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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #1602980
First entry about the story of Mr. Metal.
I'm leaving alone, no wild eyed love tight around my arms, God forbid it be that easy, I leave tonight on a stone cold ride that I don't know, that will just let me go no thought to tame or calm, just let it go and ride into the dark, leave this town behind where it's all alright, hit the parties at night and sleep all day, the head bangers in leather, tight pants and lipstick across the room staring back at you as static reigns through the crowd, the speakers boom as the treble hits the low key and the heads hit the floor, the halfway point as the rock fist glides high in the air, waving down and out of sight with each little stroke that sends a sonic boom through that crowd to the fox in tight pants across the room. Make your move, forget about that town, the ride you came in on warm in the lot needing another on the back seat to fill it, call it the love of heavy metal, the need to fulfill that lust, the clutch on the bike ready to be set free and go away into the night again, the beast is ready to devour, ride away on the two seater filled up nice, but it's not that easy is it, there isn't a bike with your name on it ready to get you out of this star crossed lovers town away to the party scene where Pantera covers blow out the bass and fill your ears with the sweet sound of a thrashing grind as the fingers come down, the speakers on overload as that static covers the crowd again, the fox is getting loose, her gaze is drifting, on again to the next piece of metal she can find, but where does that leave you? Yet again, back at that town, crossing the paths of so many you've seen before nothing new to chat about, you've lost all love or remorse for this little shack on the side of the road, another pit stop on the way to Heavy Metal, the way where the foxes get tighter in those pants and the lipstick is fresh on their lips, ready to be smudged off. We'll have none of that, my white collared son, no spikes will come out of my boys head, no rock fist flying in the air as the bass gets louder and the metal gets to the bone, grinds into the marrow and lets go of everything you've been holding back, just let fly, knock his jaw loose and take your ride into the night so you can get away, pass this stop in the way to Heavy Metal and see that fox strut through the crowd like a razors edge because everyone knows she moves with the purpose, purely of getting out of this place and onto the metal, covered of course by the seat of the ride, the deep tone of a revving engine as she gets away in the night, back to wherever she wants to go to get those tight jeans off and smear that lipstick on that white collared boy to set him straight, or tear him up, his initiation into Heavy Metal. Yes my child, this is where you'll go, now that they've all been silenced and you're no longer his son, forget about being his boy, this is your paradise, this is the booming bass and the rocking speakers, the static of the crowd, the fox at the bar and the fist in the air as each head comes down like a riot in the streets as the music blasts. Yes, child. This is it, your paradise. This is Heavy Metal.
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