The Adventures of Boipussy

Swallow Records chartered a plane to fly the entourage to Atlanta for the next show. Candii had decided the bands and roadcrew had spent far too long on interstate buses, and it was now time for some serious rockstar luxury. Everyone on the tour was relieved, beginning to tire of the long road journeys. A potential nine-hour bus trip that everyone was dreading had suddenly morphed into a ninety minute chartered flight on a private jet. Nobody was about to complain.

Everyone congregated at Louis Armstrong (the airport, not the musician) mid-afternoon, well in advance of take-off. Pete had consumed an $80 airport sandwich (Swallow was paying for everything) and was standing at a newsstand, passing time, deciding on his in-flight reading material. He was thumbing through the current issue of The Economist when Ace approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey," Ace whispered, pointing to a magazine rack on the back wall, "hey, come check this shit out." Pete followed Boipussy's lead singer to the back of the store.

Pete's eyes widened. Outside of adult bookstores, he'd never seen so many gay porn magazines in his life. Every type of man, every type of sex, every kink imaginable. He looked around to make sure of his surroundings -- yep, there was no doubt they were in an airport.

Ace sorted through the magazines and took a small selection to the counter.

"It's all taken care of, sir," advised the cashier, pushing Ace's credit card away.

"Huh?" asked Ace.

"Payment. As I said, sir, your purchase is all taken care of. Swallow is paying." The cashier glanced at Pete, flashing a faintly sinister grin. "Enjoy your reading material, and please, enjoy your flight."

Ace jammed his newly acquired porn stash into his backpack. "Well, that was strange. I've never even seen so much as a fuckin' Playboy on sale in an airport before, but look at what I've got here." He rifled through some of the titles he'd picked up. "'Big Dicked Rednecks', 'Hole Punch', and this one, 'Footlongs'." Ace held up the cover, showing Pete the cover model. "That's not a footlong," he judged, "that's about fourteen inches. And take a look around you. I'm showing you these gay porn magazines in broad daylight in the middle of a fuckin' airport, with security detail fuckin' everywhere around us, and nobody fuckin' cares." Pete watched business travellers and tourists alike walking past as though they weren't even there. "Hey!" he yelled. "Anyone want to check out some hot gay porn? Clear the pipes before your flight?" He held up his newly-acquired copy of 'Dark Dicks'. Some big-dicked African dude was on the front cover. "Hey, come check out this dude's massive fuckin' cock! Look at the size of it! I'd let this dude put my ass in traction just as long as he was my wet nurse!"

Nobody batted an eyelid. Security didn't move.

Pete brushed his Irish red hair away from his face. "I agree. I mean, the last place I'd ever expect to find a stash of porn mags would be at a news stand in an airport. Are airports opening adult bookstores now? Will passengers get a free handjob in future once they pass security?"

Ace thought that'd be an awesome idea for a song. And come to think of it, the security dude that checked him for explosives was pretty fucking hot. Maybe security should've conducted a deeper search, just to be sure.

They wandered back towards their gate, planning to sit and wait until their flight was called, but on the way, they found Carlos sitting at a bar with a cold beer in his fist. As his boyfriend and Ace approached, he waved the bartender over. A $35 beer landed in front of Pete, and another in front of Ace. "Swallow is paying," informed Carlos.

"We know," deadpanned Ace. "Take a look at this." He opened his backpack, showing the A2M frontman their stash. "We just bought these porn mags from that newsstand over there. They've got Time, Newsweek, and the New Yorker, but the back wall is all gay porn. There weren't any chick mags to be found, by the way. Nothing for the straighty one-eighties. Just out of curiosity, I looked for a Penthouse or a Hustler, but I couldn't find one. It's wall-to-wall dick. Pete and I took these mags to the counter, and we got the exact same message from the weirdo at the register. 'Swallow is paying'."

Their flight was announced and the bartender leaned over. "Drink up, boys," he said, "you don't want to miss your plane." Pete wasn't sure how the barman could possibly have known they were passengers on the charter flight that had just been called.

As they walked onto the aerobridge, down the stairs and across the tarmac, Pete realised he didn't have anything to read. He wished he'd bought a copy of the Atlantic, which he probably would've done if not for getting sucked into the vortex of Ace's wall of smut. "Hey," he said to Ace, "give me one of those porn mags we just bought."

Ace pulled one out of his backpack at random and gave it to his ex. Pete looked at the title. "Mexican Inches." He smiled; Pete already had some of those at his disposal.

The entourage walked up the stairs and boarded the aircraft. The captain taxied out and blasted the engines down the runway before catapulting everyone into the sky.

Unlike the bus, seating on the flight was pre-allocated, and for some strange reason, the seat next to Pete was vacant at take-off. Passengers were free to move around once the seatbelt light had dimmed, and he expected either Carlos or Ace to sit next to him, but they were both too late.

"Hello," said a deep, dark voice.

Pete turned to face his flight neighbour. It was the vocalist from Hypnosissy. Oh my fucking god. "Hey," Pete whispered nervously.

"Nice to meet you," said the voice. Words came slowly. "Please allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Samael. I am in a band called --"

"I know," replied Pete. "I know who you are." He nervously pushed his hair behind his ears as he tried to focus on the receding clouds.

"I like your band," said Samael. "I've been watching you."

"Thank you," replied an increasingly anxious Pete. "My band, or ... just me?"

"Both," replied Samael.

They flew in silence for a while. Pete wished he could swap seats with someone -- anyone! -- but at the same time, he felt transfixed, rooted to his seat, completely unable to move.

"Where are you from?" asked Samael.

"You mean ... where do I live?"

"Yes," nodded Samael.

"Ummm, I'm actually from Atlanta. That's where Ass To Mouth is from. In a strange kind of way, it feels like I'm heading home right now. Carlos, my boyfriend, is the singer." Pete lifted his butt up off his seat, scanning the plane, looking for him. No sighting. Maybe he was in the bathroom. "Where is Hypnosissy from?"

"We are from no specific location," replied Samael. His eyes were intense, dark and brooding. Almost hypnotic.

Fuuuuuuuuuck, thought Pete.

Hypnosissy's vocalist reclined back into his seat. Pete's heart was pumping hard.

A few moments passed before Samael spoke again. "Please don't let me distract you from enjoying the flight, Pete. Did you bring anything to read?"

Against his better judgment, something compelled Pete to pull the porn mag out of his backpack. Again, he looked around the plane to see if he could see Carlos. He couldn't find him. He couldn't see Ace either.

"Open it to page 12," Samael suggested. Pete complied.

"Look closely," said Samael. "Study the image well, my friend. What do you see?"

Pete's eyes landed on an image of a well-built Mexican, sitting on the ground. The man was wearing a tight black t-shirt and a pair of light blue boxers. His erect penis poked out through the fly, and the look on his face said 'I know you want it, so come get it'. The man's hair was shoulder-length, dark and straight. His eyes were brown, his chest was hairless and his nipples stood to attention. He noticed the man had been photographed in a barn, or on a stage that was set up to look like a barn. Bales of hay were stacked up behind and beside him. The image was well-lit, like it'd been captured on a cloudless day at the height of summer.

"What do you see?" repeated Samael.

Despite the extraordinary detail in the frame, Pete could only focus on one thing. "Cock."

"That's right, my friend. Stare at the page. Allow yourself to be consumed by it. What do you see when you watch Hypnosissy perform on stage?"

"Cock."

"Good boy."

Pete gazed at the image. His dick was as hard as a fucking baseball bat, and it felt just as big.

Samael leaned across and held the palm of his hand above Pete's dick, on the outside of his jeans. He didn't touch Pete in any way.

From absolutely nowhere, Pete felt an orgasm approach. It bore down upon him like a runaway freight train. Against his will, his eyes closed, but the picture from the magazine was imprinted on his brain, consuming his entire consciousness. He came so hard that his load squelched through his undies and his jeans, leaving an obvious puddle on the outside.

When Pete opened his eyes again, Samael was gone. The seat next to him was vacant again.

"Hey dude," said Carlos, flopping down beside him a few minutes later, having absolutely no idea what had just occurred. "How cool is this? We're flying to our next gig, in our own fuckin' hometown!" It was at this point that Carlos noticed the pool of cum on the outside of his boyfriend's jeans. He was about to comment, but right at this moment Ace came over to talk to them.

Ace stood in the aisle, leaning on the back of the vacant seat in front of them. He also couldn't help noticing the thick pool of splooge that had soaked its way through Pete's pants. "I'm gonna need to borrow that mag when you're done, Pete," Ace deadpanned. "Looks like it must be a good one."

Pete was in a state of high anxiety. He looked down at his jeans. They were fucking soaked. "Where the fuck have you two been?" he seethed. "I was looking around the cabin trying to find you, but I couldn't."

"Well, obviously we've been on board since take-off," drawled Ace. "Thunderbirds weren't 'go' today."

"I was sitting just over there," disclosed Carlos, pointing to a row on the other side of the fuselage, "and Ace was two rows behind me. I think they've spaced us all out to spread the weight evenly."

Pete wasn't sure how the distribution of bodies in the cabin could possibly affect the balance of the flight -- the plane's undercarriage was surely groaning with musical instruments and heavy stage equipment.

"Excuse me for a second," said a very confused Pete. He stood up, ran to the bathroom, and locked himself inside. Pulling wads of toilet paper out of the wall dispenser, he cleaned himself up as best he could. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and took a few deep, settling breaths before returning to his allocated seat. He looked around the cabin on the way back. Hypnosissy's lead singer was nowhere to be seen.

If Candii wasn't a rock promoter, she would've loved to be a flight attendant. She joyfully pushed a trolley down the aisle in a low-cut top and short skirt. She approached Pete's row. "Bourbon, scotch, vodka or gin?" she asked, bending forward to emphasise her cleavage. There was no coffee or tea on offer today.

Pete wasn't interested in breasts, no matter how big they were, and besides, his mind was still spinning from what he'd just experienced. "Bourbon, please Candii," Pete replied. "Make it a quadruple."

With a small pair of tongs, Candii delicately clunked some ice cubes into a glass, then filled the vessel to the brim with neat liquor. She wasn't one to judge. "Enjoy!" she smiled, pouring the equivalent of a quarter of a bottle into Pete's cup. Pete drank it like soda. He felt a little woozy as the plane began to descend.

The flight taxied to the gate and touring group disembarked. Pete was a little wobbly on his feet, in equal parts due to the disorienting experience he'd had on the flight and the alcohol he'd consumed to quell it. Two buses waited to take the party to their hotel.

Carlos was overjoyed to be home again, even if it was just for two short nights. He wondered how many of A2M's Eternal fans might come to the show tomorrow night. For a brief moment, he thought about heading to his apartment to check everything was OK, but he resisted the temptation, knowing it'd break the spell of the tour.

From his window high up at the Four Seasons, he gazed over his city from a perspective he'd never experienced before. And for a moment, his mind drifted north to Delaware. He remembered the times he spent in Atlanta with Gorilla, forever checked in at the Sleep Inn, the worst motel in town. If only Gorilla could've seen where Carlos was right now.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered the posthumous gift Gorilla had bequeathed Carlos's band. He resolved to dedicate tomorrow's show to the memory of his fallen trucker, gone way too soon.

Pete interrupted his boyfriend's reminiscences. "I need to talk with you, babe. I'm worried."

Carlos snapped back to reality. "What's up?"

"I don't actually know."

"Huh?" Carlos shook his mane in confusion. "Then why are you worried?"

"Because something very weird is happening, but I can't work out what it is, or how to explain it. But let me ask you this. Didn't you find the airport strange today?"

"In what way?"

Pete took a breath. "Tell me one time in your life you've ever bought something at an airport and felt the need to take out a loan? We spent $200 on a sandwich and three beers, but Swallow was paying. Ace and I bought eight porn magazines -- and let's not overlook that, by the way, we bought hardcore dick mags in a fucking airport! -- that were worth $300, and again, Swallow was paying. Swallow isn't a big company, Carlos. I've checked their accounts. They've got twelve, maybe fourteen bands signed, including us and Boipussy. They ain't Sony or Universal. So where does this unlimited line of credit come from? And while I'm at it, how do they find the money to put on a tour like this?"

Carlos smiled. "As long as we build an audience on this tour and we get to make a record at the end of it, I don't care. Swallow's expense accounts aren't any of my business. I'm not their auditor."

Pete paused for a moment. Maybe his boyfriend had a point about that. "But wait," he said, speaking quickly and urgently, "this is the *really* strange bit. The seat next to me was empty at take-off ..."

"I know," Carlos interrupted, "but it's not strange. Same with me, same with Ace ..."

"Yeah, but as soon as the seatbelt sign was turned off, someone sat next to me. It was the singer from Hypnosissy. I'd never met him before, so why did he feel the need to sit next to *me* within seconds of the seatbelt light being turned off? Somehow, he seemed to know I had a porn mag in my bag, and somehow, I felt compelled to take it out. He directed me to a specific page and made me focus on it. And then, he held his hand above my dick and he made me cum in my jeans. He didn't touch me, but he still made me cum. Like, I don't know how that could possibly happen, unless he fucked with my mind somehow. And you know how much their stage visuals have affected me, so maybe he knew about that somehow? It felt like he sensed something vulnerable inside me and he zeroed in on it, but I don't know why. I'm scared about what might happen at tomorrow night's show, dude."

Carlos wasn't sure what to say. Sure, it was weird to learn that porn was now on sale in airports, but nothing about the extortionate prices of snacks or drinks in the terminal surprised him. Airports gouged, that's what they do.

He wrapped his arms around Pete's waist and pulled him close, worried whether Pete was perhaps suffering from some low-level mental exhaustion. "Maybe we're learning that touring can be hard, babe. Like, the only other time we've played so many shows so close together was our mini-tour of Canada. This tour is the real deal, and maybe it's harder than we thought it'd be." He ran his hands lovingly through Pete's hair. "Let's just go easy on ourselves for a while. We're back home right now, even though in some ways it doesn't really feel like we are, because we'll be gone again the day after tomorrow. But we're gonna fuckin' rock the casbah tomorrow night, even though I've got no idea where we're actually going to be playing. Then we play Miami and New York City, and then we're done. You don't have a desk job calling you back, and you've got half a million in the bank from your payout, so once these three last shows are done, you've got some serious downtime ahead of you if you need it. And then, when you're ready, we go into the studio to make our first record."

Pete took a deep breath. Maybe this was all in his head. Maybe he was jumping at shadows. Maybe he was worrying about nothing. "I'm sure you're right, babe. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love being on tour, and we're winning so many new fans, but yeah, maybe there's a lot of stuff on my mind right now."

"You wanna take a nap?" asked Carlos.

"Probably a good idea to try, even though I don't know if I can fall asleep right now. I feel a little wound up."

Carlos pulled the blockout blinds closed, and 4pm Atlanta disappeared. Carlos rubbed his boyfriend's feet and toes until he fell asleep. Pete didn't dream.

Around 6, Carlos's phone pinged. A message from Ace.

Ace: hey dude me and candii are gonna head out to get something to eat, come with us?

Carlos: pete's tired, he's sleeping ... no, wait, he just woke up ...

Ace waited while Carlos and his sleepy boyfriend conferred.

Carlos: yeah sure we'll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes, i know a place we can go and you've already been there b4

Pete got up, rubbed his eyes, brushed his hair and got dressed.

Carlos took them to Eternal.

"This is our place," Carlos explained to Candii as Ace opened the door for her. "It's so weird to be back home while we're out on a national tour."

Candii looked around the venue. "This place is so cool! Ass To Mouth plays here?"

"All the time," Pete answered. "Actually, Carlos works here, behind the bar."

"Sweet," nodded Candii, smiling.

Right on cue, Carlos's boss and friend, Adahlia, bounded over like an excitable puppy. Her huge goth tiddies bounced up and down. "Hey babe!" she squealed, hugging her favourite employee. "I've missed you so much! I know you guys are playing in town tomorrow night, but I can't go, I need to work." She knew it'd be quiet at Eternal tomorrow, because everyone would be at the show. "You want a shift?" she joked. She noticed Pete. "Fuck, hey, dude," she said, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. She knew Pete was the reason Carlos was so happy and grounded lately, and she'd always be grateful to him for the stability he gave her friend. She laid her eyes on the blonde dude. "I think I remember you. Wait, don't tell me. Ace? From Boipussy?"

"Hey," said Ace, leaning in for a hug. He didn't remember her name, but he remembered her massive rack.

"Fuck, I love this place," repeated Candii, drinking in the room.

"Eternal is where we first met Ace," Pete informed her. "I think we played a double-bill here one night, and our two bands have been tight ever since."

Candii nodded. This was the place where A2M and Boipussy first connected.

Adahlia addressed the trans girl. "I don't think we've met before. Are you Ace's girlfriend?"

"I'm Candii. Nice to meet you," she said, holding a friendly hand out to her before entwining her fingers in Ace's. "Yeah, Ace is my rockstar." She looked around the room again before turning her attention back to Adahlia. "Hey, do you know if Eternal is booked for tomorrow night?" Candii explained that she's the record company rep organising the tour.

"Nup," Adahlia replied. "Not tomorrow. We didn't book anyone to play because everyone's gonna be at your show. We're expecting a quiet night, but we still need to open up."