but drinking coffee, being comfortable, and getting dressed. Saturday mornings should not be rushed.
The sun burnt off the morning mist and was high in the sky, I was recharged. I called a taxi and put on my black leather boots.
On the ride into town I got a message from Heather, “Lunch?”
My relationship with Heather is hard to explain, she has been in my life consistently for the better part of a decade. She has a habit of building me up then cutting me down, she would give me a flood of compliments and tell me what I need to hear, then rip me apart the moment I seemed vulnerable. I am not sure if she is a good person, even after all these years. She challenges me, but rarely in a good way. Over the years we would have little periods of time where we would have sex, we basically would hate fuck each other. It usually resulted in not speaking to each other for months after the fact. Over the last decade this routine has been fairly consistent. We would be friends of sorts, she would be all head fucky, and I would be distant. We would fuck and things would get weird. As complex as our relationship is Heather really does look out for me.
We hadn’t had sex in a long time. When did have are little encounters, it usually involved me tit fucking her. In fact, that is what I did to Heather almost every time. She was built for it perfectly, sometimes I used lube but spit can be better. I loved squeezing her between my legs and tucking my cock between her big soft tits. She was perfect for this, I would glide my big dick between her breasts and hang on to the headboard. In a way it is all very impersonal, she would squeeze them together and guide my dick so I wouldn’t fly out and talk dirty to me. “Am I your dirty little tit fuck girl?” she would say.
It was rare to hear from her like this, even with all the underlining animosity she was a friend, and I thought maybe something was up. She had a little apartment that wasn’t far from where I was going. I messaged her in response, “The Treehouse, see you in an hour” it was a little lunch spot that I liked.
I gave the Cabbie 40 dollars and told him to keep the change. Bonneville on a sunny Saturday, I am more familiar with the city at night, and maybe more comfortable. I stood in front of the Metropolis, it was a beautiful theater that had a rich history. On the walls there were advertisements for upcoming events, A BareskinRug poster was still there, a white background with a black image of a bear skin on it. I found it looked more like an inkblot.
I walked through the doors and into the lobby, when the door closed behind me it hummed with silence. Hundreds of competing smells sat in the still air. It was mostly dark, daylight fought to come in from the main entrance windows but was quickly overwhelmed by the darkness of the theater. This was not a place for natural light. To get to Frank’s office I had to walk into the main hall, and then behind the stage. I knew banging on the back door would be pointless and this was the best way.
Being in that theater alone sent chills up my spine. Some of the best experiences of my life were here. The room looked like it was sleeping and I walked quietly as to not wake it up.
“You’re crazy to leave your bike in that alley overnight” The voice echoed around and I pivoted to find the source.
Behind me, looking up I could see Frank was sitting in the balcony behind me. He was leaning on the railing with his arms folded, cigarette in hand. The hair he had left was grey and combed to the side, his voice was harsh from a million cigarettes. He had a tick where he was constantly scratching his wrinkled forehead. I felt I was disturbing something.
“Franky, here with all your friends” I asked
He stood up and walked down the steps, ”I guess you want money” his voice filled the room even though he was out of site for a moment.
“Sold out show” I responded
Frank stopped a few rows from where I stood and smoked
The sun burnt off the morning mist and was high in the sky, I was recharged. I called a taxi and put on my black leather boots.
On the ride into town I got a message from Heather, “Lunch?”
My relationship with Heather is hard to explain, she has been in my life consistently for the better part of a decade. She has a habit of building me up then cutting me down, she would give me a flood of compliments and tell me what I need to hear, then rip me apart the moment I seemed vulnerable. I am not sure if she is a good person, even after all these years. She challenges me, but rarely in a good way. Over the years we would have little periods of time where we would have sex, we basically would hate fuck each other. It usually resulted in not speaking to each other for months after the fact. Over the last decade this routine has been fairly consistent. We would be friends of sorts, she would be all head fucky, and I would be distant. We would fuck and things would get weird. As complex as our relationship is Heather really does look out for me.
We hadn’t had sex in a long time. When did have are little encounters, it usually involved me tit fucking her. In fact, that is what I did to Heather almost every time. She was built for it perfectly, sometimes I used lube but spit can be better. I loved squeezing her between my legs and tucking my cock between her big soft tits. She was perfect for this, I would glide my big dick between her breasts and hang on to the headboard. In a way it is all very impersonal, she would squeeze them together and guide my dick so I wouldn’t fly out and talk dirty to me. “Am I your dirty little tit fuck girl?” she would say.
It was rare to hear from her like this, even with all the underlining animosity she was a friend, and I thought maybe something was up. She had a little apartment that wasn’t far from where I was going. I messaged her in response, “The Treehouse, see you in an hour” it was a little lunch spot that I liked.
I gave the Cabbie 40 dollars and told him to keep the change. Bonneville on a sunny Saturday, I am more familiar with the city at night, and maybe more comfortable. I stood in front of the Metropolis, it was a beautiful theater that had a rich history. On the walls there were advertisements for upcoming events, A BareskinRug poster was still there, a white background with a black image of a bear skin on it. I found it looked more like an inkblot.
I walked through the doors and into the lobby, when the door closed behind me it hummed with silence. Hundreds of competing smells sat in the still air. It was mostly dark, daylight fought to come in from the main entrance windows but was quickly overwhelmed by the darkness of the theater. This was not a place for natural light. To get to Frank’s office I had to walk into the main hall, and then behind the stage. I knew banging on the back door would be pointless and this was the best way.
Being in that theater alone sent chills up my spine. Some of the best experiences of my life were here. The room looked like it was sleeping and I walked quietly as to not wake it up.
“You’re crazy to leave your bike in that alley overnight” The voice echoed around and I pivoted to find the source.
Behind me, looking up I could see Frank was sitting in the balcony behind me. He was leaning on the railing with his arms folded, cigarette in hand. The hair he had left was grey and combed to the side, his voice was harsh from a million cigarettes. He had a tick where he was constantly scratching his wrinkled forehead. I felt I was disturbing something.
“Franky, here with all your friends” I asked
He stood up and walked down the steps, ”I guess you want money” his voice filled the room even though he was out of site for a moment.
“Sold out show” I responded
Frank stopped a few rows from where I stood and smoked
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