musicmaker

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Subject: The Musicmaker The Musicmaker, by mattbuck All comments are appreciated – email matt_v_jellicle@hotmail Please remember to say which McFly boy you think the narrator is Other stories I’ve written can be found on my website, in the ter My other stories in the Nifty Boy Bands section are: Dougie’s Private Fantasy Pattycake And I Love Him Changing Rooms Dreamscape Kind of Perfect The Nurse Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don’t know McFly, I don’t know their sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events. Oh, and it contains gay sex, so please make sure you’re 18. You know, it’s not that I don’t like fiction contests – I really do. Sometimes it inspires me on something, sometimes what I start here gets continued elsewhere in great detail, it’s just… I hate time limits. Honestly, I’m a pretty slow writer. Not that I can’t type fast, you understand, because I can, it’s just I tend to get caught up over details, or start, leave it, go play Rollercoaster Tycoon, come back, get annoyed overtype managed to turn itself on or that my text isn’t aligned quite right, go have some food, chat on IRC, read a book… It all adds up and then I find I have stories I started years ago, as yet unfinished. Well, not this one. I’ve locked the door, to stop Danny trying to lay me, to tell you the story of the time Danny did lay me. Well… the first time Danny laid me. It started, like all the worst romances, at a party. Boyband party – had Son of Dork and eryaman escort Fightstar there, though we had to make sure that the guys from Busted didn’t get too close to each other – it was a wonder their last meeting at a party didn’t make the papers. Of course, it probably would have done but that was the day Kate Moss’s coke addiction was outed, so what happened between the three members of a failed pop group wasn’t exactly at the forefront of the tabloids’ minds. Playing those games you never find anywhere between ten year old high on sugar; and eighteen year old drunk off his face. You know, twister, truth or dare, spin the bottle… And of course that game I think is called “five minutes of heaven” – two people get locked in a cupboard for five minutes to, as the Americans would say, “make out”. Why we were playing that at a boyband party goodness alone knows. Still, I got chosen, and so did Danny. I’m sure Dave winked at me as he shut the door behind us. I’m sure anyway, Danny was too drunk off his face to notice. Too drunk to care he was kissing a guy as well. I personally did care that I was kissing a guy – girls in general don’t kiss the way Danny does, though the kiss he gave me, my back pressed against a mop, my foot in a bucket and a gaggle of towels threatening to fall on my head was certainly not one of his best. It was still incredible though. Five minutes ended I think without Danny ever removing his lips from mine. I’m told he stumbled etimesgut escort out with a stupid grin on his face. I just fell over because of that fucking bucket. It was mid-afternoon the next day he knocked on my bedroom door to apologise for the kiss. I let him in without thinking, even though I had been tidying up totally naked. He got about a word into his apology before he just grinned and kissed me again. That time, it was one of his best. From that day on, we were a couple. Of some sort. I wouldn’t exactly call us boyfriend and… uhm… well, boyfriend I guess, not at that stage. Hold on, I can hear him scratching at my door. Pity I can’t write while getting a blowjob. But as soon as I’m done… You lot are stopping my boyfriend giving me head, goddammit. The things I do for you all, and none of you really appreciate it… Anyway, we were just together for a while, kisses and cuddles on the sofa, that sort of thing. The others looked on at us in turns of “aww” and “eww”. But still, I refused to call him my boyfriend until we’d been on a date. Now, I’ve read your stories of us going to pubs, clubs, theme parks, the seaside, restaurants, cinemas, gigs, football matches (really – you think I’d go to a football match with Danny? I’d end up in the centre of a riot), tennis tournaments (seriously… what the fuck?), there was even one where our first date was watching the filming of some new children’s gunge ankara escort show. Admittedly, I’d have rather enjoyed that one (do I still count as a child?), but still… you seriously have no idea. He took me, Wait for it To an air show. An air show, seriously. Well, not a normal air show, I guess. Something by Red Bull – it had these propeller planes flying between obstacles at stupidly low altitude. Hell yea. He even bought me a T-shirt and a model plane which he promptly “borrowed” (I’ve barely laid a hand on it since) and started flying it round my head making “vroom vroom” noises. Ridiculous. Cute. Mine. Amazingly no one recognised us throughout the entire day, or if they did, they didn’t come and speak to us. We eventually left long after the event was over, having just sat on the grass, discretely holding hands, watching the shadows lengthen. On our way back to London, we stopped at an inn that advertised hot meals. Two sixteen ounce steaks and several pints of beer later and neither of us were fit to drive home. Lucky it was a proper inn and offered rooms. He walked naked out of the bathroom into our single bedroom, the firelight dancing across his perfect skin. God, I’d never seen anything so beautiful. He was still carrying that little toy, still making those ridiculous “vroom vroom” noises. I walked up to him and kissed him on the lips, taking the plane from his hand. I thought about doing an impression of what I thought planes should really sound like, but… no. I grinned at him, “Vroom, vroom.” The plane flew lower, and soon the vrooms were distinctly muffled. Right, there you go. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to let my boyfriend into the room. It’s time to make some music.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32