Waterloo
part 3
Kline was in the rental car for all of about two minutes before he heard the sound of police sirens and the extremely familiar glare of blinking lights, “bloody hell man,” he mumbled over the cigarette clenched between his lips. He doused the cigarette on the floor of the car completely ignoring the ashtray and put the open bottle of bourbon that was his only companion in the glove box. All he needed tonight was to be hassled by some fucking pig.
Back when the band was at it’s best Kline would run into about three hundred angry pigs a night and each one could be ignored or sent off happily with a wad of cash but now that they were in the gutter of both the charts and life, he had to avoid getting into trouble. There wasn’t a record company to bail him out anymore, or anyone else for that matter. He would start bar fights, riots drive drunk as a sailor his bad boy attitude was legendary, he was the greatest bad ass of his fucking day man. As he sat in his run down car he thought back to the night he totaled a vet while driving down sunset strip. Those were the days wind in his hair, needle in his arm, and some hot bitch in his lap. He almost killed himself that night and when the doctor told him he almost died Kline laughed in his face and took a shot of tequila from the bottle the band had brought him. Back when their records were selling like water during a fucking drought he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. It was irresponsibility and bad ass behavior in spades...but now, Kline took a disappointed look in the rearview and examined himself, now things were pretty fucking shitty.
Back in his hey day he was the greatest drummer of his generation and every hot little teenage slut had a poster of him grabbing his leather clad dick and looked at it with lust. Now he sat in a run down car, his bushy hair all out of place, framing his head like an unruly bush, his face no longer that of the sexual predator who had sex with a new girl in every town. It was the face of a tired aging has been, and the scar that laced down the side of his face, a reminder of the accident, only made things worse. His once lithe and tight body was developing a paunch and woman who used to line up to suck his dick now looked at him with disgust. Yeah pretty Shiite, and now he couldn’t even relive those moments by taking a couple swigs and going driving. Sure drunk drivin was reckless and shit but who the fuck cares he certainly didn’t.
“Do yah no how fast ya’ll were goin back there boy’a?” The cop said in a tight southern accent.
“You’re the one with the radar gun pig.” Kline spat.
There was a tightening of the jaw but that was the only reaction Kline could illicit from the stony handsomness of the cops face, “Ah right, ya can get outa tha car now,”
Kline fumbled with the door handle and stumbled drunkenly onto the dark gravel of the highway, his ten-year-old acid washed jeans scrapped as he struggled to stand up and he had to straighten his has so the mop of frizzled hair didn’t obscure his view of the wide and imposing police officer.
“Ah’m gonna have to ask ya to face the car with both o those hands on the hood.” The menacing man growled.
“I fucking, hiccup, guessed so...” He had done this thousands of times over and over in all fifty states and the routine never changed, the cop patted him down with his heavy leather gloved hands and then told him to turn back around.
“Aright boy now gimme your license,” The officer ordered.
“Why the fuck do you keep calling me boy?” Kline asked the man who was obviously ten year’s younger then him, “And don’t you know who I am?” He asked.
“What?” The cop asked, a strange look crossing his face.
“I said...” Then the weirdest thing happened suddenly his voice seemed to change and instead of the harsh hard driven bass he asked the question in a good nature light baritone, “don’t you know who I am?”
There was a couple minutes silence as the cop kept staring at him with that strange confused expression but it suddenly disappeared and his craggy countenance was broken by a tight smile, “Of course I do your one of the members of that band,” Kline was ecstatic at least someone remembered him and the band after all this time, “What’s it called oh yeah...U Got Male.”
“What?” Kline asked suddenly shocked sober.
“You’re one of those guys singers in that band, you do all those pop songs and dance right? You’re Kyle right?”
No I don’t that’s pussy shit I’m in a rock band you queer that what’s he wanted to say; instead he answered confidently, “yeah, that’s me.”
“Ah thought so.”
NO! My name is Kline and I play drums...and carry the baritone line in harmonies...No I don’t know how to sing, I play drums...I took three years of singing lessons...“yeah it’s hard for me to not get recognized.”
Kline center of gravity felt off, like he was stumbling not because he was drunk but because he wasn’t used to his body, He mechanically looked down at his driving licensee and a stranger stared back, Kyle Kline, 24, blue eyes, black hair. That wasn’t his first name or his age...and the picture certainly wasn’t him either, the man who stared back from the picture hand short cropped hair in a preppy crew cut, that shined glossy black with gel. He was young too, about what the age had said and he was strikingly handsome. More handsome then Kline hand ever been. With white teeth a smile that seemed fixed on his face and broad shoulders that belied a muscled body. And the eyes sparkled with a bright blue happiness and sweetness in a way that Kline’s gray eyes never had. Awe shit I’m so fucked up...He thought, “Excuse me officer but I think I need to sit down for a minute.”
He made a few powerful strides to the car and half collapsed back into his seat, What’s going on I feel so strange...and then he saw the man from the license again...only now he was staring back from the rear view mirror. Awwww shit....“Oh gosh...”
Smooth features, a Roman nose, strong jaw and meticulously styled black hair...he looked like all those frat boys he had mocked growing up.... No he had been in a Frat before joining the band...
“Are ya ahl-right son?” the cop asked putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh yes, just a little dizzy I think.” No I’m not all right I’m ...I’m...I’m Kyle Kline oldest member of the band U Got Male. No I’m not I’m Kline I dropped out of high school when I was fifteen I....I was the president of my frat and left college to be in a boy group. I was a Loser! I was voted most likely to succeed! I have a beer belly and track lines, I work out 4 times a week and have a strict diet.
Kline looked into the mirror at the happy handsome and youthful face and started to remember what it was like to be Kyle and he liked it. He started to slowly accept he was Kyle, He slowly wanted to be Kyle. Big strong strapping Kyle with his good looks and big smile. Kline was a dirty has been Kyle was young and clean cut, he was everything Kline never was.
With a confident smile at himself in the mirror Kyle flashed his pearly whites and good attitude and destroyed any last vestiges of the repulsive old rock band metal head he had been. His Leather Italian shoes landed firmly on the ground and he stepped out smoothing his dark Dockers out around the bulge in his Dick that the muscled and hot cop had given him, he adjust the loose flowing blue shit he was wearing over his wife beater T-shirt. The shirt was blue to accentuate his eyes; the wife beater was tight to accentuate his big round pecs and his tiny wasp like waist. “I’m feeling much better now officer, " he answered happily in a smooth and soothing voice that dripped with genuine charm.
“I’m glad boy,” The cop answered with his deep southern brogue. He let the mirror glasses he was wearing slip to the edge of his nose revealing his beautiful eyes, “Ya mind if I make ya feel Mighty betta,” He licked his sensuous goatee’ encircled lips.
Kyle put a tentative hand on the rising crotch of his khaki’s, he loved it when an older man wanted to seduce him. At 24 he was far from old but he was the oldest member of the group and the other guys treated him like their fucking big brother. It was nice to be in the firm hands of a man in control. It was nice to be in firm hands period.
He unzipped his fly and released his pink cock from the confines of his boxer briefs, and the cop immediately went to his knees. Kyle felt two hard-gloved hands on his ass and suddenly his body came alive with the electric sensation of another man’s mouth smothering his cock head.
Kyle sat back and massaged the cops shoulders as he went to work on the rigid cock the sprung out from beneath his well-ironed Dockers, Kyle arched his back in ecstasy, the cop was good damn good. He wasn’t in the habit of letting random men suck his Dick. That would be stupid and irresponsible but being a heartthrob had it’s advantages and one was when you could make a guy throb take advantage. He was always careful and his boyfriend Darien knew he sometimes got a blowjob from the occasional fan. Kyle began thinking of Darren and wondered if his young lover had put on his Pajamas and gone to bed yet. It was murder trying to get Darien to full around after he had put on his Pj’s....