Picture Perfect

of time with. At the beginning of our ride to the top, I fucked everything that walked- and even a few that couldn’t. I liked enjoying myself with women, but I would never let myself go inside of one. I'm like a fucking machine, there to make them come like crazy, but I don’t come myself until they’re gone. My biggest fear is that it’s become such an ingrained pattern that I’ll never be able to have a normal sex life.
    I know people think that it's weird that I don’t come with chicks, and I guess it is. I’ve never found anyone that I wanted to share that part of myself with, not that I didn’t enjoy the sex. I give enough of myself away without offering that up too. The sexual portion of touring life has always been insane, and I definitely enjoyed it in years past, orgasm or not. The world was a sexual buffet, and the entire band ate from it daily, sometimes many times a day with different people each time, for years.
    We stopped doing crazy shit with multiple groupies at a time when we all came back together after the six months off. These days our tours are cleaner, healthier and less debauched. That's not to say that we don't all still dip our wicks into hot women, including some groupies, but it isn't a thrice-daily occurrence anymore. I like to think that although I'm highly sexed, my palette is being refined with time.
    I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I have no idea what a relationship would look like. My only girlfriend was Mary Stevenson back in high school and that didn’t count because it was a nightmare. Yeah, we were together for two years, but I still fucked other girls, she fucked half the football team, and it wasn't like we were going to get married. I often wonder if I'm capable of being in a real relationship. I feel like I've totally missed that experience, and sometimes it seems like it's not destined to happen for me.
    What I’m looking for is an actual connection. I haven’t found anything like that yet, and I don't know if it's possible, but I keep hoping. I can’t help but wonder if the little photographer and I will have any chemistry. I now know that her name is Tessa, and I think it suits her. It’s a beautiful name, just like her. My dick certainly likes the look of her, because I’ve spent the last few weeks jerking off with images of her in my mind. Until I meet her, there’s no way of knowing if she’s the real deal. For all I know, she has a high-pitched voice, a boyfriend and she loves to crochet dog sweaters.
    I can’t wait until tonight when I get to meet her and see what she’s really like.

Chapter Four

    I hadn’t been to LA since my senior year in high school when my parents surprised me with a graduation trip to see Metallica. I loved it then, and I love it now. It was as beautiful as ever, and I was soaking up the atmosphere like a sponge. I could definitely see myself living here someday, and it was possible that after I photographed the Renegade Saints tour that I would be able to do so sooner rather than later.
    Already the difference between working with unsigned acts and a worldwide sensation was hugely apparent. My flight in was first class, and they’d put me up in a one-bedroom suite at The Mondrian. Talk about beautiful! After arriving late last night, the suite was like a warm hug.
    The group “All-Hands On” meeting wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but tonight there was an informal “meet and greet” for all the people involved in the tour at some house up in the hills. I’m to be ready to go by six-thirty, and a town car is picking me up. The packet I’d received with all of the travel instructions had advised me to wear something sophisticated.
    Jess and I spent an entire day shopping before finding an absolutely perfect red sheath dress that falls an inch or two above my knees and leaves one shoulder bared. I’m pairing a drop dead sexy pair of strappy silver stilettos that wrap around my ankles with it, and I thought the look was going to be just right.
    Since I had free time, I decided to make good use of it down at the hotel pool. When in LA do as the natives do, and soak up the sun. I lucked out and got a lounger right near the edge of the pool. After applying sunscreen, I put my sunglasses on and settled in with a good book.
    About twenty minutes after I’d gotten comfortable, someone came to the edge of my chair and stood over me. “Oh hey, you’re the photographer!”
    Pushing my sunglasses up on my head, I