Understand Your Man
Understand Your Man
Songs:
Understand Your Man, by Johnny Cash
Ten Million Slaves, by Otis Taylor
You’ll Never Leave My Heart, by Ed Harris
Crossroads, by Robert Johnson
Too many Black Keys songs to list
Chapter 18
The sling was off in less than two weeks.
Although Caleb could barely lift his arm and was in serious pain, a small tour in England and Ireland less than two weeks after the fateful Thanksgiving weekend, forced him to take off the dressing and go abroad. Naturally, he went against everyone’s sound advice and suggestions, including BettyAnn’s, the doctors’, and even Ivan’s.
The concerts were a success, as usual, but the atmosphere inside the “camp” was tense. Everyone quarreled. Brothers and brothers, brothers and girlfriends, girlfriends and girlfriends, brothers and management, and so on. A day didn’t pass without someone quitting the band, breaking up, making up, getting un-engaged, leaving or storming off. Caleb for one, was repeatedly excommunicated from the band, for drunkenness, bad behavior, insults and general nastiness. He was in chronic pain, medicated, yet expected to perform nightly as if nothing was wrong. He was an ace on stage, rocking out like a madman, but following the concerts, he’d get drunk until the blacking out point, and while reaching that stage, he’d alienate everyone around him with his sharp tongue and mean comments.
Because he was injured, he couldn’t get into physical fights, and no one wanted to hurt him further, which meant repeated verbal spats between him and everybody else.
She was not spared his attitude, but he tried to keep himself in check with her, since as usual, she was his only ally, and he loved her and didn’t like fighting with her what so ever. But once inebriated, he did lose control a few times, though it was not explosive. She usually simply left him to his own devices, and in the morning, he was back to his good old self.
Overall, UK was not fun, and everyone sighed a sigh of relief when it was time to go back home for Christmas.
Christmas was a fun affair—she spent half of it with her family, and half with the Followills.
After Christmas lunch with her parents, aunts, uncles and cousins—everyone usually gathered at her parents’ house, as it was the largest one—she drove down the desolate roads to the Followill farm. It was cold and she was glad for her hat and gloves, and Caleb’s voice on her iPod, while she listed to “Because Of the Times”. It amused her, but when she heard him sing, she couldn’t recognize the Caleb that she knew in that voice. The raw, almost overtly-sexual, soul-scratching voice that he produced while singing had little to do with the deep, hushed Tennessee twang that spoke to her every day.
She pulled up to the house and Caleb ran out to greet her.
He was wearing only a cardigan and no jacket, and was jumping up and down, blowing on his hands.
“Go inside, go inside!” she bellowed at him, “you’ll catch your death!”
“No,” he muttered stubbornly, “I’ve missed you!”
He jumped off the stairs and rushed to her, squeezing her in his arms and swinging her around.
“You just saw me yesterday!” she reminded him with a laugh.
“Yeah! I am aware! Which meant that I had to sleep alone!” he frowned.
She pressed her lips to his cold mouth and stroked his head.
“Merry Christmas then my love.”
He smiled and said,
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
His thick, big arms wrapped around her and he rocked both of their bodies, while kissing her.
“Stop sucking each other’s faces,” blandly advised Nacho, passing by them. “Or at least do it inside.”
Caleb pulled away and laughed.
He was a in a good mood, smelling lightly of wine and something sweet—pie or cake—coffee and cigarette smoke.
“Can you two help me then?” she requested.
Her mother sent over an entire feast, as if the Followills wouldn’t have had their own belt-busting dinner and breakfast. But she brought a trifle, casseroles, fried okra and crab cakes. Inside, it was smoky and noisy, with at least a dozen men, cousins and friends, watching the game, drinking beer and eating. The addition of her food was met with much jubilation, since apparently whatever was prepared before was already eaten.
Once the party began winding down, Caleb picked up a bottle of red wine, grabbed her hand and they went upstairs. On the landing stood the big Christmas tree that they all took time to decorate after they had returned from England. She remembered it as a nice day—Caleb made a huge pot of soup, and everyone gathered in the kitchen over drinks and soup and bread, before going upstairs, where cardboard boxes with the Christmas decorations were set out. Matt and Johanna were missing, but there were still a lot of people to beautify the house and the tree. Calm descended on the group, and no one was arguing or fighting or getting mad at one another. A pre-Christmas miracle, if there ever was one.
Caleb put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She draped her arm over his waist and they looked at the tree for a little while, in silence.
“Thanks,” he said at last.
“What for?”
“Being here. Taking a chance and not bailing on me. I know I can be a handful. But with you, I am really happy.”
“I am really happy with you too,” she admitted and kissed his shoulder. There was no need to say that he indeed WAS a handful and that sometimes, he upset her so much, she felt like she was at the end of her rope. But those times were few and far in between, and in truth, she did love him completely and passionately. With all the challenges that the relationship presented, she wouldn’t have changed anything. Back when they just met, before there ever was rock n’ roll, or sex, or even love, she told him that she’d take him the way that he was, imperfections and all, because to her, he was perfect. And the feeling never changed. He was perfect.
He brought her face up and kissed her warmly and slowly, taking his time, turning her to face him and putting those heavy arms over her back.
“Let’s go,” he murmured into her hair. “I want to smell you…”
“Just smell?” she smiled.
“I’ll start with smelling. And then, I will move onto other things.”
His room was restored to a resemblance of its former self, though there were no more expensive mirrors on the walls, and the mattress had to be replaced, as well as all the sheets and covers, after Nathan had taken the knife to the task.
Her relationship with Nathan was still very strained. They talked, but only when they needed to, and she avoided him, often quite demonstratively too. It upset Caleb, who was easy to forgive his brother, and brushed the entire incident off as a friendly spat, but she was royally pissed at Nathan. They argued about it a few times, until Caleb gave up and let the sleeping dogs lie. Jared didn’t help either, when he convincingly told her one night, “Nate is gonna kill Caleb! You’ll see! He told me himself.” Nathan tried to reconcile, but unsuccessfully. While she was young, one of the youngest in the group, she also carried an air of authority and reason in her, and Nathan recognized it. She wasn’t some silly hanger on, or a leech who fed off Caleb and his celebrity and his wealth. She was level-headed, even-tempered and accepting of them, but always just a bit of an outsider, because that’s how she chose to position herself in their midst. And she vehemently, deeply, and absolutely loyally loved Caleb. That’s why she was here, in this mess of an environment, with the travel, fights, schedules, egos, substance abuse, and the rest of the craziness. She freakin’ loved Caleb, and there was no forgiveness coming from her for anyone who’s done him wrong.
Caleb set the wine bottle and the glasses, on the console table and looked outside.
“Look! Snow!” he exclaimed.
She came behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“White Christmas,” she said, kissing the back of his neck.
“Nice!” he nodded his approval, “snow, Christmas, my girl, good wine…”
She kissed him again and whispered,
“My boy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted or needed. Best Christmas ever.”
He turned around and went to the sofa, sprawling on it. She poured him a glass of wine and he sipped slowly, watching her, as she took off her sweater and rummaged in the dresser for a t-shirt.
“You know, I can totally kiss the pretty titties,” he offered.
She turned around and laughed.
“Yeah?”
He nodded readily.
She unzipped her jeans, but before he could get excited, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and one of his t-shirts.
“It’s just extra work for me,” he complained, “taking all this stuff of off you. Why can’t you just walk around naked?”
“Um, I have a million reasons. Not the least of which is that we are in your farm house,”
“Our farm house,” he corrected.
She shot him a complex look, which he didn’t acknowledge, but which he saw perfectly well. The correction just hung in the air.
“Our farm house,” she then continued smoothly, “and half of your family is roaming the halls. And most of your brothers don’t knock before they enter.”
“Oh, yeah…” he agreed vaguely.
“Also, if I walk about naked, I am not sure how functional you’ll be. So it’s for your own good.”
“Oh, please, don’t do me any favors!!!” he exclaimed, and then opened his arms.
She hopped across the room in three strides and landed on the sofa, on top of him.
He smiled and kissed her.
“Man, this is a much better Christmas than the ones before!”
She lay on top of him and stroked his face softly,
“It is, at least for me.”
“Then what am I to say?” he drawled, “since we started the band, I’ve hardly had a normal, pleasant Christmas.
“I think it was ‘04, and the only person I actually saw on Christmas was Nathan. In ‘05, we were elbow deep in coke, so I don’t even remember it. Last year, I was alone again, all messed up because you’ve left and there was just nothing for me…I think that I just got drunk and blacked out…” he paused.
She flushed, feeling indescribably guilty.
He rubbed the small of her back and said quickly, seeing her reaction,
“But it’s all right…This Christmas is the best. I’ve got everything I need. Got mom, pie, Jesus, you.”
She laughed and said,
“I am in good company, with pie and Jesus and BettyAnn!”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lovingly.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
“Oh oh…” she smiled, but obliged.
He shifted beneath her, and she thought that he’d start undressing her, but he didn’t.
“Keep ‘em closed!” he ordered.
“Okay, okay! They are closed. What are you doing?”
He settled down and then said, “open.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. On his chest lay a wrapped box.
He smiled broadly and said,
“I’ve got everything that I need, so I want to give something too. Merry Christmas.”
She sat up and slowly unwrapped the box.
“Oh, Jesus!” she gushed.
A Van Cleef & Arpels box contained an extravagant diamond and sapphire bracelet and matching earrings.
“That color really reminds me of your eyes,” he said, pointing to the sapphires.
“Caleb…this is…” she couldn’t find the words, but he interrupted,
“I think it’s real pretty.”
“It is beautiful,” she agreed.
It was clear that he didn’t want to hear her say “I can’t possibly!” or “it’s too expensive”, so she accepted the gift calmly, seeing that it made him happy. He quickly put the bracelet around her wrist and watched her reaction with pleasure.
“You approve?”
“Oh, I think so…” she kissed him gently. The bracelet felt weighty on her hand and it made her nervous. Her grandmother was from Savannah, from an old, wealthy family, and whenever she visited, she brought the old plantation spirit of genteel, slow, rich existence along with her. She used to tutor her granddaughters on good manners, proper dinner settings, when it was correct to wear certain articles of clothing and how to prepare heirloom recipes. One thing grandmother always said, “Ladies do not wear diamonds before the age of 35, save for an engagement ring.” Oh well, perhaps grandmother was wrong. Grandmother and granddaughter were never particularly close, and formidable Grandma Followill was much more preferable.
“All right then,” she straightened and said, “I have something for you as well.”
“What?” he sat up. “Didn’t I tell you not to get anything for me?”
“Why should I listen to you?” she shrugged defiantly. “You are not my dad!”
“Maybe I’ll be your husband,” he said seriously.
“Oh…husband? Firstly, who said I am going to take you as my husband?” she huffed.
Caleb laughed.
“Secondly, is that the kind of husband you’ll be? The one who expects his wife to just do what he says?”
“Yeah, kind of,” he nodded.
“Okay, well, your chances of being my husband are rapidly diminishing!”
She went into the closet and then returned with a bag.
“All right, what if I am not going to be a super dominating husband? Would you consider me then?”
She shrugged.
“I’ll think about it. But you have a lot to work on, before I’ll consider you.”
Caleb was shaking with laughter. She sounded so serious and deadpan, if he didn’t know her better, he would have thought that she was being genuine.
“And what’s with all the “husband” talk?” she demanded, “You are freaking me out!”
“Why? Is marrying me so scary an idea?” he asked, now sounding a little hurt.
“No. Not you. Marrying anyone.”
“You are weird. Girls want to get married.”
“My parents tried to shield us from that life,” she explained. Sometimes, Caleb didn’t understand concepts that were too far from his own reality. In his world, particularly the world of his childhood, girls wanted to get married. It was expected. It was normal.
“Makes no sense,”
“Makes no sense if you have nothing to look forward to in life. If you can go and build a life, the way you want to, why doesn’t it make sense?
“You yourself didn’t stay in construction. Didn’t get married to the first girl that came your way. You saw other opportunities and you took them. Anyway, why are you all upset? You are not exactly the marriageable kind either.”
“I’d take c chance on you,” he confessed softly.
She smiled and sat next to him on the sofa,
“So would I, on you.”
“And when I am a little drunk, I am romantic,”
She laughed,
“You are a fool for romance. Now,” she kissed his cheek, “this is for you. I hope you like it.”
He opened the bag and whistled.
“G-d, woman! Are you crazy?”
A bottle of 1996 Château Lafite Rothschild lay nestled in a velvet-covered box.
“I don’t like to think of myself as an enabler,” she laughed, “and encourage your bad habits, but this was something I couldn’t pass on.”
“This is worth a fortune!”
“So is this!” she waved her bracelet-clad hand in front of him. “So I guess we both like expensive gifts.”
“Wow. This I am drinking alone! Do not tell Nathan!” he warned.
She laughed and promised to keep the secret of the bottle.
“This is really awesome!” he kept admiring the bottle.
“Open it on your birthday,” she suggested. Of course she knew that Caleb would and will share with Nathan.
“Good idea,” agreed Caleb.
He reached for her and kissed her neck gently.
She pushed him down and he lay back on the sofa, watching her, his full lower lip bit tightly. She straddled him and cocking her head to one side inquired,
“Is this appropriate activity for Christmas?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed impatiently.
She burst out laughing.
“I guess you ought to know!”
“Why me? What do I know?”
“Being a preacher’s son and all…You know when fornication is appropriate, according to the Bible.”
“Oh. Well, then it’s totally appropriate!!!” he exclaimed and she laughed.
She pulled her t-shirt off and he smiled, as he always did, seeing her body, just before it was bared before him. He pushed her long hair behind her shoulders, so it tumbled in a soft wave along her back. Her pheromones hit him hard, and instantly. The scent of her, probably completely ordinary to anyone else, was like ambrosia to his nose. There was something in her that enveloped him in a fog of pure desire, making him hard and tense, and overwhelmed with need. She knew it—the response that she caused in him—and feeling the rage of his emotions, the moist heat of his flesh, the darkening of his eyes, she was aware that he’d do anything for her. And reining him in was not always an easy task. She stooped over him and touched his face. The three-day-old stubble felt rough, yet somehow arousing beneath her fingers and she licked on his cheek. His big hand stroked the back of her neck and then slipped lower, pushing under the waistband of her sweatpants, cupping her bottom. The bigness of him occasionally surprised her. For someone who was not a large man, there were parts of him— arms, shoulders, feet, neck, cock and hands that were oversized, and him covering her whole behind with one hand brought a pleased gasp from deep inside her chest. He kissed her deeply, slowly, while working her out of her pants, draped in her hair, drowning in her scent and the warmth of her breath and the softness of her touch. Her ample breasts spilled on his chest and he successfully removed her sweatpants, finally feeling all of her, smooth, luscious, and almost naked. She covered him with kisses, tender and loving, just the way he liked to be kissed, because it made him feel like someone cared about him. The groupies, back in the day when he actively employed their services, they would just straddle him and gallop away. At first, when they finally got him to bed, he’d see the look of excitement and disbelief in their eyes, for they were achieving their goal. But then, it would be as impersonal as it should’ve been—sometimes they came, sometimes they didn’t. He never really knew. He never really cared all that much either. All he remembered was bodies and breasts, swaying on top of him, taking what they needed, probably disappointed too. He was no Gene Simmons in bed, and being naturally shy, along with having a strangely distorted body image, he never was able to reveal himself to a random person, whom he would probably never see again. Until now.
She fell in love with Caleb, not a singer or a King of Leon, and baring his soul to her was a lot easier and natural to him.
Easily she helped him out of his t-shirt, spread out atop of him, and he couldn’t stop kissing her, because today was a good day, and he loved her, and she was beautiful and things were going to be all right.
He slipped his hand between their bodies and cupped her gently, probing carefully and he whispered in her ear,
“I’d like nothing on you today, other than the bracelet.”
“I think that that could be arranged,” she smiled, sat up, and slowly smoothed her hands over his chest. He watched her, the pale soft breasts and the shining eyes, and then mouthed, “up, up, up.”
She blushed and shook her head.
He smiled.
“Why are you shy?”
“Because,” she said reluctantly.
“Because why?”
“If you must do this,” she said primly, “can’t you do it like a normal person?”
Caleb was laughing silently.
“How do normal people do it?”
“I don’t know. Like the usual way…” she mumbled.
“Can’t you do it for me?” he begged innocently.
She didn’t answer and he took her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles and inside her palms.
“You shouldn’t be shy with me. You know how much I love you. And this,” his palm stroked her pubic bone, “it perfect. Besides, what girl turns down a moustache ride?”
She laughed.
“I could totally grow a moustache for you!” he promised wholeheartedly.
“No, no! Thanks!” she stopped him in time.
“I grow a really good moustache,” he insisted, as he cupped her bottom and forcefully propped her atop of his face. She wobbled on top of him, trying to find balance, which was incredibly difficult as soon as she felt the first lashing of his tongue along her slit. Gripping the back of the sofa, she straightened above him, so not to suffocate him, and moaned.
Caleb never told her that she was the only woman that he actually ever went down on. No other woman tempted him into this activity before or since. But as he swirled his long, strong tongue against the softness of her sex, he recalled the first time he yearned to do that. It was their first “proper” date, when, under his relentless assault, she agreed to meet up with him at some fair. He remembered her eating cotton candy, and it the taste of her lips, the scent of burnt sugar on her chin and nose that he savored during their first kiss. With the rain pouring all around them, she was pressed between the wall and him, and now he remembered the feel of her breasts, how they swell against his chest, the smoothness of her, the delicious smell of her hair and the taste of her skin. And in the madness of his need, the only thought that penetrated his brain at that moment was the singular desire of tasting her. Even before her admitting it to him, he knew that she was a virgin, but it wasn’t even the desire to possess her first that drove him, but the need to bury his face in her womb, and experience the primal knowledge of what a woman was. Because to Caleb, even after all the countless females that graced his bed, this one was the only woman that he’s ever been with.
He gripped her tightly, hearing her cry out when he bit her clit gently, teasing her cruelly with the merciless gliding of his tongue over the beautiful, leaking cavity of her sex. She squealed softly, making him laugh at the meowing noises that she was making, and he loved the sight of her, that lean, tense body above his face, arched back so far that the ribs were protruding and the soft, pink breasts rolled about temptingly.
He rubbed her belly gently, licking voraciously; now mad with the overwhelming necessity to taste her, savouring the familiar flavour of her, eagerly expecting the inevitability of her climax. Always the thinker, or rather, the dweller, Caleb had in fact thoroughly analyzed what it was that drew him so deeply to her, especially sexually, and at last, recently, he understood—she was his home. That never-ending quest to find a home, a resemblance of permanency in his life, that journey back down to his roots, that searching that permeated every song that he wrote—going home, being home, seeking home—culminated in her. She was familiar, yet exotic, nurturing, yet independent, intelligent, yet approachable.
Just as soon as it began, the moaning, the shuddering, the spasms of her womb over his tongue, he pushed her down and impaled her hungrily.
She squeezed his broad shoulders so tightly, that it hurt him, but he liked the pain, and how she licked his face, which was by far the most sexual thing that he could ever imagine—the mingling of him and her, and her own wetness on her tongue. He pulled her closer, holding her tightly in his arms, and her legs wrapped around his waist, almost immobilizing him, while she bit his shoulder and plunged down on him. Panting loudly, she pushed against him, her strong muscles squeezing him tightly, holding him wholly inside, her teeth grazing the apple of his cheek, his lips and his ears, just as her nails raked down his back. Caleb kissed her deeply, revelling in her almost brutal passion, in the way that she wanted him, inside of her and all over her. Women who were in love loved like this. And since she was the only one who actually loved him, she was the only one who could completely reveal herself to him and mould him to her needs.
She threw her head back, revealing to him the long column of her throat, her full breasts, the thin bones of her shoulders and arms. Her long hair swept over his legs as she leaned back, but he held her to him, so that his crucifix swung between her breasts. He kissed her and smiled crookedly, and the smile cooled her off and she laid her face into his shoulder, embracing him, tightening her legs around his back. He loved how he lived deeply in her, and in their mutual mingling he found calm and solace, and it was just the two of them, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no music, no performing, no nerves, no expectations, no failures or insecurities. He smoothed her hair along her cheeks and kissed her with a shy, unexpected tenderness of which very few people were aware, but which lived inside of him.
This was her favourite Caleb. Her own private one that she didn’t have to share with anyone. He was pale, from the lack of sun in the winter, his hair was long, and the holiday indulgence resulted in the softening of his features, a good 2-4 day stubble on his face, and a mellower attitude.
Easily, she pushed him down on his back and stretched on top of him. He watched her with pleasure, rubbing her back and her hips, as she flicked the tip of her tongue over his lips.
Then she straightened and was on top of him, her hair swishing over his face and shoulder, the thrusts of her hips confident and easy, her breasts heavy and pink and swaying, her body soft and milky. His member was squeezed so tightly within the fine confines of her body, that he had to pull back again and again, so to prolong his own enjoyment. It fascinated him how this girls, his very own virgin—at least that’s how he thought of her—could unman him with a simple move of her shoulder or a glimpse of her breast, let alone an actual act. It took a lot of self-denial for him to prove his manhood to himself and not become crazy.
“Kisses,” she demanded. Caleb smiled and readily acquiescent her request, rising on his elbows and having her take his face in her hands and kiss him slowly.
“Did you know that you are simply the best?” she murmured against his cheek.
“No. I think that you love me too much,” he whispered, holding her chin and kissing her full, wine-tinged lips. “I’ve never been good, let alone the best…”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he sat up, burying his face in her neck.
She slid smoothly up and down on him, her belly rubbing against his, her tight nipples slipping over the mat of his chest hair, her lips fluttering all over him at once—face, eyes, lips, hair, chest, hands, shoulders.
“You can trust me,” she smiled, “because I know what I am talking about.”
“I trust you,” he promised. “You are weird, but so am I.”
“Lovely compliment as ever,” she laughed softly.
“I know how to give them,” Caleb chuckled. “But I’d like to give you something else right now…Can you please come all over me?”
Red blush spread over her cheeks and neck at his request and she felt his hot, insistent hand slip between their bodies, past their stomachs and into the wet warmth of her sex, the thick thumb pushing on her clit. She gasped and her fingers tightly grabbed at his back, while the wetness of her caused him to bite down on her lower lip, as he rubbed her steadily, feeling the thrusts of his member against his knuckles.
“Oh G-d, oh G-d,” she muttered quickly, heatedly, shuddering on him, but he held her close and continued, dragging his tongue over her mouth, nibbling on her neck and cheekbones. He liked to watch her in the moments approaching her release, since she always came lustily, hotly, shamelessly. She threw her head far back, grinding on top of him, her pelvis bumping into his hand, her breasts firm and exposed, and he swept his long tongue over them, feeling the irresistible tension grow inside of him. She wrapped her legs around his back, and he pushed them even higher, almost onto his shoulders, thrusting readily and impatiently until she gripped and released him, again and again, and he felt her clit contract and burst forth against his thumb.
“Deeper, honey, please…” she gasped, “please…deeper…”
She fell back and he was on top of her, pushing in that familiar, tempting, scorching wetness, fading into her willingly and readily.
“That was not half bad!” came a satisfied approval once he moved to her side, licking his fingers with pleasure. “You literally taste like honey!”
She smiled and turned onto her stomach, folding her hands under her cheek. He kissed her head and put his heavy arm over her back, pulling her close. Her new bracelet gleamed in the buttery light.
“Just like I wanted,” he said, nodding to the bracelet. “Nothing but the ice…”
“Ice,” she laughed. “I do love when you go gangsta…”
“Why can’t you come along?”
Caleb was folding his t-shirts with annoyance, throwing his things in the suitcase.
She was helping him, putting away his jeans, and sorting through his shirts.
“Can we not go through all that again?” she proposed.
“No,” he cut her off, “can we?”
“Caleb, I can’t come with you, I am sorry,” she shrugged.
“Jessie can, you can’t, of course,” he hissed.
“Jessie can, because she has a free schedule and is Nathan’s fiancée. I don’t have a free schedule,”
“Make it free!”
“No. I already told you—I am sorry, but I will not stop going to school,” she reminded him stubbornly. “We’ve talked about all this before, a million times.”
“Apparently Jess loves Nate more than you love me.”
“Very mature,” she rolled her eyes and put his grooming kit in the suitcase. “I am not schlepping to Australia for 5 days. Sorry. The flight alone is like 22 hrs. My semester is starting on the 5th. You know all this.”
He was pouting and not talking.
That’s how they parted.
She regretted not being with Caleb for New Year’s celebration, especially in Australia, where the new year arrived first. She called him, but the conversation was tense. She also sensed that Lily was probably somewhere near. At the end, she wished him a happy new year and hung up.
Happy 2008.
He didn’t call back.
She let him stew in his anger.
School started and she got wrapped up in her classes, meetings, new experiences.
She was aware that the band returned from Australia in the middle of January, but there was no word from Caleb, so she left things as they were. It annoyed her when he became irrational with his anger and saw no other point of view besides his own. Her reason was not accompanying him to the end of the world was legitimate, and if he didn’t want to accept it, well, then so be it.
“Hi.”
“Oh, G-d. Now what?”
It was never a good thing when Nathan was the one called her.
It was already March. The weather was cool and damp, and the sun hasn’t made an appearance in over a week.
On the other line, Nathan chuckled,
“Hello to you to.”
“Is he alive?” she asked. Better start with the basics.
“Yeah, he is alive.”
“All right. Good. So what did he do?”
“You know the family a little too well.”
“He isn’t in prison or anything?”
“No, nothing like that. So, firstly, I missed you. And the guys. When Caleb flips out and you disappear, it’s not only bad for him. It’s bad for us as well. So can you please come back?”
“Come back to what? I am not your poker buddy. I am his girlfriend. What am I supposed to say? Hey, Leb, sorry we are off right now, but I’ll be hanging with your bros. So don’t mind me.”
Nathan laughed.
“Why not? That will piss him off into being rational.”
“I’ve given up on him being rational.”
“Now, please don’t tell me that you’ve moved on and gotten yourself a man?” pleaded Nathan. She could hear the distinct notes of fear in his voice.
“Haven’t had the time. But I’ve considered it.”
“Phew. At least you don’t have one.”
“Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”
There was a pause.
“I don’t even know…He is in a funk.”
She was silent. Nathan continued,
“I think it’s a lot of things. Primarily, you. But then also he is kind of really upset that the album hasn’t made a big impact here, in America. I think he was thinking that this will be the one that will catapult us to some kind of stardom here. And we got nothing. Bupkus. I mean it did way better than Aha, but nowhere near as well as we thought it would.”
He stopped talking.
She was still silent.
“He’ll be okay. He’s got thick skin.”
“We both know that his skin isn’t thick at all, when it comes to failure,” argued Nathan.
“So what do you want me to do? Ask my dad to buy a million copies of the album?”
Nathan huffed on the other line.
“That a thought!”
“I thought you’d like the idea.”
“Anyway, can you come and see the bastard? Maybe talk to him? Patch things up. I think that one day, he will grow up!”
“Oh, that day is far away.”
“We are playing a few small gigs here and there. Nothing official. Tour doesn’t start till April. I’ll email you stuff about this weekend and next week. If you can come, that would be really good. You know, I will leave you passes and stuff at will call.”
“All right, fine. I am not promising anything. Just send me the info, and then I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. Thank you.”
On Sunday, she drove to Louisville. She considered not going till the very last moment, but then impulsively she jumped in her car and was on her way. About 30 miles from the city, traffic came to a standstill. She stood unmoving for 35 min, watching people get out their cars and walk around. So much for making it on time. Radio reports stated that there was a massive trailer tractor accident half a mile ahead, covering both lanes.
“Wonder-fucking-ful,” she muttered, thinking whether it made sense to even continue, since there was no way she’d even make it to the concert now.
Then she texted Jessie and asked whether the guys were staying at a hotel or were planning to go back to Nashville. Jessie responded in a few minutes and said that they were staying the night in Louisville and gave her the name of the hotel, and just in case, the number to Caleb’s room. Wherever Caleb went, and regardless of whether she came with him or not, he always left her a key at the reception desk, in every hotel. She didn’t think that he changed his habit now, even if they were unofficially broken up. Caleb was predictable.
Jessie’s next text read,
“Jared screwed up 2wice. Concert not going well. Seems nobody noticed anything, but Caleb is pissed.”
Even better. Now he was going to be in a lousy mood, since he always became upset when a concert didn’t go perfectly.
Everyone tried to explain to Caleb that the audience usually doesn’t notice any snags, and that they are in the moment, dancing and singing to their favourite songs, hoping to hear more. An incorrect lyric or a chord here and there didn’t matter, but Caleb always came off stage fuming, either at himself or at his band members or his crew.
But, it was stupid to drive all the way back to Nashville, when she was so close. So she dug deep into a box of Cheez Its, took out her IPod and spent the next hour and a half munching on all the junk food that she had in the car, while the accident was cleared away.
It was late by the time she arrived to the hotel. Hoping that there would be no awkwardness with the reception, she requested a key, gave her name and the room number. “Here you are, miss,” a card key was given to her almost immediately. The woman behind the counter only had to glance at the computer screen for a second, probably checking her name.
She opened the door and entered. The light was on. The room wasn’t the fancy type that she was used to in Europe, and that the guys enjoyed in Australia and South America. It was a typical, pedestrian room, not a suite, with a queen size bed. Yes, it was clear that in the US, Kings of Leon were not yet even princes, let alone kings. She chuckled. Maybe earls or barons, but definitely not kings.
“Caleb,” she called out.
Silence.
Probably at the after party.
Sweaty, crumpled and mottled after the long drive and the traffic, she found some of his clothes stuffed in a bag—a t-shirt and jeans. The t-shirt was big, but Caleb and she wore the same size jeans, which was kind of weird. She went to the bathroom, took a shower, washed and blow-dried her hair, all the while trying to figure out what she wanted to order from room service—Cobb salad? A turkey BLT? Lobster mac and cheese? Chicken Cesar sandwich? She was hungry and Cheez Its weren’t very satisfying after all.
She opened the bathroom door and gasped. Caleb was standing right there, hands in his pockets. Confused, she stared at him. The man before her was not the man she knew—he had cut his hair, which threw her for a loop, and was sporting a generous stubble on his face, which was very close to becoming a beard. It was almost like looking at a stranger.
Though she and Lily were well aware of one another, they usually ignored each other completely, but now she thought that if this was Lily’s doing there were going to be some words said.
In one wide stride, Caleb reached her, his eyebrows knitted in an unhappy frown, his eyes blazing, the wine and whatever other kind of booze was in him carousing through his body. He was tight and tense and smelled of smoke and drink and anger.
Grabbing her face, he pushed his lips against hers and kissed her so brutally, that it hurt her mouth. Yet the bristling hairs of his face, the taste of his lips, the breath that filled her mouth and throat, the loving, urgent caresses of his tongue on hers, roused a hunger in her that was almost instant.
“You are back,” he muttered into her lips. He sounded half-surprised and half-grateful, but his face was closed, the muscles of his back tight, his large hands raging over her breasts, squeezing them with impatience and urgency.
Stumbling, they moved from the bathroom door inside the room, until he pushed her against the back of the sofa that stood in the middle of the room. His pelvis ground into hers, the bulge inside his jeans ample and threatening, and he almost ripped the t-shirt from her body, tossing it on the floor, his eyes dark as he watched the sway of her breasts, which tumbled from under the shirt, bare to his gaze. His hot hand grazed the small of her back and he pulled her closer to him, his palm slipping inside her jeans towards her sex.
“Wait,” she started, but he bellowed huskily, “no!” and quickly put his hands over her palms, pressing them into the back of the sofa. Immobilized, she had no choice but to let him pull her nipple in his mouth and bite it, softly at first, but then harder, until she squirmed and yelped next to him. He didn’t stop and sucked it harshly, her feeble resistance only firing him up, as he switched between the breasts, burying his face in their softness, as if starved for their comforting bigness, the taste of her nipples, the sensation of the skin on his cheeks and lips.
Not that this was unpleasant, but such force and fierceness on Caleb’s part was unusual. He was not a particularly tender lover, perhaps overly experienced, too knowing of what he wanted, how to get it and what to give back, but with her, he was always caring and certainly loving.
Roughly, he turned her around and pushed her down, bending her over the sofa, his large palm cupping her inside the jeans, as he worked the buttons open, his hot lips planting kisses on the back of her neck and over her shoulders, his other hand squeezing both of her breasts. She propped herself over the back of the sofa, feeling his knee push her legs apart, as he rolled her jeans down her thighs. His ever-growing cock bumped into her curve of her bottom, and when she turned her head to look at him, he licked the side of her face and her lips, as he undid his zipper. Releasing his member, massive, thick, so hard that it shot up all the way to his navel, he stroked it once, twice; the tip of his tongue tracing the bubbling vein on her neck before he sunk his teeth into the thin skin of her throat. Gripping her hips, he pulled her onto himself, in one swift, overpowering motion, thrusting all the way in, his angry, strong prick filling her completely. His hot breath bathed her neck and he bit her earlobe, expanding inside of her, causing a flush to spread over her skin, a spurt of moisture irrigating the length of his member.
“Fuck me,” he demanded in her ear, the thick fingers pinching her clit, as he pulled out completely, only to force her back down onto the hard pole of his member. The passing of the bulbous head past the lips of her sex was so maddeningly pleasurable, that she bumped onto him impatiently, her hips sliding up and down the length of him. His nostrils were filled with her scent, and he breathed hard, clutching at her, the softness of her breasts within his palm, the lemony perfume that she wore rubbing off on his skin. She moved her hips smoothly, hungry for these penetrations, thrusting in earnest, each movement of her body bringing a flood of memories and desires into his brain. His dependency on her annoyed him. Why should he, Caleb Followill, someone who could have just about any woman—celebrity, super model, actress—want this one so desperately? There was nothing special about her. Just a chick. He drove into her, hard and deep, and she groaned loudly, but he didn’t want to care and didn’t stop to think if he was making her uncomfortable. It’s okay, they all took it, why couldn’t she? Why was she so special? And yet…The softness of her brown hair against his cheek, the move of her narrow hips, the curve of her bottom, the feel of her breasts in his hands…Why couldn’t she be just one of many, plain and uncomplicated? One who didn’t making him toss and turn at night, who didn’t make him think and wonder, and the one who didn’t cause him to compare all others to.
Caleb’s big calloused hand scraped the skin of her stomach, his ramming member steady and voracious, his fingers lusty inside of her. His chest pushed into her back, and she couldn’t think of another time where he was so filled with contradictory emotions. He said nothing, though usually he babbled compliments in her ear, and his whole approach to her seemed jumbled and confused—desire mixed with anger and resentment. His face pushed into the back of her head and he was unstoppable, hard and pushing, as if trying to claw his way into her forever. Her breathing was rugged and fast, and from his onslaught she almost tumbled over the sofa, but he held tight, demanding, “come for me. Now,” his voice low and lusty and gravelly. The words pushed her over the edge, and incapable of holding her own against his assault, she climaxed relentlessly, almost crying from the amount of intensity with which her womb blossomed against his shaft.
With one pull, he emptied her and swirled her about, so she stood facing him. His cock seemed larger than she’s ever seen, and somehow threatening and unkind. She always found it more than pleasing and desirable, but right now, she wanted the thing away from her. But he wasn’t done.
Reaching forward, he kissed her tightly, without feeling, his hand inside of her, touching, caressing, keeping her on edge, making her twitch around his fingers. He wasn’t looking at her, his face a stubborn, cold mask, eyes turned downwards.
She didn’t want to give in to her desperation, with a “Caleb, what is going on?”. So she was silent as well, breathing heavily, watching him rub his penis up and down. Then he stepped forward, and kissed her again, slower this time, still avoiding her gaze, and she wanted to touch him, but she held back, not knowing what to do with him right now. He kissed her neck, biting her collarbones and her shoulder, and then thrust upward, grinding his heavy member into her rectum in one shot. She cried out loudly, as he twisted into her, bypassing the resistance of the strong muscles, pushing harder, spreading and widening, her howl firing him on, making him gasp with an approving moan.
“Oh my G-d,” she cried out, as tears flooded her eyes. It hurt. But for some reason it wasn’t the physical pain that hurt the most, because as much as it was uncomfortable, it was also pleasurable, but the fact that he did it this way, with her.
He bumped hard against her, thrusting deep, almost pushing her over the back of the sofa, and when she cried out and he saw that he was hurting her, he eased up and lifted her with one arm. Firmly buried inside of her, he walked over to the bed and laid her down on the puffy comforter. Stretching over her, he leaned on his good arm and put his other hand on her breast, squeezing it a lot more kindly.
“Are you all right?” he asked at last, his voice softer, caring.
She cupped his bearded face in her hand and he lowered his face and touched her lips with his.
“I don’t know who you are,” she murmured.
“Still me,” he said.
“I am not sure.”
The tips of his fingers touched her lips and she recognized the thick, calloused tips immediately.
“See…” he whispered.
Her hips buckled forward, to meet his thrusts, and she gripped his tense shoulders, sucking on his bicep, feeling the thick vein pulsate with rapid heat.
He spread her legs wide and wrapped them around him, his breath stuttering against her lips, his long tongue licking on her mouth. She arched her back and closed her eyes.
“Ohhhhh….this is nice….” she murmured blissfully.
Scotching hot, long and hard, he slid in and out of her bottom, making her moan with every push, making her remember the pleasure of him.
One of his arms snaked under the arch of her back and he pulled her closer, stooping to kiss her nipples, her breasts and her neck.
“Oh G-d,” he groaned, “look at you…so beautiful…”
She smiled.
He pumped her rectum effortlessly; his movements slick and determined, hard, but unhurried. She opened her eyes and smiled. He was smiling at her with his crooked grin and she kissed his lower lip.
She noticed that he couldn’t put any weight on his left arm at all, and it made her instantly concerned. There would have to be a talk about that later.
He looked down, between their bodies and she blushed with that familiar, lovely blush that he adored.
“Good?” he asked, stroking her warm cheek.
“Really good,” she admitted unabashedly, kissing his chest softly.
He rubbed his nose against hers and worked thoroughly, whispering, “watch…”
She lowered her eyes and watched the dark mass of his member peek and disappear into her anus. It was a sexual thing that they did, intimate and wholly theirs, and she never thought that it would be something that she’s ever go for, with all the talk of “ass” and “taking it up the ass”, but here it was, and she gently touched his penis, urging it to go deeper in her.
Caleb kissed her knees that were almost at his ears and thrust readily into the welcoming, softened opening, which stretched so well under the persistent drive of his member.
“Oh man, it’s tight in there…” he shook his head with bemused look of pleasure, “incredible…”
“It’s so wide,” she mewed gently, kissing his nipples, “you stretched it…”
“Of course I stretched it,” he announced proudly. “Your bum is tiny now…missed a nice good riding?”
She laughed.
“I very much did miss it.”
“See, I keep everything of yours in good shape and working order. Everything is nicely stretched and filled.”
“You are very good for my health,” she burst out laughing.
“I do what I can,” he said innocently.
“Humanitarian,” she shook her head and he laughed.
“But can I come in there?” he asked quietly, pressing his hairy cheek to her cheek.
“You should,” she allowed.
After a few torturously pleasurable moments of silence that was permeated with the sounds of their love and flesh and lips and fingers, they bucked against one another, the tidal wave of her orgasm sweeping over him, her hands gripping him tightly, his waist and back, as she kept him inside of her for a little longer, flooded, warm and wet. At last, panting, he slipped of off her and lay his head on her pubic bone and closed his eyes. He looked very vulnerable right now. Peaceful. She stroked his head.
Caleb woke up. It was bright outside. Last night they didn’t draw the curtains.
He felt around him, then opened his eyes.
He took the hotel stationary and read,
“Caleb, I need to do some thinking. I think you need the same.
Also, perhaps, I need more. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s been two years and I am no longer the young girl that you had met in a supermarket. You are very different as well. We’ve been through a lot together, and I hope that we’ll be through a lot more. Together. But while before it was all about you, I think that now, I have to think about “me” as well. Maybe you don’t want to hear this—you usually don’t. Fidelity isn’t your objective in life. But I am 23, you are 27. We are no longer kids. Frankly, I love you too much to share you with anyone else. I don’t want to share you with your other women, some steady, like Lily, some passing and nameless. I don’t want to depend on your moods for happiness.
You can come back to me at any time. I will always love you, I hope that you understand that. I’ll wait, for a while.
You’ll always be the great love of my life.
C.”
Caleb folded the sheet of paper and got up.
Her scent was still in the room, but he felt like he was losing it with every passing moment.
He put on his jeans and sighed. Then he went to his bag and rummaged in there for a second, before taking out a box. He opened it and was almost blinded by the diamond ring that he’s been carrying around for over a year now.
