Disclaimer: KISS, Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons are real persons, and this story is not meant to harm or demean them in any manner. It is a work of fiction. Trynia Merin and other characters are property of the author. Rated R for sexual content and language, so no readers under 18 please. Thanks to Eisencookie for help developing ideas for this story.

"Another choice for the wedding? Jeez, is your mom inviting the whole city of Philadelphia now?" Paul teased Trynia. The entire surface of the dining room table was covered with a collage of brochures from various wedding planners. Also, a few samples from interior design places tucked underneath, occupying spaces nearby. Trynia and Paul had browsed them the night before last, leaving them in place with Trynia's wedding planner book. As soon as her mother had heard the news a few months ago, she rattled off a list of must do's. Trynia had set the reception planning to her mother already, who was taking care of the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner and reception. Also, her mother was taking care of the arrangements for the wedding space, a nice country club that both her and her husband, Trynia's father, belonged to.

"Well we're going with having the wedding out East," Trynia said. "That okay?"

"Whatever you want honey. Just keep in mind that Gene will probably want to throw us a bash no matter WHERE we have this shebang," Paul said, taking her hand. "And anyway, I'm glad you're going with back east. It makes it easier to keep this low key."

"That's what I thought," Trynia nodded.

"Good girl," Paul smiled, kissing her cheek.

"Then there's the priest at my parish at home, he's going to want to talk to BOTH of us for counseling... premarital counseling... and you mentioned a rabbi you wanted..."

"Yeah, I gave you his card, right?"

"Well since YOU know him, you're going to have to get him in touch with my side... and then there's this list of flowers and other incidentals my mom sent me today... she wants me to pick roses or carnations..."

Just then, the phone rang, and Paul leapt up to get it. He excused himself, kissing her cheek lightly as he grabbed the cordless phone and answered.

"Hello?" he asked, wandering into the kitchen. She ran a hand through her hair, glancing down at her mother's letter, and the numerous choices for flowers, bridal registry, and caterers. Although her uncle agreed to cater the banquet, the guest list request drove her mad. Who should come, and who shouldn't. Especially since Paul had side stepped the issue of who all he would have coming if it was back east.

Her parents and the guest list. Trynia twisted a lock of hair around her fingers, and sighed deeply. It had been difficult to resist the temptation to log onto the Internet and see what was going on, but she succumbed.

Now, looking over the guest list so far, and reading her mother's latest letter, she couldn't suppress the tight feeling in her chest that suddenly arose. Her parents seemed so thrilled about the impending marriage, in May, and already her father had taken on the task of informing as many relatives as he could. She still had not chosen a maid of honor yet, and that was another nagging question.

Through the kitchen door, she could hear Paul talking at length with someone. Fear arose in her, and she wondered if Paul had discovered the recent train of events. If her mother and father were to discover just what the general fans at asylum were saying, what would they think of their daughter?

Paul returned, seeing her sitting there glumly, pencil tucked behind her ear. He gently teased, "So, you can't decide between the birds of paradise or the roses?"

Trynia sighed, and shook her head. Paul sat down near her, and glanced at the brochure incredulously with a laugh. Pretending to peer at it upside down, he glanced over all the options and commented, "Damn, there are more choices in here then in a guitar catalogue. Are we getting married or getting a new car?"

"I really don't care..." she sighed. "Its just mom threw this at me..."

"Well didn't you say you were leaving it up to her, so what does she care as long as you're happy right?"

"I know, but mom likes to be picky," Trynia sighed, rubbing her face.

"So, just get some damn carnations or tell someone to bring there own. I just want it to be the prettiest it can, for our special day..."

"Dammit Paul, there are MORE important things then fricking FLOWERS!" Trynia snapped, suddenly loosing her composure. Angrily she hurled the flower book at the wall.

Shocked, Paul jumped to a standing position from where he had been reclining against the counter. He demanded, "Hey.... HEY now! Wait a minute. What the heck?"

"Stupid trivial crap, I just don't get why it matters," she muttered to herself, burying her head in her hands.

"Forget the damn flowers, OK? I was just teasing. They can be FLAMING pink for all I care...." Paul assured her.

"Oh god Paul I sorry I just..." she apologized, hands over her ears in shock at what she had done.

Paul raised an eyebrow at her, and asked, "Care to tell me why this is suddenly something to throw a book over?"

"It's not the damn flowers..." she sighed as he walked over and leaned over the kitchen table, one hand pressed flat against the top of the wooden table to support himself.

"Didn't I say that I would let you plan the whole damn thing, no prying from me?"

"I... damn it I'm just been very on edge lately...." she shivered, hiding her face from him.

"And haven't I KEPT that promise?" he asked, puling her hands from her face so he could look directly into her dark eyes.

"Yes..." she snorted exasperatedly.

"Look, if it's that a**hole again, you can always change your mind and I'll get our attorney to send him a nasty letter."

"No. It's not that..." she sighed. "Its... oh lord I promised I wouldn't say anything..."

"Then...I give...what is it?" he whispered, taking a chair and settling into it.

"If you MUST know it's the damn fricking INTERNET!"

Surprised by her answer he chuckled, "The INTERNET?"

"Specifically those stupid assholes over at asylum!" Trynia spat in disgust. "They don't know SHIT from shinola!!!"

He rolled his eyes dramatically and reached over to hug her saying, "Sweetheart, being a lifelong Kiss fan, DON'T tell me you don't know what crap goes on over there. You KNOW better than to let it upset you."

"Even when it's PERSONAL?" she asked.

"Half those morons over there just want to start rumors, and the other half just want them to go away," he soothed. "So...what...they think I'm gay again, right? Or I'm dating a 3-headed monster...or I'm Gene's bitch.... Or...or..."

"Then how about the 'Paul's art bitch"..." Trynia asked after an awkward pause to gather her thoughts. "Who he keeps under lock and key in his home..."

"Now honey that is just another rumor..." Regarding her curiously, he stopped in mid sentence. "YOU?"

"An Italian model, who is named Tracey, and is COLLEGE AGED?"

"Damn, they're not even close, sweetie, so why do you let it bother you?" he asked. With another frustrated sigh, she pulled away. Why didn't he get it?

"Who flirts with ANY MAN living, and gets the shit kicked out of him by Paul?" she asked. "And who might possibly be mistaken for his long lost DAUGHTER?"

"Are you worried that I'll read it and somehow think it's true? Don't you know how much I trust you?" Paul asked firmly, squeezing her shoulder. He stopped cold for a minute at the mention of a daughter.

"No. I'm worried about my PARENTS," Trynia said seriously, voice tinged with anger and mingled fear.

"W-well, umm, it's probably just that you look young. That's all" but she can tell he doesn't care for the daughter reference.

"They seem to think I'm either your long lost daughter, or you coed college art Bitch..." she continued. "I don't care about then thinking I'm young... but it's just that it's gotten steadily worse..."

He reached over and kissed her ear softly, "Hon, I HARDLY think your mother spends time at the message board of the Asylum."

"No," Trynia sighed, closing her eyes and looking past him. "I just... what if my brother sees it and happens to let it slip?"

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" Paul asked.

"Perhaps it's no big deal. I'm sorry I brought it up," she said resignedly, throwing up her hand. Pushing away from the table she rose and rushed out of the kitchen.

Paul bit his lip, rising to follow her. Instantly he knew this was deadly serious, and he had to nip it in the bud lest it fester and grow worse. If there was, one thing he hated it was the silent treatment from his new fiancée.

"No, WAIT. I don't want you mad at me. Let's talk about this," Paul called after her, pursuing her into the garden. Grabbing the ebony handled cane he limped a bit after her to keep pace with her rapid stride.

By the time he reached her, he saw her standing with her back to him, facing the crystalline waters of the swimming pool. He could tell her arms were folded across her chest, weight on one foot as she leaned against nothing.

"Trynia... talk to me, sweets, please!" Paul implored, grasping her arm.

"Paul, I know it isn't a big deal, but the rumors..."

"It's just that if we ACKNOWLEDGE this, it will only get worse," Paul interrupted her.

"I know that Paul," she sighed, still facing away. "It's just that I NEVER had to deal with a lack of privacy before."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of Kiss, love," he said, stroking her hair and hugging her from behind.

"Terrific," she muttered.

"Absolutely perfect."

"I wish I could tell you it was going to be different, but I'd be lying," Paul said. He playfully wounds a strand of hair in her fingers.

"I guess its part of the package, Miss Merin."

"I guess I can never have any damn privacy again," she cursed. "Because every fucking clown wants to know who the hell I am."

"No, now that's not true. What we do inside our house should have the utmost privacy...." Paul reprimanded her gently.

"Yes, but they don't give a shit," Trynia snapped.

"It's just that when we go OUT, there are going to be people watching. That's all. You just.... Get used to it, I guess."

"Half the women who are your fans think I'm some BITCH after your money," Trynia protested. "They know NOTHING about who I REALLY am! Like Linda!"

He sighed, "I guess I've had 30 years of practice, and you've had, say, 6 months."

"Yeah, lucky me," she muttered gloomily, pushing away from him and wandering toward the patio, bordered by several arbors that bore grapevines.

Paul grew silent and sullen, turning his back to her. Finally, he said in a low voice, "So, what you're saying is we want me to tell the fans...really TELL them?"

Trynia wandered over to a bench under a large weeping willow tree. Sitting down, she peered over the hills of Beverly visible behind the next house, and the tall fence. Its varnished slats and the distant walls of the gated community mocked her with their tranquility. Paul remained where he was, sighing deeply.

"No," she answered after a time. "I don't know WHAT. I guess I'm letting stupid shit make me crazy."

Paul turned back to her, limping over with cane in hand, "Mike called me the other day. You remember Mike, honey? From KOL?"

"What is wrong with me? You'd think I could TAKE IT... but I guess I'm not cracked up for it," Trynia despaired.

"Not cracked up for it as in WHAT? You don't' WANT THIS?" he whirled around on her, horrified.

"No!" she shouted back. "That's NOT it... Oh shit I don't know WHAT I'm saying anymore..."

"Tryn, I wish I could tell you that people would leave us alone, but unless we buy a nice upscale sand dune in Egypt, I'm going to get recognized!" Paul shot back, voice raised.

"I should have just said nothing," Trynia answered softly, furious at herself.

"Anyhow, Mike called to ask about my recovery. Then he mentioned the rumors. He's heard the same damn thing," Paul sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "And he asked me if I care to comment.... Officially."

Half crying, half-scowling, she hid her face from him. Angry at herself and at the situation, she muttered, "Stupid, stupid stupid, Tryn..."

His dark eyes glared intently in her direction, indicating his general anger, not directed at her. He turned his gaze to her, intent as he asked, "So...do we?"

"I don't know," Trynia answered after a long pause. "I just hope I haven't ruined this by my stupid bitching."

He calmed down a bit when she continued, "I don't' know why it should bother me but I don't know what to think I'm so angry at upset... I love you so much..."

"My only thought was that if I SAY something, then we open ourselves up to having ALL kinds of unwanted "guests" at the wedding," Paul said softly.

"I guess I just have to accept facts," Trynia looked up at him, rubbing the bench surface lightly with a manicured fingertip. "I'm going to be married to a celebrity..."

"And the rumors and buzzing will get even worse. People will want to know who you are, where you come from, how I met you, what about kids, how am I in bed, blah blah blah. I've BEEN there before, Honey. It's just a matter of 'Do we deal with this now or after the wedding?" Paul continued.

Trynia rose from the bench, crossing her arms before her chest and peering out over the fence to look at the ocean, then the hills. When he did not hear an immediate answer, concern rose again in him, and he said softly, "So, it's your choice."

"I'll do whatever makes you happy. I'm tired of running from this," Trynia said dully, not turning to address him. An awkward silence ensued.

"So, let me know, I suppose. I get the feeling you want to be alone now, so I'm going." he said gently, limping away toward the house again.

Alone, Trynia simply stood there, continuing to look out at the Hills. Pulling off her glasses, she wiped away tears. Bitterly she began to cry, unable to hold back her angry sobs. She was furious at herself for being so trivial, and furious at the people on asylum.

In the meantime, Paul stood in the living room in a black mood. He felt terrible just leaving her there crying, but sensed that nothing he could say would help her through this. From his own experience, he knew when a person needed time alone to reflect. How like him, he sighed ruefully. He felt terrible just letting her cry. Especially when he heard the door open and the sound of her sobs echoing as she rushed up the stairs.

Sighing, Paul made his way into the kitchen, and picked up the cordless phone. Taking the personal diary, he thumbed through it to find the number he wanted. Stabbing the buttons he dialed up Mike, and waited for a reply. Instead of Mike, he heard a female voice cheerfully say, "Hello? Can I help you?"

"Hey, Cathy! How are you?" he said as cheerfully as he could.

"Hey, how are you Mr. Stanley?" she asked with surprised and reverence. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm doing great. Look, I need Mike for something," said Paul. "Is he in?"

"Sure... I'll just go get him... hang on!" she chirped eagerly. "Hold on a minute, I'll be right back!"

"Great" he muttered, looking around distractedly for Trynia. He heard the echoing of footsteps on the floor above, guessing she must have retreated to the new studio he had set up for her painting.

"Hi Paul, how can I help you?" Mike's polite voice cut over the phone.

"I guess you've heard about the rumor mill."

"Michael, yes, I need you to put a statement from me on the news section of the site right away."

"Sure... what would you like it to say?"

"It's about my fiancée and our wedding day," Paul said.

"Right. I'm sorry about the threads lately, but you can't get those guys to shut up..." Mike apologized. "I mean I did warn the moderators..."

"Yeah, I know, but it's really upsetting to my lady, and I think she wants some reprieve."

"Well shall I take it over the phone, or will you email me a statement?" Mike asked. "Or fax one maybe? Up to you, you're the boss you know."

"Not to say that this isn't going to make it much WORSE, but at least they will know that she is someone very important to me."

"Well it's your call sir."

"I tell you what.... I want to get with her on it before we sent it. I'll email you a copy here in the next hour," Paul suggested, glancing up in the direction of Trynia's studio.

"Great... I'll be waiting," Mike answered. "And by the way... Congratulations."

He sighed and smiles, "Yeah, APPRECIATE it. Second times the charm, huh?"

"I sure hope so," Mike said. "She must be one special woman."

"Yes, she is. I tell you what. You make this nice and pretty and when YOU get engaged, I'll let you have the front page also" Paul teased.

"Thanks bunches Paul," he laughed. "I just gotta wait for the right time to pop the question."

"Any time. Check your email in about an hour, OK?"

"Sure thing. See you Paul. Good luck." Mike replied.

Paul clicked down the phone, and left the kitchen. Up the main flight of stairs he walked, toward her studio. The door was closed, and he knocked loudly when he heard music from within.

There was no answer, and he frowned. Trying the doorknob he noticed it was unlocked, and pushed it open. A soft breeze wafted the lace curtains, the sun beaming through to the hardwood floor in the spacious studio. A radio sounded distantly, an easel set up with a few streaks of paint already upon it. Yet why was her labcoat draped over the stool with the brush and palette set to one side on the portable table?

Frowning, he picked up her smock and called out, "Trynia? Sweets are you in here? Look, I need to talk to you. Please don't be like this..."

No answer to his words came. Sighing he tossed the smock down over the chair, and moved over to the boom box to turn it off. It was then that he noticed the distant music was not emanating from the box at all, but someplace else. Just what was it? It sounded remotely like KISS music, with a rather shaky lead guitar, the work of an amateur. Cocking an eyebrow, he wandered out of the studio to follow the source of the mysterious music.

"Trynia!" he called loudly. Confused, he followed the noise to its intensification, and realized it was coming from down the hall, in the direction of his music room. As the noise increased, he realized it was someone who had the command of basic chords, struggling to strum along to Deuce.

"Trynia?" he called again, over the noise. From the ajar door he heard a loud blast of guitar music, and saw its source. Pushing it lightly open he peered around and chuckled to himself. In the midst of the varnished floor someone stood, with a guitar strap slung over their shoulder, one of his spare ones that was studded leather across her shoulder. From the headstock protruding, he noticed it was a PS 2000 Washburn, one of his standard guitars. His stereo system played Deuce in one channel of the amplifier, while she strummed along to the rhythm part.

He heard her half singing, "Baby if you're feeling good... baby if you're feeling right... you know you're man is working hard..."

"It's worth a Deuce!" Paul chimed in, starling her. She whirled around, struggling to turn off the CD as she saw him standing there with an amused smile.

"OH god... Paul... shit... I'm sorry..." she gasped.

So startled, she almost tripped on her feet before Paul held up a hand and smiled, grasping her wrist to steady her. He said, "You're not doing badly, for a beginner."

"I... uh... well..." she stammered.

"Don't let me stop you, love," he smiled. Relieved to see no anger on his face, she watched him hold up a finger, and turn up the volume again. He pulled up a stool and sat down. He sat and watched her play, arms folded, a small smile on his face. Limping over to one of the guitars on the stands, he picked up his Ibanez and slung it over his shoulder, checking the strings carefully. She finished Deuce, and watched him sit down again on his stool.

"Uh... you actually want to play with me?" she asked. "I thought you'd be mad."

"It's OK. I do it all the time. Music helps to calm me, kind of like your art does for you."

"I guess... I wanted to see... what it was like."

"Holding a guitar...or being me?" he asked.

"Both," she blushed.

He smiled at her, "I never knew you could play... you stinker. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... never told you I took lessons briefly... I wasn't Great but I could play a lot of songs on ALIVE 1 and 2."

"Well it has good days and bad days. Who taught you to play?"

"My brother knows guitar... he can play a LOT of your songs," she said. "He showed me a thing or two..."

"No, but I'm not surprised. You are very talented."

"Uh well I'm not that GREAT," she answered sheepishly. "My fingers are a bit small for guitar."

He grinned at her, "I guess I've given you a few too, but somehow they always end in sex."

"I know this isn't MY guitar... but I was looking for one that wouldn't be too expensive if I messed it up or broke it."

"MMMMMMM, the finger excuse." he teased her, "You could do just fine with some practice."

"I well... thought that if you knew I was playing your guitar..."

"Nah, I get those for free. Compliments of Washburn, you can say," he laughed, taking a tuner and setting up to adjust the strings on his Ibanez. "It's yours, if you want it. In case you want to take it up."

"Uh... no really?" she asked, blushing.

He grinned again, "Nope, it's definitely yours."

"I have to admit... sometimes when you weren't here... I sort of uh..."

"Played with your others... But I always made sure they were in top shape..."

"Now sweeetheart", he drawled. "You can play with ANYTHING of mine you can find, and take that ANYWAY you want to."

"Uh... I did sort of polish a few of them too... they were getting a little dusty."

He smiled lightly, "The expensive ones are over there. You just might not want to experiment on them."

"Especially THAT one... right?" she asked, indicating the priceless shattered mirror guitar hanging on the wall, from Crazy Nights. Paul glanced up at it, realizing that it was very highly polished. More so then usual.

"You did a great job. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she flushed.

He brushed his toes awkwardly against the floor, and indicated she should take a stool and sit down next to him. Sighing, he began, "Hon, I don't want to fight with you...."

"I guess... I just wanted to see what it was like... being you..." she answered. "Trying to understand things from your POV..."

"Honey... look, I'm really touched. I just hate to see you upset."

"I'm just so sorry I lost it... I don't know why... it should matter."

"I guess I'm used to it, or at least SORT of used to it. Not that I love all the invasions of privacy.... Actually I HATE them, but its part of what I do," he said wryly. "I guess it comes with the package, dented as it may be."

"Hmm yes," she chuckled, then sighed again.

"I guess Christine Kulick was right when she find, "Go find yourself a plumber," he said.

"I'm just scared... that I won't be able to hack it," Trynia sighed. "That I'll screw up... I'll say or do the wrong thing to the press, and they'll smear your name worse."

"I'm not worried about that," he says firmly. "And frankly, if you say something and they take it the wrong way, that's their concern."

"I know Paul... it's just..."

He looked down at the floor, absentmindedly for a moment and paused before speaking, "I guess there's some truth to you being a princess locked away in her tower. I haven't exactly been excited about putting you in the limelight."

She started to finger pick on the guitar, sighing, "I don't know if I am..."

"I guess...because I wasn't sure if you were ready for it," he continued, looking up at her.

"I know nothing about being a celebrity. Hell I go from being Jane Grad to being Jane starstuff..."

"People...jealous people...like to pick on women that Kiss date. Let alone MARRY," Paul said. "It's that way with ANYONE famous. And Linda, well she was just fodder for the rumor mill."

"Well I'm just thinking... they don't know ANYTHING about me..." Trynia said. "And maybe that's a GOOD thing for now. Hell, they know NOTHING about me being a chemist..."

"They picked her APART there at the end. Some of it was her fault. Probably some was mine. But I couldn't stop it."

"I don't expect YOU to have the answers, Paul," she said. "I guess I'm getting scared of the heights..."

"Funny, you should say that, lover, because I sort of did something," he announced. She glanced at him in suprise, wide eyed.

"What was that?"

"I called Mike back."

"You... called mike?" she asked, breathless.

"And told him I wanted to make a statement on KOL. Today."

"Oh god..." she suddenly grew pale.

"We need to stop running from this. I love you, Tryn. I'm not ashamed to let anyone know it," he admitted. Still silent, but intent she looked at him, her throat choking with emotion again.

"And I want to protect you. God KNOWS I do, but I have to realize that I can't. Not all the time. All the body guards in the world can't stop people from yakking on the Internet."

"Yes..." she nodded.

"Or some lady in the grocery store to comment on your outfit.... Or people commenting on whether or not you are pregnant.... Or fans at a concert making snide comments..."

"Well who can?" she shrugged with a laugh.

"All of those are things that I PRAY won't happen to you.... But I know they will," he finished. Intently now he watched her, dark eyes wide.

"I guess the thing that scared me the most... Was that these people don't even know me, and already they've put together someone TOTALLY different," she said. "From NOTHING but a few rumors they invented a TOTALLY different person."

"Maybe that's why a statement might help. Maybe. Maybe not," he shrugged.

"I think... That they'll believe ANYTHING we want them too, won't they, Paul?"

"It's not going to stop some ass from claiming you were coming on to this guy or that guy, but perhaps it will make some of the fans happy to know that I'm in love," he gave her a half-smile. "And the rest... screw 'em."

"I love you too, Paul. And I don't care about the money or the fame," she said firmly. "Only making you and me as happy as we can be."

"Just be prepared for the inevitable "Is she or is she not pregnant" string on the net."

"Heh, kind of hard when you're using condoms and other means of protection," she chuckled back.

"Apparently, my ability to father offspring is an INTERESTING topic of conversation," Paul grinned. "Very interesting...Speaking of which....

"I almost wish it was true," she whispered, flushing nervously.

He looked at her with his dark eyes for a long time, as she turned on the CD player and picked another KISS song, Tonight You belong to Me, and began to play the intro to it.

"I don't want to wait very long" he whispered, joining in with the lead.

"I don't either," she answered. "Ever since I saw Terri's face in that hospital... And saw her holding Jacob for the first time."

He laughed, "Gene TOLD me that would an effect on you. He predicted that day that you'd be in that bed in one year. I didn't deny it. Asshole..."

"Oh good lord, now you and Gene are discussing my breeding habits," she laughed, embarrassed.

"Nah, I think it's more a guy thing." he laughs, "MY sperm got her sperm before YOURS did hers."

"Oh brother... considering the fact that they've dated a whole YEAR or so before we even met!"

"Kind of like Asteroids. Remember that computer game?" he grinned.

"Oh good lord!" Trynia groaned. "What about SPACE INVADERS?"

Paul guffawed at that crack, "A perfect example, love. There. You sound JUST like Gene. I mean, you hear about people getting pregnant on their honeymoon..."

Again his voice trailed off, and they continued to play his song together. Paul shuffled his feet once more.

"Well... I don't care much for these birth control pills..." Trynia answered.

"And I really...REALLY.... Hate condoms," Paul said, raising an eyebrow. "How about you throw them away, then?"

"I just was asking Terri how long it would take if I quit them... to get... I uh... didn't renew my prescription for next month."

Paul's intent gaze lowered on her, and he interrupted, "I mean, what's the worse case? You get pregnant in April...we get married in May. We'll shock those who do the math. That's not THAT horrible, is it?"

"Well it's just... that there are SO many hormones in my body..."

"We'll just tell everyone that little Paulie Junior came a month early" he winked playfully. "Not that it HAS to be a boy...."

"Chemically the stats are against us getting pregnant in the first few months."

"Yes..." Paul nodded, becoming excited at the notion of children.

"It sort of begs the question," Trynia said slowly. "What will happen about the religion issue... mom's going to NAG me about that one."

"Hmm, well, I guess we come up with a way for them to honor both of ours. I don't want either of us to get shut out, religion wise."

"This is going to sound CHEESY... but what if we had both a girl and a boy?" she asked.

"That sounds PERFECT!" he smiled.

"I wish it was that easy," she laughed.

"Twins!" he teased evilly.

"But twins do run in my family..." Trynia pointed out. "My cousins are twins..."

"Yes, and you HAVE to nurse so you get really big like Terri," he quipped, touching his chest comically.

"OH good lord," she laughed.

"And if you ever need to practice, let's just say The Love Machine is always on," he teased.

"I don't know WHAT that means," she groaned.

"Take it any way you want, doll," he winked, reaching over and setting his stool RIGHT in front of hers. Knees touched, guitars positioned over their laps. Reaching off, she turned off the stereo and grabbed another CD. She cued it up, and began a riff as the song clicked on. "Sooooooo..." Paul grinned, taking her cue. He began to sing the lyrics, taking the rhythm as she tried to take the lead.

In between guitar strands, he said, "Soooooo, does this mean what I think it means?"

"Uh well... WHEN did you say you were going to call Mike?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, an hour." he said distractedly. "But first, I have to know...."

"You have to knoo...oww.." she joked.

He grinned back at her, "I have to knoooo-owwwww if this means we are officially trying, or if I have to be a good boy until May."

"Aww boohoo," she chuckled.

"Paulie HATES being a good boy," he pouted even more.

"I know...." she laughed. "I hate being a good girl...after you've corrupted me... After Gene practically THREW us together..."

"Even more than Paulie hates condoms," he pouted very dramatically. "I don't wanna romance I don't wanna dance... I just wanna f*k... I just wanna f*k... whoops!"

"Oh cute!" she laughed. "Argh, I'm LOST on this damn Lead..."

"I'll take it from here... you just lay down those chords," he grinned.

"Screw Gene. He's got his own woman."

"Lady Starchild HATES chemicals in her body... that aren't of the natural sort..." Trynia answered.

"Now, back to ME... I don't wanna romance... I don't wanna dance..." he pouts again.

"I don't want to SCREW gene... I just wanna Fuh... I just wanna Fuh... YOU!"

"Yeah, but.... But...you've got to tell me if I can fire up the ray guns for Space Invader, or I've got to put on a damn raincoat," he pouted even more, giving her the big brown eyes.

"Oh good lord..." she groaned, playing a chord for emphasis.

"I suppose if I HAVE to, it's only 2 months," he says, in a sad voice.

"Now wait a minute... just WAIT a minute mister!" she laughed. "Whose timetable are we on here?"

He tossed her little glances of his puppy dog eyes, pleading as he heard her answer, "Its going to take a WHILE to get these damn Hormones out of this body..."

"But... I'm not getting my way," he said, switching off the CD and playing a sad riff. "I mean, it's going to take a LONGGGGGG time to get up to speed. I might have to play Space Invaders for a VERY long time before I connect."

"But before a performance, don't you practice?" she asked, moving her stool so close her knees nested inside of his spread ones. Paul raised an eyebrow again, and the pout began to vanish.

"Yes, I do" he looked at her pensively.

"Trial runs, as we say in science?" she winked, running a finger down the bridge of her guitar.

"Only I don't wear a condom when I do it," he gave her an innocent look.

"Then, big boy, what do you say to going upstairs, and deep sixing those birth control pills?"

"Mmm," he smiled widely. "Paulie's liking the sound of this."

"I have 25 left..." she grinned.

"I'm starting to win this discussion," he commented, riffing to an improvisation of a new tune.

"What made you think you would LOSE?"

"You are vulnerable to the Pout. I'm batting a thousand," he grinned.

"What made you think it was YOUR idea alone?" she challenged him.

"Well, because you're so responsible and practical and stuff, and you like to be so logical and scientific and such," he teases as he leaned over her guitar and kissed her softly. Leaning over, she kissed him back, and they realized before their guitars collided that they should take care.

"And I...I just like sex," he winked, hand on her cheek.

"Who doesn't?" she grinned.

"Do YOU, little girl?"

"Ack! With the little girl stuff!" she pouted. "I'm MORE then legal!"

He laughed loudly, "NOW look who's pouting! OK, ERICA! Not a baby, right?"

"Right, Mr. Stanley." she nodded. "And I do believe that these guitars are getting in the way, don't' you?"

"Mmm, no it's Master Paul, last time I checked."

"Am I your LOVE slave?" she asked, starting the riff to Master and Slave. "Damn how does that go?"

"That's a hard one, doll. Like this...." he pointed to his guitar, and started the pattern. Reaching across he fiddled with some bars on the graphic equalizer on his stereo, and cued up Master and Slave from the Carnival of Souls CD she had out to isolate Gene's steady baseline. A pulsing grind cranked out, and he showed her the chord progression. She followed the intricate dance of fingers, and smiled as she began to pick it up.

"It works a LOT better with a baseline," she smiled.

"It would work MUCH better with these alongside my face" he teased, running his finger up her thigh.

"Ohh sweet talker," she answered, continuing to play. She started to get the hang of the rhythm. Paul picked up the lead.

"Very nice" he smiled and complimented her. "There, now why did you think you couldn't do that?"

"Uh... two possibilities..." she winked. "One... I could have been holding out on you... Two... I learn FAST."

"It's like when we first made love. You didn't think you could... accommodate me...then later, you didn't think you could go all night... you do BOTH of those very well, I might add."

"Hmmm," she hummed. "Do tell. There are a lot of things about me you don't know, Master Stanley."

He winced, "And I HATE that sound of you holding out on me."

"I thought holding out makes the climax sweeter..." she answered, succumbing to the incessant grind of the baseline pulsing under their efforts.

"I'm all ears, sweetheart. PLEASE tell me," he said, then shifted into the solo part of the song... imitating Bruce Kulick.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she saw the moist stain of sweat soaking through his white sleeveless shirt. His hair confined by the striped bandanna, he appeared much like his casual self on tour before her.

"Tell me all your erotic fantasies of sex with rhythm guitarists," he called over the music, rubbing her leg with his thigh alongside of hers.

"What about your big solo?" she joked.

"And I'll tell you alllllll about mine with beautiful novice guitar players."

"Isn't there a part that goes like this?" she asked. She played a bit of the solo from Master and Slave, messing it up and wincing. Glancing down she noticed the source of her distraction, the growing tightness of Paul's jeans, which was extremely visible at such proximity. Paul grinned, holding up a hand and showing her the correct pattern.

Scooting close, her knees slipped right to the brim of his stool, his legs bracketing hers and squeezing gently to nestle her between them as they locked eyes. He whispered, "I could give you formal lessons some day if you want...for a price."

"What is the price, master?" she asked, blinking like Jeannie on I dream of Jeannie. Of course, he played the line perfectly, with her backing him up on rhythm.

"Oh lord I thought Bruce was the only one who knew TAHT solo." She whispered, as the song ended.

"First off, it will be VERY expensive, because frankly it is hard as HELL to think about musical chords, when all I really want to do is dive into you, condom-free."

"Umm," she whispered. Silence answered them both, and Paul switched off the CD. Leaning forwards, he rubbed her thigh lightly, before getting up and shifting his guitar to his back. There was a small refrigerator in the music room and he walked over to it. She saw the graceful curves of his muscled back as he leaned over to extract two bottles of water out of it. Returning, he sat down again, and handed her one, taking the other for himself. He noticed she was staring intently at his crotch, and chuckled.

"Hmm, am I having an impact?" she asked.

"Hmmm, what's that?" he looked back at her, chugging a swig of Evian water. He realized what she was referring to and laughed.

"You KNOW what I mean," she laughed back, slipping her own guitar to her back.

"Now, you KNOW me, sugar," he drawled in a strong New York accent. "I'm ALWAYYYYYS ready to play!"

"Hmm," she laughed.

"I'm a thinkin that' the little boy wants to play," she answered in an Italian accent. "Heez a wantin ti come out..."

"He is...always ready to come out," he said, very seductively and slowly, reaching across to rub her knee slowly. "Now, if you're gonna jump in mah cab.... I'm gonna need payment up front."

"Do tell..." she laughed, running a finger down the bridge of her guitar seductively. "Hmmm. are you my Vehicle baby?"

"As a matter of fact I am, and THIS cab has been inspected VERY recently," he said, patting his lap. Sipping her water, she realized how dry her throat was at that moment. Trynia swigged a huge gulp down, and felt his hand on her arm, tugging her toward him to oust her from her stool. Paul reached and unfastened his guitar strap, and lowered h his instrument to its stand once more. He tucked his legs on the rung of his stool, pulling her to straddle him there. Trynia pretended to have trouble sitting down, pulling her guitar around front and sitting down with her back to his chest. "Damn, you're a handful today" he chuckles, "Get OVAH heeah and let me love you, my little love passenger."

"Mmm, this seat is lumpy," she joked. She moved around a bit, to reposition herself on him, taking off her guitar and setting it down.

He began to pout, "NOW where are you going?"

"Am I allowed to Play in here?"

"My momma says that I should have sex any time I want it, and you DON'T want to disappoint my momma" he teased.

"And what would your momma say about this little passenger?" she asked.

He chuckled, "She loves you, as a matter of fact. She wants many babies."

"Hmmm. You're like the rock star, and I'm the front row chick flashing my tits, only you're NOT noticing me," he pouted, and softly kissed her arm. "Besides, it's been 20 minutes. That gives us 20 minutes to screw and 20 minutes to write a speech for Mike..."

"Hmmm." she laughed.

"You KNOW. I do believe you are a Music Room Virgin, little miss."

"Oh really?" she joked. "Is there anything I need to know?"

"It's going to be VERY painful. You might want to start getting scared now. Because, well, I SO hate to brag, but I just happen to be HUGE right now," he put her hand on his crotch and sighed.

"Oh really?" she chuckled and shifted in his lap playfully.

"Yes, but it's not my fault. I've been teased mercilessly today."

"And perhaps you need a warm up? Before your main performance?" she asked, lightly rubbing his chest and kissing him softly.

"Yes, I am feeling VERY cold."

"Hmm. what techniques do I need to know?" she whispered hoarsely. There were a number of floor length windows in the music room, facing the street so they were visible. She knew that Paul found that fact a turn on. Closing his eyes, he threw back his head.

"Whatever you want to teach me, sweetheart," he whispered. She shifted in his lap and straddled him. He fumbled his hand under her dress, trying to get in her panties. Through his shirt, she rubbed the contours of his back, hugging him tightly and rubbing her breasts against his chest. How they had hardened and toned lately! With one hand around her back, he pulled her skirt up to reveal her underwear. Slowly he tugged at the waist of it.

"Got anything in there for a hungry musician?" he asked. "A hungry GOOD BOY musician?"

Reaching around she tugged his shirt out of his shorts, yanking it up. He moaned, as he loves when she rubs his chest. Slipping her hand under the shirt, she played with the soft hair abundant over his body.

He sighed in mock desperation and released the underwear long enough to pull his arms out of his shirt, raising it over his head. She threw it down and started to kiss his neck. Hands rubbed all over his strongly toned arms and chest now.

"Remember that time you were tied up?" He murmured frantically in her ear. Slipping her hands down, she ran them between his jeans and his underwear to caress his butt.

"Mmm? Is your meter running?" she asked.

"I was just thinking about it. How nice it was...." he whispered again, nibbling her earlobe and sucking it. "Mmm, give you any inspirations?"

She lifted her arms and held them both together over her head, mumbling softly as he kissed down to her clavicle, "Just that at first you didn't trust me, and then you did. And it was really wonderful."

"I can screw you with No hands mister," she laughed.

He laughed in return, "That sounds like demented playground talk, but I LOVE it."

"Hmmm, perhaps I have an extra guitar string around here," he teased.

"How about that guitar strap? Or that belt?" she asked, pulling at his belt.

"Perrrfect," he cooed. Nudging her off his lap, he stood up. Very slowly he unbuckled his belt, and slipped it out of his loops without unbuttoning his pants. Folding it double, he snapped it between his hands. He nodded in the direction of a maroon overstuffed couch sitting in the corner of the studio, and she grinned in anticipation of what was to come. Taking her wrists he put them behind her back and turned her around, using the belt to wrap around her wrists.

"Comfortable, honey?" he cooed.

"So far so good," she laughed. "Do I sit or stand, or kneel?"

"Hmm it depends on what Master Paul wants," he winked, sitting down on the couch and laying there with his arms spread out, knees far apart. She could see the evidence of his excitement confined by the tight jeans, and an erotic jolt snapped her to attention.

Reaching up he began to stroke her thighs, pulling her hips to just before his face. She groaned as he reached up her dress, playfully tugging at her underwear. Slipping his head under her skirt, he chuckled as he closed his teeth around her waistband and began to pull her panties off with his mouth. Hands crept up simultaneously and caressed her hips, then moved up and down to tickle her ribs. Hot breath against her body drove her wild, to the same excited state as she saw. Lifting her, he helped her step out of her underwear. Taking them he tossed them over the end of the sofa, and started to work on her dress. It was becoming harder for him to ignore his own need rising to it.

"These jeans are getting a little... tight..." he drawled. "I think I need a little help getting them off..."

"Hmm, that could be tricky," she chuckled.

"See if you can improvise for you master," he arched an eyebrow dramatically. Slipping to her knees, she leaned into his lap, rubbing her cheek over the bulge in his jeans. Groaning he buried fingers in her hair, and she unfastened the button with her tongue and lips, tugging the zipper down slowly as she had done so skillfully before. Paul stood up before her, still on her knees. Teasingly he wriggled his hips to shimmy out of his tight shorts before her, driving her mad with excitement. Abdominal muscles rippled with the intake and exhalation of his breath, strong fingers gripping the material and pulling it out of place.

"Million dollar ass, you have million dollar thighs," she gasped, as he stepped out of the shorts and threw them in the general destination of her underwear.

Hooking a thumb under his briefs, he slowly tugged one side down, a smile twitching the corner of his lips as he watched her reaction. Lips parted she watched, kneeling at his feet and exhaling in short puffs. Leaning up, she gripped the waist with her teeth this time, and pulled down. Laughing, Paul let her pull his underwear down and off, leaning his weight on her shoulder to steady him as he stepped out of them.

Again she leaned up, and positioned herself as best, as she could to contain him in soft lips. Warm moistness jolted him into another level of pleasure, his velvety soft skin gliding over her soft tongue and the roof of her mouth. Silky hair yielded to his hungry fingers that tunneled through it, guiding her efforts.

He stopped her with a firm hand, pulled her off, and then shook his head with a slow smile. Then he sat down, and beckoned with one finger toward him.

She chuckled as she struggled to get up from a kneeling position, and Paul watched her grinning at his agonizing wait. Finally he grabbed her arms and helped pull her up, and kneel on either side of his knees.

"Slip into my driver's seat baby." he whispered hoarsely, unable to hold back but for another agonizing instant.

Luxuriously slowly, she shifted over him, on her knees with her wrists still bound by sturdy leather. Over his chest, she trailed dark hair, teasing his tip with her awaiting moistness. A low rumbling groan shot from his throat, his head thrown back.

"I love how you tease, but Master Paul insists you sit down, NOW!" he said with a hint of playful force, grabbing her hips and thrusting into her hard, pulling her down onto him.

"Oho do you!" she moaned, once he was seated inside.

"Oh yes baby," he whispered, as she rocked back and forth on his lap, moving closer and spreading her legs to get as much of him inside her as she could.

Reaching around her, he buried his face in her chest, bra still in the way as he kissed her breasts. Wildly he tugged her bra straps down and unfastened her bra, pushing it up, over her head, and down her back to free her breasts. Licking teases coaxed her to life, suckling and adding to the palate of experimental sensations that roared through them both.

For a moment he stopped, catching his breath as she let out a loud cry. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the clock on the studio wall; noticing ten minutes had mercilessly passed. Taking her by the hips he shifted her onto the sofa, and positioned her hands under her back. Lifting her legs up and over his shoulders, he pounded into her hard, working himself into a quick frenzied release. In a quick flash it seemed he flooded her with the full force of his orgasmic climax, burying his lovegun in one last stab that made her scream resound with his in the music room. Reaching under her hips, he pulled her into him as far as she would go, wrapping her around him securely as he freed her hands.