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Sometimes I feel older than my years. Ten years ago, I was on stage with the Whiskies performing and touring, with occasional press junkets and the one off television appearance on Ed Sullivan. There were the photo shoots for posters and magazines, but none of that compared to what the industry is like today. I can’t adapt to the demands of television and marketing.
Vicky has tried. I can't even count how much money I've spent on lattes and scones in fancy cafes around New York City for our little “brunches” to discuss bookings and schedules for the promotion of my newest album. She insists that getting me to film a music video and get it aired on MTV will help boost hype and sales, but I refuse to parade around on a soundstage playing air guitar and mouthing lyrics against a playback recording. People still listen to radio, no matter what The Bungles say. I'm going to be fine. I'm a relic of the past; my audience has grown up with me. I'm not out here trying to make the teenagers happy.
Vicky thinks I'm making a mistake. She still has me booked for several televised interviews and performances just so I won't commit career suicide. Sometimes I gotta let her win.
Brendon. That boy has a natural charisma that just screams showman. It was like he was made for the eighties and it's obsession with celebrity and those fifteen seconds of fame. His Side has managed to transition seamlessly into era of music videos, glitz, and glam. It's so interesting seeing all the promotion for the band; Brendon shines front and center with that androgynous look that's sweeping the industry these days, while Jon and Spencer balance him out in more conservative dress.
I remember talking with Jon and Spencer one night over beers and cards over this new look. Both of them flat out refused the notion of makeup.
An issue of Rolling Stone lies open to a two page article about His Side’s third album release on the coffee table in front of me. The entire band soak and wet lying on the wet ground in nothing more than slacks and dress shirts, an obvious homage to Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack cover art. I look over to the man sitting next to me in nothing more than flannel bottoms and white and blue raglan t-shirt he picked up at Epcot in 1982 when he insisted we go for a winter vacation. His legs and feet are propped up on the couch and he has a bowl of popcorn in his hands that he won’t share.
I reach out to touch the sliver of skin that’s exposed at his hips, but he swats my hand away and points to the television screen with a mouth full of popcorn. I sigh and cross my arms over my chest, leaning further into the cushions of our couch. Hopefully it'll absorb me into its synthetic fibers and suffocate me to end my sexually frustrated misery.
Tonight is the premiere of His Side’s new music video on MTV and Brendon wanted to make sure that I’d see it. Of course, there was the video premiere party over at Columbia, but I have no business there.
People will start asking questions if we’re always seen in public together, after all, and I am not willing to come out yet.
“ What’s the theme for the video?” I ask in some loose attempt to start a conversation. I try to sound interested, and I am, sort of.
He hasn’t said much to me since he came in through the door with that issue of Rolling Stone rolled in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. And considering how I’m about to fly out to Europe the day after tomorrow to begin touring my new album for the next two months, I honestly would like to better spend my time tasting his sweat slicked skin than sitting on the couch watching these music videos.
“ You’ll see.”
I’ll see? Really? What is the big surprise that he can’t tell me? Here we are, grown men, sitting on the couch in our pajamas like teenagers to catch a music video premiere when we could be doing adult things. I look at him again and focus on his lips; they’re glistening and moist from the butter of the popcorn. If I could just reach over and take that bowl from his grasp and just make him forget about this whole premiere…
He shifts away from me as if he knew what I was thinking. Fucker.
I glance at the digital clock resting on the side table next to me. Two minutes till eight o’clock. It feels like two hours with how boring this one power ballad is. I reach for the Rolling Stone and look at the pictures again. There's a sex appeal to this new look, even if they are reluctant to admit it themselves. When I mean they, I am referring to the two cleanly shaven men in the group that aren’t the flamboyant gay one -- Jon and Spencer have managed to pull off the whole “eye fucking the camera” look that Brendon has been notorious for using in almost every His Side photo shoot since 1980. I want to laugh, because the last thing I'd ever imagine those two doing was something like this. I make a mental reminder to bring up the magazine once I see them again.
A guitar riff that is inherently familiar to me bleeds from the television’s speakers. I look up from the magazine and it’s the start of His Side’s premiere for their music video, Can’t Stop Love. That guitar intro has become second nature to me, even now my fingers rhythmically tap against the magazine to the chords. I spent hours in the studio tracking those lines when they were recording the album last year, and only because Brendon can be annoyingly obsessive over perfecting the sound.
We fought like cats and dogs during the tracking sessions -- I thought it sounded better with a D, he wanted a Dsus. I thought the guitar solo didn’t need the tremolo, he felt it needed it. I thought the lyrics were cheesy and commercial, he accused me of being stuck in the past and not with the times. It got to a point where the arguments were no longer in the studio and in the home. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stayed with Jon and his wife until we finished recording.
Cassie thought it was funny, even joked that we were arguing like a real married couple. But Jon and his wife find everything about our relationship cute or funny. It fascinates them for some reason I don't care to know. I'm still trying to come to terms with Cassie greeting me with a smile and a hug whenever I visit. I liked it better when she thought I was a bad influence on her precious Jon. At least then it didn't involve her wanting to have margaritas with Brendon and talk about me and my embarrassing habits.
“ MTV almost refused to play this,” Brendon says giddily, as if he just won another battle against the system. His grin just screams another victory for the gays. I just wonder how exactly is a song written from a straight man’s perspective an actual win.
Honestly, I didn’t expect this to be the first single of the album. The light hearted, poppy New Wave inspired rock seemed more suited for a B-side, but I guess the label figured it would make a great single instead. Which would probably explain why MTV wasn't successful in banning it: His Side are topping charts and Columbia is not going to make some cable television network block that cash flow. The new wave sound works for Brendon, surprisingly.
It actually works very well.
Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about.
I watch the video with a keen interest. I don't understand what makes it so amazing that Brendon won't tell me exactly what was going to happen, nor what was so risqué that MTV threatened to pull it. So far it's just another one of those bands playing outside in an open setting. There's shots of Spencer and Jon playing their respected instruments and Brendon behind the keyboards singing his heart out with his face done up in that androgynous makeup all the bands are doing these days. Heavy metal, new wave, punk -- all the boys are breaking the gender norms.
But there's a story apparently. The video cuts to His Side dressed in coveralls covered in paint and sweat. I guess they're supposed to be painters, but given how the sleeves of the coveralls are tied around their waist and much emphasis is being placed on their upper bodies clad in nothing more than white a-form shirts, I don't think the job title is relevant to the story.
I’m caught in a spell, baby / Tight black dress and red high heels drivin’ me crazy.
There's a cut to smooth legs and a pair of red high heels walking down a sidewalk and it's caught their attention. Brendon sings the lyrics with his charismatic facial expressions. He's obviously in love with whoever this woman is, so much so he's left Jon and Spencer behind on the job to follow the lady.
My heart can't take it anymore / I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
It's not the first time I've heard Brendon sing songs like this. Nearly all of His Side’s music could be sung from a straight perspective. But it's the first time I've ever seen a video where Brendon is actively pursuing a woman. You don't see her face, and most of the focus is on her legs and heels, as the video jump cuts between Brendon trying to woo her and them performing in the open field.
But he's selling it. My boy is one hell of an actor.
Ooh, Baby / You can't stop this love / Can't stop this love
Brendon in the video grabs a bouquet of flowers from a flower stand, singing and spinning as if he's on Broadway, as he chases after this woman who seems to be oblivious to his advances.
Eventually we've reached the climax of the video, at the end of that guitar solo I played over twenty times until Brendon was satisfied, where the heroine jumps into the arms of a yuppie, much to my boy’s broken hearted displeasure. And as Jon and Spencer catch up to console him, the video jump cuts to the woman….
… Revealing her face to the camera and I nearly choke on my own spit. Brendon is laughing, damn near in hysterics as I fall forward in a coughing fit. I can feel his hand rub circles into my back lovingly as I try to gasp for breath.
“ Y-y-you… little shit…!” I wheeze. On the screen, the yuppie plants a kiss on her cheek and opens the door to his luxury car. She gets inside the car. In our little apartment, he laughs at my miserable state, rubbing circles into my back.
The girl in red heels and a tight black dress is my boy. Who the fuck thought that one up? Who thought it would be a good idea to have him wear a wig with big, black permed hair and a face completely done up to the point that he could actually pull it off and pass for a woman. And those fucking hips of his in that black dress… Fuck . My boy is in drag and he tricked all of America into thinking he was a woman for three minutes and thirty seconds.
“ You okay, baby?” Brendon asked in between chuckles. A Madonna video is playing now and I shrugged Brendon’s hand away as I sit up, wiping the tears from the corner of my eyes.
“ Yes, I am, you little shit,” I chuckle. “ Oh, man. I knew something had to be up. You were way too comfortable with chasing a woman in that video.”
“ I'm surprised it took you that long to figure it out. You should know this body by now.” He tells me as he places the bowl of popcorn on top of the coffee table and makes a display of his body.
“ You don't shave your legs.”
There is a difference between hairy and shaved legs. They look different, feel different. Legs really don’t give away a gender, some guys really do have nice pairs of firm, long legs. Anyone watching that video would not have connected the two together. But he looks at me with a raised eyebrow as if I should have figured it out the moment those red heels appeared on screen.
“ Really?”
“ What?! It's true!”
With a huff, Brendon tucks his legs from underneath him and dramatically puts his feet on the coffee table, pulling up the pant legs of his flannel pajamas. His legs are smooth, with a few days of stubble. I’m surprised that I never noticed that he had actually shaved them. Then again, we’ve been so busy these past couple of months, the most skin I’ve seen on him is when he’s shirtless. Brendon shows off his legs like they're items on The Price is Right and Bob Barker is asking me to guess their value.
Definitely more than a brand new 1974 tour bus, that’s for sure.
“ How could you not know? Look at these beauties.”
“ I'm sorry, baby, but unfortunately I don't have a foot fetish. Just a thing for asses and that video lacked ass.”
Brendon gives me an incredulous look as he removes his feet from the table with a huff and I just laugh. He rolls his eyes and crosses his legs. I just lean forward and kiss his cheek.
“ Well, I could try and familiarize myself with them in the bedroom…” I whisper against his skin. He pulls away and raises an eyebrow.
“ Are you serious?”
“ Well, not really. But I do want to suck you off right now.”
He scoffs with a roll of his eyes, “ Don't tell me you got turned on by me in drag.”
What? Seriously, sometimes I wonder if we've been living under the same roof for the last six years.
“ I just want to fuck you before I leave.” I purr as I crawl into his lap.
It's an awkward fumbling of limbs as he uncrosses his legs to adjust to my sudden intrusion into his personal space as I try to get my lanky limbs on either side of him. Eventually, I manage to sit on his lap and trail my fingers along the waistband of his pajama bottoms and the exposed skin. I dip my face forward, into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and breath him in.
I can feel his fingers comb through the back of my hair, calloused fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of my neck. I can feel the soft humming against my cheek as he hums the chorus of the song.
You can't stop this love, can't stop this love.
I pull away enough to look at him. I take in his features; lips, nose, eyes, all of it, and I'm amazed that there are moments where I’m falling for him all over again, that it’s inconceivable that I’ve managed to be this happy for long. That I've been able to wake up next to this man for over a decade and that he’s mine . I take his right hand into mine own and intertwine our fingers together.
“ On second thought, I don't want to fuck you anymore.” I say. He blinks but his expression is completely amused, not out of surprise from the sudden change in my attitude.
“ Oh?”
I nod, “ I like this instead. Just this.” For a cheesy display of affections, I bring our hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles. He chuckled and sighs as his fingers card through my hair.
“ I'm impressed, Mister Ross. The older you get the more sentimental you become.”
“ And you apparently haven't changed.” He opens his mouth but I quickly lean in and capture his lips in a kiss to silence any retort he had on his tongue. “ Don't change for me, baby.” I say softly as I break the kiss.
We sit there quietly, enjoying each other’s company. When we were younger, we would have already been naked somewhere in this condo, with him writhing beneath me as I stretch him open with my fingers and swallow him down with my mouth. But lately, just being in the same space, sharing the same warmth, is more than enough.
I think we've finally realized we don't have to be as mad as rabbits to have a healthy, loving relationship.
“ Like the video?” Brendon asks me, this time he looks at me like he's searching for an answer. His expressive brown eyes are practically yelling at me for some approval to the madness that was that video. I shrug.
“ Eh, it was cute. I guess. Nice twist with the drag. Who put you up to it?”
“ I lost a game of cards to Jon and Spencer.” He quickly adds. “ We were drunk.”
In the background some teenage idol is singing about lonely love to a really fast pace and cheesy pop beat. Her nasal voice makes me hope that at least she has a pretty face because I can't see anyone buying that trash, let alone listen to it for more than three minutes. Like the good mind reader he is, Brendon grabs the television remote and turns off the television. The room is completely silent save for the ticking of a clock and the soft hum of appliances.
“ And how was that video involved in that game?”
Brendon shifts his body weight to adjust for mine as I lean further into him, “ I can't remember the details… something about high heels… who'd look better in them…”
“ Uh, hun.” I say as I press my nose against the sensitive skin at the pulse point of his neck. I don't doubt they've had conversations like this considering the shift in sound and appearance to appeal to the mass youth. Lipsticks and mascaras seem to become a staple with the band. The girls love it.
A decade ago they would have been burning the records for promoting lascivious behavior. The flower children are destroying society and our children are becoming more corrupt by the day. Maybe the religious zealots on the television are right, at this rate, the world will probably end before the end of the millennium.
“ I obviously said I would look great.”
“ How does that admission involve losing a game of cards.”
“ Winner determines where I'd wear them.”
I sit up, “You're lying. And it makes no sense.”
“ We were drunk.”
“ As if that explains everything.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and pushed me off of him. I roll off with an umph as my back hits the cushions of the couch. He quickly moves between my legs, both of his hands planted on either side of my head, as he holds himself up above me. I feel his knees between me, spreading my legs farther apart, until my left foot falls off the couch and onto the rug.
“ I think I like the fucking idea better,” He mumbles as he lifts one hand up and under my old grey t-shirt. His fingers ghost up and down my stomach and I shiver. “ It shuts you up.”
“ I think I’d like it more if you were wearing the heels.” I say with a shit eating grin.
“ You would, wouldn’t you? You kinky fuck.” He growls as he lowers his hips and grinds them against mine. I can feel his hardening cock through the thin material of my bottoms. Yeah, he's definitely turned on now. “ Just how you get off on riding me nice and slow.”
I bite my lower lip and close my eyes, “ Yeah, well, you’re no virginal saint either, Bren.”
“ I never said I was.”
His lips find mine and we’re kissing sloppily. Tongues meeting and dancing in this crude display of sexual need. Yeah, he manages to shut me up, and I don’t mind. Less talking, more fucking. That’s how we do things. He’s quick to get his hand into my pajama bottoms and nimble fingers curled around my hardening cock. He squeezes and I gasp, which he takes advantage of by deepening the kiss to muffle the slutty, gutteral moans coming from the back of my throat.
I break the kiss, a trail of saliva between our mouths as my hips rise and rock up to his hard and fast strokes. My left hand fumbles its way down his chest and under his waistband of his flannel bottoms. My fingers brush over the coarse curly hairs that lead down to his cock and I wrap my fingers around the base, giving him a firm stroke that sends him gasping and nearly falling over onto me.
It’s quick, fast, and sloppy. Like two teenagers trying to get off before the parents get home and catch their son engaged in sinful, faggot activities under their roof. We breath heavily, panting as we jerk each other off. There's no lube or lotion, just spit, precum and the sloppy sounds of the friction of skin against skin. We don't kiss, he just rests his forehead atop of mine with his eyes close as we try to chase that rising pressure building up within.
“ I'm… I’m…” I don't even finish the thought before I'm spilling into his hand, hot and sticky. It's not the best orgasm I've had, but I'm sated. I got what I wanted.
Brendon openly kisses my cheek, the side of my mouth, down my jaw, and bites at the junction there near my ear as I jerk him off. He's almost there… I can tell with the way his breath hitches in his throat. He rocks against my hand, as he whimpers, biting his lower lip. My thumb brushes against the slit of his cock and he comes, muffling his groans against my neck.
One hand combs through his hair while my other pulls out from under his pants, covered in his come. He slowly pulls his hand out of my pants and sits up with a satisfied sigh.
“ I'll get a rag to clean us up.”
He gets up and disappears into the bathroom, eventually coming out a few minutes later with a wet cloth. I sit up and make room for him on the couch. He sits down and gently wipes my fingers clean like a mother cleaning her child’s dirty hands. Each digit, one by one, with the warm damp cloth.
“ I'm gonna miss you.” I suddenly say as he starts to clean his own hand. Brendon hums to himself.
“ Two months is it?”
“ Yeah.”
“ I'll send you some off shoot photos from the set so you can masturbate to them.” He grins as he tosses the cloth on the floor somewhere. “ If someone asks, you can say it's your girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes and he laughs as he leans against me. He rests his forehead on my shoulder and I wrap my arm around him, running my fingers through the hair at his nape.
It's going to be a hard two months.