Summer in Galveston

He ended up coming in through the kitchen, the only place on that kind of house where an old aluminum storm door could ever have been acceptable. He saw people in there already, one of them asleep across the table, the other pawing through the fridge. Curious, still twitchy with the line he'd done in his car, Chris peered over the guy's shoulder. "Dude. What are you looking for?"

"Cilantro, man."

"Huh. No shit." It was probably a measure of how high he was flying that Chris didn't find that unusual; he just patted the guy on the shoulder and then followed his ears, the noise of music and people growing steadily as he found his way through a nice pantry, past a bathroom only lightly dusted with vomit (for it was still early), and toward a broad living room with a live band tinkling away.

"Well!" The voice was vaguely familiar, with a tinge of sarcasm, floating toward him from over near the coatrack. "Hello there."

Chris turned, already smiling vaguely; he'd met a million people last year, when he'd been playing guitar in the coffeehouse circuit, so he often got greeted by random people at parties. But this voice was more recent. He felt the smile freeze on his face once he placed it. "Oh. Shit." He made himself walk toward the smirking girl. "Your boyfriend's not lying in wait around here anywhere, is he?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," came the smug reply, for the voice belonged to tall Ashley in a cutoff tanktop and a pair of denim shorts that rode high on her smooth thighs. She winked and arched her back slightly. "Look, no hard feelings. Right? The boys were out of line."

"No shit."

"Yeah. I told Derek I wouldn't put out for the whole week after that, because of what he did to you. Which made him pretty fucking pissed, I'll tell you."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Classy."

"That's me, to a T," she sang, her eyes flickering up and down his body. They lingered on his hip pocket. "So, like, are you holding?"

"Jesus." It came out as a snort. "You're really something. After last time?"

"Yeah, well, you know." She sidled closer to him, the scent of her hairspray filling his nose. "I figured, like, just to show we're all friends again." Her smirk grew.

"All?" He made a show of peering around. "Your partner in crime is hanging around someplace?"

"Megan? Yeah. She's dancing." Ashley touched his arm, sending a little chill into his balls as he glanced uncontrollably down at those firm tits he remembered. "Stay here. We'll be right back. Okay?"

Chris watched her leave, thinking about the way her buttcheeks peeked out from the bottoms of those shorts, licking his lips while he wondered absently how her pussy would taste. Not that that was an unusual thought for Chris; he was a man who could happily spend hours devouring a woman's pussy, but somehow the memory of her lips on his neck on the dancefloor just a few weeks ago made the whole thought that much clearer, that much more potent. He shivered, reaching down to adjust his dick.

"Chris!" Megan came slingshotting out from the living room, bounding toward him with a dizzy grin and her blue eyes shining. "Fuck, man! I can't believe you're here!"

She ran into him like a pool ball off the rails, shoving him back against the halltree as his arms fumbled around her. He tasted her lipgloss after she smeared her mouth across his, then blinked foolishly at her as she eased back down to the floor. "Shit, dude. Did Ashley tell you what I did to Kevin after he beat the crap out of you?"

"No," Chris grinned. The girl's enthusiasm was infectious.

"I blue-balled him. Like three times. And I told him why, too." She slapped his face gently. "That wasn't fair, man. We felt bad."

"So bad." Ashley sidled up with a solo cup. "But you're here. And we're here. Let's just forget about the whole thing, huh?" She took a deep swallow, then held the cup out to him. "Go ahead, man."

Chris glanced into the cup, seeing fruit bobbing there in a small lake of everclear. The girls stayed close, their bodies touching his while he drank the rest of the cup dry, conscious of Ashley's lipstick staining the rim. "Fuck. That's strong."

"Right?" The girls glanced at each other, Megan dimpling cutely. "Not as strong as your little white powder, though," she winked.

"I think he's holding," Ashley stage-whispered, her hand snaking into his hip pocket. Chris barely had time to realize it was in there, her fingers burrowing along his hardening shaft, before she pulled out the little baggie he'd bought off Scuzzy Joe. "Aha! Thought so." She blew him a kiss. "There were other things in there too, though, weren't there?"

"Fuck." Chris just shook his head, starting to get into this again. After all, no matter how many times you lose the game, you always want to play again. "Want to dance, girls? We can pick up where we left off?"

"Sure." Megan took the bag from her friend's fingers. "Bathroom's this way."

* * *

Smiling, still buzzing hard, Chris passed from the bathroom to the big living room where the band wailed. The girls had shooed him out after they'd each snorted their lines, telling him to wait by the band. "We'll be there soon enough, babe," Ashley purred, closing the door firmly behind him.

It didn't even occur to Chris that she might be lying again, his coke once again safely up her nose.

He hit the living room as the band struck up "Smoke on the Water." At once, his ears picked up a problem. Obviously the kids dancing over every square inch didn't hear it, swirling around with glo-sticks and booze, but Chris certainly did. "Fuck." His eyes found the bassist, a buddy of his named Mark, so he figured he'd get answers soon enough. He noticed an open Sam Adams on a side table, more than half-full, and he didn't even think about it before he drained the bottle. And then, eyeballing the band doubtfully, he turned into the crowd and started dancing.

They took a break after two more numbers, finishing up a loud version of Tom Petty's "American Girl" before, to general applause, they put down their instruments and waved gaily at the crowd. "We'll be back in a few, comrades!" the lead singer cried, her face flushed, and then Chris burrowed into a cooler for two beers and waited as the crowd filtered around, seeking new partners or going to take a piss or get a beer or whatever.

"What's up, amigo?" Mark found him after a few moments during which nobody paid attention to him. Of course not; he was the bass player. "Nice to see you, kid!"

"Hey!" Chris passed over one of the beers. "Yeah, since the spring? That festival over in Houston. What's up?"

"Oh, you know." They found a seat on the bottom two stairs. "Girls and shit."

"They're all here," Chris blurted, still hopped up. "Pussy for days, man."

Mark laughed. "I play bass, kid. I only score with girls who think it's a guitar." He took a deep swig, his eyes flickering sideways at Chris. "Speaking of which."

"Yeah." Chris had heard it, but he'd never have brought it up. "That dude on guitar sounds like shit."

"He's new. And a shredder," Mark said dismissively. "Not terrible, but he's got no feel really. He turns every song into a G&R set." He smiled. "Which isn't so bad if we're covering G&R. But."

"Yeah." He glanced around, the people happy and buoyant. Lots of smiles. "This is a great party."

"You know Yu? I saw him upstairs a little bit ago." Mark took another sip of his beer. "Listen, um... You still play? Want to sit in?"

"Fuck no." Chris felt a little thrill, though, just to be asked. He'd been a minor fixture on the budding coffeeshop scene the year before. "I couldn't do that to the guitarist, man. But thanks."

"I'm telling you, it'd be great." Mark winked. "We could set it up like the singer and I want to do something really complicated that Todd doesn't know how to play? Which, frankly, we do," he chuckled. "He doesn't listen to the rhythm, and that makes it harder for her to sing. Nobody would mind, man, I'm telling you, and if Todd gets all huffy and leaves?" Mark shrugged. "Hell, then you can just finish out the whole set and we'll pay you instead."

Chris laughed. "Pay me? This is a house party in Galveston. What are you guys making, fifty bucks each and unlimited beer?" He nodded, though. "Maybe. I'd love to sit in, to be honest. I haven't played out in months."

"It's settled, then!" Mark beamed. "I'll go talk to Todd, maybe suggest he find a girl and a bedroom. No harm, no foul. He's playing an Ibanez, if that's okay."

'Yeah, I saw. Not my favorite, but whatever." Chris stuck his hand out. "This is really cool, man. Thanks!"

"It'll be fun. Look, don't go away. I'll go talk to the rest of the band and we'll start up again in about ten minutes. Stevie Ray Vaughn, maybe?"

"Cool! Maybe some Hendrix."

"Dude. You might be overestimating us." They laughed. "See you then." Mark disappeared into the crowd, leaving Chris with a warm glow that had nothing to do with the cocaine. Only then, his coke-addled senses skipping from one detail to another, to another, did he realize that playing during the next set would not let him dance with Megan and Ashley during the next set.

He cursed himself, then glanced around to see if the girls were even there. No sign of them. Well, fuck it then. His eyes strayed toward the Ibanez in its case against the wall.

* * *

If Megan felt sort of bad about ditching Chris, Ashley soon set her straight. "We can dance with him later, if you still want to."

"He's cute, is the thing. I think he's Italian." Megan gnawed at her lower lip as they waited in the upstairs hall for the crowd to start filtering back downstairs. The music had just started back up, with the blistering guitar riff from SRV's "Pride and Joy," after an oddly extended series of experimental-sounding chords. "I kinda like him."

Ashley tossed her dark hair. "I mean, sure. He's cute." She smiled. "He reminds me of that Uncle Jesse guy from that show? From a few years ago? I sort of like his scruff, to be honest. That's the thing I hate about Derek. He's smooth as your pussy." She sighed. "Sometimes, I just like feeling some scraggle down there when I get eaten."

"Yeah, right?" Megan slurped up some jungle juice. "Isn't he coming over later? Derek?"

"He wasn't sure. He's working the dispatch desk tonight." Ashley shrugged. Derek was a cop, which was convenient since she liked her nights free. And single. "Sometimes he gets bored, borrows a cruiser, and picks up Kevin for some food."

"Yeah, they came over to my place last month. Totally unannounced." Megan rolled her eyes. "I could have been naked! Or, like, screwing some guy. Which would be a bummer, because you know. I don't need to break up with Kevin right now. He makes more than I do."

"I know. Still." Ashley's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a nice-looking guy in the bedroom nearby. "There are other fish in the sea, Megan."

"Mmm." The shorter girl nodded slowly. "The frat boys."

"We should make them fuck us." Ashley leaned down. "I'm sort of moist, to be honest," she giggled.

"Eww! I hate that word." Megan smacked her friend's arm. "Still. You're not wrong. I think it's the blow." She stared speculatively at the guys. "See that one on the left? With the mullet?"

"Jesus," Ashley sighed. "He's fucking dreamy." Her eyes took on a faraway look as the hallway started to thin out, the music drawing everyone toward the stairs. "I'd lick his grundle," she decided.

"Do what now?"

"His grundle." Megan shook her head, leaving Ashley to roll her eyes. "His taint, Meg. The part behind his balls."

"Oh! That." Megan pursed her lips, considering. "Hell. I'd do a line off it."

"Yuck!" They both giggled, their laughter pitched high in their serotonin overload, the coke buzzing in their heads. The walls shook as the guitar wailed. "Is it just me, or does the band sound better?"

"It's just you. Or the coke, anyway." Megan nodded, her body moving to the music. "No, I think you might be right. It sounds fucking great."

"Let's ask Captain Mullet to dance," Ashley whispered. "I bet Chris has found some other bitch by now."

"Good plan," Megan nodded, but that's when a flood of girls came surging from another bedroom and overwhelmed the frat guys. "Motherfucker!"

"Snooze, you lose," Ashley agreed, wiping at her nose. "Shit." The house shook with the sound of the wailing guitar. "That really does sound great."

"Goddamn." They watched, eyes slitted, as the new bitches flowed past, now carrying the snickering frat boys in their wake. Megan's fingers tingled. "Fuck. I want to dance!"

"Let's go downstairs." Ashley was feeling antsy, too. "Hell, we'll just find Chris."

"Right!"

"We'll let him feel us up. It's the least we can do."

"Right!"

"And then, when the time's right, we'll take Captain Mullet outside and make out with him."

"Right!"

"We might even give him a blowjob."

"Right!" They linked arms, eyes wide and beady, following the crowd into the reverb-drenched living room. "We might even lick his... his grundle!"

"Fuck yeah." The crowd eddied at the base of the stairs, people sorting themselves, pairing off, already moving to the twangy commands of the guitar player. The girls waited about three steps up, scanning heads. "Do you see Chris anywhere?" Ashley had to yell in Megan's ear. Nothing about the band had been this loud before the break... "I can't find him."

"Dude." Ashley felt fingernails digging into her arm, even through the cocaine numbness. "What the fuck?"

"Huh?" Ashley stirred, ignoring a flannel-clad loser that stumbled past on his way up the stairs. She glanced over to see where her friend was staring. "What?"

"Look, Ash." Megan was staring wide-eyed over everyone's heads, into the corner where the singer was belting out Vaughan's lyrics, all bluesy, into her mic. "The band. Look who's playing fuckin' guitar!"

"What the..." Her voice trailed off, her mouth curving into a wide grin, as she looked past the singer, past the highly forgettable bass player, over the drummer's head, to see the scraggly face of the guy on the axe. "Well. Hello there..."

* * *

Chris was feeling the music, the notes flowing off the strings and out of Todd's cheap amp with that fluid ease that only happened during performances when his mind was checked out and his fingers were able to take over. It had taken him a few chords to get the tone dialed in right, the Ibanez sounding... passable. Like a Tele neck pickup, almost, which was good enough for a boozed-up house party with women in cages.

He was halfway through the second number, a stripped-down version of "Voodoo Child" that he could just about hold down even without a wah pedal, when he glanced up from Todd's fingerboard and looked straight into two familiar-looking pairs of tits, currently spilling out of the tanktops of two familiar-looking females who'd just hooted up the last of Scuzzy Joe's cocaine with him. Megan and Ashley, now standing open-mouthed at the edge of the crowd, with a tangled mass of arms and hair whipping behind them as a tableau, both of them staring back at him with an odd look in their eyes.

Fuck.

He kept sweeping Todd's pick over the strings, the rhythm stuttering, the dancers all moving in unison, but now that he'd caught sight of Megan and Ashley? They were his audience, the two of them swaying in unison, arms linked and eyes shiny. He felt himself smiling as the pick kept chopping at the strings, his greedy eyes drinking in their swaying bodies.

"Shit." Megan leaned over toward Ashley, eyes wide. "He's really good."

Ashley just nodded, her gaze riveted to Chris' face; she waited until he made eye contact, then winked and licked her lips. "We should fuck him," she smirked. He smiled back with that heavy-lidded look a lot of musicians got when they played. "Look at his hands. Imagine what they can do."

"Mhmm." Megan was having trouble keeping her hands out of her pants all of a sudden, her body a mix of jittery cocaine buzz and sudden, panty-dampening horniness. She felt an ache in her tits and knew her nipples were poking out like bullets. Ashley was right: Chris' left hand fluttered among the frets, and a fevered thought struck them both when they thought about what those fingers would do once they were inside a pussy.

Or, hell. A pair of pussies.

"We totally should. Fuck him," Megan agreed, her voice a rapid, breathy moan. "You should stick your tongue in my ear now, while he's watching."

"Eww." The notes piled out of the amp and through the room, seductive, intoxicating. "No. No way."

"Come on. He'll think we're lesbians. Guys love that shit."

"Shut the fuck up." Ashley wiped at her numb, streaming nose. "You remember last time? He was all over us. He'll do us." She nodded confidently as the band crescendoed. "I bet he has more blow..."

"Maybe some weed, too."

"Right?" She bopped along to the music as the song crashed to a stop, the dancers going crazy. Ashley noticed a skinny dude off to the side, vaguely familiar: ah. The guitarist, from before, angling toward the grinning Chris. "Follow my lead, Meg," she hissed low and fast, grabbing her friend's arm.

"Right behind you." The whole room surged toward Chris as he unwound himself from the tangle of guitar strap and output cable, waving at his crowd. "Fuck! Everybody loves him."

Chris saw them approach, his eyes lighting up over a broad smile. "Hey, ladies!" he crowed, handing the Ibanez back to Todd; the kid looked at the instrument suspiciously, as if it had betrayed him. "What'd you think?" A beaming Mark, leaning past the mic stand, clapped him on the back.

"I was disappointed," Ashley murmured in his ear, her voice sultry like the heavy night air.

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Because I thought we'd get to dance with you." She smiled suddenly, her lips slurping briefly at his earlobe. "Come on outside with us."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She backed away and winked at him, pressing her tits against his arm. "We'll find someplace to go."

"And dance?" His eyes shot straight down her top.

"Something like that." Ashley smiled, pulling Megan forward, bringing her in. "Seriously. Come on out. We'll party."

"Fuck." Some other chick came boldly up and laid a loud, wet kiss on his cheek, then faded into the crowd. "Sounds like fun," he managed, his pupils huge.

"Especially if you have more blow for us," Megan bubbled, leaning in to run her hand down his chest. "We would definitely have some fun."

"I should, like, say some goodbyes," Chris hedged, thinking of Miles and Yu. "Like, take a leak and stuff. Meet you in the backyard?"

"Sure." Ashley waited until he was facing her, then leaned in for a single wet kiss, with a hint of tongue. "An appetizer," she whispered.

"See you out back, Chris," Megan breathed, letting her hand trail lower until it hooked his belt buckle playfully. She turned away, and the two girls disappeared into a vacuum swirling with new bodies, new faces, new smiles as Todd got himself tuned up and the band started getting ready to resume.

Chris stood there, grinning like a doofus, accepting hugs and pats on the back and, even, the occasional butt-grope. But the band was all tuned behind him, the party getting ready to crank back up, and it was time for him to go out back and do some groping of his own.

"Later!" he called, waving back at Mark just as the drummer started up with "Here Comes My Girl" (ah, Chris thought, more Tom Petty...). He exchanged high-fives with all and sundry as he crossed to the little bathroom, waited while the guy in there shook it off, and pulled out his dick to take a leak.

He'd been feeling himself get a little hard during the performance, around the time he'd noticed Megan's nipples; the demands of the music had kept his mind off it, but still there was a hint of firmness there, that extra girth that usually accompanied a glance at a sexy girl. As his piss tinkled into the bowl, Chris tossed his head back with a sigh of relief: the purloined Sam Adams had run straight through him. He flushed, then studied himself for a second in the mirror over the sink: just a hint of white in his facial hair, and he wiped it away with a flourish as, whistling, he spun around out of the bathroom.