The Boy With a Guitar

‘Dev! Dev!’

The crowd lusted for the magic I was weaving with my guitar. The stage was covered in psychedelic, red and blue hues thanks to the follow-spots. The air was putrid with smoke and alcohol fumes.

Oblivious, I focused on the high I was chasing, smashing notes after notes filled with hunger and passion.

‘Dev! Dev!’

The chants grew louder. I was flying now, dizzy with pleasure. My body was tingling all over, the pressure building up slowly…

‘Oh my God!’ she squealed, bringing me back to the present as I convulsed into her. 

Her eyes were half-open, a languid smile played on her lips. She resembled a cat that had found a bowl of cream. Pulling out a cigarette, she lit up. ‘Seriously, the best ever,’ she said, cosying up next to me, her voluptuous body—still flushed, still naked.  

Managing a grin, I got off her. I sensed what would come up after this, a need to connect at a deeper level by talking.  

As if you need to get any deeper.

Thankfully, my phone rang before I was required to participate. Holding up two fingers, I hastily pulled on my pants and stepped out of my suite, only to bump straight into her friend.

‘Why are you crying, Emani? Did Nir…?’ I left the question hanging.

‘What does it look like?’ She wiped the tears off her eyes and stood straight, her stance haughty. ‘I was never here.’ She snarled when I did not respond. Her eyes bore into mine as if sealing a verbal contract through osmosis. 

I almost laughed; she was in the hub of illicit liaisons. Everyone had secrets here, random one-night stands, homosexuals who were hetero in the light of day, best friends’ wives, or worst, siblings’ significant others.

She cleared her throat, letting me know that she was still waiting for an answer.

I nodded. Not satisfied, Emani came and jabbed my chest with her pointy fingers. ‘Seriously! No talking about this if we ever meet. My sister can never know about this. It’d break her.’

The phone that had fallen silent began ringing again, and for a second time in less than ten minutes, I escaped citing it as an excuse.

‘Hello.’

‘Took you long enough, Bhowmik. Get your ass and guitar down. I’m texting you the address.’ My boss did not care much about greetings.

‘Sure, what time?’

He had disconnected before I could finish. Trudging back into the room, I hoped I could avoid the histrionics. I could have asked for a million dollars because the girl had drifted off to sleep. So, dressing up, I took the cowardly way out and left after leaving a note.

Walking down the empty streets, I hailed a taxi. I’d possibly had the best no strings attached sex in the history of mankind. Something that any full-blooded young male will give an eye and tooth for, and yet I had to dive into the deepest recesses of my memory to get me to climax. The exhaustion hit me with force, catching me unawares.