"Oh, God..." I moaned and felt my toes curl as I thrust the thick, vibrating dildo into my pussy the same time I rubbed my clit hard with my other hand. I felt my legs twitch and that familiar tug in my belly as I neared my climax, felt it rushing through my veins until it became graspable. A small cry left my lips and my back arched.

"Give it up Mel, it's never gonna happen!"

Snapping my eyes open, I let out an irritated holler as I lost my build-up. Just like that, I was robbed of my ōrgasm. "Dan, you fucking dick!"

"You need a man to play your instrument if you want to hear the angels sing," I heard him chime from the kitchen. Fucking God, I could just kill him.

Gnashing my teeth together, I turned the dildo off and pulled it out of my aching core. I then grabbed my morning robe and threw that on before marching out of my room.

Dan was in our kitchen, cooking naked with only my pink apron covering him. He was giving me a show of his firm ass as he pulled a tray of fresh cupcakes out of the oven and set them on the counter in front of me. "Cupcake?" He offered nonchalantly.

"No, but I'd like an ōrgasm, please." I barked back.

"Sorry, we're all out of those." He replied before taking off his polka-dotted mittens. He ran a hand through his tousled chocolate locks, locks that any girl would kill to comb their fingers through. "Although I suppose if my date tomorrow night with Kyle goes well, I'll be freshly stocked on ōrgasms for the next period of time or so." Too bad he batted for team D.

He'd been dating a guy named Kyle for about a month now, but I still hadn't met him. Apparently the next date was going to be thee date. Lucky damn fucker.

Taking a seat in one of our bar chairs, I looked at Dan while he begun transferring his cupcakes onto a cooling rack. "I meant ōrgasms for me, asshole. That's the third time you've interrupted me this week."

"Because we both know it's never gonna happen. How many times do you use that poor thing and come up with the same result? Think about the environment, all those spent batteries piling up. At least get rechargeables and buy me a pair of earplug—"

"Want me to stop masturbating, then find me an alternative. And don't say find a gu—"

"—find a guy and break your pussy on his dick! Stop wasting your good boob years on celibacy," Dan leaned in on the counter towards me with a pointed stare. "You need a proper fuck from a well-endowed man with a real cock, Mel, and sadly the only one around is extremely gay. I'm literally in our kitchen baking cupcakes right now, wearing your pink apron."

He leaned back and I irritably watched as he picked up some cream cheese and began measuring it into a bowl along with some icing sugar and a dash of Nutella. He then picked up a whisk and began whipping it up by hand, showing off those triceps of his like the walking pussy-tease he was. I couldn't decide what looked more edible; him or the frosting.

I sighed. He was right, though. It had been nearly six months since I had broken up with my last boyfriend Mason and had sworn an oath of celibacy, and I was missing sex badly. So badly I had purchased myself a bucketful of sex toys to keep me company during my drought(mostly because Dan got tired of my constant whining about why he couldn't just throw me a bone), but no matter how hard I tried, the ōrgasms the toys gave me never fulfilled me. They were empty and might as well have been nonexistent.

"Six months is long enough, Mel," Dan finally said after a moment of silence where all that filled it was his whisking. "I know that cūnt fucked you up, but you shouldn't punish yourself for what he did. You should be out riding every cock in town, reminding him that he's not the only guy in the world with one. He lost a great pussy, and now all he's left with is that slack bitch."

I looked up and resisted the urge to smile when Dan pretty much just whipped up the best 'fuck-that-dick' speech of the year while whipping up icing. "Did I ever tell you I love you, Dan?"

"I love you too, but I'm still not letting you suck my cock."

Sigh. Another moment passed in silence while I simply watched him pour his icing mixture into a piping bag before placing it in the fridge to cool. I looked at his firm butt again and then let a small frown taint my forehead. "Why are you baking cupcakes at 7.30 in the evening?"

"Probably the same reason you were masturbating."

"Bored?"

"Bored."

Ah, fuck it. "Okay. I'll do it."

Dan instantly looked up and quirked a brow at me. "Seriously? You're finally quitting this celibacy shit and coming out with me?"

I nodded and stood up. "Yup, I'm done. I'm gonna find myself a guy that's going to... how did you put it again?"

"Play your pussy like an instrument?"

"Yeah, that. Besides, I'm getting tired of you interrupting me while I masturbate."

He flashed me a sexy grin and opened his arms for a bear hug. "Just looking out for my girl."

I chuckled and stepped into his embrace, patting his bare ass with my hand. "Go get dressed, dummy. We might as well get ready for work."

~~~

Me and Dan worked at a high-end jazz club that was known for its live band music and sexy cocktail service. It was like it had been taken right out of the movie Burlesque, except there were no half-naked dancing girls, only waitresses in plunging outfits. The performances on stage were by fully dressed singers and musicians who were either rising to fame or looking for their big break; The Aristocat Lounge was the place to do that.

Dan was a bartender. He had worked there for years because he never took liberties with the girls who tried to charm their way into a free drink (couldn't say the same about the guys, though). When I had stumbled inside the club the night I found out Mason had been cheating on me, I had blurbed my whole sob story out to him over a bottle of tequila. I guess somewhere along the night, we became best friends.

Or, it could've been when I puked in his face, then passed out over the bar.

Anyways, after I had been downsized from my last workplace, he had secured me a job there as a waitress. The pay was good and all I had to do was wear a push-up bra to get extra tips.

"How are we all doing here tonight in here?" Our club owner Carlos spoke, taking the stage with his mic as the patrons enjoyed themselves and talked lively to each other over the drinks Dan poured and I delivered. Carlos was a confident, charming Latino with just too much accent for his own good. He certainly didn't lack ego.

"I see some regular Aristocats in the crowd tonight, and some brand new kitty-cats," He observed with a smirk and glanced to a pack of women giggling by the bar, winking his way. "We're gonna make sure you feel real welcome here this evening, so let's keep those drinks coming and let's see some more beautiful bodies on the dance floor..."

While Carlos introduced the next performer to take the stage, I worked my way back to the bar where Dan was flipping bottles, entertaining the customers.

"I need a smoke," I told him as I set down my tray, rolling my shoulders. Carrying trays of glasses all night eventually took its toll on your back.

"Take five then," Dan nodded and gave me a quick smirk. Neither of us smoked, but 'I need a smoke' was code for 'I need a break.' The Aristocat Lounge was a cigar club as well, but Carlos wasn't too keen on letting us employees smoke in front of the customers. He said it spoiled the allured or some shit. So, smoking was the only way to get small, constant breaks, otherwise we'd have to be on our feet almost all night. Ergo, me and Dan had picked up 'smoking.'

I grabbed our fake cigarette pack from behind the bar and then went to the back exit quietly, the one behind the stage. It was really a fire emergency exit that led to the back alley, but it wasn't used for anything else but smoking breaks. It was nice and secluded in the alley, just the place you needed five minutes of when you spent all night getting harassed by drunk customers.

Stepping out into the cold, but still durable night air of New York, I took a deep breath and leaned myself up against the alley wall. Cars were honking somewhere in the distance, ambulances blaring. People were yelling and arguing down the street, and the Texas bar next block down had cars lined up all the way to here for their giddy-up night of fun. That was the beauty of this city; Never a quiet moment, even in an alleyway as abandoned as this one.

Or at least I thought it was abandoned.

I had barely been standing there for a thirty seconds before I heard a metallic rustling from my left, a sound that startled me to jump up from the wall and glare after the source of it.

And there it was.

Balancing himself on a rusty trashcan, he stood with his hands pressed against the brick wall of the club, leveled up off the ground, high enough for him to look in through the thin window to the stage inside. The window was cracked open ever so slightly and the music generously poured out, giving a free show to any limber rat crawling the drainpipes.

It was incredibly dark, but I could still see the faint outlines of the man who appeared to be listening in on the band that was playing a regular song, one they played each night. The man, from what I could tell, was wearing a large, dirty trench coat with a tattered shirt underneath. He had a full beard and long greasy hair that stuck out from underneath the dirty beanie he had pulled down over it, maybe to tame it or to stay warm.

A hobo, I noted to myself. I stared at him for another moment as he with skilled feet kept himself leveled on the wobbly trashcan. The way his feet expectedly worked told me he had clearly done this before.

"Excuse me," I said with a measured voice, clearing it when he didn't look my way. "Excuse me? Sir? Are you listening?"

"Yes," He replied, his voice deep. He didn't even cast as much as a glance my way as he spoke.

He was right, though. He was listening; to the music, not me. I crossed my arms and waited for a moment, hoping he'd eventually turn his attention to me. He didn't.

"Listen, my boss will flip if he—"

"Shh," He hissed at me and then grew completely silent himself as the band played into the bridge of the song, a part where our violinist played his solo.

My anger slightly flamed up by the way he coldly shushed me when I was only trying to help him. Carlos was going to have him arrested for trespassing if he found him here, and I doubted he wanted to spend a night in detention. I only wanted to warn him, but I never got that far.

Not seconds after he had hushed me, I saw him close his eyes as the first note of the violin solo poured through the window. Something completely mesmerizing slid over his face as he listened to the strings bleed; heard their tortured shrieks under the bow. His brows then creased and his head jerked ever so slightly as if he heard something I didn't. And then I heard him mumble.

"No... wrong..."

"Listen," I begun again after another moment, but I didn't get any further like last time.

"Shut, up," He growled at me, gritting his teeth with his eyes still shut. I saw his ears transfix on the music again, his head jerking once more; Another 'wrong' I had to assume. "He's butchering it..."

"You have to go," I told him, now getting impatient. "If my boss finds you here, he'll have you thrown in the kennel for trespassing. But hey, I bet it beats sleeping on the streets, so stay here for all I care..."

Making a frustrated sound, the man jumped down off the trashcan, surprising me with the fact he hardly needed it. He was tall and probably even taller still. His back was hunched over as he grasped the lapels of his coat and closed it while he began stalking away, muttering something under his breath about a bitch.

"You better not be talking about me," I angrily called after him. I had only tried to warn him, but screw that if he was gonna call me names.

"Not you," He snarled back over his shoulder. "Your violinist. He's garbage."

And with that, he disappeared into the night, turning the corner at the end of the alley, leaving me with a frown on my face.

Guess a hobo knows garbage when they see it.

But how the hell did he hear it?

• • •

I miss the days where music was for the ears, not the eyes.