A writer is often questioned about inspiration and sources, because everyone secretly wants to be the one memorialized. Sometimes, it has happened, a writer uses the desire to be immortalized to their advantage. Sometimes it’s the truth. – enjoy – Malinov
by Lord Malinov
“Have you written anything about me, I mean, in a song?”
“It’s not like that. I don’t write about people.”
“I get that. But you make allusions, comments, use phrases that might call to mind, to your mind anyway, an individual.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“So, anything about me?”
“I’ve known you a long time. I’m sure I have alluded to you at some point.”
“I mean recently.”
“The new album?”
“That would be the one.”
I sat up in bed and reached for a roach on the nightstand. I took a deep hit and Kendra sat up naked beside me. I passed her the smoke.
“There may be a few allusions.”
Kendra blew cloud of smoke into my face. “Or a whole song.”
“No one knows that’s you.” I took another drag off the roach and then leaned over to retrieve a new joint from the nightstand and handed it to Kendra.
“You know how I know you love me?” she asked. “You let me light the joint. You never let anyone light your joints.”
“I had to tell the truth.”
“And someday, in an interview, you’ll drop my name and my parents will find out that their daughter is a freak.”
“They’re going to read rock interviews?”
“It’s fucking hot, you know.”
Kendra handed me the joint and rolled over on the bed so her round naked butt shone in the morning light. She tugged the sheet until my cock sprang into view.
“Is it really that good?” she asked before planting long licks on my erection.
“Mm-mm.” I mumbled, fixated on watching her wiggle her ass as she teased me.
“You made me sound so dirty,” she complained and plunged my thickened cock into her mouth.
“No one knows what I mean and you’re such a dirty slut.” The cocksucking was getting to me.
What followed is well documented. Track 4. You know it. Everybody sing along.