The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 05

Carlos looked suspicious. "Only if the pool is heated. You've already tried to kill me with frostbite once today..."

"Of course it'll be heated!" Pete interrupted. "Come on, let's go for a dip."

"Wait," said Carlos. "One problem. I didn't bring any swimming shorts."

"Neither did I," smirked Pete. "But who said anything about swimming shorts?"

"Is my lawyer-in-training friend proposing to go skinny-dipping in a five-star hotel pool?"

Pete nodded. "He is."

"Have you checked this with the American embassy?"

Pete shrugged. "Who cares, right?"

Minutes later, they were in an elevator headed down to the pool deck. They were draped in a pair of complimentary white bathroom gowns, completely naked underneath, with fluffy white slippers on their feet. Carlos glanced at himself in the elevator mirror and saw a blizzard of pure, dazzling white, offset only by his black fingernails. "This is so fuckin' metal," he said. "Look at us. This should be the front cover of our first record."

Pete looked into the mirror and he doubled over laughing. "Fuckin' rock and roll!" he yelled.

It was a shame they'd left their phones in their room. This moment was Instaworthy.

They opened the door to the pool area and stepped in. The air was thick with the smell of chlorine. They had the space to themselves; there was nobody else here. Carlos dipped his toes into the water. It was beautifully warm. They shed their gowns at the water's edge and stepped in slowly, both completely naked.

Pete hoped they'd have the pool to themselves, and as he looked out the window, watching snowflakes flutter to the ground, he didn't think many other hotel guests would feel like swimming on a day like this. Carlos swam a couple of lazy laps while Pete splashed around in the deep end.

The door opened, and they both froze. It was the maintenance man. Fuck.

The maintenance man stopped in surprise when he realised guests were using the swimming pool on such a ridiculously cold day like this. He was feeling horny and was hoping to use the pool area to take a sneaky fap on work time. And then he noticed the two guys in the water. Fuck, they were both sexy as hell. Watching these two long-haired dudes splashing around in the warm water made the maintenance guy feel even hornier.

He waved to Carlos and Pete and wished them a relaxing swim before closing the door behind him in search of somewhere else to jack off. He knew exactly what he'd be thinking about when his warm sperm eventually tumbled over his knuckles.

Carlos was wide-eyed. "Fuck, dude, I thought we were about to get busted!"

Pete smiled. "So did I."

Carlos waded across to where his drummer was standing and wrapped his arms around his waist, hauling him in close. They looked deeply into each other's eyes before their lips locked in a deep kiss. Carlos's cock began to rise. Pete looked down beneath the rippled surface of the water to see his lead singer's appendage standing firm. "Again?" he asked playfully.

"I can't help it, dude," Carlos admitted.

Pete dropped his hands beneath the surface and began jerking Carlos's cock. The resistance of the water heightened the sensuousness of the moment for both men. Carlos sighed, throwing his head back. Pete's fingers teased and squeezed Carlos's ballsack while his other hand stroked him hard.

Pete leaned in to kiss Carlos's wet neck. He tasted the chlorine on his lead singer's skin as he felt his body shudder against him and his dick twitch.

They prayed to the gods of metal that the pool door didn't suddenly swing open again.

Pete looked down and saw spurts of white liquid shoot out of Carlos's dick and ripple into the pool. He felt the warmth as it shot across his fist. He watched Carlos's load disperse and dissolve into the warm chlorinated water. After a few seconds, he couldn't see it anymore.

Post-nut clarity hit hard for Carlos as he realised what he and Pete had just done. "That felt awesome," he admitted. "I can't remember ever cumming in a pool before, but I'm a little worried about us being seen on CCTV. I hope they don't kick us out. We should go."

Pete held Carlos's shoulders reassuringly. "The guy who's employed by the hotel to look after the pool saw us swimming," he said, "and it must've been obvious we're naked. Before he left, he waved at us and said 'have a nice time', or something like that. We're not gonna get kicked out, dude. Your millions of unborn babies have already either been suffocated by the heat of the water, or killed by the chlorine, and there was nobody else here lying in a deckchair to watch us offend Canadian morality or sensibilities. If anything, we might've given the CCTV operator something interesting to watch, but I don't think we're gonna have Canada's police horses hoofing on our door in a pre-dawn raid."

Carlos's shoulders slumped as he relaxed. "I like the way you think, Pete."

"And I like the way you feel," Pete said, as he gripped Carlos's flaccid, spent cock again beneath the surface of the water.

"Can we take a quick nap?" asked Carlos. "I'm a little sleepy, but I've got an idea for what we can do later tonight."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Pete answered. "We've been working hard these past few days, and I'm glad you scheduled a night off for us."

They climbed out of the pool, donned their bright white gowns, made their way back to their room, and napped under their crispy clean king-size sheets.

Carlos set his alarm for 5pm, but before he slept, he tapped his phone, organising some stuff for tonight.

*

They woke as Carlos's phone blasted the opening keyboard riff of Hocico's 'Untold Blasphemies' at them. It was darkening outside, and still snowing, but it was still early. Carlos bounced out of bed. Pete yawned.

"Huh?" asked a groggy Pete. He was deeply asleep when Carlos's alarm went off.

"We're going out! We've got a big night ahead of us!"

"Huh?" Pete repeated.

"You'll find out," smiled Carlos suggestively, kissing Pete on the cheek. "I'm taking you out on a date."

Pete got up and threw two shirts onto his arms, and a pair of jeans onto his legs, but knew these meagre layers of protection wouldn't even come close to meeting requirements.

"Come on, come on, come on, let's go!" Carlos hustled. Pete grabbed his winter coat, still feeling sleepy.

They caught the elevator down to the ground floor, where an uber was waiting to escort them to Ottawa's largest shopping mall.

They ate sushi at a Japanese place before Carlos shepherded Pete towards the nearby multiplex cinema. "Like I said, before, I'm taking you out on a date. Dinner, if sushi counts as dinner, followed by a movie. If sushi isn't enough, there's always popcorn. But tonight, it's gonna be dinner and *two* movies. We're doing Barbenheimer tonight. Are you up for it?"

Pete knew exactly what Carlos was talking about: a deathly serious film and an outrageously shallow one. "Yeah," he said, though he felt a little nervous. "In which order?"

"We're watching the Barbie movie second. I hope that's OK. I'm expecting it to be a serious emotional rollercoaster after Oppenheimer, which I hear is a riotous feelgood comedy. Oppenheimer should be a lot of fun, but I'm expecting to feel moments of genuine terror while we watch Barbie."

"I know," said Pete, gulping in fear. "I've heard Barbie is a heavy film and quite a confronting experience. I don't want to die from a nuclear bomb, Carlos."

"I know. Neither do I. Nobody does. But we'll be here for each other if Barbie gets too scary."

Carlos bought Pete a tub of popcorn for the Oppenheimer comedy, knowing the worst was to come later when they watched Barbie. They walked into the darkness of the Ottawa cinema.

A couple of hours later, Oppenheimer ended. The credits began to roll, and they walked back out into the light of the lobby, barely able to stop giggling from the insanely funny comedy they'd just watched. They couldn't believe some of the crazy antics Oppenheimer got up to at Venice Beach, but they were glad the film ended happily.

They braced themselves, knowing the serious film was still to come.

Ten minutes later, after a quick pee and an even quicker refill at the popcorn stand, they returned to the darkness. They held hands to keep each other brave. The next three hours were going to be long and brutal.

The film traced the role Barbie, an experimental physicist wearing an ever-present pair of pink sunglasses, played in developing a top-secret nuclear bomb that could set fire to the atmosphere and destroy the entire world. It was a deep, complex, and harrowing cinematic experience.

As midnight approached, two ashen-faced metalheads returned to the well-lit lobby, mortified by what they'd just seen. It had shocked them both to the core.

Carlos found the courage to speak first. "I'll never be the same person after watching that, Pete."

Pete looked at his bandmate, a look of pure PTSD on his face. "I don't even wanna think about it. I'm probably gonna have nightmares about pink mushroom clouds for months."

"I know what you mean," said Carlos, his face full of serious dread. "Barbie totally fucked me up. I'm glad her security clearance got revoked at the end. Maybe we should've just seen Oppenheimer and then headed back to our room. That movie was so much more fun."

"I know," Pete agreed. "Oppenheimer was fucking hilarious! And he looked so cool driving around the beach in his convertible with the top down! But I don't understand why Barbie had the nuclear launch codes. I mean, fuck, she nearly killed us all." His gaze focused on the middle distance, deep in thought.

"I don't know, babe," soothed Carlos. "Maybe she got the codes from Ken."

They left the cinema complex in stunned silence, riding an uber back to their hotel room.

Carlos checked the minibar. "I need a drink to calm my nerves after Barbie." He screwed the cap off a mini of vodka and downed it immediately. It burned on the way down. He tipped a second bottle down his throat and his jangled sensibilities slowly began to settle.

They undressed and showered together, letting the warm water wash away the frozen ice, the slushy snow, the chlorine from the pool, and Barbie-induced panic. Their mental states were far too rattled for sex, yet they craved each other's presence. Barbie had been a confronting experience, and neither of them wanted to feel alone right now.

They dried their hair and climbed into the king-size bed in the middle of the room. It was 1am. Neither was tired, but they knew they had a gig to play tomorrow night.

Pete wrapped his foot around Carlos's leg. "Sorry, but I'm still thinking about stuff," he apologised.

"Same," Carlos replied. "I've seen plenty of horror movies, but the scary thing about Barbie was knowing it was all true, and that we still live in a world where pink nuclear bombs could kill us all."

"We should write a song about it," Pete stated.

Carlos's eyes shone wide open. "Fuck, that's an awesome idea! You write some lyrics for me to sing, and I'll work on the riffs and chords."

They kissed, hugging each other close.

Pete felt an extreme sensation of bliss, despite the heavy film they'd just seen. As his eyelids began to droop, he hoped he wouldn't have nightmares about Barbie.

Carlos set his alarm for 9.30am because his hotel deal included breakfast for Pete and himself, but service ended at 10. He wanted to make sure they could sleep deep, yet still get fed. Even before sleep arrived, he already had a craving for scrambled eggs with chilli and peppers, just like in Mexico.

*

Carlos woke up in time for breakfast, dragging a sleepy Pete downstairs. They found a table in a quiet area of the room, and he ordered scrambled eggs.

Pete sleepwalked over to the coffee machine. He poured himself a strong cup before returning to their table. He took a strong gulp, willing the caffeine to wake himself up. "I had a dream, Carlos," he said. "It was scary. I'm glad you woke me up."

A waiter planted a plate of eggs under Carlos's hungry face. Unfortunately there was no chilli available this close to the north pole. Canada sucked. Carlos swore never to come back to this shitty country until he was a world-famous rock god and could bring his own personal chef.

"What did you dream about?"

Pete took a deep breath, still waiting for his breakfast to be delivered. He was barely awake, and his nightmare still felt too close. He couldn't find the words.

Carlos assisted. "You dreamed about Barbie, didn't you?"

Pete gripped the edge of the table to settle himself. "She took over all the TV stations and told the world she was gonna blow everything up because Ken was an asshole to her that morning. She was just about to press the button when you woke me up."

Carlos realised he went too far last night. "I'm so sorry for taking you to see such a scary film last night. I'd heard Barbie was an intense experience, but I didn't think it'd be quite that confronting."

Pete's own breakfast arrived on the table, and he collected his utensils. "It's not your fault I had a bad dream," he smiled.

Carlos shovelled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, flicking his mane of thick black hair away from his plate. He knew neither of them would ever forget their first official date.

Pete's phone buzzed. "A message from Ace," he explained to Carlos. He opened the text. 'hey cool pete just got yr msg about not coming to canada it worked out well bcuz it means boipussy can gonna play fort lauderdale tonite, it was a lastminute thing so were gonna drive up later this afternoon for some spring brk action and they're gonna pay us some serious dollars and b4 you ask yes dude im gonna keep my dick in my pants 2nite love u sxy drummer boi'

Ace gulped. "What did he say?" Carlos inquired.

"Boipussy are playing tonight in Florida," Pete said. "Apparently there was a last-minute cancellation at Spring Break which Boipussy are gonna fill. So Ace won't be coming up to hang with us." He kept the rest of the message's contents to himself.

Carlos felt relieved at the news, but he didn't say anything. He liked Ace, but he was enjoying having Pete to himself, even if just for a few more days. He turned his attention back to his plate of eggs.

Pete sipped his coffee. "What do you want to do after we eat?"

"I've got no idea," Carlos replied.

They spent some time exploring Canada's national art gallery. One of Andy Warhol's famous Brillo boxes was on display in the middle of a room, and Pete waited until security had looked away before reaching out to touch it for a second or two. Creatively stimulated, but in need of some shuteye before their gig, they headed back to their grand hotel for a quick nap. Carlos's phone blared Anthrax at 5pm, and half an hour later, they were at the loading dock of tonight's venue. The other two band members and their roadies were already there; everything was in place for a huge night of metal.

They met the stage manager, lugged in, set up and soundchecked. They greeted tonight's headline act -- a major, well-known Canadian band -- and introduced themselves as tonight's support band. Everything was ready.

The band and their crew headed out in search of food. They chowed down, returned to the venue, and head backstage, ready to perform.

An unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon sat on a table. Carlos ripped the wax cap off with his teeth, and they passed the bottle around the six of them until there was nothing left.

Pete felt that familiar edgy pre-gig mix of excitement and nervousness. He sat on the floor with his back up against a wall. He held a pair of drumsticks and tapped rhythms on his thighs to relax his arms and wrists.

Carlos excused himself on the premise that he was taking a nervous piss before taking the stage, but the truth was he wanted to get changed. And it was all for Pete.

The stage lights went down, and Carlos re-emerged from the bathroom, wearing a pair of thigh-high fuck-me boots, a pair of short, tight Daisy Dukes ... and nothing else. "We ready to rock?" he asked his bandmates. Despite snow falling outside, the room was warm, and Carlos felt completely comfortable. He never felt nervous before a show.

Two members of A2M nodded, on mission, ready to go.

The other band member was in a slightly different frame of mind. "Fuck, Carlos, you look ..." Pete began, his mouth gaped open.

Carlos put his finger to his mouth in the universal signal of silence. "We've got a show to play."

They ran out on stage. Carlos grabbed the mic and greeted Ottawa in Spanish before A2M launched headlong into their first tune.

From his drum riser, Pete felt semi-hypnotised as he watched Carlos's tight denim-clad ass bounce and sway. He tried hard to concentrate on the songs, but he discovered it's not easy playing drums with a boner. He noticed Carlos look back over his shoulder a few times during the set to either wink at him or seductively lick his lips. Pete couldn't believe this was happening.

Tonight's crowd was seriously into the show. The mood of the room was noticeably different to the quieter, more reserved crowds they'd played to in Montréal and Québec City. Carlos wasn't sure whether Ontarians were more into metal than the Québecois, or whether word of mouth was getting around. He made a mental note to check reviews of their recent gigs after coming offstage.

They played their final, bonecrunching chord, Pete smashed his cymbals, and they left the stage to rapturuous applause. The crowd stomped, demanding more. It was unusual for a support act to play an encore, and they knew they only had time for one more tune. In a quick conversation in the wings, they decided, then ran back onstage.

Carlos grabbed his mic. "Anyone here know a band called Boipussy?" he yelled. He heard a few distant screams of recognition in response. "Bunch of hot sexy metal dudes from Florida. I hear they're playing spring break tonight in Fort Lauderdale. I guarantee you people in Florida will be showing more skin tonight than Canadians. It's fuckin' cold up here!" The crowd surged, and Carlos waited for the mood to settle. "OK, we're gonna do one of Boipussy's songs. It's called 'Hot Load'. Get your dicks out, Ottawa, we're gonna make you cum."

The bass player and guitarist had been learning the song, and of course, Pete already knew it well. He counted the band in. While each of the band members knew the tune, they'd never rehearsed it together. It meant the song didn't sound as tight as it did when Boipussy played it, but instead, A2M's version had a fluid, lurching, almost bluesy sound to it, while still being ear-splitting balls-to-the-wall metal.

They finished the tune and Carlos thanked the crowd before the band ran off stage. "¡Buenas noches Canadá y gracias!"

The headline act would take the stage in half an hour.

Backstage, with his job for the evening done, Pete ripped the top off a cold beer and chugged half of it down. "Awesome crowd tonight!"

The bass player nodded in agreement. The other A2M guitarist sped off to the bathroom as soon as they left the stage.

"Yeah, they rocked!" said Carlos, throwing a t-shirt over his sweaty, sexy torso. "While we were on stage, I was wondering whether crowds are a little more into heavy metal in Ontario, or whether our earlier shows might've created some interest." He whipped out his phone.

Pete was realistic. "Maybe just that it's slightly warmer here, though that's a relative proposition, because it's still icy as fuck, hey. We've only played two shows in Canada before tonight, so it's probably too soon to know, and it's unlikely that..."

"Wait a second, Pete," said Carlos. His fingers were tapping his phone, looking for reviews of their recent gigs. He made sure to type 'American metal rock band' in the search bar before typing 'Ass To Mouth', because he knew he'd have to scroll through tens of thousands of pages of porn links if he didn't. You can't even begin to imagine how intricately detailed their website address was. Sure, they had an awesome band name, but their slowly growing army of fans found it very difficult to find their web presence without running into a hurricane of porn.