Page 64 of Hollow Heart

I find myself standing in front of my bar, frozen.

I don’t even remember walking down the steps, but I’m here.

I stare at the backlit bar, stocked with everything a man could ever want or need when it comes to drinking.

But I make no move.

Instead, I stand there, staring like a dumbass as my demons taunt me.

You’re not good enough for him, anyway.

How could anyone want your sorry ass?

He was married, for Christ’s sake, and has a fucking kid.

He’s obviously not into dick.

Except, that last one doesn’t feel as truthful as the others, because last I checked, straight guys didn’t get all aroused around half-naked dudes in their dressing rooms, and they certainly didn’t open mouth kiss other dudes on their couches and grab their fucking necks like theyownedthem.

Fuck, now I’m hard. Again.

The bottle of vodka is calling my damn name, but so is my twitching cock, and I know it’s a lesser of the two evils kind of deal.

I know I won’t be able to stop at one drink. And despite the twisted and complicated feelings I have toward Duncan McKay, I can’t help but think about his words to me the other day.

I need to stop treatingmyselflike trash.

But that’s what I am, right?

I’m not the kind of guy who grills burgers on Sunday and curls up on the couch to watch fucking Jeopardy, who tells awful punny jokes.

I’m not the man you bring home.

I’m the man you fuck on a tour bus after you’ve pumped your system full of X and tequila; the man you use because it’sfunand you don’t have to commit to shit.

But I want to be more than that forsomeone.

I want to be the kind of person who writes stupid love songs, for once in my life, instead of songs about my fucking exes who I can’t talk about, because God forbid anyoneknowsthey suck dick.

What am I saying?

No one even knows I do, because I am no better.

The thought spirals off as I remember the feel of Duncan’s arousal, pressed against me in the dressing room. It was an accident, I’m sure, but given the fact I was shirtless and in his face...

My cock throbs as images of what his dick looks like populate my brain.

I shouldn’t think about such things. Really, I know I shouldn’t.

Especially, given his reaction to just fucking kissing me.

The man will probably put an invisible fence between his dick and I for the rest of the foreseeable future, if he doesn’t quit the band altogether because a gay asshole challenged his fucking masculinity or something.

But I can’t help myself.

I slowly amble away from the bar, across the room to the couch.

When I fall into the cushions, they welcome me, and I don’t wait to remove my pants, freeing my cock from its constraints.

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