549. The Stroke

So, what do you do when your lover-singer-creative-partner-relationship-person-you-can’t-live-without is three thousand miles away?

If you’re me, all you do is suffer a lot in silence.

If you’re Ziggy, you get a pager.

I picked up the phone when it rang. “Moondog Central.”

“Hey.” He sounded out of breath. “Glad you’re home.”

So am I, I thought. I hadn’t talked to him since he’d left. “Hey. How’s the left coast?”

“Smoggy and ridiculous, as usual. I wanted to give you a number.”

“A number?”

“A phone number. I got a pager. Since I’m kind of bouncing around and not always at the same place.”

“Ah. Sure.” I didn’t even ask where he’d been staying. I figured if I needed to know he’d tell me. I took down the number. Then, trying not to sound totally pathetic but probably failing, I asked, “When are you coming back?”

“Next week, probably? But maybe only to New York. I don’t know.” He didn’t sound happy.

“Everything going all right? With the movie and stuff?”

He made a non-committal noise. “Opening weekend box office was strong enough that no one is complaining too loud, but it got panned pretty bad by critics, and it’s out of most theaters already.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“A little of each, I guess. It’s kind of weird. One thing that didn’t get panned was my performance. And they’re taking the strong opening weekend as a sign that people went because of me, whereas those who want to go to see an actual good movie aren’t bothering now. So… it’s all good for my career personally but it’s a little tough when it might have done better.”

“How’s Jennifer?”

“Your rival for my affections?” he joked.

I swear I didn’t say anything, didn’t even breathe, but somehow he heard me freeze up.

“I’m joking, Daron. She and I are just good friends now.”

“Okay but forgive me for being like a lawyer about this but….” I spoke very delicately. “I wasn’t aware someone had to even be friends with you to get in your pants.”

“Hah. True. But it’s also true I haven’t seen her since the premiere and she’s not even in LA right now.”

“Oh. So when are you coming home?”

“Not sure.”

Hearing his voice, I wanted to lick the phone receiver. No, I had not been drinking. “Shit. I finally got used to having you around,” I said, meaning it as a joke but it came out a sort of pathetic whine.

“Having me every day, you mean.”

“That, too.”

“Meet me in New York? You got anything better to do?”

“No, but…”

“I’ll let you know when I’m coming. It’ll probably at least a week, though.”




He licked his lips. I could hear it. “You really need to do something for yourself when I’m not around.”

“Like what?”

“Like… let Colin suck you like a Hoover.”

His voice had already turned me on but hearing him talk like that, it was impossible to stay cool. I pretended to, anyway. “Colin is not into cocksucking.”

“All that matters is he’s into you. Or, fine, just hire someone. No fuss. No attachments.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I am not kidding. Most of them are perfectly nice guys.”

“Who peddle their asses because they’re such upstanding, responsible human beings? No. That’s too dangerous for too many reasons. Don’t be ridiculous.” A sudden thought occurred to me. “What about you? Tell me you’re not hiring hustlers to take care of your needs.”

“Uh-uh.” His voice dropped. “I’m holding out until I see you again.”

“You’re what?” My jeans were getting uncomfortably tight. “Really?”

“Really. I’m lying in bed right now. I’m pretending that’s your hand on my dick.”

“You’re not…” I stood up to shift myself. “Are you?”

“Mm-hm, I am. This abstinence thing is kind of hot, don’t you think? This whole not letting anyone touch my skin but you thing.”

“Ziggy!” I cupped my hand over my zipper.

“You could fly out here, you know…”

“I. Am. Not. At. Your. Beck. And. Call.”

“Mmm, true. Just pointing it out, though, if you can’t wait. I, though? I can wait.” He sucked in a breath suddenly. “Mm, that was close.”

“What was close?”

“Almost came. But I’m holding out.”

“Holding out? Are you waiting for me to hang up?”

“No, definitely not. I’m waiting for you to get over yourself and start jerking off with me.”

“Fuck.” My brain wasn’t working right and it was pretty much impossible to decide whether I should go upstairs, or lock the basement door, or just whip out my cock and have at it. I was already well past any kind of judgment about whether or not I was going to do it. There wasn’t any question about that, it was just a question about whether I could be at all sensible about where.

“Are you in your room?” Ziggy asked.

“No, I’m in the basement.”

“If I were there, I’d take you in my mouth and swallow every drop so there’d be nothing to clean up.”

“You’re going to kill me. This is torture.”

“Is it painful? I bet it wouldn’t be if you put your hand down your pants.”

The second my hand wrapped around me I wondered why I’d been waiting. He sucked in a breath again and I heard a shuddery moan that I knew was him holding back. Fuck.

I sat down on a milk crate, moved the phone to my other shoulder, unzipped, licked my palm, and went at it in earnest.

“Go on, Ziggy,” I said. “Let me hear you come.”

“You first,” he said.

“No, you first. When I hear it, there’s no way I’m going to be able to hold back.”

“Mm. All right.” There was a rustling sound as I guess he changed his position.

I probably don’t have to convince you that hearing him moan and groan and say my name while he came was the hottest thing I had ever heard.

When I came to my senses a little, I was sitting in the basement with my pants down and a large handful of spunk.

“So, now you have a number you can call whenever you need to jerk off,” Ziggy said. “I’ll try to call back whenever you need me.”

“Nu-uh,” I said. “What happens is now whenever you call me I’ll want to jerk off.”

He chuckled. “You’re still inside out, upside down, and backwards sometimes.”

“‘You spin me round,'” I quoted.

“Okay, now I have to actually go.” He made a kissing sound into the phone.

I couldn’t bring myself to be that cheesy, even if I was love-drunk right then. I said “Bye” instead.

He was right: my head was inside out. The fact that I wasn’t the slightest bit freaked out by what we’d just done was proof. I succeeded at not thinking too deeply about it at all.

I’ll spare you the gory details of how I got back upstairs without making a total mess. Two words: laundry day.


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