Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Ripe

Part 19

by Cerilla 0 reviews

Category: Metallica - Rating: PG-13 - Genres:  - Published: 2013-11-18 - 1648 words - Complete

The curvy brunette walked right in front of me, swaying her hips as she unbuttoned her white blouse. She took it off slowly, uncovering her shoulders and her bare breasts, then she squatted and twirled one of her ponytails. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Got led here unbeknownst to me by horny losers. What about you?” I retorted, leaning a bit toward her. “What’s a good catholic schoolgirl doing in a place like this?”
“Raising money for the school.” She laughed, then went back to her performance.
“Confess it, it’s not as bad as you thought.” Said Jason elbowing me.
That night Kirk wasn’t feeling too well and decided to stay at the hotel to rest; I initially wanted to keep him company, but he asked for some time alone. Not knowing what to do, I tagged along with James, Lars, Jason and a few others only to discover that they were heading to a strip club. I had never gone to such places, not much for prudery or moral issues as for lack of interest; women disrobing for sleazy men in tacky bars with bad music weren’t exactly my thing.
“Actually, it’s exactly as I thought: totally unimpressive.”
“Come on, what would you be doing right now otherwise? Watching Hammett whining as he tries to fall asleep?”
“I would be lying on the bed reading a good book with Kirk’s head on my lap. Usually, when he was tired, strung out or had trouble sleeping, I would pet his hair, he said it was very relaxing. He’s a bit like a cat, you know? And he purrs too.” Remembering the times when Kirk would come to me to cuddle was bittersweet, because they had become mostly a thing of the past.
Kirk and I had always been a very physical couple with a strong sexual connection, mutual desire and attraction had played a big part in our relationship. Lately, Kirk didn’t look at me with the same lust, didn’t kiss me with passion, didn’t crave for my body and my touch as he used to. More often than not, when he initiated sex, our encounters were sloppy and hurried as a quick way for release in alternative to jerking off; when I tried to seduce Kirk, I received unenthusiastic, lukewarm responses, no matter in which manner I tried.
“Whoa, ok, that’s definitely too much information.” Exclaimed Jamie, the bass player of The Cult, who was sitting with me and Jason.
“Oh, pardon me for such an unseemly demeanour. How could I lose my sense of propriety in such a refined context?”
Jamie rolled his eyes and dismissed me quickly as he saw a tiny girl with fire red hair coming on stage. “Whatever, look at that hot chick! I love gingers.” She was dressed in a skimpy pink negligé and wiggled on her high clear heels.
“Well,” said Jason, “next time we can go to the cinema, if you promise to let me choose the movie.”
“Are you complaining about my taste on movies?”
“Usually I have nothing to complain about, but sometimes, in some occasions, you like to pick the weirdest shit ever conceived and pass it off as art.”
“Ok, give me an example, I dare you.”
“Those silent, black and white movies that are older than my grandpa.”
“Hey, what do you have against old movies? They are the history of cinema, they paved the way for movies as we know them now! Only superficial fools dismiss them as boring or out dated.” I declared in mock indignation.
“All right then, what about that Ukrainian movie with the two crackpot chicks going crazy?”
“You mean ‘Daisies’? It’s not Ukrainian.”
“Doesn’t matter, then there was another one called ‘Sweet Movie’. I don’t even know what that was about. And that one with the killer tomatoes or the ones with giant animals. Or…”
“Ok, ok, you have boring tastes and anything a bit out of the ordinary upsets you, I get it.”
“I’ve seen ‘The Blob’, that was a funny one. It was Steve Mcqueen’s first leading role.” Said Jamie, sticking bills into the stripper’s shows.
“I prefer to remind him for things like ‘Bullitt’ or ‘The Magnificent Seven’, honestly.” Jason responded.
“Well, if we want to discuss about cinema in a strip club, at least let’s order something to drink.” I proposed.

We called the waiter and when it was my time to order, I asked for a cup of hot tea because I didn't feel like drinking alcohol; the man looked at me like I was an alien.
“You mean a beer.”
“Uh, no, I mean a cup of hot tea.”
I received a dull look. A long dull look that started making me uncomfortable until some other guy stepped in to ordered his drink.
The waiter came back with our drinks; I took a sip of my tea, but when the bitter liquid hit my tongue, I almost spit it.
“What’s up? You look disgusted.”
“They fucked up my tea, it’s horrible.”
“Really? How do you fuck up tea? All you have to do is plunging a teabag into hot water.”
“Use a very cheap brand, infuse it for too long and the trick is done. It tastes like dishwater.”
I decided to set for a lemonade and ten minutes later the waiter placed in front of me a small plate with lemon slices and a glass of sugared water.
I looked at them for a minute, then asked Jason, “You think they’re trying to send me a message?”
“I think no one here has ever done more than pouring a drink from the bottle into the glass. Don’t ask for anything more.”
“Don’t they have a coke or some juice? Something you can mix with alcohol?”
“Give it a try. Maybe flirt with him a little” He shrugged.
I tried again and asked for a rum and coke “without rum” with a wink and a smile.
My attempt fell short another time when I got a can of warm, flat coke.
“All right, I know when I’m defeated.” I said.

We spent some more time talking about movies we liked when we heard some people discussing animatedly. It was Lars arguing with a random guy. A big, random guy.
“Oh God, what now?” They were getting so loud that other customers stopped looking at the parading stripper to concentrate on them. We approached the scene and asked to one of the roadies what happened.
“Apparently, two dudes noticed that Metallica were here and started commenting about them.” Said John, “And Lars overheard some less than flattering opinions about him by one of them.”
“The big one of them.”
“Right, and obviously he felt the need to set him straight.” Obviously he did, can you expect Lars to let something like this slide?

“I’m just telling it like it is. People would expect the drummer of one of the biggest metal bands on earth to be much more skilled than what you are, but no such thing. It’s like you haven’t even bother practicing to improve in all these years.” Said the big guy.
“I play my ass off every fucking show, motherfucker, you got some nerve!”
“You’re just lucky you met James Hetfield, you would be nowhere without him. You are sloppy and always mangle your parts when you play them live.”
“What do you think, that I sit on my ass doing nothing? I’m the one who’s been pushing and pulling to succeed from the very beginning, you son of a bitch. And getting signed by a record label doesn’t mean that you get everything done for you; someone needs to have a mind for business and management, do the hard work and take on the responsibilities. A band is a business, there’s not only the creative side to it.” Lars was right on this, the business part required hard work and lots of musicians –like myself– found it to be utterly boring; if he had been less driven and focused, probably Metallica wouldn’t have become so big.
“Well, congratulations, that makes you an excellent manager. Still a mediocre drummer, though.”
Not only the guy didn’t relent, he also seemed amused by Lars’s anger. For his part, Lars was livid and looked ready to start up a fight.
“For such a second-rate musician, you sure have a big ego; talk about the Napoleon complex.”
That was the last straw for the drummer, who jumped on the guy and hit him on the chin. The dude looked caught by surprise, but recovered quickly and responded by socking Lars in the stomach. A small crowd had formed around them; people from our crew were ready to step in and help Lars. It wasn’t necessary, though, because the bouncers promptly separated the two fighters and dragged them out of the club.
“Well, I guess that the night is over.” Said Jamie, as we all left the place.

The light at the hotel room was off and Kirk was peacefully sleeping on his right side, so I slipped silently into the bathroom and prepared for bed. I slid under the covers and brushed some curls away from Kirk’s face, placing a kiss on his cheek; he moved closer to me as I spooned him and closed my eyes, falling asleep lulled by his breath.

Author’s note: Ok, we’re very close to the end, I think it’s going to take two or three chapters more. I’m sorry if this one seems kind of a filler, but sometimes I really feel like banging my head on the keyboard.
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