back up her ribs, just grazing the side of her breast. She untucked his shirt, slipped her own hands underneath and grazed his back with her fingernails from his shoulders to the waistline of his pants. Her hands were cool… or his skin burned.
He walked Heather backwards to the foot of the bed and they half-tumbled onto the quilted spread. Alex kissed just below her ear, eliciting a quick inhalation, and tickled under her sweater across her belly. He resisted moving his hands higher. For the moment.
“Hold on,” she breathed. She bit lightly at his throat.
Too much? Alex withdrew his hand. “Oh… sorry…”
Heather laughed. “Not even.” She leaned across the bed… stretching deliciously… and turned off the little bedside lamp. Outside ambient light through the tightly closed window blinds barely kept the room from total darkness. Alex blinked and laid back.
He heard the soft rustle of cloth on cloth and the click of something brushing against the side of the nightstand. Then, Heather was on him. The delicious swaying pressure of her breasts against the front of his shirt told him she had removed her sweater and bra. Her mouth covered his and he put his hands on her smooth, bare back.
He wanted to touch her breasts, but Heather had other plans. She unbuttoned his shirt, kissing the his chest as she exposed it. With tongue and teeth she lingered on his nipples in a way that made him squirm. She kept moving, hands working deftly. He bent his knees and arched his back to oblige her intention to remove his slacks and underwear, and sighed when her hair brushed his groin and inner thighs.
He bucked involuntarily when she put her mouth around him, making her laugh deep in her throat. She bobbed her head and sucked while her tongue moved. Alex groaned, torn between allowing himself to be pinned and wanting to touch and explore her body in return. Heather’s head moved with methodical precision.
Of course it felt good, but the unvaried consistency of her technique soon decided things for him. He took hold of her upper arms and pulled her up, delighting in the hard trace of her nipples along his body. She kissed him and he rolled her over.
It was too dark to make out much more than the vaguest shadows of her body, so he let his mouth and hands explore, much as she had. He found the zipper of her skirt along her hip and slid it down, followed by the skirt itself and her panties. Heather sighed happily.
Alex straddled her hips. Heather’s legs parted slightly and her pubic hair tickled his balls. He ran his hands from her thighs to her ribs to her breasts, which proved to be full and firm in his palms. He bent down and found a nipple, which he circled with his tongue before nipping lightly. She whispered, “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
He lingered there before attending similarly to the opposite breast. Her hands played in his hair. Her hips rotated under him. He slid down, kissing and licking and biting at her warm, smooth skin as he went. He wanted to taste her.
“Just…” Her voice was a clear whisper. “c’mon… put it in me…”
Change of plans, and a direction Alex could hardly object to. He slid back up. “Okay… need to get…” He fumbled in the dark, his dick deliciously brushing the warmth between her legs, and laughed. “Where’d you put my pants..?”
She giggled. “Lemme…” He shifted over her so she could move. She reached out and dragged his pants to his hand.
“Thanks…” He found his wallet and the just-in-case condom he kept there.
“Here… gimme.” She took the condom, pushed him on his back and rolled the rubber down his shaft. As soon as Alex felt the constriction of the condom around the base of his dick, he pulled her to him again. They kissed, hard and sloppy. Her skin was soft and cool and electric everywhere it touched his. He rolled her onto her back again and reached down to guide himself in.
They didn’t break their kiss until he slid inside her and started to move. She stiffened, slightly, momentarily, and relaxed again.
He wished he could see her face. This was an important thing, an important moment in whatever came next, whatever they were becoming. He wished he could see her face.
Alex lifted himself on his palms and slid in and out with smooth strokes, shifting his angle and depth to see what would feel best for her.
Heather’s hands rested lightly on his waist. Her breath came as half-sighs. Her body took his thrusts placidly. Maybe she wasn’t enjoying it? He leaned down and she turned her head to make it easier for him to kiss his way from her clavicle to an earlobe.
“Is this okay..?”
“Yeah…” She stroked his left side. “Yeah…”
Alex kept at it, still doing most of the work. In the dark, barely able to see her, her body softly bouncing with his efforts, it was starting to feel… off. Why did she want the lights off? Was she enjoying this? Her hand still moved along his side with little variation, almost like the unwavering precision she had used when giving him head. Alex twisted slightly; Heather’s hand stopped moving and settled back to a light grip on his ribs.
Alex realized he was distracted. He fought against it; tried to focus on the feel of her wet warmth surrounding him. He was having sex! With Heather! He pushed harder into her and picked up the pace.
She lay beneath him. Her little sighs didn’t change.
After a minute or so, she said, “Are you close..?”
He wasn’t. “Are you?” He panted.
She moved her hands to his ass, squeezing and kneading. “Don’t worry about me.” Her fingers teased between his rectum and his balls. “I want you to come.”
It sure wasn’t going to happen this way. He was frustrated and worried and his arousal was fading. “What about you..?”
“I want you to come,” she said again.
If he didn’t come; if he just wound down until they lay unmoving and sweaty… that would be an even bigger let-down than the sex was turning out to be. What was going on with them? Monday had been so awesome… he felt like he’d been deeper inside her just talking into the night than he did right now, fucking her. Maybe she would come when he did… maybe that got her off…
He got up on his knees and pulled her legs up, putting her ankles against his shoulders. She felt tighter around him, and that felt good. He knew it would be good enough. He picked up the pace, slapping against her.
He felt orgasm hanging inside him like a tight spring that wouldn’t uncoil. Distantly, he heard her sighs escalate to short, breathy grunts. He kept pounding.
It wasn’t happening; wouldn’t let go.
He tried to focus on the sensation, her little noises.
Instead, his mind presented him with an image of Angel Jenner beneath him, her eyes wide, her large breasts shaking.
That did it.
Away he went.
…to be continued!
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I first met Gina Violina at a Tower Records Halloween party in 198something-or-other. Followed her around like a puppy until she paid attention to me. I think that party was at Tardon Feathered’s house — Tardon worked in the art department at Tower. My memory of those days, as some have pointed out, is a bit spotty on the particulars.
In any event, the past and the present collide in a cheerful implosion of art and pure inventiveness. Gina is now part of a puppets-and-music group called Hibbitty Skibbitty, and they recently filmed a show at the performance space at Mr. Toad’s, the audio engineering / mastering / restoration facility owned and operated by… Tardon Feathered!
This video presents a sampling of the whole show, which I understand will be available on DVD.
Here’s some more Hibbitty Skibbitty, san puppets, from earlier this year.
I love that my old friends and peers are still up to their eyeballs in awesome DIY artistic pursuits. I’d love it even more if you’d spread the word about Hibbitty Skibbity! Share these videos if you’re so inclined, or friend them up on the Hibbitty Skibbitty MySpace page, where you’ll find more groovy puppet / music wonderfulness.
And for world-class mastering, engineering and audio restoration, use Mr. Toad! I’m going to hit them up to restore some ancient betamax eight-track audio of mine before it turns to paste…
Yay!
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