Chapter 9

That Night

I laid across my bed, looking through the photos that I had taken earlier. They were very scary to look at. I couldn’t believe the poses I had come up with. The worst one to me, was the last shot, me with my tongue actually on Prince’s face. My stomach churned at the very sight of it. I just knew that Michael would have punched me if he even thought I was thinking of putting my mouth anywhere on Prince. And Michael wasn’t a violent man.
I didn’t know what had come over me that day. The last time I had been that impulsive was when I had touched Michael’s chest on his Merry-Go-Round so long ago at Neverland.
The more I thought about it, I supposed I was just sick and tired of Prince telling me over and over and yet, over, that I was too stiff and not “funky”.
I had totally taken my shell off and was as frisky and sassy as only Michael had seen me be. In the confines of his bedroom, though.
It just plucked my nerves that Prince seemed to be utterly unbearable whenever Morris Day was in his company. He always wanted to show me up in front of him as if they had some secret agenda to humiliate me whenever possible.
I wasn’t up tight because I wanted to be. I had to be.
I had a lovely man back across the country in Neverland and I didn’t want to do anything that would sabotage what I had with him.
Looking down at the small camera in my hands, I deleted every single image from it and shoved it under my pillow.
Prince would have to physically move my body off the pillow to reach the camera if he wanted it again.
Still burning with a fuming anger that probably would have kept me warm if I was out in the subzero temperatures, I pushed myself off the bed to go in search of a bottle of water.
As I ventured downstairs, it occurred to me that I had I never actually been in Prince’s kitchen my entire stay with him, because Juan-Carlos was usually on hand to get whatever we wanted during the day. At night, Juan-Carlos went home and the kitchen was pretty much closed. But if I could find a refrigerator in there, then I could find a bottle of water.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, a small framed photograph caught my eye. It was lying on it’s face so the picture couldn’t be seen.
In a heavy gilded heart-shaped frame, was a photo of Manuela. As I moved it in my hands, the glass cover caught the light and I was surprised to see that the glass was covered with a million tiny cracks and breaks as if someone had tossed the photo down with the intent of smashing the frame and destroying the picture.
I stared at her face. She was breathtakingly beautiful--as all women I had ever seen Prince associate with--and wore a large grin on her face. Manuela looked as if the world was her oyster and she was a large pearl. She even looked like a pearl: she was dressed in an oversized white sweater and matching slacks. Her hair was straight and fell over one shoulder. A large diamond ring glistened on her left hand.
As happy as she looked, it was hard to think of her chewing Mindy out and cursing her like a dog that had made a stinky in the middle of the living room carpet.
And now the marriage was over. I wondered why Prince kept the photo around. Maybe it was a reminder to not repeat the same mistake he had made.
Setting the picture upright on the table, I wandered through the darkened living room and down the hall leading to the dining room. I knew that I could pass through there and go off into the kitchen.
The hallway was dimly lit, the main light off, only the glow from the sconces between photographs lighting the way.
Nearing the dining room, I became aware that the lights in there were on.
Filled with curiosity, I stood alongside the doorframe and peeked around the corner.
To my surprise, I saw that Prince was seated in there. He was sitting with his back to me. Gold silk pajamas clung to his diminutive body. And as usual, a gold silk scarf encircled his head.
He appeared to be scribbling wildly on a notepad, a purple ink pen clutched in his right hand. Off to the side of him, a crystal chalice was half filled with some type of red wine. On the floor were several wads of balled up paper were scattered around his feet, amazingly covered in heeled boots that matched his sleepwear to a ‘T‘.
I pulled my head back out of sight. Leaning against the wall, I sighed and looked up at the vaulted ceiling.
After the performance I had put on, I was ashamed to walk past him to the kitchen. I knew he’d have something to say.
But I couldn’t stand in the hallway all night. And I wanted water. I wondered if I stood there long enough, maybe Prince would have dozed off at the table; it was in the wee hours of the morning.
Pushing myself within, I dared another look into the room.
Prince was out of his chair and stooping to pick up some of the paper balls.
He was bending from the waist, rather than crouching, leaving his butt in the air.
I stared at it mesmerized. It was round and plump and thick. It appeared that all the fat in his body had deposited itself only in his booty and upper thighs. Prince’s pants clung to them and as I poked my head in the room a bit farther, I noticed a thin gold chain glinting around his hips.
As Prince stood and once more stooped to retrieve more wads, I saw that the chain was actually cutting into his bulging bottom.
He moved around the chair, and as he went for more scraps, a few that were clutched in his hands fell back onto the floor.
Knees close together, he crouched down.
My breathing became labored as I watched the elastic waistband of the bottoms slip down his derrière and the top of the crevice that split his butt cheeks peeked out as silently as I was peeking into the room. I quickly wondered if he owned a single pair of underwear.
Prince once again stood and tossed the paper on the table. He gave an audible yawn and raised his arms over his head, part of his back showing as the top raised.
And as if on cue, Prince spread his legs and shook his hips, causing his buttocks to jiggle like Jell-o in an earthquake.
I ducked around the door, my body quivering from a torrent of heat that had began burning almost instantaneously all over me.
Leaning my head against the cool wall and pressing a hand to my chest where my heart was beating erratically, I tried to pull myself together.
My mind spun as a shocking realization suddenly dawned on me and reared it’s ugly head:
I was attracted to Prince.
As much as I wanted to lie to myself, it was true. I was attracted to him. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I found him…sexy.
Even when he was teasing me, on some deeper level, in another dimension, I was actually enjoying it. He was much different from Michael; so raw, and streetwise, and downright dirty!
My mind quickly clicked to why I had gone so loose in Studio D. I hadn’t been trying to stop Prince from thinking I was a prude. My jaw dropped and I took in a shaky breath as I realized the truth:
I was trying to gain Prince’s approval.
I wanted him to think that I was cool, and that I could fit in and hang with him and that loudmouth Morris and whomever else he happened to introduce me to. It was the true reason I had submitted to wearing the skimpy outfits and having my hair killed by Mindy everyday. I wanted to make him happy. I was acting the same way I had with Michael when he asked me to not wear make-up and dress in the clothes he bought. I never questioned him, just went along with the program, putting as much grease on the gears as needed to keep relations smooth.
And it seemed that Prince had an interest in me. If he dropped any more hints around me, I’d be stumbling over them. Everything from the DVD player and Gone with the Wind to when he had kissed me earlier that week.
A chill, followed by more heat made my hair stand on end.
I had thoroughly enjoyed his lips on mine and his rough and tumble way of kissing me.
I now knew that I couldn’t physically walk into the dining room, because I’d never make it to the kitchen. I was sure I’d probably try to jump on him or something.
I wanted to go back upstairs, but a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach was urging me to get one more glimpse of Prince before I left.
Unable to override the feeling, I dared to take another look.
I put my head around the corner, part of me hoping that Prince was still wiggling his gluteus maximus.
I let out a yelp when I found that I was looking directly into Prince’s light eyes, my face sheer inches from his.
I backed away as Prince, cool as a cucumber in a freezer, sauntered out into the hall.
“What are you up to Brynn?” He asked calmly and for a moment, I thought he hadn’t seen me.
Averting my eyes to the tops of my pink slippers, I said quietly,
“I came down here to get a bottle of water…I’m thirsty.”
“Really?” Prince chuckled. “And was there a bottle of water jammed in my ass? Because if you looked at it any harder, it would have exploded.”
I stared at him, my tongue drying up. He had seen me!
“I added that little bounce at the end just for you.” Prince grinned in his mousy fashion.
I remained quiet and looked at the floor. A burning shame consumed me.
I knew I had no business looking at him in the first place.
But I couldn’t help it.
“Oh, I’m just messing with you.” Prince patted my shoulder, his touch making my heart quiver. “Come on, I’ll get your water.”
His hand slipped down and grasped my arm.
“Come on.” He was smiling at me.
Something was telling me to leave, to go on and run back up to my room and lock myself in even. Maybe even douse myself with an icy shower. In the back of my mind I knew I should have left, but there seemed to be a force keeping me from pulling Prince’s hand off me.
Prince led me into the dining room, and offered me a chair at the cluttered table.
As I sat, Prince questioned,
“What do you want, spring or mineral water?”
“Um, whatever you think is best.” I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what I had been drinking, because all the water I had at his home had been presented to me in a glass rather than a bottle.
“Alright…” Prince turned solemnly and disappeared into his kitchen.
In his absence, I tried to calm myself. I thought of everything sad from burning flags to dead puppies.
As the feeling waned, I began to feel inquisitive, wondering what it was Prince had been writing and ripping up so frequently.
He was still scribbling in dark purple ink on light lilac sheets of paper.
I reached over and picked up the thick purple notepad that was lying on the placemat. An oversized gold and purple enamel pen rolled from under it.
It took a few moments for me to make sense of the tiny markings on the page.
They appeared to be a song in progress. It was untitled, but the lyrics suggested that the song would be another love tune:

She never knew another man before me
She let me touch her in places I had never seen
I kissed her there
Held her, caressed her…
Until she melted into the folds of the sheets
Hot, wet and soft

The lyrics filled me with a warmth I had never felt before.
“I see you’re being nosy.”
I lifted my head, startled yet again, and saw that Prince was standing on the other side of the table, a large bottle of water in his hands.
A self-assured smirk was creasing his golden face.
“Well, the paper was here and I was here…so I just gave it a little look-see.” I shrugged, flushing at his stare.
Prince made his way around to his seat and dropped down into it.
“So, what do you think of it?” He unscrewed the top of the bottle and slid it across the glass tabletop to me.
“It’s nice.” I nodded and took a sip of water, thankful for some type of coldness, outside of throwing myself out a window into the frigid Minnesota air.
“I’m glad that you like it. Maybe if I can finish it, I’ll have the arrangement and we can lay down the track before you go back to California.” Prince was tapping his fingers together.
“That’s fine. That’s what I’m here for--to sing.” I smiled at him. “What is this song going to be like? Is it gonna be faster like Game is?” With the focus on work, I was beginning to feel a bit more at ease.
The feeling didn’t last too long.
Prince reached up and picked at his mole.
“I was thinking of something extremely simple. Maybe just a piano playing, a soft ballad, with just vocals. I want this song to be very soft and gentle.” He explained. “You see, the song is about a girl’s first time. And I think most women want their first time to be gentle, so I’m letting the music reflect that.”
He leaned across the table and eyed me, “Tell me, isn’t that what women want: a tender first time? Something that they’ll remember the rest of their lives?”
His gaze was unnerving and the notion that he was still under the impression that I was a virgin was beginning to make me ill.
Shrinking under his gaze, I mumbled,
“I don’t know.”
“Hmmm…” Prince scoffed and picked up his notepad and examined the lyrics.
He dropped the pad on his place mat and busied his hands by twirling the fancy pen.
Silence soon filled the space between us and the only sounds were of me drinking my water in small gulps.
After a while, Prince returned to writing on his lyrics and I found myself lost in thought.
My mind skipped past the embarrassing incident in the studio--I was trying my best to erase it from my memory--and my mind replayed what Mindy had said to me about Prince’s marriage falling apart.
I glanced over at Prince, whose head was bowed, forehead wrinkled in deep concentration, pen flicking across the page.
He was nibbling on his bottom lip.
I still felt bad for him. Truly sad.
The longer I watched him, the more interested I was as to why he had completely abandoned the idea of getting me my own apartment.
I had to know.
“Uh…Prince?” I said meekly.
Head down, he answered deeply, “What?”
“Can I ask you something?” My palms began to dampen with perspiration and I wrapped them around my bottle to keep him from noticing.
“Yeah, sure.” Prince continued to write.
“Well…” I paused, trying to figure how to phrase my statements just right, “I was wondering, when I first got here, you said you were going to get me an apartment and you haven’t said anything about it since.”
Prince stopped mid-stroke. “I changed my mind about it.” He explained setting his pen on his pad and lifting his head.
“You changed your mind? Why?” I pushed. I didn’t want him to see how shaken I was by his words.
“Well, I got to thinking after we started working on Game. You seem to be learning a few things from me--whether you realize it or not--and I thought that you might benefit better from staying with me.” Prince clasped his hands together in front of his face. “Plus…”
Prince leaned across the table towards me. “It’s nice to have you around Brynn.”
“Oh really?” I felt my eyebrows going up. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or suspicious.
“Yeah.” Prince nodded. “I wasn’t sure I’d like to keep you around at first. I mean when you first got here, you were so childish in everything you did and said. Like you couldn’t breathe if Michael disapproved of it. But you’ve started to loosen up. For example, that stunt you pulled in the studio.”
I squeezed my water bottle so hard, the plastic squeaked.
Prince rose and made his way behind my seat.
I stared ahead, too stricken to look at him.
“That was funny. Playing in my chest hair and putting that little ass against me.” Prince chortled. “And don’t get me started on you licking my face!”
He laughed louder.
“You went buck-fucking-wild in that studio!”
I could feel him breathing on my neck; out the corner of my eye, I saw that he had stooped over.
“That shit got me hot.” He whispered.
His hot breath blew against my neck, my weak spot, I felt myself starting to heat up and I tried my best to suppress a moan, unsuccessfully a part of it slipped out.
Prince continued to talk.
“You kind of left me hanging when you ran off. Felt like all the blood in my body drained from my into one part of my body. Would you like to take a guess where it all went?”
I was certain he could hear my heart hammering in my chest. I bit my bottom lip in an effort to regain control of my hormones.
Dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies!
I jumped as Prince began to run his hands through my hair.
“You’ve got some lovely hair Brynn. I like it best when the curls start to fall out.” He noted and his fingertips grazed my scalp. A scalding heat enveloped me.
One hand made its decent until my chin was cupped in it.
Prince tilted my head to the side.
“You’re a very pretty lady…” He commented. “…with a very tasty little body. Hmmm…get up.”
Tugging on my chin, Prince pulled me from the chair.
My bottle, still in my hands was gripped tighter as Prince looked me up and down.
“Mmmmm….so sexy.” His voice dropped an octave.
“What?” I stared blankly at him. My heart bounced around my chest at the sight of his face.
“I said you’re sexy.” Prince made the statement a bit louder.
I continued to stare at him, stunned. I had never been referred to as sexy before, ever.
Not even by Michael. Not even by a drunkard who was trying to push up on me when I sang in clubs.
“You really think I’m sexy?” I asked, extremely flattered and trying to fathom the thought that anyone would find me sexy.
“Don’t you think you are?” Prince laughed. “All that time in Neverland has messed up your perception. Covering that body in kiddie clothes. No wonder you’re so pure now.” He rubbed at his chest hair.
“Brynn you look so good.” Prince’s voice was throaty and I could tell he was starting to get aroused. In a strain, he announced, “This is torture.”
I bit my bottom lip, trying my hardest to compose myself.
“Aw fuck it.” Prince shook his head, his face twisting into a scowl and he shimmied in front of me, unbuttoning and shaking his top off.
He twisted it between his hands. Hands so strong.
I watched as his sleek, manicured fingernails ground into the fabric.
He dropped it at his feet.
Prince was once again topless before me.
I noticed that for the first time, he wasn’t wearing his symbol pendant and chain.
I felt my breath leaving me as my eyes rambled over his hairy upper body. He seemed even more toned from the last time I had seen him.
Prince rubbed his hands on his abdomen, eyeing me so hungrily that my water bottle slipped from my hands onto the floor, splashing against my bare feet and his boots.
Without warning, Prince grabbed me around my midsection and lifted me so that I was seated on the tabletop.
I was very surprised because I didn’t think he was capable of lifting me, him being so short and all. His arms were hard with taught muscles.
I stared into his face, wondering what he was going to do to me. And I was dying to know.
His light eyes pierced mine for a split second before his mouth smashed against mine passionately.
I squirmed hotly against him, my arms flailing around him, as he bore down on my mouth without restraint. His mouth was so sweet and intoxicating. After a few short moments, I felt the wetness of his tongue trying to get past my lips and gain entry into my mouth.
Unlike before when he was forcing himself on me in his bedroom and I had hated the thought of him Frenching me, something made me accept it.
I didn’t fight it, I wanted it.
Our tongues touched and the sensation made me snap my head to the side. I realized I was panting.
Prince reached up with a hand and directed my mouth back to his. His tongue slid against mine again, wet and tasting of mints.
Prince forced my mouth open wider and pushed his tongue further until it swabbed the back of my throat.
I finally gained control of my limbs and wrapped my arms around his thin neck. It was starting to perspire and his head wrap was askew.
Using his knees as a wedge, Prince parted my legs and pulled me against his glistening lavender scented chest.
Still kissing me, he dropped his hands and nestled my legs on his thick hips.
My nether regions landed smack against his groin and I was electrified when I felt a large bulge rubbing against me.
Prince’s “scepter” was so tightly on me that for a moment, I forgot that we were both still dressed.
He pushed my lower back moving my privates even farther against him.
I wasn’t sure if intercourse though abut three layers of clothing--my pj bottoms and undies and his pj bottoms--was possible, but if anyone could have made it a reality, Prince was the man.
As Prince nestled his mouth against my neck, I squealed and covered my face with both hands, a surge of stimulation hitting me like a speeding bullet.
“Please…stop.” I begged, afraid that I was going to “ruin” his table.
“No.” Prince pulled his mouth from my neck.
He gently tugged my hands off my face.
“Do you really want me to stop?” He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at me.
I chewed on my bottom lip, afraid to answer.
“I know you want all this.” Prince motioned to his body.
His stance was a bit threatening as he planted his feet and leaned into my face. His breath hung heavy as said,
“Tell me you want this. Tell me.”
Lip quivering, I merely nodded.
“Good.” A smile lit his face. “You want ‘it’ now?” He questioned.
I bobbed my head once more, I don’t think I had ever been more raw in my life.
My heart dropped when Prince suddenly backed away from me and started to make his way to the door.
“W--where are you going?” I called after him, my body growing cold from abrupt separation of our bodies.
Prince hung in the doorway. “You want everything in the moment. You’re impatient. I told you that when you were in a rush to record.” He snickered. “You’re gonna get yours, but when I say so. Good night.”
With that, Prince exited the room.
I sat there for a few moments, trying to piece together what had happened.
I needed an explanation better than my being in a rush. I knew I wasn’t crazy--he had been aroused too. I felt it!
I slid off the table to go after him, skidding for a moment, in the water on the marble floor, and ran out into the hallway.
I got out there just in time to see Prince disappearing up on the second floor.
“Prince--wait!” I called.
I stood there a moment a feeling of disappointment. It gave way to a rush of anger.
I had been getting used to Prince playing little mind games, but this was almost too much to bear.
I knew in my heart that if Prince had hung onto me for another five minutes we’d have probably been a tangle of arms and legs on the tabletop and maybe even under it!
And who the hell was he to tell me that I was going to give into him when he wanted it.
I wasn’t a trick pony that performed stunts at the snapping of his fingers.
Burned, I stormed back into the dining room, so bent on revenge that for a moment I contemplated breaking everything that wasn’t nailed down.
As I approached the table to break it’s glass top first, I noticed that Prince had left his purple notepad with his scribbling of lyrics on it.
Prince had been rambling on and on about his music that I knew that if did something to his lyrics, it would probably annoy him more than if I set fire to his Hohner.
Picking up the notepad, I ripped out the page with the lyrics, threw the pad on the floor and shredded the lyrics sheet with my hands until it looked like purple confetti.
I tossed the pieces into the spilled water and walked out of the room, feeling so elated that I was actually strutting. I was strutting harder than Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.