Rock My World

"That's why the sexual revolution was a horrible thing! It took perfectly decent young men and turned them into dirty communists! What it did to women was an even bigger nightmare! It took respectable ladies and turned them into a bunch of man hating whores! When my father realized what was happening he shouted: not in my family, and he made sure my mother, sisters and I knew our place. I obeyed because that's what we did in those days. By the time I was grown up it was ingrained. I follow his ideas even now and look how my family's prospered!" Oswald was saying, opening his arms like some feudal lord.

Sure, Lola thought, you childish overbearing sack of shit! You've created a family of fucking robots! Lola felt her ears turn red with contempt and unexpressed rage. Around her, the women in his family were nodding silently, smiling like a bunch of doped up supermodels. She looked over at Mortimer but he didn't object to anything his father was saying.

He never did.

"Why are you doing this?" a voice whispered behind as a plate with arranged fruit and a deviled egg was put in front of her. It was Jack who spoke.

"Because the vagabond life of a rocker is no way to live," she said under her breath.

"It's where you belong," he whispered back.

She turned to him without thinking; a venomous reply on the tip of her tongue, but Jack had already disappeared into the kitchen.

"What's wrong, Lola?" Mortimer asked, finally noticing the irritation on her face.

Lola smiled slightly, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing honey," she said, gently tapping his hand. He was so sweet in his own way, but utterly spineless, not that Lola blamed him. Oswald had cut Morty's balls off early on, and his elder brothers were no different. She couldn't decide who was more pathetic in this family, the men or the women. For the first time in over a year, she began to doubt her decision to marry in.

That's it. She was going to have to kick Jack's ass. It was the only way to purge her doubts and ease her cold feet.

After the brunch, when nearly all the guests had left and the catering service was loading its gear into their van she called Jack over.

"Mortimer, this is Jack Slade. He's an old friend of mine from High School; he said he needed a job so I put in a good word for him with the caterers."

"That was nice of you, Lola. Glad to meet you," he said, extending a pudgy hand.

Jack watched Mortimer carefully, and realizing that he didn't recognize him from the day before, he shook it warmly. From behind her glasses, Lola watched him, all but daring him to hint at what had transpired between them. Jack knew that was what she was expecting so he did nothing.

"I owe Lola big time," Jack said with a smile, playing along. "I was hard up for cash. Your fiancé saved me."

"She can't help it," Mortimer said from behind his coke bottle glasses. "She's such a nurturing soul. She'll make a wonderful mother," he continued, putting a proprietary arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

Lola clearly didn't like it for the smile on her face was more of a wince than anything. He could see her fighting the urge to shove him off, and he smiled wider. He was gaining ground.

"I've heard so much about you! When's the wedding?" Jack asked.

"Two months," Lola said.

"Just long enough for Lola to tie up loose ends and find a realtor to sell her house."

That struck a nerve for Lola stiffened instantly. Mortimer clearly hadn't mentioned it to her before, and doing so in front of a third party was just plain dirty.

He'd come to the brunch prepared to dislike the guy, but at first hand, Mortimer seemed like an ok guy; then Jack served the food and watched as the blowhard of a patriarch that was her father in law to be spouted a ton of bullshit so pungent anyone with half a brain would have called him on it.

Jack saw the patriarch for what he was, and judging from the temper bubbling in Lola's eyes, so did she. Mortimer, her beloved fiancé, was completely oblivious. He and everyone else at the table sat nodding their agreement to EVERYTHING the old gasbag said; it was like watching some freaky TV show; "The Stepford Wives" meets the Borg drones from Star Trek. There was so much ass kissing going on, he wouldn't have been surprised if the lip gloss the women wore was actually hemorrhoid cream.

Instead of approaching Lola directly about the idea of selling her house, he broached the idea in front of a third party when social decorum forbade her from making a scene. He knew the idea wasn't his; Jack had heard enough around the house to know Mortimer had neither the intelligence nor the courage to come up with his own ideas. He, like everyone else in that family, was just a mouthpiece for anything his father wanted.

And Lola was planning to marry this guy? Was she insane!

Jack wanted her desperately for himself, but there was more now. He wanted to get her as far away from the Grayer family as humanly possible . . . even if that meant losing her.

He was a fool in love and he knew it.

"Well, it was great seeing you again Jack, but Mortimer and I must be off. We're going to a movie."

"Really? What movie?"

"That new documentary," Mortimer said sheepishly. "Lola wanted to see that action film, but my father says those movies rot your brain."

Jack stared at Lola quizzically, but he shook Mortimer's hand and headed toward the waiting van. He turned briefly and winked at her over his shoulder. Things were far from over between them, and with that thought in mind, he went his own way.

***

"Does your band know you're planning to quit?" Jack asked her.

Lola jumped. She got home exhausted from a week's worth of work fighting cheapskates, and was slipping the key into the lock when Jack stepped out of the shadows.

"What do you want?" she asked wearily.

"Answer the question," he said stubbornly.

"No, of course they don't. What do you want from me, Jack?"

"Why are you marrying this guy?" he demanded, his eyes radiating with an emotion she couldn't identify. He was in a mood tonight, and Lola knew from her limited experience that he was going to be impossible to get rid of.

"Why does any woman marry any man? Love? I don't believe in it. I just want some safety."

"This isn't the seventeen hundreds, Lola. You're plenty safe. You have a band that loves you, and I'm guessing an inheritance just big enough to keep you afloat for as long as you need. Why would you want to marry into that family? They're a bunch of relics! They'll snuff out everything that makes you special!"

His words came like a blow to the stomach, and in her weary state, she searched frantically for that fighting urge.

"Pretty speech Jack, but what I do with my life is entirely my business. Why the fuck won't you back off!"

"Because I'm in love with you, Goddamn it!"

Something in Lola's chest got very tight but she forced herself to laugh. "You can't possibly! You've known me what? Four days! Why don't you hop on your motorcycle and drive off into the sunset? I want to go bed!" Lola slid her key into the lock, and had just opened the door when she heard Jack behind her.

"Fine! You want to go to bed? You've got it!" he said. With a brutal grip on her arm he spun her around and tossed her over his shoulder. As Lola pounded on this back and kicked at his stomach, she realized that Jack, the man who'd seemed so cool, so incapable of getting angry had finally lost his temper.

"Let me go!" she demanded as he kicked the door shut behind them and began walking up the stairs.

"No! You wouldn't listen to me, so I'm not listening to you!"

"You want to make your point by raping me? What kind of man are you?"

Jack's spine stiffened briefly, but he continued up the stairs. "This isn't going to be rape, honey. There will be screaming, but I can promise you it won't be from pain or fear."

He dumped her on her bed, pinning her with his body, ignoring every blow of her fists as he reached around her. Using the sashes hanging from the posts of her bed, he fastened her wrists securely despite her struggles. He did the same with both her ankles, yanking her shoes off while she kicked at him. Jack grabbed a pair of scissors from the night stand and reached under skirt. With gentle fingers he cut her panties away and slid his fingers deep.

"You're wet, Lola. Does this excite you? Being tied up and at my mercy?" he slid his finger over her clit and smiled smugly when she moaned.

"Fuck you!" she gasped.

"I will, but I want to have a bit of fun first."

Jack bent and taking her hips in his hands, he put his tongue to her, holding her steady as she writhed and rocked beneath him. He was relentless and, bound as she was she was his to do with as he pleased. Jack was merciless, tasting and teasing her, sliding his fingers back inside her only when she was cumming, screaming his name. The sound of it egged him on even further, and wiping his mouth on her skirt, he reached up tore her blouse open, sending buttons everywhere. He snapped her bra open and took her nipple in his mouth, pinching the other between his fingers as he palmed her breast.

"This isn't fair," Lola moaned helplessly. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in shallow gasps but Jack wasn't feeling very merciful. He ran his other hand slowly down her tensed stomach and between her thighs, gently holding her as her hips ground upward begging for something to penetrate.

"Life isn't fair, Lola," he said, and then he slid three fingers deep, rubbing her G-spot until she writhed and screamed so loud he wondered if the neighbors could hear them. He brought her up at least three times before he jumped off of her to shed his clothes. As he disrobed, he saw that she was wearing her engagement ring. He pulled it off her finger and dropped it before sliding between her thighs.

"Open your eyes, Lola," he commanded. To his surprise, she didn't fight him, she simply opened her eyes. That rich chocolate brown had darkened to a deep onyx, and as she licked her lips, his mouth was on hers instantly, kissing her deeply.

"I love you Lola," he said, sliding deep inside her. "I love you," he said, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. "I won't let you cum until you say you love me too," he continued, slowing down when her body tensed.

It was like that for what felt like hours, until finally, with tears in her eyes, the words tumbled from her lips and she arched as she came, offering herself and everything she was to him. Jack's heart swelled and he made love to her over and over that night, only the next time, he was gentler. She was his, and he worshiped her, tasting and teasing and pleasuring until finally, sweaty and exhausted, he untied her limbs and they slept, locked in each other's arms, a beautiful, complex whole.

***

"I didn't mean it," she said the next morning, finding the ring on the floor and sliding it meaningfully onto her finger. "Controlling me with sex was just dirty,"

"Sex IS dirty honey . . . when it's done properly," he said with a smile.

"Now is not the time to be joking around. Get dressed and get the fuck out!"

She threw his clothes at his chest with a violence that no longer shocked or bothered him.

"You know, Lola, I wondered, after that first night, seeing you with your glasses and that domestic costume whether that was the real you: that sweet vapid domestic moonlighting as a femme fatale. I watched you at that brunch for any sign of submissive stupidity and I didn't see any. Anyone with more than half a brain could see you seething, and yet for some stupid reason you continue to insist on marrying this guy," he said, pulling his clothes on.

"Are you finished?"

"You're incredibly stubborn," he added, pulling his boots on.

"Your point?"

"You want to fight dirty, Lola? You got it. See you at the Barn tonight," and with those words and a friendly salute, he slipped out to make a few plans

***

Lola loved being on stage.

As she sang into the mike, her back arched, her voice flowing through her, knowing the crowd hung on every sound, it was almost better than sex.

She owned them. She was queen and the audience was her subjects. The bar seemed particularly crowded that night, but when she made her dramatic appearance, the hoards parted, clearing her way to the stage. There was a suit at the bar tonight, watching her, along with what looked like the members of the Razor Blades. The drummer had his sticks out, and was jamming to the music; the two guitarists eyed her with what looked like understanding and stoned admiration. From behind the bar, Mike watched with a knowing smile on his face. What the fuck was going on?

Lola couldn't let it bother her; she had a set to finish.

The first few songs went off without a hitch, and then in the middle of the set, Lucifer, her lead guitarist and friend disappeared. They'd rehearsed for hours and he fucks off in the middle of a set? Where the fuck was he? Then Lola's eyes narrowed in suspicion. In Lucifer's place, despite hours of rehearsal, was Jack, his signature black electric guitar covered in purple flames slung over his shoulder keeping perfect time with their original music. He'd warned her this morning that he planned to fight dirty, and she was willing to bet that the suit and the band were part of whatever it was Jack had in mind.

Lola resisted the urge slap the smirk off his face. She was a professional, and she wasn't going to let his gorgeous ass throw her off tonight. Her back arched, Lola sang with her whole heart, treasuring these last moments of freedom, of power, and the knowledge that as long as she was on the stage, the people before her would do anything she wanted. She brought her microphone to Janie, her bassist for the harder songs, gave props to Tommy, her drummer, and indulged herself by slapping Jack's ass. When she finished the set, she and the Undertakers finished to the loudest, rowdiest applause she'd ever heard, and with a smile, she thanked them, and gave props to her band.

This time Mike had their drinks ready for them; an Asian beer for her and Tommy, and a sex on the beach for Janie. Lucifer; she discovered, much to her irritation, was seated at the bar, sharing a pitcher of beer with the Razor Blades.

"What are you up to, Jack Slade?"

"I'll show you. Lola, meet my friend, Spencer Dominic, record exec," he said casually gesturing to the suit at the bar. The man in question moved off his bar stool and emphatically shook her hand. As she watched Janie and Tommy's faces light up, Lola felt gut wrenched. Lucifer had obviously been chatting with the exec during the set, and was as ecstatic as a Goth would allow himself to be. The suit was talking about the possibility of a record deal, making the guilt she felt at her plan to abandon the band all the stronger. A young man with bleached hair she recognized as the drummer for the Razor Blades came forward, his beer mug raised.

"So YOU'RE the chick who's had Jack's nuts in a bunch! With all the pussy we were getting I didn't get why Jack would suddenly chose to put his dick under lock and key. Now I get it!"

Lola could only clink her bottle against his glass in response.

"We've been talking," Dean, Jack's guitarist was saying on behalf of the whole band, judging by their affirmative nods. "How would you and the Undertakers feel about opening for us on our next tour?"

Her band was slapping her on the shoulder, and hooting their excitement. From his seat with Spencer Dominic and his band, Jack stared her down, daring her to tell them the truth. He was laying the entire world at her feet, and just when Lola thought she couldn't possibly feel any worse . . .

"Lola! What the hell are you doing here!" said a voice. The signature squeak identified him instantly, and with her spine stiff she turned and looked directly into Mortimer's horrified face. He was, of course, accompanied by Oswald, his father, who eyed her with a combination of contempt and disgust.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" was her instantaneous reply.

"We got an anonymous phone call saying we should come to this bar, and that it concerned you. I thought it might have been blackmail or worse, but instead we find you here, painted up and drinking like a tramp, and acting like one too!" Mortimer's father bellowed.

Lola unconsciously looked down at herself. She wore a skin tight black T-shirt, leather gauntlets and boots, and a long skirt with high slits on both sides. She was comfortable like this, empowered even, and the control that had kept her from duking her precious boss was quickly melting away. Her spine stiffened instantly, and from a corner of her eye, she saw Mike reach for the bat he kept behind the bar for particularly unsavory customers.

"Lola, what's going on?" Mortimer asked.

It was time to fess up. "I play in a band," she said simply.

"She's actually the lead singer," Jack said from behind her. Lola raised her hand to silence him. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had called them.

"But you're giving it up when we get married right?" Mortimer asked hopefully.

"You'll forget all this music nonsense and become a proper wife for my son, won't you?" Oswald was saying.

Behind her she could all but sense the tension in her band. The fat was well and truly in the fire. All around her, the bar had been shocked into silence, eagerly taking in the beginnings of a real life soap opera. Jack was making her deal with the face off she'd been avoiding for a year now. She had to make a decision between Jack and the band, and the Stepfordian mediocrity the Grayers offered her.

Oswald took her silence as consent, and with a hand on her arm, he began dragging her and his son toward the door.

"We'll get the whore paint off of you, and into some proper clothes, and we can forget tonight ever happened," Oswald continued, and in that instant, Lola's control snapped.

In one move, she dug in her heels and jerked her arm from Oswald Grayer's grip.

"Lola, what are you doing?!" Mortimer demanded.

"I'm sorry honey, it'll never work," she began, reaching into her pocket and handing him the ring. "I love thinking for myself, and I could never do that married to you."

"I TOLD YOU she was no good!" Oswald bellowed, shouting at his son. "I had a proper, WHITE woman all lined up for you. A nice, PROPER girl, just like your mother and sisters, but YOU didn't want to be like your brothers. YOU wanted a mongrel whore!" he said, slapping Mortimer across the face.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!!!" Lola shouted.

"Silence, you bitch!" Oswald said, turning to her with disgust. "This isn't any of your business anymore!"

"I just wanted to tell, before you could fire my ass . . ." she didn't bother modifying her speech the way she used to around him, "that I quit, and if you hit Morty one more time, so help me I'll . . ." her ex fiancé was spineless, and pathetic, but he wasn't a bad guy, and he didn't deserve to be humiliated in public.

"You'll what?" Oswald dared her.

Lola turned to the Razor Blades and record exec. "You wouldn't withdraw the possibility of a record deal if I slugged this guy, would you?"

Mike began to laugh from his post behind the bar, and Spencer Dominic gave her permission with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you," she said politely, and with that speed Jack had so admired, she punched Oswald Grayer so hard she knew he'd have a shiner in the morning.

"You bitch! I'll have you charged with assault!"

"Oh shut up you overblown sack of shit!" she said, only to hear applause erupt all around her.

She looked at Mortimer with a tinge of regret.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out,"

"So am I," Mortimer said sadly, and with a sigh, he took hold of his father's arm. "Don't worry about the assault charges; there won't be any," he said, and as activity resumed in the bar, he quietly took his father home.