Maraschino & a Muse's Cherry

My boyfriend is going to cheat on me tonight. I just know it. He’s such a whore. Lobo claims that he’s only going to try to get his high school pal to do a little figure modeling. I know better. He’s normally not interested in women at all. However, he’s told me before that he doesn’t really consider her a mere woman, but his ultimate muse. I’m certain that silly Wiccan wants to fuck “Miss Muse” just to meld with her aura or some fluffy new age bullshit like that. Magickal queer boys and their quasi-bisexual Tantra trips make me laugh. Oh well, nobody’s perfect on the Kinsey scale. I’m not an exception.

If Melora, the cello goddess, asked me to couple with her, I might consider temporarily straightening out until I basked in the glory of a pseudo-Victorian afterglow. With that said, I would rather have a pale Goth boy in fishnets and the lips of an opera singer any day. The scrawnier and the more tragic he is, the better. I enjoy these types of gentlemen after shows when I’m on an extended concert tour. I guess that makes me a rock and roll slut. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as I wrap my John Thomas. My partner understands my needs.

I normally don’t go for bodybuilders, but Lobo is a deeply sensitive artist, a cultured gentleman and a member of the Mensa Club. I didn’t waste my parents’ money and eight years in Harvard to date a mere troglodyte. He also gives me free piercings and brandings. He’s the one who implanted the satyr horns on my forehead. He even created my lovely forked-tongue.

Like Leonardo da Vinci, my beloved is a genius. The tattoos on his body remind me of Michelangelo’s work at the Sistine Chapel with themes reminiscent of Bosch. He paints like Waterhouse and is entertaining like Il Sodoma. The jewelry in his mouth is not just a delight for the eyes. A ring in the center tip of his tongue, a simple stud on the uvula and two spike labrets on his cheeks, combine to form a sensory crucifix that rubs against my cock in a beautiful act of sacrilege. He had two of his molars removed just so he could achieve this effect.

He gently slides his pointed fang caps against my penile skin. It is an unnerving sensation. Nonetheless, he has a way of making this trick a delightful experience. I’m used to men who slide up and down my penis speedily and greedily. Lobo moves very slowly, almost hesitantly, which is not something that I was not accustomed prior to meeting him. However, he makes his tongue quiver violently as he rises and falls on my shaft. He isn’t afraid to drool like a hungry wolf, either. I’ve been known to cry from the sensory overload that he is capable of causing. His patient movements suggest that there is a reward worth the wait. That’s probably why I’ve stuck with him for three years.

I massage his bald skull by following the outlines of complex tattoos. He hums a song on me. “Dissolve” by Switchblade Symphony, I think. I close my eyes as my breathing strains. I slide my hands from the head to his shoulders. I feel myself growing just a little bit more. I move my hands further down his back. I feel like I’m going to explode. “OH FUCK!” He sucks the bulb and covers his teeth with his lips as I empty myself into his mouth. I run my nails up his back with every intention of making the Baphomet tattoo on his back, bleed. He grunts loudly. I push his head further down my shaft as I struggle to catch my breath. I lift my hands and I fall back from my sitting position.

I sprawl on the black flannel sheets. Lobo climbs on me. He smiles with his mouth closed. I pull his head down and we lock into a kiss. He fills my mouth with the semen I just fed him. I swallow and I grab his ass. I am painfully sensitive, but I’m a stimulus freak, so it works for me. I run the black polished nails on my right hand down his back and to his tailbone. I suck on my left middle finger. As I move the nails back up to his shoulder, I probe my moist left middle finger down the crack and into the anus. He groans as I penetrate him. He bites my neck while I finger fuck him. I turn my head and see that the alarm clock says 2:09 pm. I need to stop because time won’t. I look down at my lover. “My sweet, I would love to finish this right now, but we need to get ready. I don’t want to be late for the show if I’m going to drop you off at the muse’s place.”

Lobo scrunches his face. “You suck…”

“Not a problem. You like driving better than I do anyway.” Lobo laughs as I wiggle my eyebrows at him. He pulls a fresh pair of black silk long johns from the drawer, while I head to the bathroom.

I piss and wash my hands. I already took a shower earlier. Lobo already has his leather pants on as he peeks into the bathroom. He asks, “Did you wash my Simplicia shirt?”

“No,” I answer as I apply my eyeliner, “but the KMFDM shirt should be clean and that also has long sleeves.” I don’t bother with lipstick for now. I am so relieved that I packed earlier. I hate feeling rushed.

“Sweet!” He goes back to the room as I brush my hair. I’m so glad that my hair is naturally straight. It makes life easier for me. I wish it weren’t naturally blond. I notice that I already have roots showing, again. I brush my teeth.

I open up five of my contacts cases. I try to decide what to wear. “My treasure, could you bring my costume.” I choose the one with the hypnotic red swirl for the left eye. “It should be on top of the vanity dresser.” I put an ice blue lens on my right eye, as Lobo brings in my Halloween garb. Before he leaves the bathroom, I grab his arm and jerk him towards me. I lunge my surgically elongated tongue at him. He sucks it twice before laughing and heading out the door to finish whatever he needs to do.

I slip into my burgundy leather merry widow and hitch my fishnet stockings to the garter belt. I pull the black thong out as it rides up my scrawny ass in an uncomfortable manner. I slip on a pair of wide blue jeans and make sure that they will go over black army boots without me having to take them off. I’m confident that my stripping shtick will go smoothly while I am on stage. I tighten my belt so the pants stay put. I put on a blond mullet wig, a fake moustache, a denim jacket and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. I look like a mundane of the white trash breed. That’s the effect I am after. I go to my room and grab my duffle bag.

Lobo is waiting for me upstairs. He’s packs an ice cooler with several energy drinks, a vegan atrocity that passes for a sandwich, a smoked turkey leg and leftover potato salad stored in what used to be a soybean “yogurt stuff” container. I throw a bag of cheese puffs and a chocolate candy bar at him. He snorts at my food disdainfully and mumbles, “I don’t know how you can consume this rubbish, Chino,” as he packs it away. I feel benevolent today so, I take his easel and his bag to the car along with my belongings.

Lobo locks the front door of the townhouse. He says hello to our neighbor, Mrs. Jennings, as he carries the cooler to the car. She used to be terrified of us. She changed her tune after Lobo and I offered to pay for her husband’s burial. That little old lady could barely afford her place on a fixed-income, let alone a decent farewell for the love of her life. I sang at the funeral without my makeup or my act. People seemed surprised to discover that the screeching shock rocker with horns could dress in a suit and do a moving baritone rendition of “Amazing Grace”. I suppose I’m sentimental when it comes to making death a lovely experience for everyone involved. Nowadays, she bakes for us on a regular basis.

I notice that Lobo has a new fur-lined velvet cape and leather vest as I open the door of our black Saturn sedan. He declares proudly, “I bought them online.” If Lobo were a vegetarian for moral reasons, I'd hang myself. Fortunately, it's just because he doesn't feel like eating meat for the time being.

My black wool trench coat is still in the backseat. He turns the ignition and off we go. We eat our lunch as we drive through stoplight after stoplight. Once we hit the Interstate and pass the speed trap, I begin to torment my beloved.

“Are you going to fuck her?”

“Not this again…” He darts his eyes between the road and I. “I told you, I only want to make a painting of her.”

I fondle him through his leather pants. “You’re telling me that you’re going to pass up the chance to divest your best friend from high school of her virginity.”

Lobo shakes his head. “I could never fuck a woman and she’s not that type of girl.”

I slowly unzip his pants as I continue to taunt him. “You are horribly unadventurous for being as kinky as you are, my precious.” I stroke his still slumbering member over his silk undergarments. “I think it’s very cruel of you to not help a young woman fulfill her childhood fantasy.”

“Why the hell do this to me whenever I work with a new model? I already have developed a reputation for getting physically intimate with most of my male models. I feel rather unprofessional when people point out this fact to me.”

“Lobo, you have a reputation for being a consummate professional in the bodily modification and art fields.” I smirk at him as I unbuckle my safety belt. “You also happen to have notoriety for being a passionate paramour.” I lower my head towards his crotch. “Why do you think all those cute gents volunteer to be your unpaid models? It’s not because of your charisma.”

“You think you’re so droll, Chino. Well let me… um… tell… uh… Shit. Please ignore me. Oh… gods above… your mouth is a marvel.” Lobo struggles to concentrate on the road as I massage and suckle his ample cock. Rob Zombie’s “The Sinster Urge” CD plays as Lobo speeds through several small town exits. I love paying attention to the skin around his metal bits. I love wiggling his jewelry about. He simply eats it up. He grips the steering wheel tightly and looks for the exit. I swallow him completely. He growls, “Your mouth… shit.” I bob up and down with ease. He dry-cums, so I know that he isn’t spent for the rest of the day. This reinforces my suspicion that he is going to cheat on me.

We take the exit and arrive at the Podunk town where Lobo will spend the night. We eventually arrive at a small and old house with drab yellow siding. A scarecrow with a smiling face is propped against a tree near a small garden. Two pumpkins with adorable cat paintings decorate the front porch. A pre-printed cardboard ghost adorns the door. I am sickened.

I remember the days when Samhain wasn’t a commercialized Christmas for the morbid. It was just an unholy day to celebrate Satan, renegade fairies and to encourage acts of greed and vandalism by children. Those were the days. I hold the fluffy bunny Wiccans, (including my partner,) responsible for turning my favorite holiday into a festival of cuteness. Oh well, that’s just de-evolution at work, I suppose.

I notice that the blinds are down. The time is 4:23 pm according to my watch. Lobo takes his easel and his bag out of the trunk. I wait for him at the door. When he approaches my side, I knock on the door and squeal, “Trick or treat,” in an infantile voice. “Miss Muse” opens the door and freezes. She hadn’t seen Lobo since 1994, back when he was an undecorated norm.

He gleefully shouts “Miss Muse’s” actual name. My beloved sometimes seems oblivious to the fact that tattooed men and fakirs in America were relegated to the realm of circus freaks, as late as the mid-seventies. Being that this town seems to be stuck at least thirty years in the past. The poor lady’s expression is understandable.

I decide to amuse myself at her expense because she is obviously a being of weakness that deserves to be mocked. “This is your muse?” I point at her with feigned horror. “She’s disappointing.” In truth, if she were to wear something black and schoolmarmish, she would be considered by many to be a Gothic wet dream. She reminds me of a cross between Drusilla and Wednesday. As always, Lobo’s taste in models is impeccable.

He knows that I am joking. He slaps my hand anyway. “Excuse Chino, he’s uncouth.”

She quivers when she mutters, “Your partner looks…”

“Normal?” I cringed at that insult. “This is my costume.” I lift my wig high enough for “Miss Muse” to see my horns. She covers her mouth. Satisfied with the reaction, I say to her, “I’ll pick him up tomorrow.” I give Lobo a goodbye lick and I return to the car.

There’s only an hour and a half to go until I get to Cuento Largo and my meal ticket. I slurp an energy drink to keep me awake as I endure the insufferably dull agricultural scenery. I light a cigarette as I open the window just a crack. Lobo gets huffy whenever I smoke in front of him, so this is my chance to indulge in peace. I partake in the embarrassing pleasure of singing along to Shakespeare’s Sister, after I finish listening to an early CD by All the Pretty Horses.

I arrive at Club Rosewood A-Go-Go. I’m ready to work my bandy ass off for this little Cancer Center fundraiser. As I walk in to through the back door, a fat bouncer greets me. He leads me to the communal dressing room for lesser-known bands. My band mates are there waiting for me.

My ballerinas, Celestina and Renata are dressed up white robes that hide black vinyl corseted bodysuits. They flank me and give me pecks on the cheek. Beryl, my male dancer, is wearing scuffed and ripped jeans over leggings that look like torn flesh. He is in full makeup and he looks a car wreck victim. I carefully plant a kiss on his lips. He pulls me next him and twirls his tongue around mine. Jason, my incurably homophobic violinist and friend since childhood, expresses his disapproval. “Fucking gawdshit, get a room for crissakes!”

Our token Lakota bassist, Death Cookie pipes in. “You’re just jealous ‘cuz you’re not one of the girls.” The dreadlocked voluptuousness shakes my hand and gives me a hug with a pat on the back. Since she isn’t in full makeup, I lick her face. “Yuck! Mommy, Maraschino Cherryhomes just licked me with his creepy tongue.”

Noemi Villalobos the turntable, drum-machine and accordion queen laughs. “At least you don’t get to lick his freaky dick, after he sucks himself off with his creepy tongue.” She’s wearing a simple black shirt with a Puerto Rican flag in the middle, a black tutu and ragdoll stockings. Her red, white and blue pigtails are tied with black satin ribbons. She always looks so delightful in full makeup. Noemi is Lobo’s cousin. She introduced me to him back in our Massachusetts days. She is also the co-founder of the band. “Speaking of which, am I French kissing your penis while you self-fellate during ‘Self-Abuse’ or during ‘Descent of the Succubus’?”

I deliberate for a second. “I’d have to say ‘Self-Abuse.’ Celestina and Renata told me that they really want to do the new vampire Lesbian routine during ‘Succubus’. Am I right?” The ballerinas grin through their fangs as they powder their faces.

Jason seems intrigued. “Is there going to be actual twat-licking and tit-sucking?”

I stroke my chin, “I don’t see why not. They did it in rehearsal. This is a twenty-one and over show and this place has a class ‘A’ adult entertainment license.”

“Finally! This show is actually going to have something that isn’t totally gay. It’s about time you added something that appeals to normal guys.” We all stare at Jason incredulously because of that oxymoronic statement. May I add some emphasis on the moronic part? The heterosexual mind is indeed a peculiar thing.

Death Cookie puts on her burgundy lipstick and asks matter-of-factly, “So what’s the set for today?”

I rub my temples, “We only have thirty minutes on stage so we are doing the remake of ‘Elusive Butterfly of Love’ with Beryl and Renata cutting up my redneck costume while Celestina puts my make up on. ‘Necromancy Lesson for Anabel’ has the fake puke, chocolate shit and blood capsule thing. In ‘Daddy Loves Me’, I molest Jason and Beryl simulates fucking my ass, but only because I forgot to bring the lube. ‘Self-Abuse’ has the team suck-off and ‘Succubus’ has vampire lesbian sex as discussed previously. Finally, ‘Immaterial Girl’ gets the massacre with Noemi being the last one standing before I slit her throat. Does that sound right, Mother?”

Noemi grins and chirps, “Yes!”

Jason raises his hand. “Chino, are you going to lick my dick for real again?”

“I was planning to.”

Jason sighs. “Very well… Could I have a blindfold so I can pretend that you’re Renata? I think I would be a more convincing fake bisexual dude that way.” Renata blushes at his comment.

“You can play the violin blindfolded?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds kinky. I like it.”

Noemi looks over her shoulder. “Good evening young gentlemen.”

The first opening band enters the dressing room. “What’s so good about it,” grumbles the lead singer. Their bassist drops off a twenty-four pack of cheap beer. They were due to start at 7:30 pm or in about seven minutes. They look like a bunch of drunken high schoolers who think that just playing good music is enough to succeed in the industry. I’ve heard Demyn Karkazz play in the past. They are a decent band, but I doubt they will ever escape the local scene. Their attitude, pentagrams and upside down crosses aren’t fooling anyone. They’re jocks trying to be a death metal band and that's just not believable.

The guitarist points at me and says, “Didn’t you steal your entire act from Manson?”

I smile at him and lick my lips to make sure that he sees my double-tipped tongue. “Yeah, so what… Manson stole his entire act from Alice Cooper and g.g. allin and he still is entertaining. I think you’re on stage in four minutes.” The cute little boys glare at us and leave. As they leave, someone enters the room. I almost die when I see her.

It’s Melora, the cello goddess. “Hello there,” Her childlike voice and knee-length bloomers nearly cause me to faint, “you must be the members of Cherry Villalobos and the Dancers of Darkness.” The only woman who could possibly make me consider batting for the other team, speaks in character, “I enjoyed your performance in New Orleans very much, even if it was very mischievous and wanton. The headmistress at the orphanage would’ve disapproved heartily and that is why I approved.”

The members of my band scream simultaneously. This is like a dream come true for us. Our idol has just paid us a huge compliment. We chat with her for a while and have a grand old time. She leaves about ten minutes before we are scheduled to go on stage. We gather our props as we prepare to meet our audience.

I wonder if Lobo has deflowered the virgin yet. I hope he has. Defiling purity is such a lovely thing to do on this fine Halloween night, even if she doesn’t have a dick. Oh well, life isn’t perfect on any scale. No one is an exception.