Date: Wed, 10 Jul 2002 22:03:46 -0400
From: Steve Griffin <knack6@hotmail.com>
Subject: American Idol

American Idol belongs to FOX, 19 TV Ltd, and FremantleMedia Operations BV. I
don't own these Simon or Jim (if I did, I'd give Simon a spanking of a
lifetime), and this is no reflection on their real lives or sexuality. Don't
archive or pass this around without asking me, although if you want to give
it to friends, that's fine. Don't read this if you aren't over 18 or the age
of majority in your area.

If you have ANY comments, positive or negative, e-mail me at
knack6@hotmail.com

--

"Nice night, isn't it?"

Jim Varraros winced as he heard the familiar tones of the "American Idol"
judge and producer, Simon Cowell. AKA the Wicked Witch of the UK, AKA Simon
Scowl. Jim, a lanky 19-year old from Illinois, had been ripped apart by
Simon after his performance, and many believed Jim was voted in by the
public out of sympathy. Jim wasn't sure, but he was grateful for the
opportunity. Just a few years earlier, he'd been an overweight, unhappy boy
who never thought he'd have a chance at anything.

Jim tugged at his collar, swallowing his nerves as he nodded hesitantly.

"Y-Yeah."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"Such poise and manners."

He flicked his cigarette onto the carpeted floor, grinding the smoke with
his heel.

"Don't you know how to speak to your elders?"

Jim stammered out an apology, or tried to. He couldn't even look at Simon.
The truth was that as much as he resented Simon's bitchiness, he was also
painfully attracted to him. A Daddy who smoldered as much as his cigarettes,
he frequently dressed in black to match his spiky brown-black hair and dark
blue eyes, and was astute enough to include tight t-shirts to show off his
well-developed forearms. He was the embodiment of cool, similiar to many of
the GQ photos Jim had spent his uncertain adolescent years jerking off to.

Jim shut his eyes as he glued himself to the elevator wall, waiting for the
ride to end. Then the car stopped. Suddenly, hot, tobacco-laden breath was
near his neck and ear, a tongue tickling his lobe.

"Bloody well make eye contact! See why I don't choose losers?"

Jim pivoted his head forward, tan-colored eyes glowing for a fiery moment.

"I'm not a loser, you asshole!"

Simon smirked at him, so knowing, so above everyone. He stroked Jim's cheek,
the baby flesh cool to his touch.

"That's my boy."

Pressing Jim flat against the wall, Simon blocked his exit paths, their
noses touching  , Simon pushing his lips forward until they nearly pressed
against Jim's, then darting away again. He was waiting for Jim to make the
move, give up control, and Jim did, gladly. Their mouths met hungrily, Jim
stroking Simon's broad shoulders as Simon ravaged him with a practiced,
devilish tongue. After reaching down to cup the assets hidden in back and
front of Jim's leather pants, he roughly yanked Jim to his knees, pressing
his nostrils close enough for him to breathe in the tangy scent of a denim
crotch.

Jim looked up into Simon's commanding, stormy eyes. He knew what to do.
Unbuckling and unzipping the tight jeans, a hard cock slapped at his boyish
cheeks, the foreskin - his first foreskin - wrinkled and scant inches away
from Jim's waiting mouth. Jim rolled the sensitive skin between his lips,
nipping with his teeth, getting a direct view of dark, curly pubic hair and
low-hanging, egg-shaped balls. Jim relished having being servant to his
master, having his close-cropped hair stroked as he was gently pushed onto
inch after inch of Simon's length. Simon's ample mounds cupped heavily in
his hot, grasping hands, firm and full in his grip as he desperately stroked
them. As the foreskin unfolded and the bulbous head hit the back of his
throat, he gagged slightly. Simon gently circled his rough thumb pads around
Jim's eyes and nose, calming him to accept the rest. Jim adjusted to the
thick shaft as he stroked his own trapped hardness.

With a loud grunt and a rough tug on Jim's choker, Simon came, pouring his
scalding nectar into Jim's waiting throat.

"Turns out you make one good use of your throat after all."

Before Jim could weakly protest, Simon pulled him from his knees, licking
his neck and face as he roughly squeezed the front of Jim's leather trousers
until his penis erupted, wave after wave hitting his thighs and pants as he
shuddered with every ejaculation.

"See you next week", Simon said mutedly, zipping himself back up. Jim
nodded, wondering if this had hurt or helped or done nothing to his chances
in escaping Simon's judging wrath. At any rate, one of his dirtiest
fantasies had been fulfilled, and a part of him couldn't help wanting
another, more extended session with Simon.

As the doors opened, Simon confidently strode out, leaving the confused,
soaked boy behind to lick his lips and ponder the future. Simon did turn
around, briefly, but meaningfully, with sincerity and sarcasm blended.

"See me tomorrow night, and we'll do something to stop you using your
teeth."

Jim was even more confused until he saw the room key floating through the
air. Jim caught the object in his sweaty hand.

"See you, Simon!"

Simon scowled at him.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

After he scowled, a smile washed over his rugged face for a flash of a
second, before he walked away.