Revue (5 page)

“Do you mind?” I asked quietly, conscious that eyes and ears would be prying.

“Lose the bitch, sweetheart. I thought we got passed that.”

I glared at him “You’d be wise not to underestimate the level of bitch I possess, Josh. And I swear to God,” I hissed, “if you call me ‘sweetheart’ one more time, I’ll revisit your balls with my foot.”

“Okay, okay!” His hands went up in defence. “Fuck, you’re crazy, but I like it.”

“I’m not crazy. Well, not normally, only around you. You piss me off.”

“Do I piss you off enough to want angry sex with me?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I pulled Em’s iPod out of my bag. “If all you’re going to do is bait me, you may as well find another seat,” I explained, placing the ear buds in my ear.

He yanked them out.

“Hey!”

“I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you.”

I burst into laughter. “No you don’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, his forehead bunched.

“Because all you seem to be interested in is fucking women, and since I’m not going to be one of those women, I just figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Yeah? Well … you figured wrong.” Josh shifted in his seat, all of a sudden appearing somewhat insulted. It gave me a touch of the guilts.

I sighed. “What would you like to know?”

He grabbed my iPod and earphones from out of my hand. “I want to know what you’re listening to.” Josh swiped the screen and proceeded to go through the playlists. “Workout Music, Cleaning Music, Yoga Music?” he read out loud, shooting me a sideways glance of disbelief.

I tried to snatch the iPod back. “It’s not mine. It’s Em’s.”

“Surrre! Thinking Music? Are you for real?”

“I told you, it’s not mine.”

“Sex Music! Now we’re talking,” he crooned.

Curious, I leaned in and peered at the screen. “What has she put on that list?”

His aftershave wafted up my nose; musk mixed with what smelled like fake tan. It wasn’t overly pleasant—fake tan never was—yet it wasn’t horrible either. It was … unique and strangely alluring.

“Are you right there? Sniffing me like a customs dog?”

Meeting his gaze, I quickly moved back then looked out of the bus window.  We were in motion, something I hadn’t even realised had occurred, due to being highly distracted by the walking, talking head-fuck that sat beside me.

“I wasn’t sniffing you,” I explained, annoyance saturating my tone. “Whatever the hell you’re wearing drifted up my nose and murdered my nostrils.”

“Are you always this bitchy?”

“Are you always this … this—”

“What?”

“Relentless,” I said through gritted teeth turning back to look at him. “I barely even know you and already I feel like we’ve been at each other’s throats for years.”

He tapped the screen and smiled. “You’re overreacting.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m not the one driving you completely nuts.”

Josh shuffled in his seat and poked the earphones into my ears before responding. I couldn’t hear what he’d said, but if I were to hazard a guess by the way his lips moved, I would say it was, “guess again.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

As I tried to decipher his words, the opening hum of the song “Relax”
by Frankie Goes to Hollywood blasted into my ear. “Shit!” I exclaimed, jumping in my seat and pulling out one of the buds. Josh picked it up, poked it in his ear, and proceeded to dance in his seat while singing along to the catchy song.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The guy was nuts, and despite his impertinence—and male-slut ways—he did seem fun and carefree.

Bumping my shoulder with his own, he encouraged me to let loose by lip-syncing the words and smiling like an idiot. I shook my head at him and playfully rolled my eyes, which was when he put his hand over his cock and pretended to stroke it while singing the line about wanting to come.

My head fell into my hand, uncontrollable giggles spilling through my fingers. “How old are you?”

“What?” he yelled.

I yanked his earphone out. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. How old are you?”

“Younger than you, believe it or not.”

“I don’t, so how old?” He poked the earphone back in.

“Twenty-four.”

“Do you like older men, Cori?” he asked, mimicking the action of a blow job when the lyric about ‘sucking to it’ was sung.

“Yeah, the ones who act their age, I do.”

“You mean the boring, geriatric fuckers.”

“No. I mean sensible, mature guys.”

“I’m sensible and
very
mature.” This time, he actually groped his cock.

My smile faded and my lips pursed. “Clearly,” I responded, unable to look away from the bulge within his grasp. The sheer sight of it had me swallowing heavily.

“Why’d you break up with your last boyfriend?”

I glared at him yet again. “None of your business.”

“It’s just a question.”

“Yeah, a rude one.”

He shrugged. “Ask me a rude one, then.”

Eyes opened wide, I decided to take him up on the offer. “Okay. Why do you fuck so many women?”

“Because I like to.”

I stared at him. “That’s it?”

“Yep. I like to fuck. I like to fuck women. They like to fuck me. So … we fuck.”

Curious, I wanted to know more about his whoreish ways. “But why so many? Why not find one you really like and just fuck her?”

“Because I like more than one.”

“You’re just greedy, and wrong on so many levels, that’s what you are. Oh, and little do you know, you’re missing out on life’s greatest connection.”

“No, I’m not,” he said confidently.

“Yeah, you are. You’re missing out on all the wonderful things that accompany love: longing, touching, yearning … words that set your heart on fire.”

Josh scoffed and belly laughed. “You’re wrong. A touch is just touch. A look is just a look. And words are just words. It’s that simple.”

Shocked—and a little sympathetic toward his naivety—I turned, facing him and giving my full attention. “No, you’re wrong, Josh. So wrong that I almost feel sorry for you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, add intimacy to the equation,
true intimacy
, and a touch can be forever felt, a look can be forever seen, and words are never forgotten.”

Josh met my intent stare then returned his attention to the iPod. “So you’re one of those chicks, huh? The ones who want Prince fucking Charming to trot in on his horse of heroics and take you away to live happily ever after in a tower full of fluff?”

I narrowed my gaze at him. “Yes, I am. And what’s wrong with that?”

The fucker smiled to himself, tapped the screen then looked to me for a reaction. I listened, and not before long, “Stupid Girl” by Garbage came on.

Fuck you,
I mouthed, glaring.

With pleasure
, he mouthed back.

Continuing to glare, I stood my ground. “I’m not stupid for wanting real love. You’re the stupid one for not wanting it.”

“It doesn’t exist.”

Frustrated, I pulled the ear bud out of my ear. “It does. Real love exists when you no longer breathe for yourself, instead breathing for him. Well, in your case, for
her
.”

“She can breathe for herself. That’s what lungs are for.”

“You’re about as gentlemanly as a gremlin, aren’t you?”

“Gremlins don’t exist.”

I closed my eyes in the hope I could rein in the need to strangle him with my bare hands.

“Have you experienced this ‘asphyxiating’ real love before?” he asked, his tone turned serious.

Straightening in my seat again, I opened my eyes, propped my elbow on the sill of the window and rested my head in my hand, smiling through the dull ache of a memory. “I thought I had. But no, I haven’t. Not even close.”

“When did you break up?”

Letting out a mild breath, I figured I might as well tell him. What harm could it possibly do? He’d more than likely forget about this conversation the moment we stepped off the bus and his tongue was down someone else’s throat.

“Just over a year ago.”

“So when was the last time you fucked someone?”

“Josh! Is that all you think about? Sex.”

“Pretty much. So how long?”

“I don’t know,” I said dismissively, knowing
exactly
how long it had been.
Four hundred and three days. Give or take a few hours.

“No fucking way.” His grin was sadistic. “Really?”

“What?”

“He was the last person you fucked … over a year ago?”

“No!” The lie I’d just told warmed my cheeks. Actually, it fucking burned.

“He was!” Josh said with an over-exuberant grin and shuffle in his seat.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I launched my defence. “So? So what if he was? There’s more to life than sex, you know.”

“Yeah, there is, sweetheart. Sex with me.” Josh leaned closer, his breath hot on my neck. “And you’re gonna experience that real soon.”

I turned toward him.

Bad idea. Terrible mistake.

Our faces were centimetres from touching. “No I’m not.”

“Oh, yes, you are. In fact, I’m going to make it my sole mission before this tour has ended to get you on top of my cock. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, sweetheart … you’re gonna love it.”

“I won’t sleep with you,” I whispered, unable to generate any further sound.

His eyes lit up, devilishly. “I don’t want you to sleep.”

The perverseness of his expression and words had me pressing my back against the window. “Josh, stop it,” I barely voiced.

“No. Don’t sit there and tell me your pussy isn’t tightening at the very thought of my tongue tasting it?”

Holy fuck! Yes, you son-of-a-bitch.

My breath was heavy, my chest heaving. I tried pushing thoughts of Josh’s tongue from my mind.

I failed … miserably.

“I’m not like you. I don’t just fuck for the hell of it … for the fun of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because fucking for the hell of it is meaningless … and disgusting.”

“No it’s not,” he said while shaking his head. “It
means
a hell of a lot to my balls. It
means
everything.”

Breathing a little easier, I sighed. “It does not. It’s just one part of two people sharing a deep connection … making love. If you want to get technical, it’s about creating life. Or at least it should be about that.” The dickhead nodded in agreement, yet the smart-arse expression on his face indicated he felt quite the opposite, so I continued, “Ugh, maybe we should just agree to disagree.”
Why am I even arguing about this with him?

“Just because I don’t ‘make love’, doesn’t mean I’m not connecting with the bitch I’m fucking. Normally we are connected quite well … and for quite some time.”

I felt stabby. The guy made me stabby.

Closing my eyes briefly, I shook my head—something I seemed to do quite often when around him. “I have no words for you, Josh. No words.”

Leaning forward, I opted to ignore him—because I really did have no words—and pulled my iPad from out of my handbag, switching it on and typing
Australian big things.
The route the tour bus was travelling would see us pass a few of these large icons, icons I’d wanted to photograph for quite some time.

He preened his neck and spied my screen. “You don’t need to Google that, sweetheart. The biggest thing in Australia is currently nestled in my pants.”

Oh my God, somebody help me. I’m going to kill this man. I’m going to go insane and flex my fingers around his neck until he can no longer talk.

Closing my eyes—yet again—I gently clamped my tongue between my teeth, preventing a laugh from escaping my throat. As frustrating as he was, he was also incredibly funny. And I knew that if I opened my eyes and found his, my imprisoned laugh would no doubt be freed, encouraging his non-mouth-filter ways. That was the last thing I wanted to do.

I let out my breath as I spoke. “Do you ever stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Your constant inappropriateness,” I gritted out, opening my glaring eyes.

“No. And I won’t. Not until I have you underneath me, breathless, wet and digging those nails into the skin of my back.”

“Not gonna happen,” I retorted, desperately trying to ignore the very thought of being underneath him.

It was difficult.

Near impossible.

For fuck’s sake, Cori! The guy was playing tonsil-hockey with a skank not thirty minutes ago, and here he is trying to play genital hockey with you. Surely that alone is enough to dissuade you from wanting to be underneath him?

In theory, yes, it was enough to put me off him. But in reality … here, sitting right beside him, his fake tan/aftershave scent delightfully teasing me, and a hint of his perfect skin visible from the V-neck of his T-shirt? … Yeah, all bets were off.

Trying again to focus on a topic that was not Josh, I sucked in a deep breath and scanned the Big Banana Wikipedia page on my screen. We would be driving by the famous landmark when passing through Coffs Harbour, and I couldn’t wait to photograph it.

Josh casually slid his back across the seat, dipping into me, his face now level with my ear, his warm breath tickling my lobe and sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ve been to the Big Banana before,” he whispered, placing his other hand over mine. I stared at it for a second before he caressed my skin lightly, teasingly. Josh then lifted my hand and slowly moved it toward him. “It’s overrated and nowhere near as big as this.”

I tensed the muscles in my arm to prevent him from putting my hand on his groin, because that was exactly where it was heading. He chuckled at my attempt and thwarted my efforts by tugging harder, my strength no match for his.

My hand reluctantly settled on his cock.

His very hard cock.

His very large, hard cock.

His very
nice
, large, hard cock.

Holy hell! Is that real or a pet sea serpent that he just so happens to let sleep in his pants?
Whatever it was, it felt good—oh so good—but I was not about to let him know that. And anyway, what he’d just done crossed the line.

I turned slowly to face him, a venomous look in my eyes, and kept my voice low and concise. I also clenched my fingers for effect … and because I just couldn’t help myself. “You’ve got exactly three seconds to let go of my hand or you’ll experience the worst kind of pain imaginable.”

He glanced at my mouth, which made me nervous, then smiled and brought my hand to his lips. “You and me, sweetheart,” he murmured, before kissing my knuckles, “we’re going to fuck. And fuck hard.”

Josh then stood up and walked toward the back of the bus.

Oh my God! That guy! That frustrating, egotistical, sex-crazed, pig-headed tool of a guy! But fuck me, if he hasn’t just sent my mind and body into a state of carnal confusion. Yeah … great. Just what I need.

***

Matt had taken a seat beside me shortly after Josh had left me alone, feeling horny and furious. Not even one day in to the tour, and I was already drowning in overt male sexiness, unsure as to whether I needed a lifeguard or not.

I probably did. I wasn’t a very good swimmer.

One after the other, each man was in my space, sucking my focus and replacing it with virile intoxication. And for a woman in her twenties who likes men and hasn’t had sex for more than twelve months, cognition in their vicinity was a true test. Matt, however, only mildly distorted my headspace, because in the short time I’d spoken to him during our bus ride, he seemed to be nothing like Josh or Brad. He was very much the entrepreneur, and therefore extremely passionate as to the success of Wild Nights Revue. He was driven and highly focussed on the promotion, marketing and
appeal
aspects of what he and the guys did. I’d also found out that the promotional article he’d mentioned when I first boarded the bus was to feature the guys and be published in
Women
magazine, which was the reason for our impromptu bus meeting. He needed me to take a few ‘tasteful’ shots at this evening’s show to accompany that particular editorial. In other words, I was to snap some pics before too many items of clothing were removed.

I liked Matt. I liked his drive, his attitude, and his outlook on male revue performances as a whole. I also liked that he didn’t blatantly flirt with me, as the others had, and that he had a long-term girlfriend. I’d asked, in my not-so-forward forward way, how he was able to get up on stage and bare his body to women who were not his partner. His answer was both surprising and enlightening. “For me and a majority of the others, what we do is an act,” he’d explained. “When we step onto that stage, the real Wild Nights Revue guys are left behind and seductive, playful and highly sexed-up characters replace us.”

“So, essentially, what you’re saying is that you’re all actors?” I’d asked.

“Yeah, pretty much … with the exception of Josh.”

I’d nodded and smiled, indicating that I’d already cottoned on to that particular assessment, but it was what he’d said next that I’d been pondering ever since. “Cori, I’m going to apologise upfront with respect to Josh, and warn you to be careful. He’s the most confused motherfucker I’ve ever met, and I have no doubt he’ll pursue you. It’s what he does; he can’t fucking help himself. You’re gorgeous, and definitely his type. Physically, that is. Intellectually though, you’re far too smart … a hell of a lot smarter than who he normally fucks. Anyway, if he gets to be a bit too much, or won’t back off, just tell me, okay? I’ll put the arsehole in his place.”

I’d reassured him that Josh was harmless, that I was not going to fall victim to his cock-wielding ways, and that he wasn’t my type and, therefore, I could handle his brazen attempts to bed me. I’d dealt with guys like Josh before—well, maybe not quite like Josh—and it wasn’t the first time I’d been pursued by someone with one thing, and one thing only, on his mind. I wasn’t a stranger to that trap; in fact, it was one of the main reasons I was looking for Mr Right and not Mr Right Now. I’d had enough of the games, hurt and disappointment that always came hand in hand with someone like Josh. I was tired of being let down and played. I wanted stability, loyalty, and to be everything my partner ever wanted and needed. I wanted to find my soul mate.

Now sitting by the hotel pool, a few short hours after arriving in Albury, I was making notes as to what pics I planned on taking at this evening’s show. My efforts were in vain though, as two things Matt had mentioned during the bus ride kept replaying in my mind: “He’s the most confused motherfucker I’ve ever met” and “You’re a hell of a lot smarter than who he normally fucks”. That last statement rang true, if the skank I’d caught him fucking up against the vending machine was anything to go by—she sure as shit wasn’t intelligent. And from the social media stalking I’d conducted before starting the job, I could tell the women he chose to spend his spare time with were definitely questionable in terms of cleverness. But the question currently bugging me was, why? Why did he choose women with inadequate substance, wit and attention spans? Why did he measure himself on those qualities, or lack thereof? Something wasn’t adding up. He was gorgeous to look at: physical perfection. And in the short time I’d known him, I could tell, despite his flippant attitude, that there was much more to him—much more to his level of intelligence. Call it a sixth sense.

One thing I knew for sure was that he had a way of getting under my skin, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. He wasn’t my type. He was too bold and rude.
And
he was a goddamn slut.
Ugh!

Nothing about his impact on me made sense, because I wasn’t weak, narrow-minded, submissive or easily manipulated. Yet I wasn’t a prudish snob or stuck-up princess either. I was just plain and simple Cori: twenty-four years of age, blonde, blue eyes, milky-white skin—because the sun despises me—an arts graduate and freelance photographer and, thanks to two loving parents and a protective brother, I possessed intelligence and good decision-making skills. I was nothing special, but I did have a level head on my shoulders; therefore, allowing Josh to weave his iniquity into me was not only confounding but also very unlike me.

I had rules. Rules that he’d broken without even realising. Rules that I’d seemed to let him break.
Strange.

“Sweetheart, fancy getting wet with me?”

Looking up, I shaded the sun from my eyes, squinting and finding Josh in a pair of board shorts with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Um no, not really. I’m happy remaining dry, thanks.”

His devilish grin appeared, bold and unforgiving. “Wrong answer.”

Before I could comprehend what that meant, he’d scooped me into his arms, my notepad and pen slipping from my hands as he walked to the edge of the pool.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked, kicking and squirming.

“I want you wet.”

“I don’t want to be wet,” I growled.

His eyebrows rose. “Every woman wants to be wet.”

“No, they fucking don’t. Put me down!”

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”

“Josh!”

“Yes?”

“I mean it. Put me down!”

“Whatever you say.”

Cool water hit my skin, and the next thing I knew I was resurfacing from being submerged in the pool. “You arsehole!” I coughed, wiping my face as I treaded water.

He, too, had taken the plunge and playfully splashed in my direction. “Aw … don’t be like that. It won’t kill you.”