Oh, the things they'll do when they think nobody's watching.
Of course, you can't really blame them. I mean, they don't know I'm here and I can see and hear every little thing that they do.
After all, not every music group's lead singer owns a haunted dryer.
Simon comes over a lot. The basement room I'm in has no door, and I can watch everything they do in that lounge down the hall. I watch them eat, drink, laugh, and fuck.
Robert always tops. He and Simon may seem equals when they're telling jokes or watching tv, but when the clothes come off, Simon bends over and presents himself to Robert like a bitch in heat. I like to watch his pretty face contort first with pain, then with pleasure, as the older man fucks him into submission.
Sometimes, though, the others come over as well. I've seen every Cure member, past and present, one way or another.
I remember one party in particular. It was just after New Year's Day in '86, and all of them had gathered in the lounge for an after-session drink. I remember Robert turning the lights down low and pushing Simon into the middle of the room.
"Go on, Si." Robert said. "You know what to do."
Simon, I remember, had stared at Robert incredulously. "Y-you want me to do that, here? Now?"
"Of course." Robert replied, leaning on an elbow and waving his hand around the room at the others, who were now watching Simon curiously, waiting for something to happen. "We want to keep our friends entertained, don't we?"
Simon nodded, biting his lip, and then, using one hand, began to take off his clothing, piece by piece. He started with his shirt, peeling it up and off of his body, barely managing to get it over his hair. With his other hand, he smoothed over the now-naked parts of himself, taking care to not neglect any skin.
The others seemed impressed; Porl was grinning, Boris was catcalling, and even Lol seemed unable to tear his eyes away. Needless to say, I was very much enthralled.
When Simon was finally naked, surrounded by a little heap of clothing, Robert stood and walked over to him.
"I want everyone to feel as comfortable as possible...now, Simon, help our friends out a little...you can see how stressed they are from practicing all day...go help them relax." he gave Simon a little push forward and the younger man seemed to stumble, to hesitate. It was only for a second, though, and then he padded across the carpeting to nestle himself in Porl's lap.
The guitarist was petting Simon's chest and shoulders, grinning in that little way that be at the same time both boyishly cute and wickedly cruel.
"Siiiimon..." he purred, running a finger down the middle of the other man's chest. "I'm all sore from standing all day...kiss me better."
Kneeling on the floor, Simon was forced to perform one humiliating act after another - worshiping Porl's body with kisses before giving him a blowjob; letting Boris grab his shaggy black hair and fuck it until he came all over the bassist's face and body; Lol seemed happy enough to just take a belt to Simon while the younger man cried and sucked his cock.
But all of that paled in comparison to what Robert did.
When Simon returned to him, trembling, sweating, covered in bruises and spunk, Robert bent him over the coffee table in the middle of the room - quite on display for all to see - and began to fuck him, no creams or lotions or preparation. Simon was twisting and writhing and howling, and all the other men leaned in, grins on their faces, teeth and eyes gleaming in the low light, making them look like hungry predators moving in for the kill, and then they closed in on the pair of them, and I couldn't see anything anymore.