Part One of Ahh Paris! series: Everybody Must Have A Fantasy

Chapter Three

"Kiss me, Richie," imaginary Jon asks, his fingers unbuttoning Richie's jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. As Richie leans in and takes his first slow kiss from his lips, imaginary Jon grasps Richie's ready cock in his hand.

The combination of both kiss and firm hand send Richie into full orgasm. Imaginary Jon disappears and Richie is left with a wet hand and stomach and gasping for breath. Groaning in frustration and disappointment, he throws his free arm up and over his face, hiding in embarrassment, his other hand still grasping his own cock, sticky with spent cum.

This is a scenario that will repeat itself over and over for years.

The band's success would mean that there was always a ready and willing supply of women. Richie would date some very beautiful and very successful women, but none would last. They would always accuse him of being distracted towards the end of the relationship, but none would ever discover the reason.

Some days he would catch Jon watching him with an uncertain look in his eyes. They'd both smile a non-committal smile or nod their heads to each other before continuing on as though nothing was wrong.

They'd become best friends over the years and the media loved to do joint interviews, even though Jon did most of the talking. Some would just get Richie for the comic sidekick role. It didn't matter to Richie, though, as long as he was with Jon, he'd play the fool as required. There were a few interviewers, however, who thought they'd try and dig up some dirt and ask if they were more than friends.

Jon would deal with it in one of two ways; he'd either steer the conversation elsewhere after stating that they were like brothers or he'd laugh it off. Those were the days that hurt the most.

Richie's favourite times were the nights on stage where they'd all be riding on a euphoric high from the adrenaline coursing through their veins or a little bit of a helping hand from some pharmaceuticals. Jon would be flirting up a storm. He didn't care if it was with the guys or the fans in the front few rows.

When Jon was on a sexual high, there was no stopping him. In the early years, he'd disappear with the closest groupie, only to reappear minutes later looking for the next. Richie did also, but only for the physical release of the after-show jitters.

He'd then go back to the hotel and wash off all the stench of sweat and stale perfume, lie in bed and think about how close Jon's sexy body was to him that night. That would usually bring him the biggest orgasm of all, and he'd fall asleep immediately with his cock still in hand. If they had to leave straight after the show for the next town, he would sometimes use the onboard bathroom when everyone was sleeping, take a washcloth in with him to bite down on and muffle any cries.

On this latest leg of the tour, his yearning for Jon had become almost unbearable. Maybe it was the fact they were in Europe; they'd always enjoyed their time on the Continent; the food, the wine, the scenery, the shows. This past week Richie was feeling jittery however; he needed to do something.

When they had their day off in Italy to themselves, most of them went sightseeing. Jon was left behind as he had to finish off some paperwork, or interviews; Richie wasn't quite sure, but he needed to get out of the hotel. He was starting to go slightly stir crazy from being cooped up for too long.

After a while, Richie broke away from the group, hair hidden in his hat and sunglasses firmly in place. He wandered around the alleyways totally content with his own company for a while. He stopped and browsed through little shops, picking up trinkets here and there, thoughtful things he knew his parents and the band would like. He spent a bit of time taste-testing local produce in a market area and stopped for a coffee and people watching.