Gorilla and the Metalhead Pt. 11

Miraculously, and seemingly against all odds, Gorilla made it to his destination on the banks of the Mississippi river in one piece. On some of the straighter sections of the interstate, he could barely keep his eyes focused on the road in front of him. He desperately wanted to sleep, but he knew he couldn't. He fought the urge relentlessly with caffeine.

He unloaded his pallets at the warehouse before grabbing a cab to his room at the Sleep Inn. After checking in, he went straight to bed. It was time for dinner, and he was hungry, but sleep was the higher priority. He staved off hunger by devouring the complimentary cookies the motel staff had left in his room and two bread rolls he purchased on the street. He felt lucky to still be alive; he felt like he'd dodged a bullet.

He knew his job was becoming too much for him. Too consuming. Too dangerous. He couldn't deny it anymore. It would've been so easy to fall asleep at the wheel.

He could've died today.

He made his motel room as dark and as quiet as possible. He lay naked on the mattress, willing himself to fall asleep, but sleep wouldn't come. If anything, he was probably overtired -- he didn't even have the energy required to fall asleep. He felt exhausted, but at the same time, he felt taut and wound-up. He guessed this feeling came from the caffeine he'd consumed during the day, as well as a lack of decent food at the end of it.

Luckily, tomorrow was a rest day. He was free to explore New Orleans if he wanted to, but he knew he desperately needed to catch up on badly missed sleep. Besides, he'd already been here many times before.

He lay on his back for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn't coming.

He rolled over and grabbed his phone. He called Carlos.

"Hey dude," said Carlos. "What's up?"

"Hey," replied a weary Gorilla.

"You made it?"

"Yeah," Gorilla sighed, "but it was a cunt of a drive. I really should've pulled into an interstate rest spot for a quick nap, but if I did that, I would've missed my deadline, and I didn't want to risk the warehouse being closed by the time I pulled in."

Carlos knew how uncompromising Gorilla's driving schedules were. "I was thinking today that maybe you hadn't had enough sleep when you left this morning."

Gorilla yawned. "I know. I'm so fucking tired, man. I can manage a solid eight hour shift at the wheel if I'm rested from the night before, but ... you ever have that feeling when you're completely exhausted, but you actually can't fall asleep?"

"Yeah, dude, I know exactly how that feels," Carlos empathised.

Gorilla grunted.

"I assume you're checked in to the Sleep Inn?"

"Yeah," Gorilla answered, "and it's terrible. I mean, it's not enough for me to spend eight hours at the wheel surviving on nothing but coffee, but the company wants me to suffer some more when I get to my destination. Like, I mean, I've never stayed at a good Sleep Inn, but the one in New Orleans is bad."

"You should ask at the front desk if they can move you to a better room."

"I could ask, but they'd probably move me to a room that's equally bad. Besides, I'm way too tired to give a fuck."

There was a short pause in the conversation.

"Dude, can I be honest with you?" inquired Carlos. He continued without waiting for an answer. "You sound completely fucking wrecked."

"Perfectly described." He sighed. "I feel tense, and I need something to help me unwind."

"I've got an idea," said Carlos. "Wait there." He hung up.

Gorilla noticed his call had been disconnected. He thought maybe something had gone wrong with his phone, or maybe there was a network outage. He was too tired to realise Carlos had ended the call. He was about to redial Carlos's number, but just as he was about to press the green button, he received a photo.

It was a close-up of Carlos's wet mouth, with his tongue hanging out. He followed it up with a text message.

Carlos: u need 2 unwind? unwind on my face

Gorilla was erect within seconds. He knew what he needed to do to get some sleep. He needed to cum. It didn't matter whether his orgasm was overlaid with feelings of intimacy, or with any feelings at all. At this point, it was little more than a biological urge. He just needed to get off. His upper lip sneered with lust as his fist pistoned up and down the short length of his dick.

Gorilla: im gonna cum all over ur sexy face

Carlos: give it 2 me

Gorilla: fk man im gonna cum so hard

Carlos sent another pic of his tongue licking his lips. As his orgasm approached, Gorilla pulled his t-shirt up and jerked himself off onto his naked stomach. He felt his warm load drip down his knuckles and onto his nutsack.

He wiped his hand and dick with some tissues before dialling Carlos's number again.

Carlos pressed the green button to accept the call. "You drop a hot load on me?"

"Fuck, dude, that was exactly what I needed."

"Sweet dreams, big guy." Carlos hung up again, hoping Gorilla would soon slip into a cocoon of deep slumber.

Carlos had no regular income at present, but tonight, he dipped into his savings to buy a six-pack of beer. He spent the next hour or two deep in thought, sitting semi-naked on his balcony, quietly strumming his acoustic guitar. He was worried about his slowly disappearing bank balance, but he was much more worried about Gorilla's state of mind.

Carlos polished off his six-pack. He knew he needed to find a new job soon. He checked his phone -- there were no new messages from Gorilla. He assumed he was still sleeping.

Lights out.

*

Gorilla slept deeply, logging about 12 hours. He woke up around 7am, desperately hungry. He threw the covers off and made himself a shitty instant coffee. He walked naked to the bathroom and rested his mug on the sink. He sat on the bowl and let nature take its course while he checked messages on his phone. He wiped, stood, flushed, washed his hands, brushed his teeth and got dressed. He pulled on the same pair of jeans he wore yesterday, a fresh t-shirt, and a trucker cap worn backwards.

In Atlanta, Carlos slept in. He'd set no alarms because he had no immediate reason to wake up. He was avoiding the inevitable -- looking for a new job.

Gorilla left his two-star motel room and headed out to find some breakfast. He was fucking ravenous, having not eaten dinner the night before. He found a coffee shop and sat at an outdoor table. The waiter came over and Gorilla ordered grilled bacon, fried eggs and toast, with a strong coffee. He felt the humidity rising.

He noticed someone who looked a little familiar sitting at a nearby table. This was the last thing he expected -- other than warehouse staff, he didn't think he knew anyone in the entire State of Louisiana.

The man at the nearby table touched the peak of his cap in greeting. Gorilla smiled uncertainly. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"Think you might," drawled the familiar stranger. "Or, at least, I think *I* know *you*. Or maybe I don't know you, but I'm sure I've seen you." The stranger paused. "You drive, dontcha?"

"Yeah," Gorilla replied. "But how'd you know that?"

"First of all, you look like you're a trucker," came the reply. "And I'm sure I've seen you at a roadhouse or three over the years. I've been drivin' myself for a long time." The stranger had finished his own breakfast. He pushed his chair back and walked across to Gorilla's table. "Mind if I join you?"

Gorilla's mouth was filled with fragments of oily bacon and buttered toast. "Sure."

The stranger pulled up a chair at Gorilla's table. "Name's Bob," he said, extending a friendly hand. Gorilla rested his cutlery on the edge of his plate to accept it.

He introduced himself. "Gorilla."

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Gorilla," Bob replied. "What brings you here?"

Gorilla continued eating his breakfast. "Drove from Atlanta yesterday."

"Fuck," said Bob, "that's a long stretch. Done it many times myself, but as the years go by, it never gets any easier. Matter of fact, the older I get, I think the long stretches get harder." Bob leaned back in his chair.

"Where've you come from?" asked Gorilla.

"Not too far away," Bob exhaled. "Houston."

"Is that where you live, or is that where you hauled from?"

"Where I hauled from."

"How long you been here?" Gorilla asked.

"Arrived just last night," answered Bob.

Gorilla grunted. If Bob unloaded yesterday at the same depot as him, he didn't remember seeing him. He ate the rest of his breakfast while Bob sat and watched. Bob didn't show any signs of having somewhere else to be, but come to think of it, Gorilla didn't have anywhere else to be either. He eventually finished his breakfast and sat back in his chair.

"You enjoy your breakfast?" Bob asked.

Gorilla looked down at his empty plate and rubbed his chubby tummy. "Yeah. I really needed that. I didn't eat last night."

"You didn't eat last night?"

Gorilla told his story, though he omitted the part where he called Carlos before jacking himself off over images of his face and mouth.

"Well," said Bob, "sounds to me like we're both spending the day here. Are you up for a little company? Maybe we could swap some stories about our time spent on the road? Or maybe we could swap some other stuff, too. Gets lonely out there sometimes, don't it? And sometimes it gets a little lonely on rest days too." Bob pulled his chair a little closer. "You see where I'm headin', dontcha?"

Gorilla did. He knew Bob was hitting on him, and he felt flattered. He'd never felt emotionally close to another guy before, and he knew that if he'd never met Carlos, he would've settled his check and walked off with Bob without a second thought.

"I know exactly what you mean, and if we'd crossed paths a few months ago, I'd probably be the one hitting on you. But, the truth is, I'm ... kind of ... with someone at the moment," Gorilla said.

Bob leaned back in his chair, showing both palms in a sign of apology and retreat. "I wasn't askin' for your hand in matrimony, y'know. I was just fixin' to see if you had plans for the day."

Gorilla felt a little embarrassed about his response to Bob's proposition, though he didn't know why. He found his phone, unlocked it, and scrolled through his gallery. He quickly flicked past the pics Carlos sent him last night. He found a couple of photos he'd taken of Carlos a few weeks ago in Jacksonville and showed them to Bob. "This is my man," he said.

Bob looked at the images of Carlos. He noticed his long hair, his tight ass, and his insanely kissable mouth. Sex on legs. "Him? This guy? *This* is your partner?"

Gorilla nodded uncertainly.

Bob struggled to find a set of words that wouldn't offend Gorilla. "He looks like he could be a model." The implication was that Gorilla was either the luckiest man in the world to land someone this hot, or he was a liar.

"Uhh ... no, he's not a model ... he's a rockstar."

Bob raised his eyebrows. This couldn't possibly be true. He looked Gorilla up and down. He saw an ordinary trucker slob with questionable hygiene -- the kind of guy that'd push Bob's buttons any day of the week. How could a guy like Gorilla land a fucking rockstar? He wondered what Gorilla might have that a rockstar might crave. He could only think of one thing -- Gorilla must be packing some serious meat, and Bob wanted to see it. "So, back to my earlier question. You free today? You want some company?"

Gorilla was intrigued, but out of loyalty to Carlos, he declined.

Bob touched the peak of his cap in salutation, and he left.

Gorilla sat at his table in thoughtful silence. A mosquito landed on his forearm. He squashed it and flicked the corpse away.

After a few minutes, he stood, paid his check, and left the café. He wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision. He had nothing else to do today but wait for tomorrow, and before he met Carlos, he was up for as many anonymous hookups as he could get, especially with men like Bob.

Why did he say no? Why the fuck did he turn Bob down?

He walked back to his motel room and jerked himself off.

*

Carlos eventually woke up around 11am. He poured himself a strong coffee and made a couple of slices of toast before opening his laptop. He began updating his resume and started his search for work. After half an hour he sighed, bored beyond belief. There were plenty of jobs available; the problem was he didn't want to do any of them. He didn't want to work in an office, he didn't want to work in a bank, he didn't want to work in a warehouse, he didn't want to work on a building site, he didn't want to be a park ranger, he didn't want to work in a kitchen, he didn't want to ...

He didn't want to work *at all* unless it was something he was passionate about, like music. But those kinds of jobs often weren't advertised online -- they were usually filled by somebody who knew somebody else.

He thought about his slowly disappearing bank balance. He knew his financial situation was unsustainable.

He closed his laptop and went out for a walk. He bought himself a takeout plant-based burger and took it to a nearby park bench.

Carlos looked up from his burger and saw Pete walking towards him. He couldn't remember ever seeing Pete in daytime clothes before. Pete was wearing a collared shirt and a pair of dark trousers. Very businesslike.

Pete saw Carlos sitting on a park bench, eating his burger. Shit. He didn't want to Carlos to see him dressed like this. In fact, Pete didn't want Carlos to see him at all. He still felt embarrassed by recent events.

"Hey," waved Carlos.

Fuck. Too late. Pete winced. He walked over to Carlos's park bench, bracing himself for an uncomfortable conversation.

"Just having some lunch," Carlos mumbled in between bites. "Join me?"

Pete would've loved to join Carlos in many different ways and in many different positions. He sat down on the bench next to Carlos, feeling unsure what to say or how to act.

"You eaten?" asked Carlos.

Pete brushed his shoulder-length red hair out of his eyes and blinked. "Yeah, dude, I ate a sandwich at my desk not long ago, but I wanted to get some fresh air before the afternoon."

"Cool," Carlos replied. "So, you work around here?"

"No, I'm dressed like this because I've got an upcoming court appearance," Pete joked. "Of course I'm at work. I don't dress like this for fun."

Carlos smiled. "What do you do?"

"I'm studying law," said Pete. Carlos whistled, clearly impressed. "I'm not exactly an intern," Pete continued, "but my job is more about the experience I can put on a resume later, and less about the salary."

"You mean they're screwing you?" Carlos asked.

Pete looked at the sidewalk. "I think that's a fair assessment of the situation," he replied.

"I quit my job a few weeks ago," Carlos admitted. "I had a shitty office job. I hated it." He wondered if he should tell Pete *how* he quit, but perhaps this wasn't the right time.

"So what are you doing now?"

Carlos shrugged. He looked at the remains of the food in his hand. "Nothing. That's why I'm sitting on a park bench in the middle of the day eating a burger. I started looking online for a new job online this morning, but fuuuuuuck, it's so draining."

Pete flicked his hair back again. "I could probably help. I mean, if you wanted me to."

"Fuck, man, I need all the help I can get!" Carlos enthused. "I've got some savings, but food and rent are slowly draining my account. I'm worried about losing my apartment, but I'm equally worried about not being able to contribute financially to the band. It's eating me up inside."

Pete nodded.

"I want us to be the biggest and best band in the world one day," Carlos continued. "That's my dream. When I was in high school, I used to scribble the names of the bands I loved all over my backpack with a sharpie. In five years' time, I want high school kids to be scrawling A2M on their bags, but I know fame and popularity doesn't come cheap. I'm prepared to put in the time, but it's the money that's difficult for me right now."

Pete brushed his hair away again. "So, yeah, I can help you with your resume," he said, "but I might also be able to help you find a job."

*

Gorilla flopped back onto his New Orleans motel room couch. He literally had nothing to do until tomorrow morning. Yesterday, he craved sleep like a drug, but today he needed some colour and movement. These four walls felt like a prison, and he didn't want to be here right now. He grabbed his wallet, phone and room key, and went out for a walk.

Mid-afternoon, he found himself at a second-hand record store, rummaging through second-hand crates of once-loved vinyl. Most of the records were trash, but at places like this, there's always rare treasure waiting to be discovered. He had two records stashed under his arm which he intended to buy. As he moved onto a fresh crate of vinyl, he felt a presence next to him.

"We really must stop meeting like this," joked Bob.

Gorilla smiled. "Good to see you again."

Bob noticed the records under Gorilla's arm. "What you got there?"

"Umm ... I've got a Clash record I don't already own, and I've heard good things about this one too." He held up a record sleeve that showed a beam of light fired into a prism, and a spectrum of colour emanating from the other side.

Bob's jaw dropped open. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me, right? You don't know 'Dark Side of the Moon'?"

Gorilla looked at his feet. "I mean ... I've heard of it ... and I've heard it's good ..."

"Good?" Bob spluttered. "It's one of the greatest albums ever made by anyone. You probably know some songs already from FM radio, but the whole album is meant to be listened to from start to finish."

Gorilla noticed Bob hadn't picked up any vinyl to buy for himself. "Well, thanks for the recommendation, Bob ..."

Bob wasn't going to let a second opportunity go. He leaned in close. "I don't have a record player in my motel room, but maybe we could listen to the album online. Like, we could stream it on spotify and listen. In my motel room, that is. If you're not doing anything else today, of course."

Gorilla nodded. "Yeah. Sounds good to me. I'm not busy this afternoon. Thanks for the offer." He approached the register and paid. The sales assistant put his records into a white paper bag. "Lead the way," he said. He and Bob left the store together.

*

Pete called his office after his lunch break. He told his supervisor that a family emergency had developed, and he couldn't come back to work until later in the day.

A few minutes later, Pete found himself sitting at Carlos's kitchen table, his fingers dancing lightly across Carlos's laptop keyboard. He'd already performed major surgery on Carlos's resume. He couldn't believe Carlos had listed 'rockin' the fuck out' under personal hobbies. Pete deleted those words on sight.

"You got any qualifications?" Pete asked.

"You mean college?"

"Yeah. Did you go to college?"

"Nup."

Pete brushed his hair back. "Got any skills of interest to an employer?"

"Other than music stuff?"

"Yeah."

Carlos thought. "Don't think so."

"So why would anyone want to hire you?" asked Pete.

"I don't know," Carlos replied. "But I don't have a good recent history, and in any case, I don't think I'd get a glowing reference from my previous employer. I can't tell you why anyone would hire me, but I can definitely tell you why they might want to fire me."

In explicitly lurid detail, Carlos told Pete how he got himself fired from his previous office job.

Pete was completely speechless. His dick was leaking, and he knew he'd jerk himself off to the story Carlos just told him for the next thousand years. But right now he wanted to remain on mission -- to help his sexy lead singer find a new job. He tried to ignore his painfully erect cock, but sitting next to Carlos, it wasn't easy. He cleared his throat. "OK, dude, what business skills you got?" he asked.