bed of nails

Chapter 01

Would anyone ever tell that Richard Kruspe might have some problems with sex? Like...what? Richard Kruspe? Richard Zven Kruspe? The Richard from Rammstein? How? He had looks, style, charm, fame and skillful fingers (essential for a guitarist!!!). It shouldn't take him more than fifteen minutes to get a date! Women would throw themselves at him. Yea, all is true. The problem is...it wasn't about the women...
Don't read twice, rub your eyes, clean your screens. It's not a mistake, typo, even a joke.

It wasn't about WOMEN. Maybe it was some twisted kind of middle-age crisis coming, but slowly, Richard realized he craves masculine company. Someone might ask: MORE OF masculine company? He was in all-men band, spending ¾ of his life with five other dudes, recording or performing live, usually half-naked, sharing buses, sometimes hotel rooms, drinking, fooling around, taking pictures. Again, all true, but it wasn't what he meant. Attractive guys started catching his eye, on the street, in the crowd. Not because his vanity felt violated and envied haircut/clothes/fitness. No. He felt...attracted to them. Checking them out like hot chicks in the club. Judging their 'assets'.
It gave him hard time: denial, sleepless nights, feel of guilt and confusion. He was already considered...unclear...because of his metrosexual care of his body and the band. Rammstein didn't fuck around the bush. Half-naked dudes in makeup and leather fooled around the stage with their always-horny leader. Surely fans already had their theories about them. He didn't need to put oil to the fire anymore. but it was impossible for him to ignore this forever, since it wasn't just a few-days phase. He used his phone to browse at night, to avoid being caught. He found most anonymous gay clubs he could, as far from his neighborhood he could. Almost dark rooms. Perfect for one-night stands with strangers.

Armed with condoms and lube, he visited several different clubs, so no one would recognize him. And he did it. Well, did them. He hooked up with few young men, checking several possibilities. Usually drunk, sometimes high, he barely remembered these events, but they worked. His curiosity was fed. Steam blew off. He tried and kinda liked it, but it was enough. All he needed was clear and calm mind, free of sexual frustration. What happened in the clubs, remained in the clubs. No phone numbers, no real names. He wasn't very proud of being forced to this kind of sneaky play, but it just had to be done. And was done. Checked. Finished. Fertig.

He lived normally for few weeks, relieved, happy. No more insomnia, eating problems, cold sweat and feverish daydreams. Oh, how naïve. Soon, his body woke up again. But this time was different. It wasn't about grabbing a guy and fucking hell out of him, way more roughly than with a woman. Richard started dreaming of other man's hands, exploring his body. Making him...the bottom one. His hormones boiled and he felt like a horny teenager again. It wasn't comfortable to wake up with a boner almost every morning, around bandmates. Surely awkward. He still tried to fight it, but soon realized it was pointless. Nervousness came back. He avoided the band and talks, only pretending to listen and participate anything.

Finally, he gave up. There was no point in letting it kill him inside. Fantasizing wouldn't kill him, would it? One evening, once he laid in the bunk, he let his thoughts wander.
Fucking some pretty-boy twinks was one thing. This time, he wanted to be the one fucked. And this meant a lot. Some skinny dandy wouldn't make it. No. Richard's cheeky unconsciousness told him he needed a man. A Man, with capital M. Strong, bigger than him. Masculine. Tough. That would give the best night ever, along with legendary 'sweet pain' he'd never experienced.

In his dream, faceless macho tied his hands with a tie, making him completely vulnerable and submissive. Richard bit his lips hard not to sigh too loud at this vision. The man slaps his ass, whispering dirty complements about its roundness, firmness and being made to have a big cock in it. Sounds like a cheesy porn, but his dick didn't protest. He was made to beg for it. Finally, his request was fulfilled. Cool lube covered his entrance and soon, big pile of flesh entered his untouched interior. Slowly but continuously, until it was all inside. Hard, hot, twitching. Perfect. It started moving, thrusting into him. One of Richard's hands gripped on the comforter, while the other his crotch. He begged like a cheapest whore, enjoying every second. All he needed was to stick out his ass and let pleasure overcome him. Nothing more. No domination or initiative. Dirtiest satisfaction sent delicious friction down his spine. He came into awaiting tissue, burring face in the pillow so the moan wouldn't be that loud. Fuck. He felt good. His body still burned, from shame and pleasure. He knew it was all inside his head, but he also felt as if any of guys, for example Paul, would wake up and judge him like nobody's business for this. Forbidden fruit is the sweetest, isn't it?