“We cannot ask Mr. Kingsley to stand down at this point.”
“Then I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about, do we?” Matt asked.
“Matt...”
“I’m hanging up the phone now so I can go tear me off some English gash,” he said. “I’ll give you thirty days to think this shit over and do the right thing. Call me if you decide to tell Kingsley to take a fuckin’ hike. Do not call me for any other reason.”
“Matt ... you can’t just...”
“Bye now,” Matt said.
With that, he hung up the phone. After that, he went and tore himself off some English gash.
Meanwhile, just across the pond in Boston, Massachusetts, it was 6:30 PM and Njord Miller was in his fourth-floor room of the Boston Sheraton Hotel scoring himself a little American gash (the only kind of gash he had ever scored, unless you counted, as a category of gash other than American, that one time he managed to get some Eskimo gash up in Alaska). Her name was Jessica something or other, and he had met her down in the bar about two hours ago. She was a cute brunette in her mid-thirties, big titties with huge nipples, and she had been impressed as hell to be meeting Celia Valdez’s personal pilot, which was how Njord had introduced himself to her.
“Yes! Yes! I’m coming!” Jessica cried out four minutes and eighteen seconds after Njord inserted his condom-capped member into her body in the missionary position and started thrusting away.
“Yeah, baby!” Njord said, picking up the pace a little. “You dig my cock, don’t you?”
Her answer was inarticulate, just a series of guttural moans. She scratched at his back with her fingernails. She thrust her pelvis erratically back at him. Njord had no doubt that this was the real deal here. In fact, the thought that she (or any woman he had ever fucked) might be faking an orgasm never even entered his mind. Which was probably for the best, since the orgasm Jessica was experiencing was indeed as artificial as NutraSweet, as phony as an email from a Nigerian prince in exile.
When she wrapped up her performance, Jessica began encouraging Njord to produce a real orgasm. It did not take long. She simply used a few aeronautical themed euphemisms, scratched at his back a little more, told him he was the best fuck she’d ever had, and his circuit breaker fell smoking to the ground. He spasmed and exploded, filling the little reservoir tip at the end of the condom with his offering.
He rolled off of her, onto his back, panting and sweaty. When he caught his breath, he pulled the condom off and dropped it into the little garbage can next to the bed. He looked over at his companion, seeing she was looking up at the ceiling, a contented expression on her face. He felt rather proud of himself for putting that expression there.
“You were great, baby,” he told her, reaching out to stroke her breast.
She cooed a little. “So were you,” she assured him. “I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of slut or anything.”
“Of course not,” he said, although he thought exactly that, but that was okay because he had absolutely nothing against sluts. In fact, he relied upon them for the majority of his sexual encounters.
“It just that ... you know ... there was such a chemistry between us, such a connection. I never jump into bed with a man two hours after meeting him, but with you ... I just couldn’t help myself. I knew five minutes after meeting you in the bar that I wanted you and I wanted you today.”
“And you got me,” Njord said slyly, quite enjoying the stroke to his ego she was giving him. She was a little different than the average slut he fucked. She was more intelligent, more articulate. He actually enjoyed talking to her. Usually, by this point in an encounter, he was trying to figure out a way to get them out of his room so he could take a nap.
“Yes, I did,” she said with a little giggle. She patted him high on his naked thigh affectionately. “And I’m glad I did. That was probably the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t come very easily from fucking, but you pulled one right out of me. You’re a wonderful lover, Njord.”
“I’m just me,” he said modestly, though inside he was high-fiving himself, feeling very worthy of the name his parents had saddled him with.
“Just you,” she said with another giggle. “A man who gets to fly Celia Valdez and her band around all over the country. What a cool job! Where are you going next?”
“They have one more show to do in Boston tomorrow night and then we’ll be heading up to Portland the next morning. There will be two shows in Portland. From there, it’s up to Bangor to close out this leg. After that, we’re on break for five days and then we’re going to Quebec and then three dates in Montreal.”
“Up to Canada, huh?”
“That’s right,” he said. “The final leg of the tour is the Canadian cities. We’ll finish up in Victoria near the end of September.”
“That is just so cool,” she said. “What’s she like?”
“Who? Celia?”
“Yeah,” she said. “She’s so beautiful, so talented. Is she a nice person? Do you like working for her?”
“I don’t work for her,” he said stiffly. “She just flies on my aircraft. She does what the hell I tell her when she’s aboard.”
“Ohhh, I see,” Jessica said. “So ... you’re actually the boss then?”
“Goddamn right I’m the boss,” Njord said. “I don’t put up with no shit from no Hollywood rich bitch like her.”
“It sounds like you don’t like her much?”
“I can’t stand the bitch,” he said. “She’s a stuck-up, overrated lesbo.”
Jessica’s eyebrows went up. “Lesbo?” she asked. “Do you mean that in the literal sense?”
“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” he said. “She’s getting it on with my lesbian copilot. They’ve been rubbing their clams together for the past month or so now.”
“Really?” she said, obviously intrigued by this revelation. “Have you actually seen them doing it?”
“Well ... no,” he said. “It’s not like they invite me to their room to watch them, you know.” Although he would jump at the opportunity if they did. Bitch or not, Valdez was smoking hot, and Suzie wasn’t all that bad either, just a little masculine looking because of her haircut.
“Then how do you know they’re getting it on?” she enquired.
“It’s common knowledge among those of us on the tour,” he said. “They spend every night together in Celia’s hotel room. They used to just meet up there a couple times a week to smoke cigars and bullshit, but for the past month or so, Suzie stays every night with her, all night long. She hasn’t slept in her own room once.”
“That is rather suggestive,” Jessica had to agree. “Do they talk about their relationship?”
“They don’t,” he said. “I think maybe they’re under the impression that nobody knows they’re doing it. But we’re a small group of people who travel together and stay in the same hotels day after day. You can’t hide shit like that under those circumstances. And even if we didn’t know about the hotel rooms, you can tell just by watching them when they’re together. They share their flirty little looks with each other, they make allusions that they think are sly. Coop—he’s the drummer for the band and about the only one who isn’t a stuck-up asshole—told me that everyone is talking about it when they’re not around and everyone knows they’re doing the nasty with each other.”
“Very interesting,” Jessica said. “I never would have taken Celia Valdez for a lesbian.”
“Coop says she’s not a full-on lesbo,” Njord said. “He thinks she’s just trying the other team for a while since she got fucked so bad by Greg Oldfellow. Suzie, on the other hand, is a hard-core lesbo. She is probably in love with Celia, probably thinks she’s found Ms. Right.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I’m thinking that dyke bitch has got a whole lot of disappointment coming her way when Valdez decides to go back to the other side of the plate to bat.”