Persephone [18+] ✔️ Complete

Chapter 1

I am twenty eight years old.

I'm working at a bar in Toronto called Tantalize. Sounds like it would be a club, but it's not. We don't play Top 40 shit, we have live bands every night of the week.

I fucking love this place.

I'm working the door for this pretty decent metal band. I'm a bartender, but it's a Thursday night and we're a little overstaffed. Plus the incredibly cute lead singer very politely asked me if one of us could take care of the door. They've got a five dollar cover, and none of their friends want to sit back here for them.

I check out the instruments. Well, the guitars. I love guitars. Especially the loud distorted thrashy sounds they make when used properly in a metal band. My mom hates metal. Probably why I started listening to it in high school.

Oh, I can appreciate all music. But nothing gets the heart pumping like a crunchy shredding solo over ridiculously fast power chords.

The rhythm guitarist is picking away at a Dean V, a special made knockoff of the Gibson Flying V. It's pretty badass, but not my style. The bassist next to him... well, I don't really give a shit about the bass. A bass is a bass unless you're Flea. Whatever.

The lead guitarist suddenly busts out into a solo and leaps to center stage, long curly Slash-esque hair whipping around. The notes are flawless and raw coming from a Les Paul Standard. My heart skips a beat. That simple black round shape, and the perfect melodic distortion coming from it.

And damn, can this guy ever shred. I'm digging the band more and more.

We get a lot of random bands in here; most I've never heard of. All of them local, from soft rock to metal to this one chick that thinks she can play the guitar but really just thrums the same three chords over and over.

"How's it going, Seph?" Marie, one of the other bartenders, yells into my ear over the music.

Yeah, I guess I'd better get the embarrassment over with. Marie called me Seph. My first name is Persephone. Thanks, Ma.

"These guys are good!" I yell back at her, and she makes a so-so motion with her hand. Marie's more into the classic stuff. I do love classic rock; that's where some of my very favourite guitar players come from. But there's just something about metal that makes me... wet? Yeah, probably. Thrash makes me horny. Guilty.

Since there is no possible way that Marie and I can carry on a conversation in all of this noise, she waves to me and then meanders back to the bar. I can't help checking out her ass. She always wears those tight jeans without pockets. And she's got to be wearing a thong or going commando under those buggers because her cheeks are just perfectly round.

For the record, I'm not a dyke. I don't like to put labels on things. Well, on myself, anyway. I'm a people person. Gay, straight, bi, whatever you want to call me. I'll look at anyone and make a call on whether I'd fuck them or not. It's as simple as that. I don't care if you have a cock or a pussy, if I find you attractive, I will have you.

Ha. That sounded pretty egotistical, didn't it? It's true, though. Straight girls never even turn me down. Seriously. I'm starting to think that there is no such thing as a straight girl anymore. 'Oh, I'm not like that' she'll say, until she's riding my face like her life depends on it.

I digress.

There's a break in the music and I look back to the stage to see the band conversing. Short break, maybe? They're all sweaty and breathing heavy, and chugging back beers. Why are musicians so sexy? That lead singer with the pretty eyes, so soft spoken and polite off stage. And then he gets up there and looks possessed as he screams bloody murder into the microphone.