Time to hear that Dropping sound…

Guess what I missed? That’s right! That dropping sound echos! LOL Part two of Abadon has done dropped hard! Check out part 2… Charlie has gone buck wild and it is drawing Abadon’s attention… but will getting what he wants rein him in or make his obsession worse?
“Oh, God, that feels so good –”
Charle was on his back and moaning. He had never felt like this in his life. People wanted him. They were touching him, stroking him, joking with him… For once he was in the in-crowd and there was no feeling like it.
He was seated in a huge leather chair, surrounded by people who just wanted to be next to him. He was sipping on a glass of something that burned going down and he was certain he had a contact high from the weed someone was smoking.
At the moment he had no idea where he was and really, he just didn’t care. Some guy was stroking his bare chest and another was playing with his hair. His new tattoo stung when people pressed against it, but even that small amount of pain bled into pleasure.
His crotch was a heavy weight that many had pawed at but when he told them to back off they did, so being this aroused and admired for it was cool.
God, he had danced so much his thighs were burning. He was sure what he was doing wasn’t real dancing — he just applied knowledge of the latest rap video girl’s dance moves, altered them for his more masculine frame and let the music do the rest. Right now the handstand twink was sitting in his lap and he absently slapped his hand as he reached for his nipple ring again.
“It’s new,” he warned. “Stop that.”
The pretty boy pouted, but Charle bent and gave him a peck on the lips and he was all smiles again. Charle lay his head back into the body behind him, loving that he was being petted and it felt so good.
He had achieved one of his goals. He had gone out there and done something wild and crazy, something that the old him would have been too afraid to even attempt.
Had he taken it too far? Maybe a touch, seeing that he didn’t know where he was, or what time it was for that matter, but so far he hadn’t regretted anything that he had done.
There was a lot of blow jobs happening in this group, he noted, and most were desirous of blowing him. Who was he to say no?
But now that voice in his head was poking at him. The ultimate prize had yet to be had.
“I’m so mercenary,” he thought out loud and the warm nest of bodies surrounding him giggled and chuckled and added their own commentary.
He had no idea how long he sat there, lost in his own thoughts, when the door opened and a familiar head popped in.
“Yo! You in here, Charle?”
The group shifted in excitement as Hash stuck his head in. “You know we were looking for you, man?” Then he turned out toward the hall and called out, “Found him.”
Hash moved into the room, making way for the rest of the band.
Immediately the squeaking and squawking started, but when Abadon himself stuck his head in, the crowd went wild. Charle was damn near dumped on his own head as the group raced toward the stars. Fame is fleeting he thought from where he landed on his knees, and shrugged to get upright. It was then that the room decided to start to spin.
“Back to the bus.”
He barely remembered Hash throwing him over his shoulder and taking him from his adoring fans…
“But there was more,” he whimpered, bouncing over the big man’s shoulder while the rest of the group laughed and Abadon looked on with tacit approval.
“We gonna stop the bus every night so that Charle-boy will learn to live like a rock star.”
“Damn straight!” Charle managed to lift his head and gurgle. “What?”
“Tomorrow will be better,” Abadon promised, patting him on the shoulder as a camera flash damn near blinded him.
Funny, but suddenly he didn’t feel quite so sick anymore, just really, really tired. Maybe he was tense with all those strangers… well, as tense as one could be after popping pills and drinking and smoking whatever the hell they gave him. Maybe it was just that he trusted Abadon to see him safe. Yeah, that had to be it. Abadon would keep him safe.
And when he opened his eyes later that day, he was sprawled out on his chair in the bus feeling amazingly hangover free. Maybe he did have a tolerance like no other.
The boys from the band were teasing him, showing him photos of what he had been up to but couldn’t remember. By all rights, he should have felt shame and embarrassment. But when he saw himself dancing like a madman in a pile of pretty people, he couldn’t find it in his heart to disavow what he had done. He was finally living. Charle Lexington, at damn near thirty years of age, was finally getting a life.
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