My shock over seeing his cock is gone. I’m no longer hot and bothered and wondering what it’d be like to wrap my lips around that monstrous cock—okay, whom am I kidding? I’ll go to my deathbed with that image in my head—but no! I'm now pissed.
I mean, my god, there were probably children in that audience. There are for sure children who have watched the video since it went viral. He may have enough money to buy his way out of legal trouble, but he doesn’t have enough money to buy his way into a softball interview. If he wants someone to play nice with him, he picked the wrong reporter to be interviewed by.
Whatever caused his severe lack in judgment—whether it was alcohol or drugs—he's going to regret it when I'm done with him.
123
Stone
I sit back on the couch of my hotel room at the W, and sip some morning coffee. Man, what a night. I hadn’t watched the tapes of the performance at Barclay’s yet, but just based on how my body feels, I'm pretty damn sure I must’ve knocked it out of the park.
I hear a knock on the door. “Come in!” I call out, hoping it’s room service with my vegetarian omelet. I'm starving.
I hear the key reader register in the door, and then the door opening.
“Hey Stone,” Frances says, peering around the corner of the door at me.
“Hi,” I say, cocking my head at her weird behavior. She’s normally bouncy and happy and cheerful. She’s certainly not normally hiding behind doors.
“Have you seen the morning news yet?” she asks nervously, sidestepping into the room and closing the door behind her, shoving her thick glasses up her nose.
“No. Why? What’s up?”
I reach for the remote and she hollers, “It’s okay!” I freeze, my hand over the remote, and just stare at her. To say that this is unusual is … the understatement of the century.
“I … uh … well, I have the video on my laptop. I don’t know why you did that, Stone, but we need to clean this up, and quick.” She pulls her laptop bag off her shoulder and begins riffling through it for her laptop.
Oh fuck.
Why I did what? I want to ask.
But I can’t.
So I just stare at her, waiting for her to produce the video, the evidence of whatever it was that I did this time, dread coiling in my stomach. For her to be acting like this, it can’t be good.
I was on stage, at a concert. Surely I couldn’t have done anything too horrible, right?
But if that were true, why is Frances acting like I murdered someone?
With shaking hands, she finally gets the laptop set up, and then swivels the screen toward me.
“Last night, Stone Slayer gave an … unusual concert performance,” the morning show host says with an awkward yet somehow gleeful smile. “I think our editing team has cleaned this up to the point that we can show a clip of it on our show. Let’s watch.”
Cleaned it up? What the—
There I am, dancing around on stage, doing all of the same moves I do every night and then …
I unzip my pants and start waving my cock in the air like I just don’t care. Except, because this is a video being shown on a morning show, there’s this giant gray blob over the top of my cock.
But I know what’s behind that gray blob. I know what I did, even if I can’t remember any of it.
Oh lord almighty, I'm fucked.
Thank god my assistant pauses the video when the bouncers start dragging me off stage, and I don’t have to watch myself make an ass out of myself any longer.
“Sir, I’m not sure what you drank or took beforehand to make you do that, but we’re in a world of shit now.” She’s biting her lower lip and I know she’s right, but the thought is making me ill.
I can’t let her know how much this is affecting me. I can’t let her know that it was news to me just as much as it was to the rest of the world that I did this.