Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461
I leaned back against the peeling faux-leather sofa, nursing a flat ginger ale. My eyes weren’t fixed on any one person; they were sweeping, taking inventory of the faces that mattered. The ones leaning over the mixing board, the ones holding the actual contracts. My gaze skipped past the girlfriends, the wives, the stable ones. They were wallpaper.
I live for the proximity. I don’t care about the music, not really. When you’re standing next to someone who is currently being applauded, some of that heat spills onto you. I care about the glow. For a few hours, I’m not just so-and-so from nowhere; I’m Jamie who was with HIM. It’s a borrowed shine, and I’m addicted to the reflection.
I Only Have Eyes For Him…Until I Don’t.
Tonight, it was Finn. The bassist for ‘The Void.’ He’d seen me five times now in five different cities, and he never remembered my name until I was already halfway out the door. That was fine. Names complicate things anyway.
Finn caught my eye from across the room. He didn’t smile. He just lifted his chin, a silent, transactional query. Are you staying, or are you leaving? I waited maybe three seconds, observing the way the low red light of the emergency exit caught the small silver hoops he wore. I didn’t need to play coy. Coy was for girls looking for commitment. I was looking for a moment of elevation. Nothing more, nothing less.
I stood up, adjusting the hem of my dress. A dress deliberately chosen to look expensive, even though it was a desperate clearance find. The dress was practically a uniform by now. My professional slut uniform. lol I walked the ten steps toward him. He didn’t move or offer a hand, he just waited for me to arrive at my destination…him.
“Thought you might have already left,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from screaming into a mic for two hours. “Wouldn’t miss the encore,” I said, the phrase tasting like ash because the real encore always happens in silence, in some anonymous, temporary space.
He led me down a narrow passage, past bins overflowing with trash, into a small storage closet. Typical. It was cold, functional, and utterly devoid of warmth. I didn’t protest. I didn’t even think to ask for better. This was the dark reality of the borrowed shine—you get exactly what the artist is willing to spare, and it’s never much more than the bare minimum.
Finn grabbed me by the waist and pulled me towards him, kissing me deeply. It almost felt like he cared. Almost, but not quite. I lifted my dress, pulled my lace panties to my ankles, and turned around. Finn instinctually bent me over and shoved his thick cock into my pussy, moaning loudly with every thrust.
Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461
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