Category Linkin Park

Shinoda's unofficial diary by Umi

September 16th, 2010

Written in September 2010, after having watched "Meeting Of A Thousand Suns" for the first (couple) time(s).

The story also has its own LiveJournal account @ http://kenji-kobayashi.livejournal.com :)

It's all unbeta'd.

The guys belong to themselves. Everything happened exactly like I described it here. I swear.

Not sure, if I'll upload the other entries here, too, since I feel this one is by far the best and I haven't updated in a while, but... we'll see :)


Septemer 16, 2010

I thought "Why not directly start with something juicy?" to get some life into this journal. So I decided to just write down whatever enters my mind. Literally whatever it might be. Funny part is - despite all the promotion for the new album, its release and the rehearsals, first shows and everything - said mind seems to be still stuck inside the studio. Or maybe I, no, all of us just lost parts of our minds in there, because fuck, looking back a lot of stuff that happened there was just... insane. Yeah, insane would be the word.

Enough with the rambling. Here we go. And don't complain to me afterwards, I told you it's going to get juicy! haha

I never imagined my first time to be a threesome. My first time with a guy. Okay, two guys in this case. And it was our first time. Like, everyone's. You get the picture.

Actually, I never imagined ever having a first time with a guy at all. Especially not now. I thought I outgrew being stupid by now. Stupid stupid. In terms of very extremely downright disturbingly stupid. Turned out I didn't. Turned out neither Brad nor Rob did. But let's start at the beginning.

It was in February, I think, or March? and I was sitting in the studio. Where else. Dave and Joe had been around for a couple hours, I think around noon or afternoon, before they left, Chester was at home in Arizona (if he had been there, nothing of the following would've ever happened) and Brad and Rob celebrated some Jewish holiday with their families. Must have been two days since I last saw them at this point.

I usually wouldn't mention my friend's religious traditions, since those are something pretty personal and you should only spill your own personal stuff online, but in this case I have to. As an explanation for what happened later, which started with them showing up at around 11 p.m. and placing some huge ass gift baskets onto my macbook's keyboard. Both stumbling, reeking of way too much wine and, to quote themselves, pretty much wasted. Apparently that holiday's tradition involves getting drunk and gifting people, so, after accomplishing the first, both of them considered it logical to order a cab and visit me in the studio. Unfortunatly I forgot how this holiday's called, elsewise I'd link you the wikipedia page now.


I couldn't see the screen anymore, just those giant baskets full of funnily named Jewish cookies and chocolate and in Rob's one was even a (kosher, I assume) sausage. And fruits. And - and here we get closer to what later turned out to be my doom - wine. One bottle in each basket.

It's not like I couldn't hold my liquer. Just to make that clear. I don't remember where I read it, but somewhere out there in the web I came across the rumor of me not being able to drink a lot, because I'm half Japanese... ?

Who spread that bullshit?

I can hold my liquer well. Except when I haven't eaten a lot or didn't sleep much or haven't been drinking anything in months. Or when a combination of all of this occurs.

Like it did that night.

Okay, yeah, so maybe I was pretty much out of it after just one bottle. Like I said, I haven't eaten much that day. Or anything even? Let alone slept enough. Not with the deadline coming closer and closer. I never get how everyone else seems so relaxed at times. Or maybe they just pretended to be relaxed and in reality were all freaking out as much as I did. Would explain alot. Including Brad - Brad of all people! - showing up in the studio too drunk to even look at me straight. Or Rob slurring something about how he'll turn off the power of the whole building, if I wouldn't leave the computer now, sit down on the couch and have a drink with them.

It's hard to stand drunk friends when you're sober.

Back in the days when Chester still used to "party", I often found myself unable to say No to joining him, just because... well, just because. No, actually because he always tended to be rather annoying when wasted, thinking of himself as Superman or Chuck Norris, even if he already pissed his pants and reeked of vomit. ... God, that felt good to get out. I felt like smacking him, hard, so often I can't even recall it. Mhm, that felt even better. It's just, those are things I can't tell him in the face. It wouldn't feel good then. He'd just smile regretfully, tell me he knows and feel guilty for having been an asshole over so many years, which would make me feel guilty, too, for not being able to just let it go. It's not like he could change the past. And, like I already said, it was mostly only hard when he was drunk and I was not. When we were both wasted, it was fun. Something else I should never tell him: how getting wasted with him and smoking his pot when he wasn't watching - yes! I did! He still doesn't know! - and way too many cigarettes for my lungs' and both our voices' sake, was actually nothing but epic fun! It just rocks, if you're both Superman, you know? ... Don't try that at home though.

Back to the course of this damned night.

I agreed to have a little drink with two of my oldest friends, got us some glasses and sat down with them on the couch. It's been several years since we hung out like this. Drinking, talking, chilling... Might be my fault, due to having forgotten how to chill, or Brad's fault, who's at least as much of a workaholic as I am, or Rob's, who simply doesn't like to drink. Usually. I didn't even recognize how both of them were still at their first glasses while the bottle was already empty and the rest of it's content definitly rushing through no one's but my veins, making it a little difficult to open the second bottle.

Okay, so maybe I was already pretty out of it after one bottle, but still went on to the next one nontheless. We all know this moment, when you had enough to stop caring about whatever consequences drinking even more will have. Everything is just so damn funny and you don't have to think of what to say and what not to say (hence me telling Chester once he had a nice ass - of course that was something he still remembered all too well the next morning) and no one expects you to anyways. After this bottle was empty, too, we were all beyond trashed. Like, really fucking far beyond it. It's a miracle I can still remember anything. I have a tendency for blackouts after heavy drinking. But then again, I also have the tendency to sober up during sex, no matter how wasted I was before...

So we were drunk.

Drunk to the point where it's a bitch to try to walk and your thoughts just break in half in the middle of the sentence.

All three of us.

Here it gets a little blurry.

At one point I was sitting on the floor, next to the couch, eating, or trying to eat, that sausage from Rob's gift basket. We found a blanket somewhere, at least Brad suddenly had one, and decided to picnic in the recording room. So... we went there. And sat down on the blanket. I think I was complaining, because there wasn't any of the wine left, and how that must mean my friends don't love me enough, because if they did, they would've given me two bottles each. Brad smacked me on the head. Rob giggled. We were talking about how it sucked, that there were no balloons in the studio anymore, how the picnic would be so much nicer, if we had balloons again, stuff like this.

Somehow we moved on from talking about having a picnic surrounded by balloons to talking about having sex surrounded by balloons.

Either Brad or Rob, I'm really not sure on this, though I think it might have been Brad, suddenly confessed that he was horny. That being drunk and doing something stupid - like showing up in the studio in the middle of the night and get me drunk, too, and have a picnic - always makes him horny. I think he mentioned the word horny about a dozen times, if not more. Like I said, that's still the blurry part of my memory of that night. Apparently I was still trying to eat that kosher sausage, when Rob accused me of being the reason why he was horny, too. My response was most likely something along the lines of a slurred "You're gay? I make you horny?".

"No, it's you sucking off that sausage for a whole fucking hour now. Eat it or stop molesting it."

"It hasn't been an hour..."

Brad started to giggle. Or snort. Or do some mix of both. "Mike, the sausage sucker. The salami sucker. The hot dog sucker."

"The hot cock sucker!"

Both of them turned into a giggling mess.

While I still felt like Superman. Not Chuck Norris, Chuck Norris would never suck... a sausage. Or anything. Not that Superman would either, just... the chances of Superman doing it are higher. Even if it's just a tiny little bit. Therefor I thought I was cool when answering with an either kinky or facepalm-worthy slurred "You wish I was a cock sucker. Both of you. That's the deal here, isn't it?"

And that was the point when something started to go entirely wrong.

"Would you?" Brad.

"Would what?"

"Suck. My cock. Would you?"

Almost two bottles of wine + sleep deprivation + an empty stomach = "Is it bigger than the sausage? I don't want to choke."

"Nah, about the same size."

I think I really tried pushing that sausage into my mouth as far as possible before I said something again, this time looking at Brad's crotch. "So you really want me to suck your cock?"

"So you would?"

I shrugged. "If you don't mind me never having done this before..."

Brad beamed.

Rob still sat there in silence, eyes having grown wide by then.

"When have you showered for the last time?"

"Today. Like, in the afternoon."

"So you're all shiney and clean."


I shrugged again and crawled a bit closer. Then another bit. And another bit. Giggled. Hard, I might add.

Which got Brad giggling, too, but nontheless opening the zipper of his pants and, after fumbling around a bit, pulling down his boxers.

Which then again got me cheering how, wow, he really was horny! And giggling. Again. Holding the sausage next to his dick, comparing their sizes, scooting closer again, bending down and... trying to do whatever I apparently did to that sausage for a whole freaking hour. Which tasted, just btw, a whole lot nicer than Brad's dick, but didn't excite me even nearly as much. In terms of the excitement you feel, when doing something you've never done before. Not in the sense of "excited because I enjoy cock sucking".

It's nothing like in the movies. The porn movies, I mean. When the innocent school girl, who has never done something like this before, takes her teacher's cock into her mouth and instantly sends him into heaven with that. It took quite a while, before I got the trick. It's not like I never got head and therefor wouldn't know how it works, it's just... I just never paid much attention to the fact, that the stuff that looked nice on the pictures wasn't neccessarily the same stuff that also felt good.

But, just like I said, after a while I got the trick. I'm a fast learner. As soon as I found a promising strategy, Brad turned into a panting and sweating and moaning mess.

I might sound a bit too proud of myself here, considering it's about cock sucking, don't I? But DAMN, I was awesome! In my head we were recording those moans and the heavy breathing and the sound of opening the zipper of Brad's pants and layering it with some heavy bass and Chester's voice, that was evolving from soft singing into crazy screaming and from there back to soft singing and-

"Me, too!"

Brad smacked me on the back of my head, kinda hard actually, when I lifted it up to look over to Rob, who all of the sudden grabbed my hair and pulled me over to him. That didn't feel nice. At all. Or at least it shouldn't have felt nice. In fact, it hurt and made me sober up a bit. That was, what didn't feel nice. Bourdie's strong grip of my hair actually sent some unexpected shivers down my spine and made me wonder, if I liked being handled rough. I never have been before. In fact I've never been "handled" anyhow by anyone. Usually I was the one handling the pretty girls I had relationships with. If gentle or rough depended on their taste. I'm in for anything there. As long as I am the one, that... well... "handles".

But then and there I was anything but in control of what was going on.

Next thing I knew was something way bigger than the sausage being forced into my mouth, which made me both giggle and gag at the same time. Even though I already sobered up a bit by then, the whole situation was still just too insane to think straight while at it. It took me some time to adjust to Rob's size without getting a cramp in my cheeks or throw up, but as soon as I was done... well, Bourdie is, was and always will be the silent type. But his fingers still grabbing my hair and pulling me closer, and his ragged breathing, mixed with the occational moaning assured me I was doing well.

The whole room was spinning. Still. Not matter if I closed my eyes or left them open.

Someone - logic says it was Brad - grapped my hips and pulled my ass up, to make me kneel instead of sit. I just complied without even thinking of it, still too busy to do my job on Rob, and even when my pants dropped, followed by my shorts, my whole concentration was focused on nothing but 1. avoiding to gag and 2. not giving into the spinning of that damn recording room, that slowly started to creep me out a bit.



"Let him go for a second, or else he might bite you."

Why should I-

My head was pulled up.

I met Rob's heavy, pretty glassy eyes and his blushed cheeks, my eyes following a single sweat drop running down his forehead.

I felt Brad's hands on my waist, wondering how they got there and why there wasn't any fabric between his and my skin anymore. I heard him spit. Several times.

And then it hurt.

A whole fucking lot.

Still, my only thought was, how much it sucked we weren't recording all of this. I blame it on the sheer insanity of the whole situation. I'm not sure if I was screaming or sobbing or just moaning, in fact, it didn't matter anyways, since just a few seconds later I already had Rob's dick in my mouth again. I'm not sure - or maybe I just don't want to be sure - but I think I heard Brad mutter something along the lines of "my bitch" and "tight" and some other, increasingly obcene things, while Rob forced himself deeper and deeper into my mouth. Somewhere along the whole fun Brad discovered, how giving me a handjob while fucking me made me sound even much more like a freaking bitch. I didn't even realize I was hard before he touched me.

By the time I came - some moments after Rob spilled his semen into my mouth, that, btw, tasted anything but good - I was already disturbingly sober again. Some seconds later, Brad came, too, and the three of us collapsed on the blanket, we earlier set up right in the middle of the recording room.

Neither of us said a word.

We just laid there for several minutes, maybe an hour, before we silently got dressed, hid the blanket behind the couch and staggered into the studio's kitchen for a glass of water. Awkward would've been an understatement for the atmosphere that lingered amongst us. I couldn't help it, I simply didn't know what to say to all of this. Hell, those two guys I know since Junior High just made me their fucking bitch! In the end it was Brad, who found his voice first.

"It was consensual, right?"

I frowned. "What makes you think it wasn't?"

"It looked like it hurt."

"It did, fucktard."

"... Sorry?"

I shook my head.

"I'd say, we keep that little, uhm... experiment? I'd say we keep it to us."

Rob and me nodded.

"I think, I should go home now."

"Me, too." Rob's first words after I sucked him into fucking heaven were low and shy. I felt like smacking him, but was already too sober again to follow through with that urge.

"What about you, Mike?"

I shrugged. "I think I'll stay. Have a nap on the couch and then continue working on Sakura a bit. You know, that track with the strings Dave recorded a couple days ago."

"Guess we'll see each other tomorrow then."



Both guys smiled at me sheepishly, Rob actually even patted my head gently (oh, just how fucking hard I wanted to smack him!), and then left.

Since then we haven't talked about this night ever again.

The creepiest part isn't even, that it happened at all. Or that it happened between Brad, Rob and me. Or that it happened in the studio.

The really really really creepy part is, that whenever I jack off nowadays, I can't help but think of Rob's rough grip, pulling at my hair as if he was trying to rip off my scalp. With the focus not on Rob but the pain. Same goes for Brad fucking me. I don't think he hit my prostate. Chester once told me, you would know if it got hit, there's no way to not simply know it, the moment it happens... before he continued with way too much information involving him, Talinda, their hair dryer, their collection of vibrators, dildos, cock rings and plush handcuffs. I don't know shit, so apparently Brad missed that oh-so-magical spot inside my ass. I still came. Hard, as far as I remember, and pretty loud. I'm not loud. Usually at least.

So yeah, call me confused, even if it's been over half a year since that night.


I told you, it'll get juicy, didn't I? :)

Oh, and before you even attempt on questioning certain things:

We didn't kiss. Means: It wasn't gay. Shouldn't have to point out the obvious, but one never knows...

- the end (for now?) -

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