eddie-trunk

Pastel Eddie

“Sweetie you don’t have to do this,” Richie mumbled into Eddies ear. Normally, Eddie would give a shudder in reaction to Richie sweet talking him, but he was filled to the brim with nerves at the moment, not being able to concentrate.

He had seen his boyfriend get a handful of tattoos and piercings in the one year of his first tattoo; piercings in both of his ears, one nose stud, and tattoos he can count with both hands. But Eddies skin has remained pure, soft and supple to the very touch. But he wasn’t getting a tattoo anyway. He was getting a tongue piercing.

Eddie was initially excited at first, but he was now drowning in dread. He was used to doctors unnecessarily pricking his skin with needles but that doesn’t mean he liked them. He hated them with a burning passion.

They sat in the back of a dingy, rundown parlor in a town just across Derry. Richie knew a guy, who had done all his tattoos previously, that was actually very trustworthy. If he trusted him to do Eddie a procedure than he must be really great.

Eddie wanted to have a piercing just to see what the hype was all about. He wanted to know why so many people not only loved it but loathed it as well; he was extremely curious.

“I know I don’t Rich, but I want to,” Eddie murmured, busying himself with locs of Richie’s curls. He can’t remember the last time Richie got a haircut, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He liked to run his hands through his boyfriends long hair when they cuddled, holding him close and distracting himself. Despite Richie usually being boisterous, he could be soft and romantic and calm. Eddie appreciates that.

Before Richie could respond, his friend, Tim, came into the room, wheeling in a cart with the needed supplies for a tongue piercing. Clamps and needles were placed cleanly on a small towel. What looked to be numbing spray was also on the cart with the the other items.

Eddie whimpered minutes later when Tim got the right place to do the piercing, targeting the exact place with a bright purple marker.

“Hey pal can you cup this in half?” Tim asked, handing Eddie a thin, green, plastic paper which looked like it belonged in a dentist office. He immediately folded it, getting the hint to tuck it close to his chest.

Eddie stuck out his tongue when he saw Tim take out the spray and shook it, who sprayed several times on his tongue. A weird sensation took over, and he couldn’t help but let it stick out like some puppy; Richie found it oddly cute.

“Now the exciting part,” Tim exclaimed, taking out the clamps and needles, and he crouched down in front of Eddie. Before he could register it, his tongue was clamped tightly and several needles came and went, replaced by a light pink ball piercing.

His tongue felt weird. He was passed a freezing water bottle a moment later and started to drink from off the bat.

“You did great baby, you’re so brave!” Richie said, hugging Eddie close. Eddie giggled and took a sip from his drink.

“It’s so weird, I’m gonna swallow my tongue!” Eddie stated and Richie chuckled but then smirked. “You can swallow something else later if you want,” and got a punch in the shoulder instead. The boyfriends laughed and got ready to leave, but that had to pay first though.

“As your handsome, breathtaking, gorgeous, beautiful,” Richie started saying but Eddie knocked him with his elbow, but he laughed anyway. “As your amazing boyfriend, I’ll pay for your first piercing.”

“And my last,” Eddie chirped and Richie put his hand over his heart, looking pained. “You don’t wanna get nipple piercings with me baby boy?”

Eddie cackled and shook his head no and Richie smiled at him, and ruffled his hair, muttering a ‘cute,’ under his breath. Eddie blushed slightly as Richie paid. Tim asked him if he knew how to clean the piercing and Richie snorted. Eddie researched hundreds of cleaning ways, so he nodded fast in confirmation.

After they were done, they got into Richie small trunk. Eddie couldn’t even get buckled before Richie attacked his lips with his, pulling Eddies smaller body close to his. Eddie put his arms around Richie’s neck, hugging him.

After Richie started prodding at Eddies lips with his tongue, Eddie shook his head no. “Can’t so soon, gotta give it at least a week before making out,” he explained and Richie frowned.

“Hey, It’s just gonna be one week alright?” Eddie said and pecked Richie’s freckled cheek.

“Okay,” Richie drawled out teasingly. “Get back in your seat okay love, let’s go home,” he finished off and started driving.

Despite the odd feeling on his tongue, he loved the familiar feeling of his boyfriends hand resting comfortably on his thigh, the other on the wheel.


//They’re 16 in this and 16 year olds make out, no one flip a table okay? 👍

One week I was guesting along with Sebastian Bach and Scott Ian and we were debating whether Iron Maiden was better than Judas Priest. I was in the middle of a well thought-out dissertation on why Maiden was better, when I was interrupted (as usual) by Sebastian.“Holy shit! I just got a text from Axl Fuckin’ Rose,” he said in his high-pitched stoner voice. Axl was in town rehearsing for an upcoming Guns N’ Roses tour and Bas hadn’t heard from him in years—until now.

Axl was quite reclusive and didn’t do many interviews,so it was quite the coup when Bas called him and put him on the radio by holding the phone up to the mic. The audio was horrible, and when Eddie suggested that Axl call in, he surprised all of us by actually doing it. Eddie made small talk for a few minutes and finished the call by inviting Axl to join us in the studio after rehearsal, and that was it.About half an hour later we were having a serious debate over what was Raven’s best album ( All for One ) when an intern ran into the studio completely out of breath,like he was going to announce the British were coming. “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Axl Rose! He’s coming up the elevator now.”

The conversation halted and the four of us looked at each other with disbelief.

“Besides Mick Jagger or Paul McCartney, the biggest rock star in the world is coming in this studio right now,” I said to Scott.

At that moment the door opened and in walked—some random older lady.

She said nothing to no one and looked around the room suspiciously. She gave us all a quick glance and left the room. I found out later that her name was Beta, Axl’s personal advisor, who was apparently checking if the vibes in the room were good enough for him to enter.

They must have been, because a few moments later the door opened and in walked W. Axl Rose. You’ve never seen four loudmouths shut up so quickly,and suddenly after two hours of nonstop jabbering none of us had anything to say. Except Bas, who kept proclaiming over and over again, “This is the Howard Hughes of rock and roll, man!”

Axl was in good shape and looked pretty froot with his cornrow hair and trim goatee. He sat down at the console and his charisma and presence were off the charts. Eddie asked a couple of generic questions, but the rest of us were still tongue-tied, not wanting to say anything to instigate any display of the legendary Axl Rose temper.

The interview was sterile, almost boring, and I could see that Axl was losing interest. That’s when I decided to jump in and break the ice.

“Hey Axl, I’m Chris Jericho. I’d like to ask you a question that every guest on the Eddie Trunk show has to answer. Who’s better—Priest or Maiden?”

Axl’s vibe changed instantly and suddenly he was into the interview. I don’t think he’d been asked that question before.

“I like Priest better, but the first Iron Maiden record is my favorite out of all of them.”

From that point forward it was no longer Axl and four idiots, it was five music fans shooting the breeze. He opened up and told some great stories about his love of W.A.S.P., his issues with Vince Neil, and his experiences with David Lee Roth. We listened intently as he told a great story about how he and Jack Russell from Great White were doing cocaine with a Cuban drug dealer. After Axl and Jack snorted up everything they had, the Cuban revealed that he had another eight-ball, but wouldn’t share it. Jack caught a fly while the dealer was in the bathroom, and when he returned pulled it out of his pocket. Jack fawned over it and convinced the Cuban that it was a rare African tsetse fly that when snorted would produce a wicked high. So the Cuban traded the eight-ball for the dead housefly and Jack and Axl disappeared into the night.

After an hour of mindless chatter, I felt comfortable enough—and drunk enough—to call Axl out. “Hey Axl, I have a bone to pick with you!” The studio went silent and Trunk gave me a look that said, “Jericho if you blow this, I’m going to kill you!”

But I was undeterred. “Axl, when Guns were opening for Iron Maiden in 1988 in Winnipeg, I asked you for your autograph outside in the parking lot and you told me you would be right back. Well, you never came back and I want to know why.”

“That’s it?” Axl said with relief. “I thought you were going to tell me I had sex with your girlfriend … or your mother.”

Eddie’s show was supposed to end at 2 a.m., but the program director realized how much of a coup it was to have Axl Rose live on the radio (he was the Howard Hughes of rock and roll after all) and told Eddie to keep him on for as long as he could. We finally wrapped up the show at 4 a.m. and made our way over to the Bungalow, a trendy NYC hotspot that despite the late hour was wall-to-wall packed. Hanging out with Axl Rose has its benefits, and we were escorted to a huge VIP section, even bigger than the one Lindsay Lohan occupied beside us.

After a few hours of Patrón and Grey Goose (alas, no Nightrain) I stumbled over to Axl, who threw his arm around me and smiled his mischievous grin.

“You know what?” he said. “I had a really good time with you guys tonight. It’s pretty rare that I get to talk about music and just be a fan without having to worry about all the bullshit. Thanks for hanging out with me".

Excerpt from the book Undisputed by Chris Jericho.