The Fuck Journal

Chapter Three

Duff

Hey, about time I get my own entry in here! Wow, Slash did good with the last two...I hope mine can give the experience justice. I was finally able to swipe the journal from him, so I won't waste anymore time. By the way, man, sorry for the little spot I left on the bottom corner of the last page...

A few weeks later were in San Francisco, so back in California, but not quite L.A., and I was getting really eager to get back and do things right with Slash. I was really looking forward to the couple weeks of tour break we'd get so we could get together and hopefully go all the way. I know he was really wanting it and he was driving me absolutely fucking crazy because I did, too. Man, I really loved the way he always came so hard when I played with his ass, and in my free time alone in my hotel room, or, you know, everywhere I went by this point, who am I kidding, I couldn't stop thinking about how bad I just wanted to bury my dick inside him, make him scream my name, watch him squirm and beg me to let him come while I fucked him hard and gave him everything I had. Shit, that would be fucking amazing...maybe we could do that some day! But the first time wasn't gonna be like that, though; I'm not an asshole, ya know. I didn't wanna be that guy. I wanted the first time to be slow, and sweet, and really good for him, but if he still screamed my name, that'd be fucking great!

Anyway, wait, where was I? Oh, yeah.

We were halfway through the set in San Francisco and things were going well. The crowd was really into the music and everyone was having a good time, but for whatever reason some jackass in the crowd decided to throw a beer bottle at the stage. From the corner of my eye I saw someone from the road crew dart out from backstage and pick it up, but I guess he hadn't noticed that it had left a pretty big puddle on stage. Guess what? I didn't, either.

During "My Michelle" I had ran back to my mic for the chorus, wasn't paying attention, hit the damn puddle, and my leg slipped out from beneath me. It was like time slowed down as I tried to steady myself, but instead I fell hard on my ass. I threw my hand behind me to catch myself but wound up fucking up my back, and also received a nice scrape across the heel of my hand. I immediately felt my muscles constrict around my spine and my breath caught. My fingers instinctively clenched the front of my shirt as I gasped, my eyes wide. I was temporarily blinded by the pain as it shot through my body, and I saw the headstock of my bass smacking against the stage floor and heard the strings buzzing noisily through my amp. I slowly raised my shaking hand and saw tiny dots of blood seeping up through the abrasions on my skin. Goddamn it.

Axl saw me hit the ground and immediately ran over to me. "Holy shit, are you okay, man?!" The band's music played on and his question rang through the microphone as he extended his hand to me. I took it and he helped pull me to my feet, patting me on the shoulder as I nodded, lying, my face hot with embarrassment as I hung my head and let my hair drop into my face, feeling thousands of eyes on me as I tried not to panic, the pain in my back shooting around to my chest and making my stomach muscles clench. I felt like I was having a fucking heart attack.

"Whoever thew that bottle earlier, fuck you! Get the fuck outta here! Can we get somebody to come clean this shit up so no one else gets hurt?" Axl bellowed into the mic and the crowd started looking around, murmuring, searching, then I saw the guy practically get mobbed and crowd surfed to the back of the venue, people jeering at him. It didn't make me feel any better to see his exit.

Slash caught my eye from across the stage and saw the concern in his eyes, his brow furrowed, lips pressed together from beneath his mass of dark hair. I tried to nod confidently at him, but I don't think it worked. I spent the rest of the show on my side of the stage, close to my mic for the harmonies in the songs, my bass weighing me down and pulling on my back agonizingly as I paced like a wounded, caged animal. The only thing I could think was, "Get through the show. Just get through the fuckin' show."