With that she leaned down and licked him right across the lips, swirling her tongue over them, gathering up the taste of Michelle that had been left behind.
"Mmmm, no wonder you liked her. She tastes yummy."
Jake's cock was now an iron bar in his pants. Thoughts of Michelle, while not exactly driven from his mind, had moved into the back seat. "You like that, huh?" he asked her.
"Did you fuck her?" Colette asked him next. "Oh God, did you stick your cock in that pussy? I'd love to lick her taste off your cock. Please let me."
Of course he hadn't, so she couldn't, but at this point that had ceased to matter. Whether she was making all of this up or not didn't matter. She had succeeded in breaking through the wall he had put up. He put his hand on her side, just above the waistband of her Calvin Kleins, feeling her hot skin, feeling the promise of what the rest of her would be like.
"So you want to go to the party, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah," she whispered in his ear, following it up with a lick at his earlobe.
"You got it."
It could technically be said that Matt-who at the age of twenty-two had been accorded the status of the best guitar player in Northern California by multiple independent sources including The Heritage Register and the Heritage Weekly Review-still lived with his parents. That was true in that he lived on the same piece of property as they did and that he paid no rent. Matt's father was a self-made millionaire who had built his fortune in the well-digging business in nearby Cypress County, in the Sierra Nevada foothills. Most of the new housing developments that had been built there in the past thirty years got their water from wells that Tisdale Drilling Inc. had sunk into the ground. Matt had come into the world late in his parents' lives-an accident of birth control when they were in their late thirties-just as their first two children were getting ready to graduate high school and start off on lives of their own, just as they themselves were starting to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Matt had been loved by them but had always been something of a guilty inconvenience in his formative years. He had been mostly raised by hired nannies and maids while his parents had been away on extended vacations in Europe or Palm Springs or Hawaii. To make up for this he had been provided with every indulgence his mind could come up. One of those indulgences had been the guitar he'd asked for as a twelfth birthday present-a guitar that had become his friend, his companion, his obsession. Another was the mother-in-law quarters tucked away in the very back cornier of the five-acre plot in the exclusive suburb of Gardenia. It was a fully equipped, self-contained house of nearly 1800 square feet, complete with a two-car garage where the band rehearsed. Since Matt's parents had no in-laws on either side that they cared to have visit them (they had pretty much broken all contact with their families about the time their net worth climbed over $250,000 and the begging started to get out of hand), Matt had basically been given the entire mother-in-law quarters as his bedroom when he turned fifteen. He had lived in it ever since, seeing his parents only when the two events of he needing money and they happening to be home coincided.
Now that the band Matt had founded-the fifth he had played in since junior high, the first to actually get a gig-was popular, his home in the corner of the property was being used to its absolute best advantage. It served as a party Mecca for the 18-25 crowd of the Heritage club scene. Without exception, after every gig Intemperance performed, a select group of their audience would come back to the house with them and spend most of the night cementing the band's moniker as a verb instead of simply a noun. The parties became legendary long before the band itself was ever heard of outside of Heritage and in later years-when Heritage was "on the map", as Matt liked to say-hordes would claim to have been present at them at one time or another for the mere storytelling status they would achieve if they could not be disproved.
In truth, only about a hundredth of those who would later claim to have "partied with Matt and Jake and the boys back in the day" would be telling the truth. The rules for anyone other than band members or their closest friends who wanted to attend the after-gig get-togethers were simple. You could come by invite of an Intemperance member only, no exceptions. Friends of those invited were not allowed unless he or she had been specifically invited himself or herself by said Intemperance member or members. Another rule was that any males invited had to supply booze, marijuana, or cocaine to the festivities. This was strictly enforced by Matt himself at the door. He would actually check to see that some sort of illicit material was being brought in and brought in in a decent amount. Women, of course, were not held to such a requirement since-in Matt's opinion-they had their own form of party favor built right in. The third rule was that everyone who was not a band member was responsible for his own or her own transportation to and from the scene of the party. No one was allowed to hitch rides with a band member and everyone had to get out and go somewhere else when Matt decided the party was over-which was usually around four or five in the morning. He didn't give a shit how drunk or stoned a person was, how incapable of driving they were, or even if they were unconscious, they and their cars had to go. Other than that, pretty much anything was cool with him.
When they arrived at the after-gig show on this night a stream of twelve cars that contained eighteen females and six males trailed behind them, inching along the access road that bypassed the main house and parking in the driveway. The band left all of their equipment in Matt's microbus and Coop's van-they would unload it sometime the next day, when they were all sober-and trooped inside. Matt did his normal check of the male guests, finding that each had brought a satisfactory sacrifice of intoxicating material as their admission ticket. Ten minutes later music was blaring from the stereo system, beer was flowing, and the pot smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Jake and Colette found a corner of the house over by the bar and sat next to each other on a love seat where Jake made some small talk with a few of the girls and one of the guys. The guy-a Ticket-King employee who claimed he could get Jake free front row tickets for any concert in the Northern California region-fired up a potent joint of some Panama Red and passed it around. Jake smoked deeply from it, taking hits as big as he could stand and holding them in until no smoke was exhaled. Soon he was as high as it was really possible to get and thoughts of Michelle, of the break-up, of her parting words, of the pain he was enduring, had been pushed far to the back of his head (although that phrase, The Point of Futility, kept popping back up).
Throughout the conversation and the smoking Colette remained snuggled up on his left side, her leg rubbing alluringly against his, her breasts pushing against his shoulder, her lips every once in a while going to his earlobe to lick at it and to whisper how horny she was into his ear. By the time the joint was a roach in the ashtray Jake's cock was as hard as a spike.
"Why don't we go check out the bedroom?" he asked her when he could stand it no more.
She nodded quickly, her bloodshot eyes shining brightly. "Yeah," she agreed most enthusiastically. "Why don't we?"
Jake excused them from the ongoing conversation and they stood up, walking hand in hand down the hall, towards the spare bedroom at the end of it, the room Matt had declared off limits to all until "my brother Jake has Christened the motherfucker for the night".
The spare room was a standard sized bedroom with standard furnishings. There was a small desk in one corner, a lamp on a nightstand in another. The bed was queen-sized, the linen fresh and clean, changed earlier in the day by Ruby, the maid who lived in the big house. No sooner had the door shut behind them then Colette was in his arms, rubbing herself against his body, her tongue in his mouth, her hands running up and down his back, down to his ass, up to his neck.