Press

27 May 1973

This whole decade was Paul having the worst ever fashion takes. This is the seventies for christ's sake, and look what he did with it. The worst part is he's still attractive despite it. The world is a dark place sometimes.

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After the group's breakup, as well as the years leading up to it, the boys changed their individual styles up quite a bit.

Paul decided a mullet was a good idea. He shaved off the beard he had a couple years earlier. Last year, Paul began to quaff up the top of his head, but let the rest of his hair grow out the back and sides. The result was...a shoulder length mullet.

It began to grow on you as well as his head. Though the cut was a bit strange, he had very lovely hair. You'd always wondered what it would look like long. It curled a bit, a soft deep brown, fluffy down his neck.

He had a concert tonight, the last of three in London. He wore this lovely strawberry windbreaker, his nickname "Macca" written across the front. The red and white looked good on him.

Paul had it unzipped as he stretched his arms out in front of him, resting on his knees and chest. The hydrophobic material was a bit strange to feel against your bare skin.

He was a bit over-excited coming back from performing. Paul mellowed out as he got older, but his concert energy never seemed to wane. At 31, he was traditionally older for rock n roll, but his vehement fanbase would beg to differ.

Paul panted against the sheets as you fucked him from behind. He wasn't as masochistic as he was four years back, but since then enjoyed it when you were a bit rougher with him.

He pushed up against you as you dug your nails into his hips. Paul didn't want to wait to get completely undressed, too eager to prep too much either. You always made him wait a minute for you to do so, you didn't want to hurt him, but Paul would be pent up and ready to go, telling you to "hurry'up!" You suspected Paul liked it when the stretch was a shock, when you prepared less.

"Ooh, fuck, baby..." Paul groaned into the duvet. His hands were bunched up in it, voice breathy. "You can do't harder than that!"

His long hair ran down his neck, brushing against his shoulders. It was curling at the ends from the condensation. It looked so soft and nice. It would feel great in your hand.

You grabbed a fistful of that soft silky hair, able even to wrap it around your hand. You gave a gentle, but firm tug as you kept fucking into him. Paul's head dipped back, and his body jumped.

"Ooh, fuck yes!" Paul whooped, his voice dropped an octave, speaking salaciously "Do it harder..."

You didn't want to tug the lovely strands out, but you complied, giving a sharp pull, making his neck crane back, yanking him up. He let out a delicious low moan, the kinky bastard, he must be enjoying this quite a lot.

"God, fuck'm harder, baby..." He strained through gritted teeth, before letting out another groan.

It still shocked you hearing such filthy words come out of his innocent looking face. He'd been unfairly dubbed "the sweet one", but with his promiscuity, foul mouth, and prideful ego, he was no angel. Bunny rabbit perhaps.

"Christ!" He cried. You were paying extra attention to hit his prostate with each thrust.

You ignored his needy dick, but curled your left arm around his waist, hand holding onto his thick pubic hair.

You didn't yank it, but the stimulation so close to his member made him jerk. It was hanging erect under him, though he didn't mind. It leaked onto the sheets unashamedly, red and throbbing. You'd begun the session by giving him a handie, him thrusting into your fist, but he wanted you to fuck him.

You tugged harder as he came onto the sheets. His head was still yanked back, contorted in a scream. A rather high pitched one at that. You felt bad for the staff at these hotels.

As he came down from it, you ran your fingers through his hair. It was softer now than the mop top years, less products to hold it in place. It was heated from all his exertions. Such a stupid mullet. Paul sighed into the blankets, the tension leaving his body.

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Sorry this is the only 1970s. I am only a George fan. Have no clue what he was doing this whole decade. He was in a band? He toured? He released "Live and Let die?" the first track on my funeral playlist?

Nice mullet though. Pull that thing.