[Patreon Exclusive] HIS BIGGEST FAN: Chapter 4 (Patreon)

I expected there to be people in the limousine—either Rick or maybe the band’s manager or at the very least an assistant or a roadie. But the limo was empty, save for the driver who kept the darkened window up between us. As soon as I was seated, he started to drive. I watched the stadium become further and further away.

We were headed for the downtown core, which wouldn’t have taken long had it not been for the heavy traffic—mostly streams of cars leaving the stadium, siphoning out of the series of crammed parking lots. Sitting in the back of that empty limousine, in that dense traffic, I had a lot of time to think about my situation. And the further and further we got from that stadium, the more I began to regret my decision to go through with meeting Rick in private. What was the point? I’d already met him and I’d gotten my autograph. That was all that I came for. So why push it? Why risk ruining the impression I’d made?

We pulled up to a big, fancy hotel. The lot out front was loaded with luxury cars, each worth more than my entire net worth. The driver opened the door for me and then led me into the hotel, through the vibrant lobby. There was an amazing pianist finishing a tune. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes. Meanwhile, I was dressed like a prostitute. As expected, I turned some heads.

Was Rick hoping that I would change? Should I have gone out and found a nice dress, something more appropriate for the setting? I felt ridiculous in my black bra and tight, leather pants. People probably thought I was an escort being brought up to Rick’s room.

My heart skipped a beat. Maybe that’s exactly what I was—maybe Rick chose me because he thought I would put out. Did he think I was an escort? Was he expecting sex?

The driver took me up the elevator and then down the hall to a set of double doors. He knocked on the door and then said nothing as he turned to leave. A part of me wanted to ask him to stick around, though I don’t know why. I don’t know how he could have helped me in any way. I hadn’t even spoken a word to him.

The doors opened and there was Rick, standing in the doorway. “So glad you could make it,” he said. “Come on in.” I hesitated for a moment and then stepped into the room.

Of course he wanted sex. Why else would he have me brought to his hotel room? Why else would he single out the girl who wasn’t wearing a damn shirt? What was I thinking? “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having.” I couldn’t decline a drink. I needed to take off the edge somehow.

He poured me a bourbon. “Ice?” he asked.

“Just neat, thanks,” I said, taking the drink, quickly taking a sip. He took the seat next to me.

“Are you hungry? Should we order some food up to the room?” he asked.

“I’m okay, but if you’re hungry, you go ahead,” I said. I actually was hungry but my sensibility was quickly rushing back to me. I needed to get out of there as quick as possible. There was nothing left for me to achieve. Every additional moment with Rick was another moment I was risking my identity, risking ruining the impression I’d already made. I should have just stood up and politely left—I could have said I wasn’t feeling well, or that I forgot to do something—anything. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Once again, I found myself weak in his presence.

I really should have left. Especially after the first drink. I could have even left after the second. But I didn’t leave. And with every drink he poured, the thought drifted farther and farther away. I was stuck, trapped in my own body, forced to suffer in the agony of anxiety, knowing the night could only end badly from there on. Rick had gotten much closer to me, to the point that our bodies were touching as we continued to converse later and later into the night. We ended up ordering room service—twice—dinner and desert. Rick had a bottle of champagne brought up to the room to “celebrate” though he never really specified what exactly we were celebrating.

“Rick, I need to tell you something,” I said. I don’t know if I said it in a moment of drunken idiocy or in a moment of clear sobriety. He stared at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to go on. But I was frozen. I couldn’t actually bring myself to tell him my truth. And why would I? Why was I about to? In what conceivable way was that a solution to my problem.

I lost my chance. Before I was even able to muster up a single word, he leaned over and kissed me. That was it. I was done. I let my arms wrap around him and I kissed him back, letting him lower me down onto the couch. He came down over me.

Inside of me were two different personalities fighting for control. There was Georgia, with her hands firmly clutching the steering wheel, and then there was my male self, hopelessly determined to pry her away and regain control. But why? I was in a state of pure bliss. My heart was racing. I was living every girl’s dream. But inside I knew it was all about to end—like a car speeding faster and faster and faster towards a cliff. If I didn’t hit the brakes soon, there would be no stopping myself from going over, I would be destined to crash and burn.

Yet still, my hands found their way up his shirt, onto his rigid abs, his hard chest. His hands were all over me, my tits and my ass. It was heaven and hell, ecstasy and torture. His fingers began to sink down between my legs. We were past the point of no return. He started to rub my cock. My heart was racing. It was just a matter of time before he realized he wasn’t rubbing a plump pussy. I was getting erect. Soon he’s be rubbing a thick, hard, throbbing erection.

A cold tingle ran down my spine. Why was I not pushing him away? Had I lost my mind completely. He kept on rubbing. I was rock-hard now. How had he not noticed? My hands trembled. I could feel beads of cold sweat forming on my forehead. Still, I continued to paw at his beautiful muscles.

He sunk down, pulling my tight leather pants down with him. Gently he took my cock and brought it to his lips. He started to suck me off. My head was spinning. I was rigid, completely tense. I was mere seconds away from falling into cardiac arrest. What was happening? Why was he sucking my cock. And why was I letting him?

He managed to get the entirety of my dick in his mouth, sinking it deep into his throat. His warm tongue felt like heaven. I sunk my fingers into his soft hair. The tension was quickly leaving my body, along with the anxiety and the confusion. I didn’t know what was happening but I didn’t care. I was too far gone, too lost in the swirling euphoria. I let him finger my asshole while he sucked my cock. My God, did it feel incredible.

Maybe he was drunk. Maybe I was drunk. I didn’t feel drunk. Maybe we were both sober—maybe there was some other force pulling the strings of our marionettes. Maybe our lust wasn’t bound by our genders.

He came back up and his lips found mine once again. He managed to get his pants off and I heard them hit the floor. I could feel his big, warm cock against my leg. I lifted up my knees and reached down, wrapping my fingers around his impressive, throbbing erection. His tongue penetrated my lips. I lined the tip of his dick up with my asshole and I began to push him inside of me. Euphoria pulsed through me, flashing like a victorious slot machine. He took my hands and pinned them down next to my body. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, and then he pushed himself inside.

My world lit up. I became weightless, my senses overrun. I couldn’t look away from his beautiful eyes or his heart-melting smile as he began to thrust his big dick in and out of my asshole. Each thrust sent me deeper and deeper into a euphoric haze. Had he not been pinning my hands down, I would have pinched myself. I wasn’t entirely convinced I wasn’t dreaming.

I watched his muscles flex and contract. He was so beautiful, a sculpted masterpiece.

“Jerk yourself off,” he said, finally releasing one of my hands. I followed his command, but I never looked away from his eyes, and he never looked away from mine. “I want you to come for me,” he said. “Come all over your beautiful chest.”

If I was dreaming, it was the single greatest and most realistic dream I’d ever had.

I was getting close to finishing. I closed my knees in on his rigid body. I bit down on my tongue and let my head fall back. “Oh God,” I began to mutter over and over. He slipped one of his fingers into my mouth and I began to suck. I was going to come—I was going to come all over myself. He wasn’t too far off either. His thrusts were becoming faster, more swift. He was beginning to grunt, his grip on my wrist began to tighten. “Come for me, baby,” he said, and I couldn’t take any more. I came all over myself—blast after blast of warm cum, all over my chest, my tummy, my hand.

He finally looked away from my eyes to watch me come. I watched an elated tremor run through his body. “Oh fuck,” he said, and then he came, deep inside of my asshole. Fuck, it felt incredible. No drug can imitate that sensation. No high can reach that feeling. Out of breath, he fell down on me.

I hadn’t realized how long we’d been together. The sun was beginning to rise, casting an intense orange light into the luxury hotel suite. Rick seemed to notice it at the same time as me. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost seven,” I said, reading the clock on the nearby microwave.

“Shit,” he said, springing up. “The tour bus leaves at eight.” He started to get dressed and that realization came back to me—it was all destined to end eventually. Sure, we’d gone a lot farther than I thought we would, but still, he was only in town for the night, and he wouldn’t be back for at least another year. By that point, he probably wouldn’t even remember me.

“I guess I should be going, too,” I said, sitting up.

He walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll see you around,” he said. Even though I saw it coming, long before I even arrived at his hotel, I was disappointed. I don’t know why, but in our moment of passion, I managed to delude myself into thinking there could be some kind of future between us. But of course there couldn’t be—who was I kidding? He was a touring musician. And I wasn’t even really a woman, though I was beginning to feel more and more like a woman. It was actually strange to think that I was really a man. It was strange to think that the girly voice I had been using for the past few weeks wasn’t even my real voice.

As soon as I returned home, it suddenly felt like it had all been a dream. Aside from my signed tour-book, I didn’t have any proof that the whole interaction was real. I had no pictures, I didn’t have Rick’s phone number, nothing. After a week passed, I’d even started to convince myself it was all just a dream. After I returned to work, I retired my female clothes and makeup into a bag in the back corner of my closet. I got used to my regular, male voice once again.

It was a month later when there was a knock at my door. I didn’t recognize the man on the other side. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“I’m looking for Georgia May,” he said. My heart sunk into my gut. Had someone found me out and tracked me down?

“I’m sorry, what’s this about?” I managed to ask through the lump in my throat.

“I was sent by Rick Aaronson of Static Overdrive,” he said. “He’s asked me to take Ms. May to the airport.”

My heart was racing now. I noticed he was holding a card in his hand. “What’s that?” I asked.

He held the card up. “This is for Ms. May.”

I spent a moment trying to collect all of my thoughts, but they were popping into my head faster than I was able to make sense of them. “I think she just got out of the shower. Can I take this to her?”

“Sure,” he said, giving me the card.

“I’ll be right back.” I took the card into the other room, out of sight of the driver, and I opened it up. It was an invitation to spend two months with Rick at his private recording studio on the English countryside. There was a plane ticket for that afternoon pressed in the card.

“I really hope you can make it,” it concluded. How did he get my address? How did he know where to find me? To be honest, I didn’t even care—I was finally going to see Rick again.

I nearly screamed in excitement. How could I say no? I ran back into the other room where the driver was waiting patiently. “She said she’ll be ready in about half an hour. Is that okay?” I said. He nodded, and then I ran back to get ready.

So maybe I was wrong when I said that the real fans never get anything good. In fact, that couldn’t have been more wrong. All those skimpy girls got were some quick signatures and a quick meet and greet. I was getting the man himself.

It turns out, it pays to be the biggest fan.

THE END