The sound of melodic chords ring out against the walls of the small studio as my left hand seamlessly runs up and down the smooth neck of the honey colored, well broken in guitar.  I wasn't playing anything in particular, not some old song that people could sing along to and not necessarily anything that will turn into a song in the future; I'm just letting my fingers manipulate the strings at will, I wasn't even thinking about what sounds would come next, my fingers were literally completely in charge of what was happening. This has always been a favorite feeling of mine, the sensation that the music is just flowing from my fingertips without any conscious thought whatsoever. These moments made me feel alive, it made me feel whole, it made me miss being on stage. My fingers stopped, my right palm landing softly against the ringing strings, effectively quieting them. I carefully looked over the features of the studio as my mind replayed the events of this past year. 2013 has been a good year, I thought to myself. There have been a lot of amazing performances both on the actual tour and one off appearances and I've had the pleasure of meeting new people and reconnecting with amazing people from my past. Overall there was really nothing to complain about so far this year. Sure I had to end a pretty god relationship earlier this year, but that had been for the best for both of us and my attempt at celibacy was working out much better than it had any other time I'd tried in the past. I'd managed to months no without release of any kind, and I felt it was really paying off as I was being as creative as I'd ever been in my youth; yet here I am, one week into this month long break playing guitar in the middle of the night and bored out of my mind. Well maybe bored isn't the right way to put it. It feels more like going stir crazy, there was a lack of people around me, a lack of stimuli; I missed the energy of the performance and the crowds.

"What to do now?" my rhetorical question covered in a loud sigh which echoed against the pleasant acoustics of the room as I stood up and placed the well worn guitar back on it's black stand in the far corner of the room. Smoothing my hands down the front of my black silk pajama set I tried to figure out what to do now. stepping through the doors of the studio I began wandering the quiet halls of Paisley Park. It was nights like tonight I missed the hustle and bustle that seemed to fill this building twenty-four hours a day back in the late 80's thru the mid 90's. In those days if I was here this place never stopped. I could wander the halls at 3am and I would still run into the random wardrobe person working tirelessly on a new piece, maybe a sound engineer burning the midnight oil, there was always someone in at least one of the offices...this place was like it's own little city. Walking through the atrium I was met with the pleasant sound of my doves, the only other residence of this vast city now. They watched me with great interest, singing their familiar song, as I stopped at their large white cage for a brief moment. They cocked their heads to the side, studying me; some days I felt as though they truly understood me, understood how I felt, like I was trapped in this incredible world of my own creation.

"Beautiful girls." I complimented them before moving further into the halls and corridors until I finally came to a door with a long narrow stretch of delicate looking stained glass work stretching the full height of the door right up the middle. Walking into my office, I quickly took a seat behind the simple glass desk and opened my laptop. I passed sometime looking through my emails, finding a few items of interest about on going work I was doing with Warner Brothers and trying to get my masters back, but nothing else worth worrying about this late at night, or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it. After a few minutes of aimlessly looking through my favorite sites I'm struck with the idea of checking YouTube.

"Let makes sure that company is doing what I'm paying them to." I mumble to myself as I run a few quick searches, only coming up with a handful of clips that I don't own, but nothing appears to be posted that I haven't allowed. Finally satisfied with what I couldn't find on YouTube I move on to do a quick google search on myself. I breath a sigh of relief noting there really wasn't a lot on the web about me in general, it seems my attempts at keeping my internet footprint minimal was working. As I scroll down the page my attention is caught by a site I've never even heard of before.

"Wattpad?" I try the word out loud as if wrapping my tongue around the word will somehow help give it a meaning, which it fails to do. "The best place to read and share stories?" reading their tag line to the empty room as I click on the link. So its a website for people to share stories, ok I thought with a nod of my head. Maybe its like a place where authors share ideas or tricks of the trade or something like that. Well, lets see if there is anything on here that needs to be taken care of. Typing my name into the search field my screen is flooded with what looks like bad romance novels about royalty, Princes and Princesses type of thing. each books appears to have a random homemade cover depicting what I can only assume are the main characters of the story. Ah, my eyes widen slightly as it starts to sink in that this is really a site where people can just post any story they have written. Stories about literally anything. Cocking my eyebrow at the screen a thought suddenly fills my mind as I move the cursor back to the search field this time typing in my full name. As my unsteady fingers maneuvered over the keys I remembered a few years ago a friend of mine had mentioned a phenomenon I'd never really heard of and hadn't given much thought to since that night, but as I finished spelling my name and hit the search button the word filled by head: fanfiction.

"What the holy fuck?!" my words louder and more colorful than I had intended, but as my screen filled with images of little homemade book covers, there was absolutely no way to contain the shock that was pulsing through my system. I was enraged. How had no one seen this and had them removed? How had I not been made aware that this was out there and in such quantity, I pondered as I scrolled down what felt like a never ending page. the more I scrolled and the more little pictures I saw of myself the angrier I became, my stomach turning at the thought of what lay beyond those innocent looking pictures. And the pictures weren't just recent, some were from the 90's and even all the way back to the very beginning of my career and still others contained images of ex-wives or past lovers. "What the fuck is wrong with people?" mumbling to the still scrolling screen as I reached for my phone. "I'm going to see to it these people are stopped. They have absolutely no right to write about me in any way, even fiction. I'm a damn person, not a character, a real person with feelings." Continuing my diatribe as I dialed the number for my personal contact with the company that monitors the internet for me. My friends voice from years ago filled my head as she explained that most fanfiction was nothing more than dirty stories, sex scene after sex scene thrown together with no plot, a knot started to tie in my gut as I rolled those words over and over in my head, the sound of the ringing finally ceasing as my call was sent to voicemail. Looking at the clock on the computer I remembered they were in California, and it was even earlier there, of course no one would be in the office. With a huff of frustration I pushed the button to end the call secretly missing the firm slam of the phone I could make with a corded phone in my younger days.

Leaning back in my chair I closed my eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. This can't be that bad I thought to myself. At least this shows I'm still in the forefront of some people's minds. And besides my fans are mature, so many of them have grown with me over the years, I tried to reason with myself, telling myself that my friend could be wrong. There is nothing saying that fanfiction is all smut. After a few more minutes of deep breathing I'd calmed down slightly and nearly convinced myself that there was no way my fans, people who really understood my music and my message would write stories entirely about sex. No there has to be more to this, I silently told myself with a hint of finality. Maybe I should check and really see what this is all about before I get too worked up over it. My eyes opened again, coming face to face with the screen filled with book covers just as I had left it. Pulling my chair up to the desk, I reached into the drawer, pulling out my dark framed reading glasses as I began the task of scanning over the titles.

"Alright, lets see." trying to get more comfortable in my chair as I drew a deep pensive breath and clicked on what looked like the most promising cover. I've always been a pretty fast reader and as I moved quickly through the first few chapters I felt a pang in my heart as I read the story of Carlyn and her experiences in the orphanage and then her first few interactions with, well, me. I cringed slightly, my character coming across as cold, but I knew that wasn't too far off the mark. I realize now that at certain points in my life I had been very cold to the people around me, thankfully those days have passed. As I came to the moment the guitar was returned in the story I found myself needing to look away, needing to find something else to busy my imagination with. The heavy emotions being laid bare in that story were hitting far too close to home for me.

"Maybe Later." I whispered aloud as I committed the title to memory. I might have to come back to this later, I thought to myself as I moved back to the search results. I knew this fanfiction thing couldn't be all about sex, my fans are far too down to earth and realistic for that sort of thing. Scrolling through the result again I quickly decided to try another story as I adjusted my glasses.

"Jumping right into the action I see." My words a little more excited than I intended as I leaned forward, my left elbow on the solid desk top, as my chin rested in my palm. The images flowed behind my eyes as I scanned over the words, a clear picture being painted of me confused and sprinting away from a ravenous crowd down the streets of Minneapolis. The picture created by those words reminds me instantly of a few slightly terrifying occasions I from the Purple Rain tour. Large, uncontrolled crowds engulfing me had been ever so slightly terrifying since I'd nearly ended up in the center of an ocean of people on those few occasions; My throat feeling tight just at the memory of those events. I was quickly sucked into the narrative and the kindness displayed by the character of Iolani. The idea of an innocent woman willing to take in a complete stranger, especially when the stranger doesn't even know who he is, warmed my heart. But more than that I'm fascinated by the idea of having amnesia. Slipping my fingertips along my jawline I pondered for a minute what that would be like. What it would feel like to be completely free of all the day to day worries and stress I constantly found myself under. Not having to worry about what the next article said about me, or about who might steal from me next, or who was just looking to further their own career by latching on to me. Not that I'm complaining about my life, it truly is an amazing life I've created for myself, and when I'm creating music it is the best possible life I could have ever dreamt of creating. Relationship are hard to manage in my position and that makes this a lonely life I've created as well. I wonder if I'd forget how lonely I am if I was struck with amnesia. Would all the loneliness be left behind or would it hang around me like some sort of nagging feeling that I just couldn't place. A frigid chill shot up my spine at the notion that my loneliness was possibly so deeply ingrained in my soul now that I couldn't shake it even if I completely forgot myself.

Breaking my focus from the screen I silently reached into the drawer at the right side of the desk, bringing out my personal stationary pad and a crisp black pen, sitting them next to the keyboard and making notes. Much like the last this this story made me wonder about so many things in my life and how things could have been different, and as I exited the story at the beginning of the third chapter I realized once again that my friend was in fact wrong; not all fan fiction was about mindless sex.

Leaning back in my chair, stretching my arms out above my head and arching my back off the smooth leather-like material, I felt the tired muscles ripple through my body. A loud sigh, verging on a yawn passing over my lips as my petite, yet solid, frame settled back against the chair. Slouched down in the chair slightly now, my exhaustion starting to show in my posture I wondered what must go through the minds of the people that create these elaborate worlds. Members of my purple family who have a creative streak, does their brain work like mine? My mind is always filled with music waiting for me to give birth to it. Are their brains filled with stories all the time just waiting patiently for them to put their fingers to the keyboard? My eyes roaming back over that screen once again filled with little pictures, my attention quickly caught by a mostly dark cover with an image of my face from probably around 1986.

"Now this looks a little more ominous than the others" clicking on the picture and selecting read. Ok so I'm a night owl in this, makes sense, and I'm lonely. This seems to be an underlying theme across the stories I've peeked at so far. I thought I was hiding that part of myself better, my internal monolog chastised. The mention of one night stands brings a faint warmth to my cheeks as sordid memories flashed through my mind. Memories of the man I used to be and still, on the random occasion, wanted to be again. My eyes continued down the page before stopping abruptly.

"A fucking vampire?!" well I certainly didn't see that coming I thought as I blinked rapidly a few times, as if that would somehow fix the words on the screen into something else, but of course they stayed the same. Sure, I've been called an emotional vampire by a few people in my life, but, a real vampire. . .a story about me being. . .I mean with all the . . . and the drinking. . .my mind was at a loss to even build complete and coherent thoughts as I moved to the next part. "Oh of course Morris killed the bat, cause I'm just pathetic Prince who lets his ass get bitten by a damn bat." I mumble annoyed, but as I continued I was becoming more and more drawn into the tale. I smirked at the screen as the creativity of the plot revealed itself. Not a normal vampire as it were but something more interesting and terrifying at the same time. The underlying theme of the perceived loss of normalcy and morality is what really made the story interesting to me. The condition made other characters see me as a monster, not a real person, and honestly that was something I could relate to. Fame was like that in some ways. Once you reach a certain point in your career people look at you differently, as though you're not normal anymore and it was isolating just like the isolation my character felt in this story. Only a few good friends truly understand what this day to day is like. By the time Cat arrived in the story I could see there was going to be some romantic interlude between us, again causing a blush to heat my face at the memory of. . . well, anyways. My right hand picked up the pen, making another note on my pad of paper before going back to the list of stories.

Dragging my left hand over my face, as if wiping the memories of my younger self away, I glanced at the clock in the lower corner of the screen, realizing I have spent nearly an hour and a half looking over this site, literally reading fake stories about myself. Shaking my head at how ridiculous that sounded even in my head. Reading fiction people have decided to write about me, why? What makes my life that interesting? Sure on the surface it looks very glamorous and amazing, but they all seem to know that's only on the surface. Those thoughts continued to hit me in wave after wave as I watched the incredible selection of stories scroll across my screen. Dark images, familiar smiles, pictures I barely even remember being taken. It was nearly like looking at a picture book of my career and fashion choices.

"Ok," a soft grin pulling at the corners of my mouth as I adjusted my reading glasses and decided to click on a very familiar scantily clad picture of myself onstage from the early 1980's, "one more, then bed." Before I can even read a single word I'm struck by the picture in the header, my tongue meeting with the neck of my guitar, I could still remember the taste of that smooth wood filling my mouth as the crowd screamed at my anticts. The very first paragraph giving me a clear image of the woman looking at the reflection of her red lipstick in the bathroom mirror, and I had a hint of what might be to come. My better sense told me to close my browser now and email all the information on what I've found to my contact with that company and get this all taken off the internet. What if someone thought these stories were based on any sort of fact. The papers would have a feild day with all this. As my mind continued dow that path, my eyes were unstopable. They continued down the page as my right hand scribbled another note on the cold paper. The farther my eyes moved down the page the quieter the voices in my head became. It was as if this author had cracked my brain open and peeked at one of my most hidden and favorite memories. I could nearly hear the sound of her garter belt snapping against her soft skin, causing a warm sensation in my pants as I felt the silk begin to tighten around myself. I could nearly feel the back of her hand brushing against the sensitive skin of my lower belly, her fingers toying with my belly chain. A small groan resonating from my chest as I chew on my bottom lip, it's been too damn long since someone has played with my belly chain. I don't know when it happened, but before I knew it my shirt was unbuttoned and my knuckles were grazing softly over the slight smattering of hair that appeared on my lower belly, just above the waist of my pants. It's been so long since I'd felt any release, even from my own touch, and as the character on the screen wrapped her fingers around my cock I couldn't hold back any more.

"Oh god. . ." my voice shaky as I pull myself through the slit in my pants, taking a firm grip of my engorged and overly sensitive shaft. My fist stroked to the imagined rhythm I pictured this nameless woman to have as she sat on her knees on the grimy bathroom, trying to suck my DNA out of me. The red of her lipstick covering my sex as she worked harder against my swollen flesh, my hand moving faster. Small gasps of air came from my lungs as my eyes scanned the page quicker, hoping to meet my release at the same time I did on the page. I could feel the roll of her moist tongue against my hot turgid flesh as I read over those words and before I knew it the coiled knot in my gut released; my eyes slammed closed as I was overwhelmed with the intense pleasure coursing through my body as a hot white mess quickly covered my entire hand. Relaxing back into the chair I stroked myself gently, my cum acting as my own lubrication, until I started to soften in my grip. After catching my breath and cleaning myself up with a tissue, I returned my now beyond exhausted eyes to the screen. As I finished the chapter I gently touched my neck in the spot I imagined Becca had left that red lip print in the story.

I was spent, but my imagination was now running wild with the idea of what else could possibly be behind those little pictures on the screen. What other emotions could those stories make me feel? What memories could they unknowingly trigger? My mind was shook free of those questions as the sound of the office door opening caught my attention.

"Oh, Good Morning. I didn't think you'd be in here." Sally, my personal assistant walked through the door, surprise clearly painted on her face. Smiling and giving her a quick nod.

"Couldn't sleep so I was surfing the net." Quickly adding the forbidden website to my favorites list before closing my laptop. She made her way to my desk as I stood up, placing my glasses back in the drawer.

"Is this my to do list for this morning?" turning to see her staring at the stationary still sitting next to my computer. My eyes quickly scanned the note I had unconsciously made:

Continue:
Growing Up Nelson
Who Am Eye?
I Want You In The Worst Way
Let's Work

"Oh, no. Those are just notes." My mind races for an explanation as I walked toward the door "Maybe future song titles." My fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the door knob.

"But you already have a song called Let's Work?" I could hear the thick layer of confusion covering her words and it only made me smile as I walked out the door.

"Indeed I do mama."

____________________________________________________________

Author's Note:

Special thanks to:
KaleahColeman
BluebellaMortimer
ShortyRaRa
wreka_stow
Mjjs1andonlyluv