Page 28 of Grave Misgivings
But my hands are slippery and the damn thing falls right off my couch, onto the floor, and...
“Hello?” Geo’s voice echoes in the space as I bury my face in my pillow, my cock still pulsing, still squirting out the remains of my guilty release.
I let out a petulant groan.
If God exists, why does he hate me so fucking much?
“Zeb, are you there?” he asks, his voice like warm sugar.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” I say as I lift my head, looking at the ceiling.
I should have just hung up when I had the chance.
CHAPTER 8
Geo
For a moment,I wonder if this was a bad idea.
But it’s just a phone call, right?
Plenty of people call each other, have normal conversations.
So why does this feel so... not like that?
Maybe it has to do with the fact that the entire day at the studio, I couldn’tthinkstraight.
Kevin had written up alistof clubs like Saint & Sinner that he felt would “help my image”, but I told him it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to be going out to another sex club any time soon. Because if anything, the experience made me realize how fucking out place I am not just there, but...
What the fuck am I doing?
With this tour?
With Casualty?
With my life?
Then again, I guess every thirty-nine year old on the cusp of the big four-oh gets gifted an existential crisis, right?
Even playing my songs just doesn’t feel the same, but I hit my marks. I always do, because at least I know if there isonething I can do, it’s music.
I’ve always felt the most at home, the most confident on stage, with a microphone. There’s a realness to performing for me, that doesn’t exist anywhere in my life.
No matter what costume I’m donning—Geo Graves, boy next door orGravedigger, rockstar—when I step on the stage, when I grab that microphone I’m me.
There’s only one other place I’ve ever felt that at home, that authentic, and I know I’ll never havethatagain.
“You, uh, is this a bad time?” I ask, Zeb’s heavy breaths in my ear making me feel a bit flushed.
I adjust my cock, because clearly it’s got a mind of its own these days.
Maybe it’s having a pre-forty existential crisis, too.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, letting out a sigh. The tinge of gravel in his voice has returned, and I swallow hard.
God, why am I so hot all of a sudden?
“It’s, uh... good to hear your voice,” I say, like an idiot.
