Money For Something

15 - Kiss

**Ace**

Cold showers, when there's an ample supply of hot water along with outstanding water pressure, are a cruel and unusual punishment and frankly, bloody miserable. I can suffer through a cold shower thanks to the shitty boilers and water pressure. Don't even get me started on the number of useless power showers I've endured in the many crap flats and tour buses I've occupied, but was substandard plumbing the issue now?

No. No, it was not.

The issue now was that I was hell bent on punishing myself, or perhaps more accurately restraining myself, which in itself was a punishment. Oh yes, I voluntarily stepped under an exceptionally luxurious waterfall showerhead each morning and turned on the cold tap, and the cold tap only, to unleash a torrent of cold water with enough pressure to strip the flesh from your skin. I resisted every urge to grab for the hot tap and end my suffering.

Why?

Because my knob was out of control.

Morning after morning I woke up to find that during the night, he'd somehow managed to drag me across the vast expanse of mattress to nestle himself comfortably, and throbbingly hard, in the cleft of Willow's arse cheeks. Yes, I realise that my dick is not a sentient being in his own right, at least I'm mostly aware. Give me a break, I'm a twenty-something male, I utterly refuse to admit my proximity to thirty, who has been led astray by his dick more than once. It suits my sense of self to think that I'm not a total idiot, just weak willed when faced with a more forceful personality. My dick has a very forceful personality.

Shivering, miserable and with the cheerful attitude of a drowned rat I slunk downstairs in search of a brew and a bacon butty. The scent of cooking bacon had wafted its way through to me as I pulled on a pair of shorts and an old hoodie. Whoever was cooking had better have made enough for me or all the tea in the world wouldn't improve my mood. Sexual frustration was not a good look on me.

The kitchen was empty but for Amelie who was leaning over the kitchen island, her glossy brown ponytail swinging over one shoulder. She froze in place, two slices of bread with a pile of bacon hovering in front of her open mouth. "Ace," she said with a guilty look.

"You know we don't care if you eat bacon, right?" I told her as I slumped against the countertop.

She sighed and eyed the sandwich uncertainly. "My grandparents would."

With an exaggerated look around the room I gave her a well-they're-not here shrug. The sarnie in her hand didn't move any closer to her mouth.

She sighed and put it down on the plate in front of her. Gray's woman was all class. Personally, I wouldn't have bothered with a plate. Why bother? That sandwich would have been down my throat so quick there'd be no point taking up the space in the dishwasher.

"And what about Babe?" she gave the sandwich a longing look.

"Babe?"

"You know, the pig."

"You're worried about what a CGI pig will think of you eating a bacon butty?"

"No," she replied, except it sounded more like yes. "I'm worried about what real pigs would think if they had an opinion. Which I'm sure they would, pigs are very clever."

I had no answer for that, unless a lion or tiger moved into the house, as far as I was concerned, we were the top of the food chain. In my opinion pigs would just have to learn to deal with it, just like I would when faced with beasts with claws and fangs.

Amelie sighed, "Gray and I saw a guy walking a pig on a lead when we were down at Santa Monica. He was pretty cute."

"The guy or the pig?"