Fallen Idol

FALLEN IDOL

Shelley Munro

Table of Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Excerpt – Last Wish

Excerpt – Curse Across Time

About Shelley

Other Books by Shelley

Copyright Page

Introduction

Space captain Rafi Mura has a guilty secret. He loves his best friend Roberto Bob Azam in a romantic sexual kind of way. Not that he’s fool enough to confess since friendships have died for lesser reasons.

Bob is a renowned Sex Idol champion who has fallen on hard times after a tricky Kama Sutra move leaves him badly injured. Now dubbed the Fallen Idol all Bob wants is to reconcile with his former partner Fifi and regain her love.

Rafi is horrified when circumstances throw them together. Temptation. Promises. Stupid promises. He wishes he’d never agreed to help Bob prepare to go out on the sex circuit again.

Each sensual touch places Rafi constantly on edge and he hungers for more. Much more. Rafi needs to walk away yet he can’t bear the thought of anyone else training with Bob, touching his lover. Each lingering stroke, each compelling kiss is pure torture. Rafi doesn’t know what to do. He can’t admit the strength of his feelings because he’ll lose everything—lover and best friend—but he can’t help thinking that guilty secrets have a way of biting the unwary in the butt.

Prologue

In the early 21st century, reality shows were popular, drawing huge audiences.

As time passed, the shows evolved becoming racier and attracting contestants who gained large public followings. Previously low budget shows now claimed big advertising dollars.

Then, in 2057 a new, unknown disease felled a sizable part of the adult population.

Dubbed the smooching disease because the virus transferred from person to person during the act of kissing, this infection shifted opinions about carnal relations.

Kissing became passé, mouth-to-mouth contact unpopular.

The process of sex became less intimate and people needed something….

Suddenly, reality shows featuring sex grew trendy as a means of foreplay.

And the ad-men raked in increasing profits.

Reality show competitors became the darlings of the entertainment world, as did the celebrity judges of these contests.

New industries broke out to run in tandem with the reality shows—sex aids and toys, body enhancements and schools to educate young adults and prepare them for the sex circuit. Wealthy parents used these schools as a way to finish their offspring’s education.

In 2087, the Brady Conglomerate announced the biggest show to date—Sex Idol.

The winner received a huge cash award, advertising and endorsement contracts, a prestigious trophy.

Now in 2103, the sex reality show business is still big on Earth and off-planet, but thankfully, the smooching disease is no longer a danger, due to modern medicine.

Chapter One

2103 Sydney, Australia, Earth

Rafi Mura parked his hired sports hover outside a dilapidated apartment building on the Sydney waterfront. The throaty roar of the engine died when he switched off the power, leaving ringing silence.

What a dump.

Rubbish littered the rutted street. Paper. Food containers, and a few things he didn’t want to scrutinize. The decay was overpowering, making his eyes stream. Rafi breathed through his mouth while surveying the rest of the street. The wreck of an old hover vehicle lay on its side, pushed up against the brick warehouse opposite the apartment block.

Overhead a spaceship flew in a holding pattern, waiting to land at the new spaceport on the outskirts of sprawling Sydney. The screech of the engines set the brick and mortar buildings vibrating. His hover shook and the road beneath his feet pulsed, shooting weird tingles up his limbs. A hint of rocket fuel filled the air.

His eyes narrowed, his attention caught by movement at the far end of the street. Four youths loitered, sending him and his hover surreptitious glances. They were rough street kids, the sort who preyed on the young, aged and unwary. He fit none of the categories and would stay safe but wouldn’t bet on his unguarded hover remaining untouched.

Shit, why was Roberto living in a neighborhood like this? It was a junkyard. A ghetto. And as a successful sex circuit competitor, Roberto could afford better, even if he was off injured at present.

Rafi climbed from his hover and slammed the door. The sharp thud was like a gunshot in the silent street. A kid with black dreads dove behind a rubbish skip. His friends’ raucous laughter rang out making Rafi grin.

Hoy, he shouted. Wanna earn currency? Rafi waited while they nudged each other and decided how to proceed. Cautiously they edged closer, closing the distance between them. A ragtag bunch dressed in castoff shirts and synjeans. Bony knees and elbows poked through ragged fabric and wary eyes watched him with suspicion.

Whatcha want us to do? The clear mistrust in teen’s voice told Rafi of the rough life they led, the dangers.

Nothing illegal. Keep an eye on my hover while I visit a friend. Rafi dug in his pocket and pulled out four small denomination currency discs. He tossed one to each of the kids. I’ll give you more if my ride is intact when I come down. Deal? Rafi looked each of them in the face, maintaining eye contact for an instant, long enough to show his sincerity.

That’s all we gotta do? The bravest of the kids sniffed and swiped the back of his hand over his runny nose. He sniffed again and hitched up his baggy black trousers. Make sure it don’t git stolen?

Yeah. That’s all you need to do. Deal?

Their self-imposed leader considered his request for a fraction longer before nodding. Deal.

Thanks. Rafi held out his hand out to seal the deal. What’s your name, kid?

The leader hesitated, his eyes widening. He stared at Rafi’s hand before meeting his gaze.

Don’t worry. Rafi worked to keep the bite from his voice. The color won’t wash off and stain your white skin.

Jeez, I don’t care about your color, man. The kid stepped from foot to foot and hitched up his trousers again. I…I…dammit, man. No dude ever wants to shake hands with the likes of us.

Rafi laughed with cynical understanding. He’d experienced discrimination. Although he was thick-skinned these days, there was still the odd remark that jibed the wrong way. A handshake is the best way to seal our deal.

The leader stuck out his hand and they shook. My name is Akio. He indicated the others. This is my brother Junzo. Able and Rick.

I’m Rafi. I’m not sure how long I’ll be since I’m visiting a friend.

No problem, man. We’ll be here guarding your ride.

Rafi nodded and strode over to the main entrance to the apartments. It was a nondescript building made of concrete and steel. Lurid tags in neon-colored paint covered the walls. An old advertising screen hung drunkenly from the wall, ripped loose by people objecting to soy protein foods, judging by the tags. He scanned the wall for an intercom system. Finally, in frustration he tried the door. It swung inward at his touch.

His palms were sweaty, so he wiped them on his black trews. Rafi laughed at himself, his nervousness at seeing Roberto again. They’d been friends since they were kids growing up in Melbourne and had met at the education center. Roberto hadn’t cared about the color of his skin or his mother’s racy reputation. They’d liked one another, having a lot in common.

One of them more so than the other. Rafi lips twisted into a grimace. He’d fallen in love with Roberto while his friend had fallen in love with Fifi Da Groux and gone out on the Sex Idol circuit with her. Roberto had broken his heart and hadn’t even known it. They hadn’t seen each other for two years, but Rafi had held memories of Roberto close since the day they’d said goodbye. Sap.

Nah, he muttered, shaking his head to negate the notion. Just goes to show I have good taste. And was weird for talking to himself.

Rafi entered the apartment foyer, wrinkling his nose at the overcooked vege rations and scorched soy meat. Cracks exposed colorful wires and holes peppered the thin inner walls. Tags in red and neon green plastered the synwood. The interior wasn’t much better than the outside. Rundown and only suitable for those on the lower income scale. Rafi didn’t understand why the great Roberto Azam was living in this dump, given his earnings on the Sex Idol circuit.

Roberto.

Rafi pictured the man he loved. Tall and golden-skinned. Broad shoulders. A slim waist that tapered to a tight butt. Rafi envisioned stroking his hands across Roberto’s golden skin and shivered. His cock chose that moment to react to his lusty imagination. Ah, but Roberto was worth it. His muscles rippled when he moved. No body sculpting salons or any of the artificial enhancements. Those hard muscles came from good genes and honest exercise in his father’s warehouse during his teenage years.

Rafi thumped on the button to call the lift. Nothing happened. Shrugging, he searched for a stairwell to reach Roberto’s flat on the fourth floor. As he climbed the stairs, he calculated the amount of fuel he’d need to fill his spaceship for the trip to the outer territories.

Anything to help his erection subside and save embarrassment. Roberto did not understand how Rafi felt about him, and Rafi intended to keep the status quo. All he needed to do was get through this visit. Masochist. Roberto was his friend. Fifi made him happy. Rafi needed to accept that and move on with his life.

After climbing the dark stairwell, he exited on the fourth floor. There were six apartments on each floor. Rafi stalked down the wide passage toward number four, anticipation and apprehension cartwheeling inside him as he stepped over trash and passed tagged walls. Seeing Roberto again would put him back at square one, ripping the plasters from his wounded heart. But not seeing him—that was even worse.

He turned the corner and came to a halt. A pyramid of empty vroom flasks littered the passage outside number four. Rafi frowned. Vroom was a rough liquor produced on the planet Marchant. People became addicted to the pale white alcohol if they weren’t careful. Eyesight faltered into blurriness. In extreme cases blindness occurred along with lack of coordination and muscle wastage. The muscle melted away, replaced by excess fat. Rafi checked the pile of bottles again and shook his head. Surely they didn’t belong to Roberto? He knocked on the door.

What the hell do you want? a masculine voice demanded. Go away.

Rafi pounded harder, a tiny grin playing across his lips. Roberto’s voice. Familiar, it brought back memories. The husky growl still made his cock jump with anticipation. Rafi’s grin died.

Friend’s box, remember? Roberto wasn’t interested in him in that way and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change the facts.

Go the fuck away! Roberto’s rough tenor rumbled through the door, slurred but recognizable.

Rafi shuddered at the abrasive texture of his friend’s sexy reply. He’d never met a male who turned him on so fast with just a word. After taking a deep breath, Rafi knocked again.

The door flew open.

I told you before, man. I have nothing left. You’ve taken everything.

Rafi gaped at his friend. He was still tall and dark, but the bronzed god from his memory had vanished. Roberto was pale as a nip of vroom. An overweight ghost. His muscles had disappeared, sinking into inches of blubbery fat.

The sight of Roberto’s bare chest and protruding gut made Rafi nauseous so he glanced at his friend’s face instead. His dark hair was long, scruffy and lank as though he hadn’t washed it for weeks. And his face—hell, his beautiful face was bloated and puffy. One bloodshot blue eye scowled at him while the other was black and swollen shut. A cut, red and raw decorated his jaw, and when Rafi studied his body again, he noticed bruises. Someone had bashed his friend and done an excellent good job.

Roberto. Rafi hesitated in the open doorway, uncertain for once in his life. Didn’t Roberto have clothes? That stomach…it… Hell! It needed camouflage. Rafi stared with fascinated horror as Roberto’s belly jiggled with each hoarse inhalation.

His crew would have gaped with open mouths if they’d seen their indecisive captain. In the past, the two men would have exchanged a quick hug and clapped each other over the back. Rafi would’ve savored the contact. He’d imagined Roberto’s arms around him from the moment he’d looked his friend up between trips to the outer territories. Instead, awkwardness simmered between them. Appalled silence practically deafened him. It was difficult looking at that blubber, but touching it?

He shuddered and hovered outside the apartment. Part of him wanted to leave, to run away, but no. He refused to flee. His legs remained planted in the passage while his mind told him to deal with his shock. No matter what Roberto was still his friend.

Rafi?

Rafi muscles tensed and he steeled himself, forcing his real feelings deep so nothing showed in his body language. Yeah, man. I stopped by the Gratham Apartments. One of the security men said you’d moved here. Not bad. His voice had emerged calm. Even.

I don’t suppose you’d leave if I asked you? A tinge of shame colored Roberto’s cheeks and his gaze slid away to stare at the floor.

Rafi forced himself to meet his friend’s gaze. He was so…so… Hell, he reminded Rafi of an albino whale. His gaze flitted across Roberto’s features before darting over his friend’s shoulder to study the apartment interior. Another heap of opaque vroom flasks lay beside a wooden chair.

The apartment offended Rafi’s nose. Soy dog wrappers littered the cheap plastic table. An open suitcase lay on the floor and someone had strewn the contents across the grubby gray carpet in haphazard heaps. Rafi gave a cautious sniff before frowning. The fetid, eye-tearing stench…was that coming from Roberto? He wasn’t certain, but whatever the source, it was disgusting.

Rafi straightened. Why would I leave? Roberto, I came to see you. Roberto was a friend in need. Rafi refused to bolt.

Roberto’s brow knit into deep lines. My name’s Bob. I was born Bob and looks like I’ll die Bob. Bitterness shaded his voice. Call me Bob, like you used to when we were kids.

Ah, sure. Rafi frowned. What the hell? What had happened to his friend since his well-publicized injury? Roberto had always radiated confidence and had a life plan. Ambitious from childhood, he’d set his mind on becoming a successful sex competitor and focused on his goal until he’d succeeded. He hadn’t minded when Bob had wanted everyone to call him by his stage name. Rafi understood dreams and the craving for a better future, which is why he’d appreciated Roberto. Rafi had always wanted to explore the uncharted territories, and that day had almost arrived.

Since it didn’t look as if Bob intended to ask him inside, Rafi gave him no choice. He stalked past Roberto—Bob—and recoiled at the stench. Gasping, he headed straight for the window.

Won’t open. It’s nailed shut, Bob said seconds before Rafi attempted to wrestle for fresher air.

Rafi winged a glance at his friend. Man, you need to do a little cleaning. His eyes streamed and he drew breath through his mouth, trying to filter out the worst of the rotten odor. Didn’t work. And you need a bath.

Keeps the debt collectors away. Bob’s top lip curled with irony and he shrugged with unconcern. Most of them. His blasé attitude wavered, and he winced. Obviously, the bruises on his body were still painful.

Get cleaned up and I’ll buy you a meal. Irritation at his friend gripped Rafi. He’d been looking forward to seeing him, and even though he’d known Roberto wasn’t interested in him romantically, he’d expected to slip back into their easy friendship. Rafi’s