Talena couldn’t take it anymore. Things between her and her mother—who had just insisted to go on tour with the band—weren’t going well at all. They fought so often that neither could remember the last time there had been peace in their tiny house in Alberta, Canada…and now she was spreading that curse to every arena in America.

And even though Kittie was doing well, a nationally accepted band (a girl band, nonetheless), her mother could care less. Sure, she had been proud for a while—something to brag about to the siblings she tirelessly competed with—but now she seemed to be ashamed of her daughter’s rebellion, although it was the very element bringing Kittie’s music to life. Why couldn’t her mother just leave her alone for one day? Why couldn’t she enjoy being on one of the biggest rock tours in history, touring with the biggest rock band of the decade, KoRn?

"Mom, go away," Talena snapped finally. She had to go sign autographs and take pictures. She wanted to be in a decent mood when she did it.

"You listen to me—"

They were in the bare parking lot where the tour buses had parked in Hartford, Connecticut. There had been thousands of fans filling the parking lot as they had pulled in, but security had taken care of that. On a similar note, the weather was as habitually awful as Talena’s mood; they had been in Connecticut for two days, and each day had been as muggy as the next.

She swirled around, her translucent cranberry shirt accenting a sexy black bra and miniskirt. Her shoulder-length black hair offset her pale complexion and darkly lined green eyes. This time they were fighting about that very outfit, the one that fit the style Talena and her fellow band members flaunted shamelessly—onstage and off.

"I don’t want you looking like a whore!"

Talena’s green eyes narrowed. She could see her father taking loping strides toward them in the distance. "Don’t call me a whore."

"You’re not! I’m just saying—" Talena’s mother was skinny, tall, wearing a pair of tight blue jeans herself. Her splendidly nimble hands slapped her thighs.

"Bye, mother."

"Where are you going?"

"I’m going to spend some time on the KoRn bus," she said simply. When she tried to gain entrance, however, Karebear, the resident bodyguard for KoRn, stopped her. He couldn’t help a mindless glance to her breasts, and even from far off her mother noticed. She sighed heavily as Talena’s father joined her side.

At first Munky thought that Talena was a fan as he approached the tour bus. He had brought his pack of cigarettes, but had forgotten his lighter. He had asked Head if he had his, but that hadn’t worked out, so he had to stop signing autographs to make his way back here. He had been wanting to quit smoking for years now, but the gnawing sensation he felt as the addiction began grinding at a headache—

And besides, he was under a lot of stress right now. The last thing he needed to worry about was some petty nicotine addiction.

As he got closer, he realized that the young girl looked familiar. By the time he was there he could place her face: she was the bass guitarist for Kittie, the band opening up for them on the tour. As soon as their album, "Spit", had hit the record stores, magazines everywhere ranted that Kittie was the girl-version of KoRn. So, naturally, they took them on tour. Besides, it was nice to have a few pretty faces around every once in a while…

She seemed rather happy to see him, and offered a sexy smile. She was breathtaking, and he had to think about his mouth before it dropped like a rusty hinge. "The girl wants to stay on the bus for a while. I don’t know if that’s alright, or—" Karebear started. It took Munky a second to take his eyes off of Talena to face Karebear. With a wave of his hand, he said, "Sure. Whenever she wants." Like a door opening, he stepped aside for Munky. Talena followed close behind. Her mother sprinted the remaining fifty feet to the tour bus in sheer desperation.

"You sure I can stay in here?" Talena asked as she sat on the couch in the TV room. The couch was vintage, and the rest of the tour bus seemed kind of old, except for the exceptional sound system and large screen TV. It smelled like smoke and alcohol in there, along with a manly smell that was neither repulsive nor attractive. It lacked the homely feeling a woman’s presence often brings…and yet that satisfied Talena. If there was one thing she could do to royally piss her mother off, this was it. If Karebear bid her mother entrance…she shuddered. She didn’t want to think about that. The idea pissed her off royally.

Munky went to the small table fixated behind the TV room and grabbed his black lighter. As he lit a cigarette he leaned closer to her and said, "Listen, I know how fucked-up touring can be. So for the rest of the time you’re here, if you ever want anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Cigarettes, pot, beer—whatever you want. Come here whenever you want. My cubby is free, if you want someplace private to chill."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. See ya. I gots business," he said, and left the tour bus, to find two very ticked-off parents mouthing off to Karebear. He wondered who made the rule that minors couldn’t tour without parental guidance.

Sure hadn’t been Ozzy.

"What the hell??! I am her legal guardian! I only have one question for you, Mr. Tough Guy: How long are you going to dare to not let me in?" She stopped as Munky left the bus. She walked up to him and stuck her finger angrily in his face. The more passive counterpart stood with his arms crossed, a sour look soiling his features.

And right then, as if on cue, David entered the scene, quite confused. "What’s going on here?" he asked, in his authoritative, responsible tone. At the tone, his mother relaxed. She looked at him strangely.

"Don’t worry about her, she’s fine," Munky assured, trying to sound responsible himself. "Sometimes touring can be very stressful—"

"—I don’t give a fuck! That’s my daughter! This is a blasphemy!"

"It’s okay. There are girls in there during the course of the day, that work with us. She’s fine. And anyway, all we do in there is nap in our cubbies and watch TV. This is not Ozzfest," Munky continued. He was so convincing and laid back that he actually began to believe the lies as they slipped effortlessly through his thin lips. Thankfully, David was good at playing along. Only Munky could read his puzzlement.

"I am going to check on her if she comes back here after the show," her mother confirmed. She knew she was defeated. This last request was granted. She could.

"If you try to reason with her now, it’s gonna be fruitless because she’s pissed. She just wants a place to cool down—"

"Um, Jim? We kinda have to get back to the signing. Head sent me to get you—"

"Head? Who’s Head? There’s someone here named ‘Head’? Oh good Lord--"

"Don’t worry about her," her sedate father said as he took his fiery wife into his arms. She was limp in his grip, only a weak flame compared to the blaze she had been minutes ago. To himself, her father said, Besides, if I find out any of those bastards ever touched her I will cut their balls of with a spoon.

It seemed as if Karebear could read their thoughts. As soon as they were gone he threw his head back and brayed booming laughter over the desolate parking lot. Talena couldn’t hear it. She was in Munky’s cubby, enjoying a Bud Light and an episode of "Happy Days" on the little suspended TV.

……………………………………..

Head wasn’t in a great mood. He used to be a people person, very outgoing. That was before he became a star. Of course, he dealt with it—he would hate to be a fan and approach a pissed-off asshole rock star—but sometimes it got really hard. When he was angry, he couldn’t be angry. He had to smile and look pretty for a million cameras and sign his name until he got carpal tunnel. Sometimes he frankly just didn’t fucking feel like it. He was looking forward to a few minutes in his cubby, catch his favorite TV Show, "What About Bob?" and reflect on nothing in particular. Maybe even relieve some tension. Yeah, maybe. If he was alone.

He wandered past the TV room. After a moment of hesitation he grabbed a banana and a Bud Light. He ate the banana on the way to the bathroom. As he was about to open the door to it, he heard something. He was unsure of the sounds’ origin at first, but one thing was for sure: it was coming from Munky’s cubby. Was it Munky? If so, he didn’t want to hear it. He had before…and it was just weird. In fact, over the years, he had heard everyone, and he was sure that all the other band members had heard him.

It happened again. Head dropped his beer; the liquid spilled and made a muffled clatter as it hit the rug. It barely made a sound. To Head’s absolute horror, as he stood in silence, the breathing got louder.

That definitely wasn’t Munky. It was a female.

Why was Munky doing it again? Why was he?

"Jimmy, fucking why—" he said angrily, propelled by his own fury, as he tore the curtain to the cubby back. Only to find Talena, her miniskirt pulled up. Alone. She knew what she was doing. She didn’t notice him at first, his wide eyes, his mouth an O. But she shot him a look to kill when she did.

He immediately closed the curtain. He closed his eyes and turned away. No. He did not just see that. Her name popped up after a second: Talena. Then came, What the hell? He fought desperately not to get turned on. That was difficult.

"Head?" she asked timidly as she climbed from Munky’s cubby. She wiped her hands against her skirt. She was still breathing hard.

He couldn’t believe what she wore. He spun around and looked her straight in the eye. His hands shook, like hers. "Uh, it’s uh-alright. I mean, everybody—"

"Just don’t tell Jimmy, ok? Just don’t tell him….please?"

Head swallowed hard. He had seen many things over the years, but never anything like this. In Munky’s cubby. If Munky only knew…but he told Talena that he wouldn’t tell. Relief surfaced on her face, and as she went into the bathroom to wash her hands he grabbed one of his braids and swung it around. She told him that she had to go, that she had a show soon, and she left nervously. With his sensitive nose (or maybe it was just his fucking vivid imagination) he could smell her. Why was she in the cubby, how had she gotten in there? Munky couldn’t control himself now. He had to be careful. He had to try and cling to whatever he still had with Kaitlin, at whatever cost.

And letting young hot little girls masturbate in his cubby was not cool.

Just offstage, Munky stood on Talena’s side, and watched her play. He wondered why he hadn’t watched Kittie live before; they were truly amazing. The leader singer, Morgan, could scream just as good as Jon. She sounded like a monster. They were so young; yet they had perfect time; everyone was on top of their game. Munky remembered dreaming about doing this when he was their age. Merely dreaming.

"Hey," Head said as he wandered behind Munky.

"Hey. They’re really amazing, aren’t they?"

Head frowned. "I saw Talena in your cubby." When Munky told him that he had told her that she could hang out there whenever she wanted, Head merely said, "Well, yeah. She was taking advantage of it. I caught her…um…well, she knew what she was doing."

Munky’s eyes widened, and then they twinkled. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Munky grinned silently. It wasn’t a perverted grin; just a smirk. Head didn’t think it was all that funny. He told Munky that he should be careful, that he should watch out…

"Nah, she’s too young for me, man. I would never go for that. Ever. What is she, like seventeen? She is just a baby. If she’s not legal, then she’s not even an option. I mean, she’s really hot, but, nah…"

Silence. If you call booming, hardcore lesbian-hybrid-metal silence.

"You talk as if you’re a single man," Head pointed out. Munky shot him a sour look as Morgan ripped into a chorus and Talena cavorted around onstage, her skirt hiking up and her black hair flying with her swinging head.

"Man, I need to piss." That ended it. Munky didn’t want to talk about that shit anymore. He was done with it. There were two weeks left to the tour; Kaitlin still wasn’t calling him. He didn’t know where she was. And somehow that was soothing. Maybe she would go to her mother’s or friend’s for a few days, chill out, and be okay. He wanted to call her, but long ago he had programmed his phone for outward going calls only. If not, he would have the phone ringing off the hook non-stop. And when he was spending time with Kaitlin, that was the last thing he wanted.

Munky always took a long piss before the show. In fact, all the members performed a bodily function before going onstage. Head took a shit; Munky and Jon took a good ‘ol piss; David did both; Fieldy chucked. Fieldy was there, as always, bent over a toilet in one of the stalls. Jon looked concerned as Fieldy gagged. "Hey, Fieldy don’t feel good," he said sincerely.

Head kicked open the stall and belted him one in the ass. "Fucking wuss!" he cried. They all burst out laughing, even Fieldy.

Head took one of the stalls for himself as Munky unzipped his jumpsuit until it was at his ankles. Munky’s bladder sighed in relief as the trickles started. Soon it was a waterfall, and he had to put one hand against the tile to support himself. All he did was drink beer all day. He held it in for this, the couple minutes where he would try and go for the longest drizzle ever. He had peed for five minutes straight before. He knew it must be some kind of world record.

He would never forget that day. He had needed to pee so fucking bad, tears had squeezed out of his eyes…

Even after Head stunk up the entire place and left, along with David’s own contribution and Fieldy’s acidy puke, Munky kept peeing. Jon finished just before him. Until lately, they had raced to see who could go the longest, but that had dissolved entirely. Things had become so routine and the conquest so stale they rarely ever did it. Today, though, as Jon washed his hands, he said amiably, "You beat me this time."

Munky tried to convince himself that he wasn’t forcing a smile as he talked to one of his closest friends. But he was. And he tried to convince himself also that Jon was looking at his face and not his dick. That was hard to tell, because Jon wore his Ray-Ban sunglasses. Munky forced the last drips out as Jon faced him and put himself back in his boxers. He shivered into his suit again, and zipped it up.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing." A little too quickly.

"No, what’s wrong?" Jon asked. He reached a hand out for Munky’s shoulder. Munky shook it off. Jon knew something was wrong. He was very hurt when he said what he did next. "What did I do? Do you hate me too, now? That other night was just a joke, man!"

"Whatever."

"It was! What the fuck is up lately? David and Head hate me. I don’t know why. I can’t think of anything I ever did." Munky didn’t believe what he was hearing. The guy had fucking molested Head. He had virtually fucked his best friend. No matter how Jon wanted to see it, that was the cold fucking truth. Besides, how could Munky or Jon ever tell Head anything otherwise? Munky only remembered that softness in Head’s eyes. Head only got like that when he talked about his daughter.

Jon went on. "You guys may think I am, but I’m really not a fagot."

"Then what about those Playgirls? We found them, Jon." He spun around. David emerged from his stall. In his mind’s eye he could see the band ending. At that moment, he didn’t care. Busted.

Jon’s mouth worked wordlessly. His fingers ran through his stiff hair. "I don’t know. I’m…confused. I don’t know what I am, but I know I’m not a fagot. I thought all through my childhood that I was straight, totally straight, but if you wanna know the fucking truth that all changed when I was raped. I didn’t like being a—"

"Bitch?" Head asked, entering the bathroom again to round them up. "You didn’t like it, did you? You didn’t like it. Then why the fuck did you do it to me? Why?" His voice raised an octave.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jon was very shocked.

Head’s lip curled. "I can’t fucking believe you. You suck."

"You touched him and shit…" David spat coldly, unable to finish. "You did it, I heard you. We both did. It was a while ago, but still."

Jon’s mouth slacked as tears formed. The shock was so fresh that even Head began to doubt. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t meant it. It had been fucking awful, but maybe he hadn’t known. Had Jon been sleep? Had all the pain Head felt been for nothing?

Jon looked at David, Head, and Munky as if he were looking at them for the first time. Then his hands quivered. He brought them to his face, and his long legs buckled in half. "I didn’t like being a bitch. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it, it hurt more than anything else. But I can’t help thinking about it sometimes. All I can wonder is what it would be like to bend that old man over and have a go at him like he did to me. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Just to get back at him. Just to show him how I feel.

"I dream about it sometimes, and it turns me on. I don’t know why." He then quoted from an old school Korn poster as Head’s eyes filled with tears. "’As ye hath sewn so shall ye reap’, I fucking guess."

They were all silent for a while. Even in the restroom they could hear the conclusion of Kittie’s set. The audience roared in animal appreciation; any minute Fieldy would barge in with a few roadies and tell them it’s show time. After Kittie left the stage, the thousands awaiting their favorite band starting chanting a simple word: "KoRn, Korn, Korn, Korn…"

"I don’t know what to say," was all Head could think of. Munky had turned away, his fingers against his eyelids. Head walked up behind him, and although they may have looked like "a couple of fags", as Fieldy would say, he embraced Munky from behind. He buried his head into Munky’s shoulder. Crossed his hands over Munky’s stomach. Munky turned around. Long and soulful this time, they really hugged, Head’s hand caressing the back of Munky’s neck. When they finally parted they looked over to see David cradling Jon.

Head shook hands with Jon eventually, and he helped him up. Wordlessly, they walked out of the bathroom together. That night Jon didn’t change in his own little room. He changed with the others for the first time since who knew when. And although Head had been nervous, there were no glances, no staring, even if he knew Jon was going out of his way not to. They were one unit again as they went back to the tour bus.

One word: KoRn.

……………………………………………………………..

Talena was there, on the vintage couch of their tour bus, when they all returned. She lay on the couch, the dry streaks of sweat running down her pale face the only evidence that she had performed. She looked like someone straight out of a porno magazine, because her mini-skirt showed more than it should have. Head noticed it first…but that was partially because he had seen that underwear before, and still had her moans in his subconscious.

"Hey," Munky said. He situated her and then himself with bed attire; her an over-sized Tool shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He sank into the only armchair with a pair of blue flannel boxers and a wife beater. He had taken a shower, and felt comfortably limp as he lit a cigarette. He smoked with the odd confidence of someone who had done it since he could remember, and Talena watched him with a kind of wonderment.

She was exhausted. Playing in arenas was not only amazingly catatonic; it was extremely stressful. Nearly every night she and the rest of her band played in front of thousands of strangers. Not hundreds, but thousands. There were people there that she had met before, had seen, people who idolized her and called her a rock goddess. Besides, she was touring with KoRn! If you had asked her a year ago what she thought about sitting next to Munky of KoRn, watching him drink as the others passed around weed and had a good old time, she would have flipped you the bird and told you to fuck off. But it was happening. Strange how things work out sometimes, huh?

Certainly fuckin’ was.

"Do you want one?" Munky offered her a Bud Light. She told him that she couldn’t—the thought of her mother bombarding into the place in about .02 seconds was enough to make her think twice—but she did take a sip of his. Munky watched on as she did, the liquor he had spiked it with melting her stomach to the core. It felt so goddamned good. She bet that she could out-chug all of them (she had won many chug contests in her time). It was just that the goddamned cunt—her mother—would have castrated them all if she ever knew. And despite herself, she didn’t want that to happen to any of them, for all the right reasons (especially Munky).

"Hey, what’cha got for us tonight, Jon? You sick bastard," Head said good-naturedly. Jon delicately balanced about six tapes against his narrow chest. His eyes lit up as he leafed through to the bottom of the pile. He put it in the cassette, but before he pressed Play, Munky said, "I don’t know if we should watch it. I mean—" –he made a sideways glance to Talena—"we don’t wanna make her feel uncomfortable."

"Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine," Talena insisted. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and held it to her ample chest. "I like porn."

"Alright!" Fieldy actually got up from his seat on the floor to give Talena a high five. "Girls like you make the world a better place."

So, for the next two hours what consumed the television was not for the light-hearted. Jonathan loved porn; he loved it with all his heart; but he hated normal soft porn, with the corny music and the lack of crotch shots. All of them, in fact, liked the hard stuff; Bestiality was on the top of the list. The first porno was called "Animal Orgy" (something Jonathan had picked up from an UK porn shop during the European leg of the "Retirement Sucks" tour with Ozzy Osbourne) and it was called such because it took place on a farm. ‘Nuff said. Talena was at first astounded by the images flashing across the screen, but when hysteria ensued, it was far more comfortable than the silence that would have ruled all had it been "normal" porn.

"OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!" Brian shouted as the male feature in the film made love to a tied-up sheep. He brayed laughter until he was red in the face and had to get another beer to calm down. Munky laughed with his eyes—the entire time—just with those sparkling brown eyes.

By far, however, Jonathan was having the most fun. His eyes twinkled like Munky’s, but as soon as he got some marijuana in his system those slitted eyes gave way to a crude tongue. None of them had seen this porno before. He had taken it from his special stash, and by the time it was done the rest of the band was overwhelmed with gratitude. That night was good times—oh yes—and this only exemplified their reunion. It was just like the old days, where Jon was part of the group, and not a silent outcast. The others—including Jon himself—could not count the nights that he had watched similar things with them on the fringe of darkness. And how many times Head would look at him with disgust until he withdrew to his cubby.

"Goodnight, y’all," Jonathan said. He gathered up his tapes despite protests from the others.

"Goodnight, man," Head said. His eyes were bloodshot, not only from the pot but from the ringing laughter.

After what they had seen, they needed their eyes washed off with soap. They loved it.

After Jon was gone, as according to routine, David and Fieldy also retired. David nursed his sore arms on his way to the back, and Fieldy pulled out his journal and his cell phone before heading to his cubby. Munky realized that he had smoked damn near a pack of cigarettes; he practically had a cloud of smoke hovering over his head. He didn’t know how he had smoked that many, but when he thought about it he could feel the nicotine buzz he had so long ago grown used to. The buzz made his heart beat and his hands shake. He carefully popped a mint piece of gum in his mouth.

He was ashamed of smoking that much—it wasn’t good at all—but there had been an upside to the whole thing: he had had one beer. Just one. "Don’t drink tonight," Head had told him as they saw Talena. "Just don’t."

Munky had at first thought What the hell? Don’t tell me what the fuck to do. I don’t care that you’re my bro, I don’t care that I love you, just don’t talk to me like you’re my fucking mother. But what he said made sense. Getting drunk would be lethal. He didn’t do it because Head told him to; he did it because he saw the looks Talena snuck him. He was no fool.

Besides, she was too young. It would be robbing the cradle.

(And don’t forget Kaitlin)

"You want some?" he asked Talena, offering her a piece of Mint-A-Fresh gum. She had cuddled around the small velvet pillow. That was David’s little good luck charm. He always kept it on the tour bus. He had had it in his room ever since he could remember, and to bring it on tour had been natural to him. Of course, they had all laughed at first—until they developed their own little sappy habits. Brian brought pictures of his daughter and pasted them to his cubby. With glue. Fieldy and Munky brought teddy bears they’d had since they were two feet tall (thinking of it made Munky remind himself that he had to sew another black button on his, to replace a button eye hanging precariously from a string). Jon was the worst of them all: he brought a pacifier. There were times when he sucked on it in his sleep.

"Sure," she said. She thanked him and chewed on it. Head flipped through the HBO channels and pay-per-view. More than mildly drunk, he needed some more entertainment before he took his shower. He was gonna be wasted that night; this he knew. Tomorrow he would be begging God not to throw up, please, please, he would never ask for anything again—

"Let’s see what this is," he said. On the television screen there was a petite femme in a bra, her blonde hair extending down the better part of her back. She was standing before a boiling pot. Behind her in the kitchen was another picture of perfection. She had brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She was dressed just as scantily as Blondie. It was obvious it was another XXX feature.

"Try and use your powers," Miss Perfect insisted.

"No, I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!" wailed Blondie, her breasts jiggling before her inside the super-tight bra.

"Don’t give up!" Miss Perfect said melodramatically when the blonde hulked away from the boiling pot to eat a fruit. They continued acting sorrily, in the soft porn washed-up way…until Blondie bit on a plum. She moaned and gasped after she took each bite.

"Mmmm," she said, writhing. "When I eat this it feels like…"

"Someone’s eating you out?"

"Yeah!"

"I put a spell on those fruits. When you bite it, it feels like someone is eating you out. Plums for girls, bananas for boys."

Head snuck from the room, past the silver bullets (grabbing one on his way from the freezer) and detached a banana from the others. He sauntered back. "Hey, Munky," he moaned. He peeled the skin off gingerly, and when Munky saw what he was doing he played along.

"Oh Head don’t stop don’t stop oh! oh!" Munky wailed as Head licked the banana sensuously. He traced small, slow ellipses with his tongue on the banana’s tip before slipping it into his mouth. He moved it in and out methodically, and Munky played along with moans and groans. When Head bit on the banana, Munky’s eyes shot open wide and he frolicked from the couch onto the floor, holding his crotch and calling Head’s name. Head winked at Talena. "Oops," he whined innocently, and giggled before shoving the rest of the mushy fruit into his mouth. A smidgeon of wet, half-chewed banana stuck to the corner of his mouth and dripped.

"Oh take it ALL!"

They laughed long and hard.

"You know that in about five seconds that girl is gonna walk in with a banana and they are gonna ‘eat each other out’ in the bed. What a gay plot."

"No shit."

As Munky predicted the door opened and the witch beckoned her male sex slave to her. On the bed they ate fruit until Head turned the channel to Nick-At-Night. "I’m going to bed, guys."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight. Hey Munky, can you come here for a minute? I need to tell you something." Why did he always have to seem like the bad guy? They had had a good night—that animal-fucking porno had been the shit—but when Head warned Munky yet again about Talena, Munky didn’t understand. Head knew that it wasn’t his place, and he made that clear. But he almost made clear the fact that it really was his business. Why? Because Munky himself had made it his business.

As they conferred outside of Head’s cubby in exasperated tones, Talena wondered if she really should stay there that night. She hated it when people talked about something behind her back; it was obvious, then, that they were talking about her. What had she done? Her mother always had something to say about how she was with guys: She acted like a whore. Talena knew why: Her mother was the exact same fucking way. All Talena had seen all her life was her skinny mother, slender and sleek, bending men over and fucking them up the ass; using them for her purposes and then leaving them in the dirt.

Fortunately, Talena was different. She believed that men had feelings (she knew especially where; all girls with half a penny for a brain know that one unalienable truth), and that they should be respected. Though sexually inexperienced, she burned with a desire to take any man "to bed". She entertained the notion more than once a day, though she was not one to act on it. Munky, however, was a different story. She wanted him. Her room back in Alberta was covered from head to floor with Munky…had been since Munky was nineteen. Night after night she dreamed of him. It was like a girl becoming a pop star and touring with the Backstreet Boys.

Except this was metal. The rules changed when you added a fucking bad ass hardcore soundtrack. Kittie had toured with Slipknot, and Morgan, the lead singer, had had an affair with 0, the sampler of the band. Morgan had been sixteen, and was the only person in the music biz that saw a member of Slipknot without their mask.

She saw him without any mask.

Talena couldn’t understand how Morgan had fallen in love with him, not even knowing what he really looked like. The thing she liked about KoRn was that none of the members wore any such disguises, physically or mentally. Their music in itself was an opening, a peeling away of the masks that Jonathan had worn all of his life…

"Do you still wanna watch this?" Munky asked with only half-serious nonchalance as he grabbed the remote. He went beyond the regular HBO channels, and into the Pay-Per-View section. He groaned, and it was such a sexual sound that she actually shivered.

"Kama Sutra. Oh, man. This is good," he said. He ordered it with the simple press of a button, and immediately the screen filled with naked people in odd sex poses. He left, but immediately came back with a tape and two blankets.

"I stole your spot," she said. She had wanted the chair

all night. And now that she got it, still warm with his body heat, she was almost satisfied. He laughed and covered her with a blanket on his way to the television. He slipped a tape into the slot and then pressed "Record", settling onto the couch. He put a blanket over himself, and grabbed David’s pillow. He flopped onto his stomach and fidgeted around until he was comfortable. His eyes dilated as he watched the porno, half from the dark and engrossing silence. Sometimes Munky would let loose a long, caressing breath, one that followed a shaky one of hers. He would have to be blind not to feel it.

Blind and retarded.

By the time the porno ended his eyes were half-closed, and one of his long legs had fallen over the side of the couch and onto the floor. Talena dreaded that he would get up to leave, but he didn’t. He just stayed there, in silence. Finally, he picked up the remote again, and turned the TV off. The television fizzed and then went out, plunging them both into a wonderfully electric darkness.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

(Oh God, his voice is so deep I can just imagine)

"Do you like being on tour?" The question hung in the air. He shifted onto his back, and lifted one of his legs.

"Well, yeah. It’s what I live for. This is what I have done for the past five years. Why?"

"I don’t fuckin’ know. Sometimes I just can’t take it anymore. My mother is always giving me shit about everything." She felt the tears coming, and knew that biting them back would do nothing. So she let them come. When she heard Munky’s voice again it was so close that she started. He was kneeling right next to her.

"I’m sorry," he said, apologizing quickly. He flicked on a lamp. The dull light lit her sorrowful face. Some of the tension dissolved. Some.

She sat on the couch next to him and she brought her blanket with her. She didn’t bother to cover herself, however. She just brought it along. He wasn’t covered, either. He cracked his fingers nervously. "I know how you feel. The first few years were hard—fuck, it still is. I don’t know what is worst about it, but I think it’s just not having anyone to be with. You know," he said, stopping. Why had he said that? She looked at him, surprised. "Sorry."

"Don’t be. If I had to say the worst thing about touring is the vulnerability I have because I’m a ‘girl’. When you’re a ‘girl’ you can’t do a fucking thing. My mother says all these fucked-up things, like that all the roadies will try to hit on me…just stupid stuff. She brought me up to think that around every corner there is someone waiting to rape me. And then there are those that think I’m some kind of fucking whore. They just pass me off as that. They don’t even know me."

"If you were just a whore you wouldn’t be where you are," Munky assured as she broke down into tears. He wanted to hold her but didn’t know if she’d let him.

Okay, that was a stupid thought. Of course she would let him. That was the problem.

"All my life I’ve just been fucking warned. Someone’s waiting to abuse me at any moment. I can’t do anything. I bet you she thinks you guys are gang banging me right now."

"We’d never ever do that."

"I know. But that’s what she thinks." She burst into a new freshet of tears.

"Girls get lots of warning. Guys don’t. At all. And sometimes they’re the ones who are in more trouble. Because some girls tell. Most guys don’t." His voice became a soft whine at the end, and he had to look away to avoid tears. Because she looked up at him through the wan light.

"Jimmy. No." She couldn’t have said it more passionately. She wasn’t just a little girl then; she was a woman; a woman with a young girl’s body. In the dark she wasn’t some young gothic; she was an angel. He felt his heart melt for her. Which was why he couldn’t stop her when she turned his face to hers with strong hands. Her lips were on his, and after a few seconds he kissed back. She slid onto the floor and climbed onto his lap with cumbersome grace. What she lacked from experience she made up with passion—until he pulled away from her. He was kissing a 16-year-old baby, and yet she wasn’t a baby at all. His heart was thumping, his lips hot from hers, his life falling through his fingers, and all this surrounding porno tapes on a vintage couch, the only witness David’s pillow.

"That shouldn’t have happened," he whispered as she ran a hand down his face, her nails gently biting at his stubble.

"Why not?" She was ready. It was in her voice.

"Because I have a girlfriend." He didn’t want to say that she was too young. He, himself, was having trouble believing it.

"Oh." Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. "I’m sorry-for that."

"Don’t be." Sitting next to each other, they hugged. He ran his hand up and down her back; she played with his dreadlocks. "I know that you’re special, Talena. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. And even if you ever think that your mother hates you, just know that if I ever had a daughter I would hope that she would turn out as talented and caring as you."

"Uh—Thanks."

"I mean it."

The phone ruined the profoundly awkward moment. It rang from the table, and he almost pushed Talena away. He scrambled for his phone among the Playboys and paper that had accumulated there. He picked it up and urgently pressed the "Talk" button.

The phone call changed his life. He left Talena and sat at the table, his head in his hands. It couldn’t be happening—after all this time it couldn’t be happening. Kaitlin’s voice never even wavered as she wished him farewell, told him that she didn’t want to continue on with "us". The meaning of "us" seemed so profound, a piece of unswallowable shit. He whimpered, then he banged his fist onto the table, shouting emphatically, "Kaitlin I love you how can you do this to me Kaitlin I love you..." Kaitlin became all and nothing in an instant. And it was Munky’s fault. Even before the dial tone greeted him, he knew it was the last time he would ever hear her voice from his phone…from, what he was sure, probably wasn’t even his phone.

And Munky, of Bakersfield, California, had a nervous breakdown at 3:30 in the morning on a tour bus that had never expected a goddamn thing, Head drinking his beer inside of the shower and shedding water droplets at the thought of being molested for nothing.

And Munky looked to Talena, sitting on the couch as she leaned forward, such a look of pity in her face. When he came to her she asked him what was wrong, he answered nothing, she asked him again, and he told her the same. He took her into his arms and, closing his eyes, he saw the angelic woman he had seen moments before. Shaking hands reached underneath her shirt. When her moans started he put a finger to her lips; she bit on it as he pulled his boxers down to his knees and off, his breath as short and quick as hers. She saw the fire twinkling in his eyes—his tears bright stars against an almond sky—as their mouths fused sweetly. He took her to the brink of fire, and they both leaped in. He buried himself in her. A drop of scarlet blood from his lip stained her forehead as a wave of it ran down her leg and puddled on a Pooh Bear blanket. In his arms, she saw light dancing on the ceiling, tightened muscles with a strength she had only guessed at. In a huffed silence they reached screaming ecstasy, moving together, the friction of their burning bodies filling them both.

Head heard it all, despite their attempts to make no noise.

Subtitle: Munky, his best friend, had a major problem. A problem Head felt obliged to fix.

Translation: A problem he was going to fix.