The crowd from the concert noisily filled out onto the sidewalk and street. It was quarter to midnight, and if people were quick, they could catch the five or six little joints that stayed open that late, mostly to cater to the young, tired fans. Douglas, however, shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, looked around, and joined a small stream of people who were heading around the side of the building, towards the back, where a bus was idling. A roadie was back there–a big fellow, at least six foot three, tattoos running all over his hairy body to his neck, chuffing on a cigar of all things, telling the crowd that it would be at least an hour and a half before the band came out for autographs.
This news was enough to deter a good chunk of the people, leaving about a score behind, milling around behind the building in the cold, including Douglas, who walked up to the roadie while he was leaning by a door, smoking his cigar slowly.
“No private audiences,” the guy said as Douglas approached.
“I was just going to ask for a light,” he said, holding up a cigarette.
“Heh, sure thing.” he hauled out a zippo from one of his pants pocket, Douglas leaned in closer to the roadie’s massive frame, enjoying the heat coming off of him, got his light, puffed a few times, and then stayed close enough to give the guy an idea or two. The roadie remained aloof, but not quite disinterested or oblivious, like a straight guy would be.
“How much longer?”
“Probably an hour–longer, if you keep asking.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make conversation,” Douglas said, smiling, leaning his smaller, lean frame against the wall beside the roadie. “Are you local? I haven’t seen you working here before.”
“Travelling with the band. I…like to be on the road.”
“Understandable. Still, that’s a lot of work. Not much time for relaxation.”
The roadie was sizing him up, which was an improvement. He shrugged, and they just smoked for a bit, the fumes thicker in the cold and condensation.
“If you don’t want to talk, we can do something else to pass the time,” Douglas said.
“Rather blunt.”
“Easier than beating the bush. I saw you on scruff earlier.”
“I don’t fuck around with smokers, sorry.”
Douglas pushed off the wall, and just stared at him. “Excuse me? What’s that thing in your mouth then?”
“Don’t have to explain why to you. It’s for your own good anyway.”
“So you are at least interested, if it’s the smoking that’s the turn off.”
The roadie took a deep inhale off his cigar…and shuddered in a rather peculiar fashion. It didn’t look like something caused by cold, but rather something…pleasurable. “Look, you should get out of here. I’m done talking.”
“Well, so am I,” Douglas said, still a bit drunk off his three overpriced beers, “and your excuses are lame. So, what would you like me to do, then?”
Two more jets of smoke shot from his nose, more than should have been possible, and then bent against the wind, whisping around their faces, shrouding them, pulling them closer. The roadie leaned over, looking almost like he was fighting the desire, and they kissed a moment, before grabbing Douglas by the wrist, and hauling him off down an alley. “Fine, but don’t think I didn’t try to warn you.”
The sex was better than average but odd–the roadie sucked him off, and when Douglas tried to reciprocate, the man shook his head. Instead, he gave the roadie a handjob while they made out–though it was more of a smoke out. For being so against smokers, he sure did love feeding Douglas that cigar smoke of his. Douglas had never tasted a cigar before–in fact, he wasn’t much of a fan of cigarettes, but he didn’t quite have the willpower to quit, but it was actually…surprisingly nice. It made his cigarettes taste like a week old slim jim, next to a nicely grilled steak. In the end, the guy didn’t even cum. He assured Douglas that he’d enjoyed himself all the same, but it was time for him to get back to the door. Douglas did stick around for the band, who appeared a few minutes after they finished. He got his autograph and then booked it without saying another word to the guy, or getting his name–but he did at least add him as a fave on Scruff. The roadie’s username was Bandgar–which made a bit more sense now. It was half past one at this point, the streets were dead aside from the derelicts, and Douglas lit another cigarette with his own lighter, and headed back towards his house, a few blocks away from campus, near the venue. He had a couple of coughing fits along the way–thinking it was just all that smoke during sex from Bandgar, he did his best to be as quiet as he could as he let himself into the house, not wanting to wake his three roommates.
The houses near campus were all part of the campus housing program–basically an upscale dorm system students could get into for a higher fee. Douglas had ended up with three other guys he didn’t know every well–a sophomore named Steven, another Junior like him named Pete, and lastly a senior named Howard. They’d only gotten back to campus the week before, and so they were all still just trying to get settled–Douglas had invited the other guys to go with him tonight, but none of them had been interested in the sort of alt-folk stuff Douglas was seeing. Granted, he wasn’t that interested either, but the vocalist was a burly, cuteass cub and the music was tolerable. Really, he would have rather fucked him–but he was definitely straight. Still, that roadie had been a good consolation prize. He got up to his room before he realized he still had the cigarette in his mouth. He cursed, and snuffed it out in an old coffee cup on his desk. None of his housemates were smokers, and they all thought his habit was pretty gross–and it was, but he didn’t need them pissed at him for smoking in the house, which was against campus policy anyway. He didn’t notice the wisp of smoke which left his throat as he yawned, and coughed again. Hoping he wasn’t getting sick, he fell into bed, thankful it was the weekend, and he could relax all Saturday and Sunday before getting back into the college grind again.
Bracken's Corner 