Chapter Three Bill & Brady
"And cut!" Brock yelled, frustrated, into the microphone. I stopped strumming in mid-chord and looked around; trying to figure out what exactly had gone wrong this time. Blake stood up from behind the keyboard and was conferring quietly in the corner with a very angry-looking Brock, our lead singer. Brady, our drummer and the eldest member of the band at 23, sat totally expressionless behind his set, silently mouthing curses as to nobody in particular. I took off the strap and set down my guitar, stretching happily, as this was our first break in nearly six hours. Blake lit a cigarette and puffed nonchalantly, as he and Brock came back over to us and Brock began talking.
"Dude, Brady, what's your problem today? This is the third time now and you screw up in exactly the same spot! I know this is a nice pew, man, but I tried to write pretty basic, I thought! Come on, man!" Brady squirmed nervously before throwing his sticks violently at the wall.
"I don't know, man." He sighed. "I've got some other stuff on my mind, I guess. Just need to focus is all."
"I guess so! Guys, we go on in three days! This could be it! That big break! I've got some contacts coming into town to see us and they know some big guys in Nashville. Do we really want to blow this chance? Geez!" Brock threw his hands into the air and stalked off.
"I'll go calm him down." Blake said calmly. "You guys get some rest and we'll go again tomorrow. We've got the whole week to practice, so that's enough for tonight." That was classic Blake, the peacekeeper for as long as we'd been together, both in the band and our friendships. Brock had a point, though. Our group, B-Boys, had been entirely his creation. He had chosen each of us and wrote almost all of our music and lyrics. He had a strong desire for us to succeed, as we all did, and had taken us from being four rag-tag high school kids who practiced once a week in a garage to a popular community phenomenon, with constant bookings in the area and a good, supportive, local following.
All of us wanted to hit the "big time", as it were, but everyone except Brock had other interests, too. Ever since he started college, Brock's life became entirely driven by music, nothing else. Blake was a stock broker, Brady just graduated college and was now managing his father's car dealership, which he would someday own himself; I was a senior in high school, active in sports, but with no real concern about the future. I knew I'd go to college next fall and nothing else really crossed my mind past that.
I'm Bill Edwards, by the way. I'm a 5'11" senior at James Monroe High School in Perrysville, a nice college town of about 100,000, when the students are here. I have dark blond hair, which I highlight, and spike, clear skin, brown eyes and an athletic frame that carries my 173 lbs. If it weren't for my involvement in sports, I'd probably be fat. I'm not just your stereotypical dumb jock, either, mind you. While being captain and starting quarterback for the school's football team has won me many girls, friends and the presidency of my class, I've been blessed with other talents, too. I've been playing guitar since I was 7 years old and have sung in every choir I got the chance to perform with. I'm a tenor/baritone, multi-talented in my musical abilities and I consider my voice to be fairly decent anyway. Other people I know give me much more credit than I deserve, though. Music is just tons of fun for me, a great release. Brock must've noticed something special, because he bugged me nonstop for six months my freshman year until I agreed to give backup vocals and rhythm guitar a shot for his little endeavor. What the heck, I figured, at least I'd meet some new people. Besides, girls dig musicians, right? I had no idea at that time how awesome this would become.
We started out 3 years ago calling ourselves "The Cross", an appropriate name picked by Brock since we primarily performed Christian music. A few months later, Back then it was me on rhythm guitar and backup vocals, Blake on keyboards, our drummer was a guy named Kevin Jenkins and Brock handled lead vocals and guitar. A few months after things got rolling, Blake caught Kevin smoking dope after school and that was the end of him. Blake smoked cigarettes, but none of us condone anything harder than that. Drugs would ruin our image, message and music altogether if we were to get caught up in them.
After a few months of us all moping around, Blake announced he'd found a new drummer. His cousin, Brady Davis, then a 20-year-old college sophomore was pretty good, he told us. We all knew Brady; his father owned the local Ford dealer and he had been very active in high school himself, with many younger friends and acquaintances still there. After a few practice and get-to-know-you sessions, Brady's skills lived up to the rest of his popular reputation and he officially became our new drummer and 2nd backup vocalist. To officially ring-in the new change in the direction of our music, we decided a new name would be fitting. Following much deliberation and many heated arguments, "B-Boys" was born. It had a trendy, boy-band sound to it and worked well since, ironically, all four of us had first names that began with a "B".
With a new name and newfound excitement, things really took off quickly. Brock wrote song after song, while Brady and Blake landed us a ton of jobs. We soon had a weekly set at a downtown coffee house every Saturday night. With our high school connections and popularity, Brock, Blake and I soon had that place packed every single weekend. The owners, thankful for the sudden boost in their business, paid us each $50.00 per week plus tips to continue performing. Plus, they advertised for us in all their media and even let us practice in the basement of their store. This worked out great since we wouldn't have to cart our equipment back-and-forth all the time anymore. We spent all our spare evenings and weekends there practicing, getting better and better, sometimes even drawing a good crowd of listeners upstairs during the week.
This exhilaration pushed our work even further and soon a local radio station invited us to cut a few demo songs for airtime. A few of the songs were so frequently requested that they eventually asked us to cut several CDs. They helped out with most of the cost, on the condition that they could play whatever they wanted, no cost. My dad's a lawyer so he put together a good contract which allowed them free rights to anything we recorded in their studios, but also allowed us to charge royalties to other stations who wanted to air us and the phones were ringing off the hook!
As our popularity continued to grow, we developed a nickname around school, the "Pretty Boys". I'm told this started because all four of us were pretty good looking and the attention of many girls and even some of the guys was constantly in our direction. Yet, it occurred to me that none of us ever really had a steady girlfriend, let alone a frequent date. We really were to busy with the music and just laughed off the name, continuing to work harder than ever before.
As time went on and I got older, I realized something that was initially very frightening about myself. I wasn't even remotely attracted to girls! My private fantasies all involved boys, frequently revolving around the ones in the group, as we were all close friends and spent much of our free time together. This really bothered me. I swore I would keep it a secret. If the guys found out, I'd get tossed for sure. A gay guy performing Christian music couldn't be good for our image. After all, college wasn't far off and I figured I could better explore that side of myself then. Why blow a good thing while you've got it, right? So, my desires remained secret and I threw myself deeper into the music, praying that nobody would notice.
Tonight had been unusual. Practice was usually pretty smooth; even though this was only the second time we'd played together in almost five months, since Brock had been away at college all semester. He came home with all kinds of new stuff for us and picking it up was proving to be more difficult than we'd apparently anticipated. Blake left, taking Brock home, and Brady still sat quietly cursing his drums. I put away my gear in the storage room and grabbed my coat. Weather in Indiana was so unpredictable. This year we'd been hit early with tons of snow, causing all of us some concern as to how many people would really make it to our "reunion" show. The owners of the coffee house had stayed in contact with all of us over the last few months and upon hearing that we'd all be in town over Christmas, they and our friends at the radio station began publicizing our return concert. The onslaught from people was so strong and positive, that we happily agreed to perform again. In addition, Brock made some calls and excitedly told us of plans for some bigwigs from a recording studio in Nashville to be in the audience that night. This really might be the biggest thing we've done so far, the chance we've all been shooting for. We all had dreams of going big, but were content with our small-time celebrity status, wanting bigger things mainly on account of Brock. He was destined for them, yet while in college, with all kinds of new opportunities, and was in constant contact with us. He had a flurry of new ideas and assured us that he didn't want another band, but that we would all succeed together, as a team.
"Brady, man, you ready to jet?" I asked my friend, who still sat motionless in place, staring blankly into nowhere.
"Yeah, I guess we should. What are you doin' tonight, bud?" He asked, finally standing and beginning to move the set into the back room.
"Don't really have plans, I guess. Probably just watch a little TV with the fam and work on this new stuff for awhile. You?"
"Nothin'. Hey, you wanna hang out at my place for awhile? Watch a movie or something?" He suggested, grabbing his jacket and locking the utility room. His offer sounded better than anything I had thought of, besides it was cool to hang out with Brady outside the group. He was so smart and experienced in the world, I always learned a lot from him.
"Yeah, that'd be cool." I said as we went upstairs and out into the cold. Brady locked the store with the key they'd given us and we headed for his car. Besides being fun to hang out with, I also thought my friend was quite gorgeous anyway. He was 6'1", very muscled build, about 180 lbs., I figured. He had reddish-brown hair that was cut short; almost peach colored skin and deep hazel eyes. Those eyes were his most intriguing feature. When talking to you, he almost always made constant contact with yours. Their intensity would captivate you, forcing you to see the good in just about whatever he wanted you to believe. It seemed he could also read your mind through his eyes, knowing your every thought and anticipating your every word. This gift made him an excellent salesman, causing explosive growth in his father's business and greatly dominating the publicity behind the band. Brady Davis always seemed to get whatever he wanted. Always.
He had a cool car, too. Being the son of the local Ford-Lincoln-Mercury dealer, Brady could've had any brand-new car on that lot. Instead, he chose a '91 Honda Accord coupe. He tinted the windows, put custom wheels, a body kit, leather seats, a turbo charger and a killer stereo system in that car. It was painted bright white, the shade that snow looks when sun hits it directly. Definitely one of the most noticeable cars in town, everybody knew who drove it. We pulled off into the lightly falling snow and sped quickly to Brady's apartment, located on the north side of the city. He had a small one-bedroom on the top floor of an old converted Victorian mansion. He could've had nicer, but said he liked it because it kept him around the college scene. The building was full of students and hosted some of the craziest parties around.
We stepped into the warmth of the living room, shed our coats and shoe, flipped on the TV and landed side-by-side on the couch. Brady had one of those mini-dishes, so there were over 900 channels to choose from, 100 of which just played movies 24/7! After some consideration, we settled on "The Patriot", the newest Mel Gibson flick that had just ended a long and very lucrative run in theaters. It wasn't even at the video stores yet. After an hour of being engrossed in the picture, which I hadn't seen, I noticed that it held no interest for Brady, as his eyes had been deeply transfixed on me for quite some time, apparently. That famous blank stare, I well knew, concealed his thoughts very well. As I made eye contact with him for about the third time in less than two minutes, he finally spoke.
"Bill, we've known each other for a long time now, right?
"Yeah, dude, almost three years now, I guess."
"And our friendship is based on trust. We'd never do anything to hurt each other or our friendship, right?"
"Of course not! What's on your mind, man? You know you can tell me anything and I'll never judge you."
"Bill," He sighed, running trembling fingers through his coarse hair, "I'm gay, dude."
I sat for a moment, motionless, blown away by what Brady just announced to me. He looked nervous, watching me for a response, no doubt ready for anything. All I could do was softly smile, forcing myself to be still, so I wouldn't throw myself happily upon him. When my tongue quit swelling in my throat and I was finally able to speak again, I did so slowly, with caution. I wanted to comfort and reassure him, to tell him how I felt, to say something perfect, use just the right words to let him know it was alright by me.
"So what?" So what?!? Is that all I could blurt out at such a delicate moment? God, in the future, please help me to not present myself as such a complete dumbass!
Brady stared at me silently, a perplexed look on his face, lights dancing in his eyes with confused curiosity. Then, out of nowhere, he just busted up laughing.
"Well," He gasped between laughs, "that wasn't exactly what I expected to hear."
"Dude," I grinned back, "I'm sorry that came off as shallow. What I mean is that I don't care what you are. It just doesn't matter to me. See, Brady, I'm gay, too."
For a few minutes I just watched his face continually change expression, as he slowly digested my words. Now I was getting edgy, unsure what to do next.
"I had no idea..." He stuttered.
"That was the goal, actually. I was afraid of telling anybody for a long time. Especially you guys. Afraid of what it might do to the band, to our friendships." His response came as a soft whisper.
"You shouldn't have been scared, Bill. Nothing would've changed between us; nothing will ever change between us." Brady's words escaped his mouth in a soft whisper as he said this to me. I shut my eyes, holding back the few tears that had begun to form within them. I felt something brush against my hand, something warm. Something else ran slowly through my hair, gently caressing it: Brady's hands. I was a little nervous, but didn't back away. I opened my eyes, immediately locking them with his.
"Are you coming on to me, Brady?"
"Why," He broadly smiled, a fire burning in his eyes, "is that a problem?"
"Not really." I grinned back, wanting him so badly.
"Good." We leaned into each other, he still brushing my hair with his hand, as I ran my hands around his back and our lips collided. A powerful shock went through my body; I simply had to taste him. Lips slowly parted as our tongues delicately began to explore each other's warm, soft mouths. I massaged his broad shoulders and neck, as he ran his hands hungrily up and down my back. I felt his coarse hair, my desires fueled faster with each passing second. Our kissing became more fervent, hands greedily investigating each other and the searing heat between us became all consuming.
I began slowly unbuttoning his silk shirt as his hands dropped to loosen my sweatshirt. It was lifted suddenly and we broke our embrace while he removed it completely from my body, tossing it carelessly aside. Brady began rubbing my light pink nipples, stiffening them and then bent down to kiss them. I bristled as he took each one into his mouth, sucking softly, licking them with his hot tongue. This was incredible! I moaned loudly and gasped for air, his hands gently massaging my back and shoulders. By this time, I had undone his shirt entirely, running my fingers through his thick patches of chest hair, pinching his nipples quickly to full attention. He groaned softly and sucked harder on my tits in response. Brady's body was so beautifully sculpted, muscles incredibly well defined. I traced his six-pack, his tight stomach, those muscular arms, then ran my hands all over his amazing torso.
He raised his lips to mine again, engaging me in a deep passionate kiss as his strong arms surrounded me and we rose to our feet. We quickly shed our pants, noticeable tents standing out from our boxers by this time. As we embraced, our throbbing members pressed against each other and I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. Brady began kissing down my chest, pausing to lightly suckle my nipples again, then burying his tongue in my belly button, sucking wildly. This tickled and I roared with insane fits of laughter, begging him to stop the torture. His hands traced down my thin blond treasure trail, which ran from my belly button down into my shorts. Once they reached their destination, they went around to my back, pulling the shorts down. Warm palms squeezed my tight bare ass, fingers briefly tracing and probing my crack.
"Oh, shit, dude!" I reveled in these sensual sensations and suddenely my boxers were down around my ankles. My 7" cock sticking straight out, just begging for attention. Brady must have quickly sized up the situation; a devilish grin crossing his face as he slowly kissed his way downward. I tensed as his fingers traced through my groin and began teasing my growing balls. He quickly swept his tongue across my thick, pink helmet, a strand of pre-cum sticking to him as he tilted back, sucking it into his mouth, relishing the flavor. A hand wrapped tightly around my pale shaft, stroking it lightly, then sliding downward and gripping firmly at the base as his mouth opened and he engulfed the full head of my cut dick.
The feeling was entirely overwhelming! All my systems went into overload as he slid further down on me, increasing his speed and sucking harder with each pass, his tongue tracing zigzag patterns all over my length. Yeah, I'm a novice, I admit. It didn't take more than four or five minutes for the build-up to begin. My body began to spasm as I reached the peak. I thrust my hips violently, one last time as his mouth filled with my hot boy spunk. Brady swallowed every last drop, then sat up and grinned at me, completely satisfied with the reward for his hard work.
I stood up to meet his embrace and we kissed. As we did, I slid his shorts down; his pecker sprang out in anxious anticipation. I knelt before him, eager to accept my own prize. Brady's purple tip glistened with pre-cum, his reddened shaft running down to meet huge balls that were covered in a thick coat of dark pubic hair. His length was just around 6", but his girth was incredible! He was at least three times as thick as me! I traced all around with my fingers, causing a light moan when I retraced the route with my tongue.