HardCoreJaz Interviews No. 03

This story was adapted from a chat play between myself and an anonymous partner.

"Hey guys," I greet as I shimmy my way down the backstage hall. It's Max and Jeremy from the band. They nod as they squeeze past. I can smell the sweat on their bodies, in their hair, soaking their dingy clothes after their set. The headliners are just starting up and the noise rumbles through the walls. I have to almost shout. "Arnaud back here?"

Jeremy the singer smiles and points into the doorway. I push it open and enter. The old paint is peeling in the gaps between the gig posters. The rhythm guitar player for A Life Unknown is there, tall with his shoulder length dark locks. He's French-Canadian and that being kinda exotic has me a little bit giddy.

I have a bottle of Beck's (I've lost count of how many I've had so far) in one hand and my phone-camera in the other. The heels of my combat boots (they keep my toes safe in the pit) make me a bit taller but I'm still a little shortie. My black hair is pulled back but with a tuft loose for bangs like I usually wear it with the small bundle of dreads trailing behind, but my undercut is starting to grow in. I have my brow ring and the stud in my pointy nose and all the usual punky bling running up my lobes. My eye shadow is orange tonight and my mascara is thick with bold tips. I'm sweaty from the show and the bump that I took an hour ago. I feel great, full of adrenaline and it probably shows in my expression, the brightness of my eyes. I'm wearing my cropped black PVC jacket over a black lace bustier, padded to push up my small breasts. My leopard print skirt is short and swishy but enough to hide the garters that hold up my black lace stockings, although I have to admit wearing lace stockings in the pit of a show is a great way to get runs in them and of course there are a few.

"Arnaud?" I call out. "Jaz!" I smile as he finishes buttoning up his plaid black & green shirt. The dark grey Then it Ends tee he wore on stage is patched with sweat beneath. He checks his phone and looks up. His expression is somewhat surprised, perhaps by my punked-out appearance as we only set this up by email, although it's possible that he may have seen my website. He gestures for me to join him. "Cheers," I say. "Great show." Then I push the door half closed behind me and sit myself next to him on the end of the couch. It's old vinyl and has a few cracks and the cushions have depressions in them from all the people that have sat on them (and done whatever else) over the years. "Welcome to Seattle," I smile, eyes wide with amphetamine. We shake hands and then he leans in to kiss both of my cheeks. It catches me off guard but gives me a sweet flutter. "Aww," I fawn and then lean back and fan myself.

"Thank you very much!" he says as he continues to look me over. He has a subtle French accent. It's adorable and quite sexy. I didn't know this when we emailed but I heard some of the band's banter on stage and it was prevalent from a couple of the guys. "Seattle seems to be a very nice city. Very similar to Montréal in some ways. We'll be staying another night before going back to Vancouver." I take a moment to down a rather large swig from my beer. I probably just want to finish it so I don't have to hang onto it anymore.

"I could get into more small talk but I suppose we might as well get it on tape," I say. "Are you okay with just doing it here?" I ask as I motion my hand to the room.

"Sorry about the kisses. It's 'ow we do in Québec," he apologizes. It's sweet. "But yeah, no problem about getting our small talk on tape. What do you use to record?", he asks while he sits back and gets himself comfortable, running a hand back through his long dark hair that falls to his shoulders.

"Oh it's this tablet," I say as I hold it up to see. "It's some no-name Chinese thing but it does a good job." Then I look about the room and spot the small table. It seems to be an end table that has lost its mate. It scrapes the floor as I pull it close. The legs are uneven and it rocks. "Fuck," I whisper. Then I spot an old stained coaster on the floor and stuff it under the short leg. That seems to fix it. I place my camera tablet on the table and prop it up in its folding stand. Then I nudge the angle until the preview window shows the two of us framed up well. "There," I say as I pick my legs up and tuck them under me, kneeling on the sofa half facing you and half facing the recording lens. I smooth out my little skirt. "How do I look?" I ask.

"Are we recording yet? I don't want to say any obscene things on cam," he laughs.

"Yup, we're rolling," I wink. "Don't worry. I can edit," I assure him as I gaze into his eyes. "Are you ready to start?"

"Oh, I am almoz ready," he says as he reaches over the end of the couch to serve himself from the band's supply of beers. "Wan' anything, Jaz? It will definitely gets us talking more," he chuckles.

"Hold on," I tell him. Then drink down the last of my beer. He laughs some more at that before I reach out to put the empty on the table next to the camera. "All right, I'll have another," I smile. he reaches back, grabs another and hands it to me. So much for having a hand free, I guess.

"To answer your firz question, you do look stunning, Jaz," he compliments me. "Firz thing I didn't know there were girls this cute in Seattle, and second I definitely didn't know they moshed!"

"Cheers again," I say as I lean forward once more to put the edge of the cap on the edge of the table and give it a thump with my fist to pop it off. "Oh shit," I say as the camera shakes and misaligns itself. Arnaud tosses his beer cap aside as I take a moment to fix the framing and sit myself back for a sip. "Hah, I have to admit that I can't do the whole set in the pit," I say. "I'm just too small. Although if I get really stoned I can do it but then the next morning all the bruises that I don't feel when they happen," I shake my head. "Oh," I perk up remembering something. "One more thing before we start, is it Ar-nod, ar-nod, ar-node? Sorry I can't speak French," I blush.

"My name is pronounced Ar-no," he laughs.

"Thank you... Ar-no," I blush again then take another sip. "Your accent is cute," I say as I take him in. His laugh seems to put him at ease and look more confident and there's a sparkle in his brown eyes. Then I take a deep breath and compose myself. The muffled thunder of the headliners on stage suddenly stops and the audience shouts their approval before the band starts up again.

"Let's start now," I say, turning my head to face the camera I begin. The video goes like this.

"Hey folks, this is HardCoreJaz again and with me tonight is Arnaud Saint-Jean, guitarist for A Life Unknown. If you've been living under a rock, they are the new buzz metalcore band from Montreal currently on tour with Then it Ends who are actually on stage as we speak," I introduce things. Then I put a hand to my ear to make the point that the background noise is the headliners as the graphic fades in beneath us ARNAUD ST-JEAN - A Life Unknown (ALU) / HardCoreJaz. "So Arnaud, I understand that this is your first US tour? How's that going?"

"Well firz of all thank you very much Jaz for inviting me on your show!" He says. "Seattle 'as been very good to us so far and the show tonight was one of the wildes' since the beginning of the tour!" he says as he sticks a finger in his ear so that he can hear better. "Our firz US tour was in fac'... a bit frightening at the start," he chuckles. "But since we started in New York, people have really been digging our music so we're very 'appy to be able to promote it alongside such amazing bands like Then It Ends!"

"Sweet," I confirm. "So you guys are getting along fine on the road then?"

"In fac' we do! Of course we are five guys in a van which can lead to some arguments and fights," he laughs casually while I sip beer, "but in the end, it's jus' five friends on a roadtrip." Arnaud's eyes wander down to my legs and the snagged up black lace stockings.

"I meant like ALU and Then it Ends get along well?" I clarify. His attention snaps back to my face.

"Hahaha, well yes of course. They are really great guys. Plus I had played with Then it Ends' singer a few years ago when his band A Past Unknown came to Montréal!" he explains. "We exchanged merch from each other, see?" he says as he unbuttons his shirt enough to show the TiE logo underneath.

"Haha," I laugh as I reach across to undo another button and push it further open, displaying it for the lens. "So you play guitar, and sing backing vocals, and you guys do have lots of vocal arrangements," I note. "How do you come up with those parts and what is your song writing process in general? Are there members that do most of the writing or is it more of a group thing?"

"I would say it's more of a group thing, Jaz," he answers, his voice competing with the thunder of the band on stage, his accent blurting the words. I'm leaning forward not losing eye contact with him even as I sip more beer. My hand that had opened his shirt trails back across his chest, putting a little bit of a shiver in him, before I finally withdraw it. "Charles, Max or me will come up with a riff or a song idea that we'll play at practice! It's only afterwards that Jeremy will start writing lyrics and generally I sing what he wrote since he has the concept idea behind the song," he explains. "But sometimes we all throw in ideas about lyrics!"

"Now, most people know you from your video for Foresaken, shot in a cornfield. Tell us, what is it about cornfields that are sooo creepy, especially on film?" I ask, and as I shuffle in closer to hear his answer his non-beer hand moves for my thigh, his fingers gliding along the lace between my knee and the edge of my skirt.

"Well... hmm," he contemplates. "Firz, there are a lot of fields in Québec, hahaha! Plus we thought it would be a cool place to play. We didn't mean to be scary so I apologize about that," he laughs casually.

"And how long have you guys been together now?" I ask next, my breath growing a little heavier. I begin to unshoulder my jacket, showing off the tops of my little tits boosted by the pads in my bustier's cups. His hand on my thigh is becoming more bold, massaging and sliding up and down sensually. He takes another swig of his bottle before answering.

"We 'ave been together since five years but I've known Charles and Max for over ten to fifteen years and we've played music together before," he answers. Then he notices the tattoo on my right arm. "Hey, what do we 'ave 'ere?", he gestures towards it.

"Oh this?" I say as I glance down my shoulder. Then I work my jacket sleeves off and push out my small chest to let it drop behind me. I readjust my position to sit forward, face the camera and show the ink. "This is my tangled heart," I blush and try to hold my arm out. Arnaud's hand moves from my thigh up the side of my bustier slowly until he reaches the tattoo.

"Well let me say it is a gorgeous tatt, Jaz!"

"Aww, thank you," I say. "Nate down at Ink on 7th did it," I give out the free ad as I inch a bit closer. "Do you have any work?"

"You'll 'ave to finish the job you started earlier for me to show them," he quips with a wink as he leans in close and blows softly over it in a sensual manner.

I take the last swig of my beer. My drunkenness is becoming rather obvious at this point. Putting the empty on the table next to the other one, being careful not to jiggle the camera, takes a fair amount of my concentration. He sits back in the couch. Then my hand undoes the last couple of buttons on his shirt and slips under the tee beneath. The lump it makes beneath moves up as I run over his chest with my palm, feeling the grease of his sweat while he wriggles to take the plaid shirt right off and throw it away. Once settled, I fall forward, resting my cheek on his shoulder.

"May I?" he asks simply as he drops his bottle. It clunks to the floor and the noise of the band stops. The audience shouts and the then there's some inaudible bits of banter from the singer.

"You may," I say softly with a warm grin. Then the band resumes the rumble of the next song.

He kisses my bottom lip softly, tasting it and suckling on it gently. His hand moves behind my back sliding down to feel the bustier and he pulls me tighter as his tongue ventures over my lips. The tip of mine traces back, our open-mouthed kiss a great show for the camera. He coaxes me forward and I have to crawl atop him to get any closer. My hand under his tee comes up through the collar to dig into his hair behind his ear while the pads of my bustier drag over him. I part my lips wide and stick my tongue in his mouth, gliding about inside, slowly and savoringly. At the same time his hands continue down my back until they reach my skirt to grip my booty tight and give it a playful smack. Then he moans inside my mouth as he pulls my hips down to press against the front of his jeans. I grind myself there and he rubs himself back and forth against me in turn while his right hand moves up to give my chest a squeeze and his left disappears behind us. Our lips smack as they part and I laugh softly, mischievously, almost buried by the heavy rumble of the band on stage.

"So," I continue the interview. "Was there much difference in the approach or the process in making your second album The Fall compared to the first album Darkness Within?" I ask. Caught off guard, he laughs as he licks his way up my neck to my ear and I flinch and grin with the tickly sensations.

"Well let's just say, we," he pauses to gasp, "learned from our pas' experiences to be more efficient in the writing and the recording for The Fall."

"But," I follow up the question, then I too stop to catch my breath from the sensations that dry humping trouser mouse is giving my mound through our clothes. I run my hand through his hair again and gaze into his eyes. "You did use the same producer for both albums, Antoine Lussier," I pause again to sigh, "uhmm," while I resume the grind, forcing a moan form his throat. "How much does he contribute to the shape of your sound?" The hem of my skirt hides everything under leopard print but I lift up enough as his hand slips in to pop open his pants before we get back to the grind.

"We, humm... love the 'elp Antoine gave us. He 'elps us crafting our sound and... uh... we put the final touchups on the songs with 'im," he endeavors to answer as our bodies gently jostle. He puts his finger to my lips and lets me lick it while I lovingly stroke his hair, his roots still damp from sweat of the show.

"Ahh," I sigh softly, obviously pleasured by the length of his unseen cock that I'm rubbing my pussy against through my panties. Then I climb down, rather awkward from the drink, inadvertently giving the lens a rather unflattering full view of my ass, before I kneel, grab the hem of his jeans and pull them down to his knees. He raises his hips to help them down and his dick flops out, at least seven inches with a bit of a sideways curve in it, rooted in dark short-trimmed pubes as if he had shaved and it was growing back in. A large vein is clearly visible on its smooth cut skin.

"'Ey, you look gorgeous over there," he whispers, although it's not terribly audible over the noise, and then, starts petting my hair.

"Gorgeous?" I ask half-breathlessly. "Can you say that in French?"

"Tu es magnifique."

I crawl back up onto the couch with my knees astride him as he sits rather sideways with his left shoulder up against the back. Gazing into his eyes, I stroke two fingers up and down the length of his hot solid shaft and gently stroke the stubble on his scrotum. "Keep talking," I grin while my other hand takes his up to my hip under my skirt to place it on the garter clip. He bites his lip and exhales, and moves his hand around under my skirt unseen, the fluttering of my heavily mascarad lashes giving away what's happening if the slow rocking of my hips and the subtle sway in my skirt hasn't already.

"Tu es cochonne, Jaz!" he whispers again. I sigh softly and then shift about, guiding his hand under my skirt. "Mmmm," I swoon as he speaks en Français. It's all sexy nonsense to me. My mouth closes in on his and I kiss him wet and deep. His hand fishes around under my skirt as we become more involved and he moans. Our kiss gets wetter and sloppier as I lick around inside his mouth. I lift the back of my skirt and unclasp the far garter. In so doing, I reveal Arnaud's hand as it has undone the other side. Then I do the same in the front. Breaking off the kiss, I catch my breath with a playful chuckle as I stroke his hair again, rather adoringly. Then with both hands I tug the hem of his t-shirt up, exposing his pale supple flesh. I keep tugging, urging him to lift his arms and he complies, stretching them upwards. It takes a little extra effort to get his shirt from his shoulders as it bunches there, but it comes off. His hair flops back down as I toss it on the end of the couch and he takes me by the hips.

At this point the heat between us noticeably rises. His hands line me up. We are going to fuck, but we've gotten ahead of ourselves.

"Oops," I laugh. "My panties will have to come off first."

"Ne t'inquiète pas," he mumbles. "Don't worry, I mean," he laughs with me. He makes another attempt as I impatiently lower my ass to rub my packet on his member. The video does catch a quick glimpse of the base of his hard shaft laying up his tummy before I rock back.

"Mnhh," I sigh. The interview continues. "How many more dates do you have on this tour?" I ask as I smooth down his hair. He continues to prod away, trying to enter me under my skirt.

"We, hmm... 'ave... a few more dates on our way back," he manages to grunt, "but I think, hmm... we might... enjoy BC a bit more!" he refers to the Canadian West Coast's reputation for world class pot.

I lift my booty and hold my skirt up with one hand while I reach beneath me to hook my panties aside. The whole point of undoing the garters was to remove my black panties but they're still on anyways. I ease back down and he slips in. "Ah," I gasp quietly and the flutter of my eyelids gives away the moment of entry. "Ohhhhh," I breathe as I slowly sink down. Arnaud moans aloud as well as the band on stage thrashes away. My bronzey ass gently rocks with the first motions of our fucking and when his head falls back I lean forward and press him down onto his back, crawling over him while our hips move together.

He grips my waist, bracing me somewhat, and begins to thrust upwards into me. Now the camera can see his creamy white cock disappearing and reappearing beneath my light brown thighs and putting a wiggle in their flesh. My breath quickens with the pace. "Mnh, uhh, uhh," I gasp with each upward smack of his hips on my ass. We're fucking but there's an awkwardness in our gyrations that shows. The camera viewing us by profile doesn't really show it but the issue is the gusset of my knickers trying to get in the way. After a few strokes, Arnaud pauses me by the hips and then reaches for them.

I lift my ass and the picture gets a great view of his glistening cock slipping out of me and flopping onto his tummy. He pulls down my panties and I sit up to accommodate him. Once they're down my thighs I step off briefly to kick them away, which takes a frustrating moment to get past my combat boots. After all the shuffling I hastily remount, my hand fumbling with his cock to line him up before I ease down and take him again, smoothly. Arnaud exhales deeply, his right hand on the rhythm of my hip (the one facing the lens) as I begin to rock and his left slipping up my bustier to cop my breasts. Over the thunderous noise of the band on stage, there is a voice in the hallway.