The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 13

They walked into the gallery and the first thing that made Pete stop dead in his tracks was Pollock's 'Autumn Rhythm'. He examined the drips, bends and curves of the blacks, whites, greens and greys, losing himself in its infinite depth. "It's like looking a painting of jazz music," he whispered to Carlos. A few moments later, his jaw dropped as his eyes took in the shimmering, swirling, deep blue skies of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'. In the next room hung Dali's 'The Persistence of Memory', with its striking, melted clocks. Everywhere he turned, his eyes landed on art that he'd been aware of since forever, but never thought he'd see in real life.

They stayed at the gallery until closing time, and even then, they only left when security asked them to leave. Candii took the boys to a Japanese noodle bar, and they tucked into tofu ramen and beer. "I love Manhattan already," enthused Carlos, slurping his noodles, "and we've only been here for an hour or two."

"I've been here a few times before," Candii admitted. "It's impossible to get bored here, there's always something to do. This city is so alive."

They went bar-hopping around Greenwich Village and Tribeca for a couple of hours, with Candii leading the way. Ace had read extensively about the glory days of punk in the late 70s and early 80s, and he desperately wanted to check out the Lower East Side and the Bowery. Even though Candii explained that the area had been gentrified and bore little resemblance to the romanticism of memory, Ace wanted to see it anyway. They caught a cab across town to the place where CBGBs once stood, that iconic venue that hosted so many groundbreaking bands. Ace knew the room had closed many years ago, but he was disappointed to see what it had become -- a high-dollar clothing store for the rich.

Candii could see the confusion, fury and anger written all over Ace's face. "Take a look at this," Ace spat. "This is the complete opposite of punk rock. I wouldn't have minded if CBGBs had turned into a soup kitchen, but *this*? I feel like throwing a brick through the window."

She sympathised with him. "Times change, sweetie. Throwing bricks won't bring the glory days back."

"Maybe not, but maybe it'll make me feel better."

"Hmm. You don't want to get arrested before your New York debut, do you, rockstar?"

"Depends who I'm gonna share a cell with," Ace joked. "I've heard there's some hot, rough sex to be had in the New York prison system."

She hugged him close, and he felt her fake titties pressing into his chest. He could smell her sweet perfume.

"Come on," said Pete, ever the sensible one, "we should probably head back to the hotel."

Candii whistled, and a cab screeched to a halt. The drive was silent. The boys stared out the window, knowing that while they were at the epicentre of the creative universe for just a fleeting moment, this one small taste would never be enough.

Candii paid the fare and the doorman held the hotel door open for them. "Just before we turn in for the night," she said as they stood in the lobby, "I just wanted to check that you boys enjoyed your ramen tonight?" There was a cryptic, teasing smile on her face.

Carlos looked strangely at her. "Yeah," he answered, though he was unsure why this specific question was at the top of her mind.

"There was probably some MSG in your food. I hope you're not allergic."

Monosodium glutamate? Sure, Carlos knew it was a food additive to enhance flavour, but he had no idea why Candii would mention it. He glanced nervously at Pete, looking for clues.

Ace felt a little anxious. "MSG? What are you talking about, Candii? Are you feeling OK?" It felt like her mind had suddenly changed tracks, and he wasn't following where she was going. Maybe the tour had been a little more demanding than she'd let on.

"Sure, Ace, I'm fine," she replied. "I really like MSG, and tomorrow, I'm sure you will too." She looked around expectantly, waiting for the penny to drop.

Pete got there first. His eyes lit up. "No fucking way."

Candii nodded slowly. "Yes fucking way, Pete."

"You're bullshitting us, Candii," said Pete, slowly shaking his head from side to side, still disbelieving. "I don't believe it. This *has* to be a joke."

"Was Miami Beach a joke?" Candii retorted.

Ace and Carlos hadn't cottoned on yet, but they were both aware that Pete had cracked Candii's code. Carlos shook him by the shoulders. "What the fuck is she talking about, dude?"

In barely a whisper, hardly able to breathe, Pete filled in the gaps. "MSG stands for Madison Square Garden."

"I need to email the other bands when Ace and I get up to our room," said Candii, "but I wanted to tell you boys first."

Carlos was crying sweet tears of joy. "But how?" he asked, still unable to comprehend. "Everyone who plays that venue has strings of platinum records. We don't even have *a* record yet, and neither does Boipussy." He paused for a second, breathing hard, not even sure what question he wanted to ask. "How did you? ... how? ... what ...?"

Candii took a step forward, delicately placing a manicured finger on Carlos's lips. "It doesn't matter how it happened. Just enjoy it."

Pete wiped his eyes. "This is too much to take in. I won't be able to sleep tonight."

"Fuck, I need to call my mom," Carlos said, wringing his hands.

"Yeah, I do too," seconded Pete.

"Well, sounds like we're calling it a night then," Candii concluded. "I've got some more work to do before I turn in, plus I've got a sweet boipussy to destroy tonight, so I guess we'll see you downstairs tomorrow for a late breakfast at eleven?"

Pete nodded. After hearing where they were playing tomorrow night, Carlos was still too stunned to move. The fragile yet curiously horny look on Ace's face suggested he had more immediate concerns on his mind.

*

Ace slept well that night, but only because Candii annihilated his hole with the same thick, fat dildo she destroyed him with last night. This time, Ace knew what to expect, and his boipussy involuntarily clenched in fright. "I'm scared, Candii," he confessed.

"Aw, sweetie, I know," Candii cooed, lightly scratching his back, "it hurts, but at the same time, it feels so good, doesn't it?"

Ace nodded. "It feels fucking amazing."

"Good boy," she whispered.

"Fuck me?" It was a question, a desperate plea.

She drooled lube over the toy, smearing some of the moisture on Ace's hungry, twitching boipussy. "Try to relax, rockstar." Slowly, she pushed it in.

"Press the button," pleaded Ace, and the deep vibrations began.

After she fucked a sweet load out of him, Candii stroked his back as he drifted off to sleep, moaning silently.

Elsewhere in the hotel, Pete and Carlos had scratchy evenings with light patches of slumber. Adrenalin was already coarsing through their veins. They would've slept so much better not knowing until morning.

It was 3am, and the two headbangers were both wide awake, gazing sleeplessly at the ceiling. "What did your mom say when you called her?" Carlos asked Pete.

Pete rolled onto his side, facing A2M's frontman. "I don't know whether she found it harder to believe that we were playing Madison Square Garden or that you and I are getting married."

"Both are true, it seems."

"Yeah," Pete continued, "but I was such a loner growing up, and I always thought I'd be alone forever, so I guess my mom is as surprised as I am. She's very happy."

"I'm happy too," said Carlos.

They kissed in the darkness. "What did your mom say?" Pete asked.

"Basically the same, but in Spanish."

Pete laughed. "One day, our moms are gonna meet."

"Now there's a scary thought to try to go to sleep on," Carlos joked.

Pete smiled and draped a lazy arm over his boyfriend's torso. They drifted off for a few hours of well-earned shuteye.

Tomorrow was gonna be a big day.

*

Pete woke up early, but Carlos was already awake. He rolled over. "I can't believe this is happening," Pete croaked before clearing his throat. "We're playing Madison Square Garden tonight, and we haven't even made our first record yet. This can't be real. Tell me this is all a dream."

Carlos blinked and yawned, but it was a nervous, anxious yawn. Their situation felt strange to him too, and he knew he wasn't gonna get any more sleep. He stood up, took a piss and got dressed. "I'm gonna go outside for a walk and check out the neighbourhood. Gonna get a coffee and maybe walk a few blocks. Come with me?"

Pete threw the covers off and got dressed.

They headed downstairs, and the doorman opened the door for them. Outside, the air felt warm and still. It was a little cloudy, but they could tell it was gonna be a hot day. As they walked, Pete had a strange feeling like they were being stared at by passers-by. They walked a few blocks to a spot where someone had set up a coffee cart. They stood in line, watching the traffic and the people.

Someone tapped Carlos on the shoulder from behind. At first, he thought it must've been a mistake -- he didn't know anyone in Manhattan -- but the tapping returned. He swivelled around to find a chubby, long-haired man waiting in line behind him. "I'm really sorry to interrupt," said the man, "but aren't you Carlos from Ass To Mouth?"

Pete turned around too. "Oh, fuck," said the man, "and you're Pete. I'm so thrilled to meet you both." He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "Would you mind if I took a quick selfie with you while we wait for coffee?"

Carlos couldn't begin to process any of this. "Uhh ... yeah, sure, no problem," he stammered. Pete didn't say anything. Awkwardly, they each wrapped a tentative arm around the stranger's shoulder, trying to smile as the digital shutter opened and closed.

"Thanks," said the man, "I really appreciate it. I'll leave you alone. Just wanted to say I'm a big fan and I can't wait for the show tonight!" The man flopped his tongue out, squinted his eyes and raised devil horns on his fist.

For a moment, neither Pete nor Carlos could speak. "How does he know me?" Carlos whispered.

"Wait, you're telling me you don't know him?" Pete inquired.

"I don't know *anyone* in New York!" Carlos spluttered under his breath. "But how does he know *me*?"

"Us," corrected Pete. "He seemed to know me too, but I don't know anyone here either. And I've never seen that guy before in my life."

Carlos shook his head. "This is truly fucking surreal." They continued waiting silently, lost in their own thoughts. They got to the front of the line and as they placed their order, the guy running the coffee cart recognised them. "Fuck, it's Carlos and Pete from Ass To Mouth! What can I get you sexy dudes this morning? Coffee's on the house!"

Carlos leaned a little closer. "Can I ask you a question, please?"

The coffee cart dude gulped nervously. "Anything, dude."

Carlos whispered conspiratorially. "How do you know who we are?"

The coffee cart dude coughed nervously, brushing his hair away from his face. "Are you serious? Everyone knows who you are! I'm so looking forward to tonight's show, dude. Front row seats! This is so fuckin' awesome, man. And oh my god, you're even hotter in the flesh than I imagined! Hey, can I get a quick selfie with you both?"

Carlos and Pete walked around to the back of the cart and grinned inanely as the coffee dude took his pic. "Well, nice meeting you," said Pete.

"Hey, you sexy dudes can come back any time. Coffee's always gonna be free for y'all. Blowjobs, too."

Stunned, the two metalheads walked back to their hotel with their coffees. Again, the doorman opened the door for them.

"What just happened?" asked Carlos. He stared at the lobby carpet, nervously sipping his beverage. "Are we the Beatles?"

"Like I said before, this *has* to be a dream," Pete replied. "There's no other explanation. It can't possibly be real."

"Then ... if that's true, how are we both having the same dream at the same time?"

Pete had no answer. They went back up to their room, lay in bed and watched TV for a few hours until it was time for breakfast. Given the circumstances, it took a Herculean effort of mental strength for them to remain calm.

By the time they headed back downstairs for breakfast, all hell had broken loose. Crowds lined the street outside their hotel, and police had been deployed to maintain order. Candii approached. "You boys OK?" she asked.

"What the fuck is happening, Candii?" Pete's voice wavered just a little. "There must be a thousand people out there! And why are there cops?"

"I checked us in with fake names," Candii explained, shaking her head, "but somehow, someone must've worked out where we're staying."

Pete wondered if they were followed back to their hotel after their coffee adventure this morning, but he still couldn't understand why anyone would want to.

Candii spoke up, holding her clipboard, addressing the entourage. "Can I have everyone's attention for a second please?" Five bands and their roadcrews fell silent. "We'll be leaving for Madison Square Garden at noon. That gives us plenty of time for the crews and sound guys to do their thing. Doors will open at 3 and the show starts an hour later. The five bands are playing tonight in this order: Kuntlapper, Beta Clinic, Femboy Hooters, Boipussy, and then Ass To Mouth will bring us home. Now here's the important thing. There's a crowd outside, so we'll be leaving the hotel through the back. Security will monitor the exit. When signalled, run through the door and into the waiting limousines. Get in quick, because the drivers are instructed to speed off as soon as the car doors are closed."

Carlos and Pete glanced quickly at each other. On top of everything else, limousines?

"Any questions?"

Stunned silence.

"Rock the casbah, boys." Candii checked her clipboard, focusing on the next task on her list. It was a busy day for her.

The limo ride to the venue felt eerie, and just as Candii foreshadowed, as soon as Carlos closed the door behind him, the driver hit the gas. All four members of A2M rode in the same car, with Candii and Ace. Everything felt uncertain, like the anxious lull before a great and decisive battle.

The limo drove through Times Square. Among the billboards for major international corporations were urgent, animated advertisements for tonight's rock show. Ace, Carlos and Pete stared out the window at giant digital animations of themselves, but Candii only shook her head. "Waste of money buying those ads."

"Why?" asked Ace, mesmerised at seeing his own image on a Times Square billboard.

"Because tonight's sold out already."

Carlos was incredulous. "There's twenty thousand seats at Madison."

"That's right," Candii replied, brushing her hair back, "and every ticket is sold."

By this stage, Pete's brain had nearly shut down. This wasn't possible.

They arrived at MSG, and it felt like they were entering the most secluded, secure place on earth. Everyone felt edgy and tense, and nerves got the better of Pete. He ran to the bathroom and threw up. Emerging, he sidled up to Carlos. "I don't know if I can do this," he said.

Carlos was concerned. "What do you mean?"

"I can't do this. Playing at Madison Square Garden. I just can't. I mean, this is a dream come true, but it would've been easier to build up to this if we'd had more time on the road ... even years ... to build up the expectation ... for something like ..."

Carlos held his boyfriend close. "Don't tell me you're leaving?"

Pete said nothing. He stared at the floor.

"I couldn't cope if you left, Pete." They both knew that if Pete walked away, it'd be the end of everything. "Please stay. It's just one night." Carlos tried to lighten the mood. "We didn't bring a drum machine with us."

Pete looked around aimlessly. "This is just so fucking surreal," he said. "Why the fuck are we even here? It doesn't make any sense. Nine Inch Nails and Metallica play Madison Square Garden, not us. What have we done to deserve this? I don't feel like we belong here. Maybe if things go well for us, we might belong here in a few years, but we haven't earned this, and I feel like a fraud."

Carlos thought for a moment. "Sometimes, bands can get lucky, and maybe that's what's happened to us. Maybe we got lucky, but if we are, it doesn't mean we don't deserve this opportunity. Let's make the most of it, because we might never get this chance again."

Pete looked anxious as hell. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He wasn't convinced. "But ... the pressure, dude ... like, if we fuck this up ..."

"We won't," was Carlos's reassuring response. "We've been sounding awesome lately. Just close your eyes and imagine we're playing at Eternal, and all our friends are there. We rocked Miami Beach pretty fucking hard, didn't we? So why would tonight be any different? Forget where we are until tomorrow. Tonight, all we need to do is go out there and play."

Pete smiled thinly. "I just wish we weren't headlining. It might be better if another band played last instead of us. You know what it's like; when your own band plays earlier, you can kick back and enjoy the rest of the night because your job is done, and you don't have to worry anymore ..."

Carlos grinned before interrupting his drummer's stream of consciousness. "You won't think that tomorrow morning, will you? You'd regret passing up the opportunity to headline a show at a venue as prestigious as this." Pete still looked nervous, and Carlos sensed it. "I'm feeling edgy too, Pete. I think we all are. But deep down, you know I'm right. We'll regret this forever if we back out."

Pete smiled, looking into his partner's sexy, dark eyes. "Yeah. You're right. Let's do this."

They completed soundcheck and chugged a couple of beers backstage to settle the nerves.

*

Doors opened, and the crowd rushed in eagerly from the street. Kuntlapper set the mood, Beta Clinic cranked up the dial, and by the time Femboy Hooters took the stage, MSG was alive with balls-to-the-wall American metal.

Neither Boipussy nor Ass To Mouth got to watch any of Femboy Hooters' set, because sneaky things were afoot backstage. Pete was trying to resist the urge to run to the bathroom to hurl again when Candii's pen tapped on her ever-present clipboard. "Can I have everyone's attention for a moment please?" Her tapping failed to elicit the required response, so she whistled like she was hailing a New York taxicab. Silence fell immediately as the sound of her whistle reverberated around the backstage area. "Thank you, everyone, for *finally* shutting the fuck up. I've got an important announcement to make. Some of you might know that Carlos and Pete from Ass To Mouth are engaged. What better place to tie the knot than Madison Square Garden?"

Pete was already feeling anxious, but now he felt the worst feeling any performer could feel -- stage fright. "Candii, what are you doing?" he seethed.

Candii smiled at him. "Got it all under control, Pete. Unless you're having second thoughts about marrying the man of your dreams?"

He glanced at Carlos. Not a chance. "No, but ..."

"What about you, Carlos?" Candii quizzed. "Any second thoughts?"

He looked at Pete. "No fucking way."

"Then like I said, it's all under control." Candii turned her attention back to the assembled backstage throng. "If you want to do it, that is."

"Do what?" asked Carlos.

"Duh," Candii replied, hitting herself on the forehead with her palm. "Get married."

"Here?" asked Pete. "And now?"

"If you want to," said Candii. "It's all arranged, but if you'd rather tie the knot after the tour when you're back home, that's cool with me. I just wanted to give you the opportunity if you wanted to do it here. If I recall correctly, you wanted a quiet civil ceremony, so long as you could party hard after. What better place to party than on stage in New York, in front of a sellout crowd?" She paused for a second. "Oh, by the way, you each have a special guest for tonight's show."