Excerpts from

How to Rock Like a Rock Star

by

Rex Amadeus

Chapter 9

The Skull-Fucking of St. Susan

The perks of being a rock star. What can I tell you? They are all they are cracked up to be… and more. You get free shit wherever you go, but then you end up paying for shit you never expected to need. That’s the way it goes. Free coke, free hookers, and free food here - $20,000 for a new drum riser for the European tour there. I guess it all evens out somewhere along the road because most rock stars I know are broke as fuck. All the cars we drive and houses we live in are mostly leased through the label. Well, not me. I own all my shit. I guess I have always been smart enough to invest my money wisely so that I’m still pretty well off now that I am in the autumn of my days, as ol’ Blue Eyes said. I don’t know if “luck” has anything to do with it, though. Having your ex-wife for a manager, and also in charge of promoting your career, kinda helps put food on the table. See, the more money I make, the more money she and the kids get. Lizzie was never stupid. She’s been a part of pretty much my whole career, and to tell you the truth… I think I owe a lot of it to her. Sure, it was a pain in the ass to be married and sneak groupies up to a hotel room while she was sleeping next door. And since she was never big on threesomes, we had our fair share of awkward moments when I couldn’t find a bed to myself for my night’s party  and just invited the party into hers. Especially that time when that Norwegian-Swedish chick sprayed a sleeping Lizzie with whipped cream and tried to lick it off of her. I think she barely had time to put her tongue against Lizzie’s nipple before she got her cheek split open by Lizzie’s huge wedding rock. That fucker could cut bullet proof glass and it sliced the Norwish chick from ear to chin. You could see her teeth through the gash. It was freaky. I guess I was partly to blame since it was all my idea, but what the hell. Life goes on, right?

Speaking of freaky…

I have so many groupie stories. I know I am not supposed to since I was married, but it’s kinda understood in my line of work that you have a free pass to the chicks who line up outside the dressing room or the bus… as long as you don’t brag about it to your wife afterwards. They hate that shit. Believe me, I tried.

First of all, groupies are usually not as hot as most people think. Sure, some are, the strippers and the models, but they know it too. Then you have the mid-range rocker chicks. They are usually the best ones, for a quick fuck, since they are there for that purpose alone and they are in awe of your superpowers. You don’t have to say shit if you don’t want to. Then you have the butt ugly monsters that Fester either lets into the room because he’s pissed at you or because they are with somebody beautiful. Sometimes you get the ones who are related to the club owner or something. In all these instances you just quickly scribble an autograph on their ticket and send them off with a smile and a nod. I developed a sixth sense during the years for which ones are green lights and which ones are no-go’s. The hottest chick in the world is a no-go if she the niece of the club promoter. You gotta think ahead. Then, as your career progresses and you grow old and ugly, you have the crazy ass stalkers and the aging rocker MILF soccer moms, but I will get to them later.

Mostly I prefer the strippers. They don’t come to you, you go to them, at their clubs, and they are still interested in you. They look pretty good for the most part and they know their stuff. I think my most memorable groupie stripper was Saint Susan. I don’t remember her real name, but it was Suzette St. Éclair or something stupid like that - a stripper name - we called her Saint Susan for short.

The thing with Saint Susan was that she had a crazy eye. A crazy-as-fuck eye. She was probably one of the hottest chicks I have ever seen, with a hand sculpted body to die for, but that one fucking left eye that always looked right at you, without ever looking right at you, just fucking freaked most people out. She could have been one successful porn star if it wasn’t for that crazy eye shit. I would always look her up whenever I rolled into San Diego, because she was a Jedi Master at blowjobs, but I never really got used to the eye. I tried to tape her eyelid shut once before I fucked her, but just knowing it was there made me softer than a dish rag. It was always doggie style with her. The right eye was fine, gorgeous even, but the left one was just all over the place – or rather, didn’t move at all. I didn’t learn why until I had known her for a few years.

We were sitting at the bar in the club she where was working that year, The Bat Shit Crazy Donkey or something. We had just finished a really shitty gig and I was in a horrible mood. Zeus had technical problems all night and his guitar sounded like a submarine sonar during “The Raven”, and Barry passed out halfway through the set. Dynamike had thrown a drum stick for the audience to fight themselves bloody over as usual, but some dick threw it back and hit me in the eye. So there I was: a big icepack over my eye, feeling sorry for myself. Saint Susan had just finished her shift and I was buying her little pink drinks that I am sure was costing me more than whatever the lawsuit for Barry’s pain and suffering would amount to once I kicked his fucking ass later that night.

Saint Susie looked at me with her good eye - the other one was doing some crazy shit - and she just shook her head and laughed. “First I thought you were making fun of me, Rexie sweetie,” she said. “Like that time you all dressed up as pirates and fucked me in the back of the bus.”

I remembered that time, but didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t been a part of it. That had been a roadie exclusive since it was the last night of the tour, a freebie on Yours Truly to keep the boys happy. Some of them weren’t that nice looking you know. Suddenly I felt bad for her. What hell this girl had to go through just because she was born with a fucked up eye. I finally gathered up the class to ask, since we were now company in misery and all, “What happened to your eye, kid?”

She looked at me, looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was around. “Come with me. I’ll show you.” She got up from the table and led me backstage to the dressing rooms. She opened the door to the big walk in closet. Of course, I had been there many times before, fucking these strippers black and blue, but for some reason now a tingling sense of anticipation danced in my gut. Almost as if I was a nervous school boy hooking up with a prostitute to get rid of his virginity. I didn’t know why…

The lighting was soft, and there was one of those purple and red lava lamps up on a shelf, sending ghost bubbles across the walls. She sat me down on the cot next to her and held my hands. She looked at me long and hard and then she said something I will never forget, something no other woman had ever asked me up until then, and never after that time either: “Wanna skullfuck?”

At that, she reached up to her left eye and plucked out her eyeball! I was too freaked out to freak out, so I just sat there staring in wonder at the empty eye socket in her head. Turned out that she had a glass eye. “I know… weird, huh? I lost my eye when I was 16 in a bike wipe out. Got this and now there is just this big hole back there.”

I was too dumbstruck to say anything intelligent. I think I stuttered out a “Does it hurt?”, or something like that, and I don’t even remember what she answered. But I do remember what happened next. She unzipped my pants, fished out my dick and went to town on Rex Jr. like I had just been declared the King of Everything. So far it was business as usual, if you could get by the fact that it was a one-eyed chick doing the deed. And I found that I could. So what? It was just an empty eye socket, right? The girl was sweet and she was good at what she was doing – plus, she had her hair hanging down so I didn’t really have to look at the damn thing anyway.

Then it happened…

Maybe the KY Jelly that her glass eye was happily resting on should have clued me in… I went from experiencing a really nice blow job – she was really good with her soft tongue and lips – to all of a sudden experiencing something else. Kinda like when you have fucked a girl for twenty minutes and then take it upon yourself to fuck her up the ass instead, just for shits and giggles (no pun intended). You know that feeling of sudden tightness and absolute apprehension in the woman? Well, it was like that but blow job style. She parted her hair with a free hand and what I saw I will never forget till the day I die… The head of my dick was going in and out of her left eye… I was skullfucking this chick! For real. The realization must have hardened me immensely, not necessarily because it made me horny, but because I got all sorts of excited in all sorts of ways, and I felt myself filling up that hole more than I was supposed to. She said, “Ow! That’s big!” – and I said, “Uh, sorry, uh…” – and she said “OK, I am going to pull you out now. Do NOT come in my eye socket. It’s a bitch cleaning it out.” At the very same time I was thinking to myself, “She does this a lot?” I also realized that I was stuck. Stuck like a duck in muck. The head of my dick had swollen to unprecedented proportions and I was wedged in her skull like a molly in a dry wall. She said, “Ow!” again – and I said, “Uh!” again. All in all, it was not that pleasant for either of us, I think. And to add to the moment, I felt myself coming. Coming hard. I shot a wad so big it greased me out of her head and I jerked free with a big “PLOP!” – kinda like the cork out of a champagne bottle… and my load followed. I still can’t drink champagne without thinking of that image - Saint Susan with my cum dripping out her empty eye socket.

If this had been a fairy tale I would have recommended her to my friends in the porn industry and have her become the Next Big Thing. There’s gotta be a market for that shit, right? But since I am a prick I just zipped up, threw her a fifty, and left the room. I never looked her up again. I don’t know why. I think it just one of those things that you should experience only once.

The skullfucking of Saint Susan. You think that will send me to hell? I did pay the bitch, after all.