benji madden

Magdalena sat staring at her fingernails, which seemed to hold a breadth of amusement for her tonight. They were painted a cotton candy pink for once, instead of her usual hooker red. She had aimed for a softer, lighter approach. Being different. Hopefully, luring the interest of anyone she might have previously forced to back off by her obviously affront manner. Specifically, luring the interest of one person. The person that sat staring at her cotton candy pink nails and grinning.

His nails were painted the standard black. If she had inquired why, he probably would have quoted Morrissey. Not that he was a die-hard Smiths’ fan, in fact, that was his twin brother’s role. No, Benji was just a dark, macabre soul. He thought too much, over-analyzed beyond the norm, and he was just an all-around, well…She didn’t have a word for it. He was intelligent. That was the best terminology. He was intelligent and his black fingernails were sexy. End of story.

Magdalena sighed and glanced upward to stare at Benji. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done this a million times before, or every single time she was in the same room with him. She loved to take him in, breath in his form visually. From his squared shoulders to his broad chest, the soft silhouette of his ‘Punx’ tattoo showing through the white wife beater. His muscular legs. His surprisingly soft hands. That was the shocking part: that a man that played guitar for a living could possess such soft hands. And such a soft heart. Of course, these were the observations one could not see with their bare eyes; it took time and friendship to know the inner-workings of the beautiful man seated on the sofa across from her. In her living room. Staring at her as though she had lost her mind.

Benji grinned. “Mags, are you staring at me again?”

Mags. She hated it when he called her Mags. That’s probably why he did it so frequently. He loved to taunt her. Had taunted her virtually since the day they had met one another, a year prior. Magdalena worked in the salon where Benji and his brother Joel came for manicures on their months off from touring. Yes, manicures. Fuck what anyone says, the media are right: Metrosexuality is on the rise. You can’t blame Benji and Joel for keeping up with the Joneses. But their fans will.

Benji’s grin expanded. “Mags, are you ignoring me?”

“No, just thinking.”

“Care to share?”

“Well,” Magdalena began but then felt her courage waning. She had wanted to address this topic for some time, to gather his opinions on matters entirely unworthwhile, but her balls- cahones, in Spanish- had seriously dissipated whenever she looked into his amazingly alive chocolate irises. They were gorgeous. Like the Goo Goo Dolls song of the same name. Iris. Beauty. Benji. Magdalena sighed again. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure you want to share,” Benji laughed, “or you’re not sure what you’re thinking about? If that’s the case,” he grinned, “then I think maybe some ginseng tablets can help you focus and get your memor-”

“-Shut up,” Magdalena rolled her soft gray eyes at him. “I know what I’m thinking about.”

Benji crossed his right ankle over his left, stretching his legs up onto the coffee table. He smirked at her and sighed exhaustedly. “Then maybe you should share with the group.”

Magdalena stared at him again for a long minute. He looked truly intrigued. He looked entirely interested in what she had to say. He looked…beautiful. She took her turn to sigh and began to attempt to process her thoughts. In the recesses of her Hippocampus, her thoughts were clear and intelligent. Her words, however, betrayed her cool. Instead of sounding worthy of her IQ, she simply blurted, “Do you ever read fan fiction?”

His expression painted the image of a man shot by a stray bullet; he had clearly not anticipated these words from her perfectly painted pink lips. He shrugged casually, pondered the question and shrugged again. “Are you asking if I know that our fans think I’m gay?”

“No, I was-”

“Because, Mags, I already know that a lot of the kids out there think I take it up the ass from Tony- and Joel, sometimes-” he stopped to wince, “and that I have a propensity for corn-holing Billy.” He paused and glanced into her expressionless eyes. She was betraying none of her immediate thoughts. So he continued. “I know that my fans tend to think I’m a whore, Mags. And they think I’m a bisexual whore, but they actually hope I’m a homosexual whore. I don’t have to read specific stories to know that.”

His words rang truth. She had to prepare her next set of statements, to properly demonstrate what was edging at her mind. She thought. She pondered the movements of her tongue. She formulated. “Well, what I was thinking about was more……”

He raised an eyebrow. If she were to stare just long enough and right to the correct portion of his marred skin, she would see where a small piece of metal once pierced his skin. But that had been years before they met. Still, she knew it had been the home of a piercing and that tantalized her fantasies. The ghost of body modifications past. Her mind allowed her to wonder where other ghosts might have once lain. She lost track of her discussion. He did this to her always.

“Mags?” he coughed, filling the air with harsh disruption. “Mags, come back to earth! We miss you!”

Magdalena grinned. She felt her dirty thoughts cleanse slowly, and allowed her neurons to fire across synapses and propel movement. Words. She smiled. “I was thinking about your fans,” she smiled brightly, her eyes gleaming. “Benji, are you aware that there are hundreds of thousands of women- nay, girls- that want to have your babies?”

There! She had said it! She had bit back those words for days. Days since she had gone online and stumbled across the website that seemed to take a ruling over her current thoughts. Good Charlotte Fan Fiction. Yes. People were writing fantasies about him. Living, in some small way, the false realities that they wanted to come to life. It was fiction with a non-fiction basis. After all, Benjamin Levi Madden was a real human being who lived and breathed, and truly and truthfully did play guitar in a band. That much made stories reality. Everything else lent them to the Fiction section at the local bookstore.

Magdalena considered the words that her eyes had skimmed over in the nights of the past week. There had been threesomes, more-somes. Sex with underage women. Girls, really. Sex with his twin brother. There had even been a term coined for this: “twincest”. At first, she had been repulsed. Then, fascinated. Intrigued by the endless stories of Benji in a veritable plethora of positions with other men, with women. With men and women.

Certain authors made observations about the man that sat before her that even she, a friend of his, had missed. There were the girls that noted birthmarks she had taken for granted; the writers that remarked on his swagger and panache; the women that noted obscure gestures he made when nervous or upset or happy or elated or just plain bored. Magdalena was fully aware that, as someone in his non-fiction life, she had taken much of his non-fiction being for granted. Though, she supposed, that was a part of being a human being. We always tended to take those we knew and loved for granted.

“Mags,” Benji coughed loudly and smirked at her. He had uncrossed his legs and removed his feet from the disheveled old coffee table. She had the table in her life since, well, since birth. It was a family heirloom of degenerative sorts. She watched him and allowed herself to try and not take each sight for granted. Because here he was. Fan fiction as non-fiction.

She smiled. “Have you ever read a story about yourself?”

He took a slow sip from his can of Diet Coke, as if he was not certain whether to implicate himself in the crime. He shrugged. “A few.”


“And I think it’s flattering that anyone would find me, of all people, attractive,” he smiled softly, innocently. She saw the first signs of a slight blush.

“You are attractive,” she argued.

Benji shrugged again and set his soda can off to the side. “I don’t see it, but if you say so, Mags.”

Magdalena watched his movements closely. The nervous gestures, the biting of the bottom lip. The authors were right: he had a certain shy subtly to him. He didn’t, in fact, find himself attractive at all. He was, in truth, embarrassed of his appearance. He hid behind his tattoos and piercings. He modified the body he hated in a vain attempt to embrace it. It was abundantly clear at this moment. She frowned. “Benji, you are beautiful. You should see that when you look in the mirror every morning.”

He grew noticeably more tense, but shrugged everything off quickly. “I don’t see it, Mags. Sorry.”

“Well,” Magdalena continued where she left off. “What about the stories? What did you read?”

Quickly re-crossing his ankles and placing his feet back onto the tabletop, Benji took a deep breath but the rush of a loud exhalation never followed. He crossed his tattooed biceps over his chest. Offered a minimal shrug. “Some of them were…interesting.”

Magdalena’s Poker expression dropped and allowed her grin to show through. She laughed. “A lot of them are.”

“Which ones did you read?” he challenged with the faintest semblance of a smile.

Magdalena folded her legs up underneath her body and sat on her oldest, most worn sofa Indian style. She searched her memory and found the thoughts at the front of her mind. Yes. She had read and studied many of the stories in question, but remembering some of her favorites might prove to frame her as guilty. Severely guilty. Perhaps she should abandon ship and plead the fifth. Yes. That would be a good-

“Mags,” Benji’s voice was amused, taunting. “Spit it out. What did you read that’s making you blush like that?”

Guilty. Too late. Magdalena sighed. She had incriminated herself far beyond the breaking point. So she slapped on a smile and shrugged. “I only read a few.”


“And they were interesting, as I’d said.”


“And that’s that,” Magdalena coughed. Guilt tinged the air.

Benji didn’t buy it, and he continued to instigate. “Tell me about one of them.”


“Because I asked you too.”


“I’m curious,” he shrugged and guilt filled his expression. Pure, unadulterated guilt. She had intrigued him, and he was, in his own way, admitting that he wanted to know more. To hear more. To be indulged in the fantasies of others that involved him. Fiction meets non-fiction.

Magdalena smirked. “Would you prefer to be told about a story where you’re straight or-”

Benji laughed at this and allowed his hands to fall softly into his lap. He smiled and chewed on the rings that pierced through his bottom lip. He readjusted the wool cap on his head, so the “TWIN” logo was visible. He fidgeted. He delayed. But he finally shrugged and offered a soft, “Whatever you’d like.”

“Just pick my favorite?”

“You memorized them?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. “Mags, that’s….that’s….Oh Mags, that’s…..What’s the word I want?”

“Pathetic?” Magdalena blushed. “Yes, it is. But I have to admit that I’ve always been pathetic.” She shook her head in a laugh and allowed her long, curled brunette locks to bob softly. She smiled and tried to recover herself and her thoughts. “The story that comes to mind involved you and a buxom blonde.”

“Fake tits?” he grinned.

She nodded. “And Tony.”

“Tony’s a buxom blonde,” he winked.

She laughed softly at this, but felt the need to immediately chastise him for interrupting her so quickly. She grinned. “If I’m telling the story, you need to sit back and not-”

“I’ll behave,” he smirked, leaning back further into the cushions of the green sofa. “Tell me about myself, Mags. Go for it.”

“You were dressed in black Dickies and a Rancid t-shirt,” Magdalena began, clearing her throat. The truth was, she was not sincerely remembering a story so much as creating her own fan fiction as she spoke. After all, how was she expected to memorize someone else’s words? She had failed every poetry recitation in grade school; but it was well-known that she had passed Creative Writing in college with such flying colors she had considered seeking a Master’s on the topic. Recite a story, no. Create a story? She could do that with her hands tied above her head and Benji driving his-

“Mags, you’re zoning already,” Benji began laughing. He coughed, covering his mouth and grinning up at her guiltily. “Did you already forget the story? Am I that forgettable?”

Magdalena quickly shook her head in the negative. “No, Benj. Hardly. I didn’t forget, I was just collecting my thoughts.”

“Ah,” he mocked with a lopsided grin. It was the grin that Joel had mastered years prior, and he merely dabbled in occasionally; it was Joel’s grin on Benji’s face. The look made her immediately nervous. As if he were inspecting her too closely; too close for comfort.

She tried to continue. “The original female character in the story-”

“Original female character?”


“Huh,” he shrugged.

“Anyhow,” Magdalena coughed for emphasis. “As I said, the female character in this story is bleached blonde with giant fake tits.”

Benji held up his hand to gesture he was about to interrupt, as he grinned. “Now not to be rude,” his voice was grittier than the norm as he spoke, “but aren’t most of these stories, like, aren’t most of the chicks little girls?”

Magdalena shrugged. Yes, in many of the fictitious pieces about Benji’s band, the rounded female characters- and their main accomplices- tended to be under the legal drinking age. That was merely reflective of the band’s fan base, who were, by and large, under the legal drinking age. Slap of the forehead. Duh. But the fantasy of Benji and his best friend, Tony, having a threesome with a little girl was not exactly titillating for Magdalena. So she was going to take creative liberties. She was going to go full out and show Benji how she had earned her Creative Writing grade. Minus the writing. And perhaps with a bit of instant gratification involve. Wink, wink.

“I mean, not that I sleep with girls who are underage, that’s Joel’s thing,” Benji quipped, in reference to his twin’s significantly younger significant other. He grinned excitedly, as if he had already decided she would laugh. “Damn, I’m funny,” he added with a laugh.

Magdalena shook her head slowly and extended one of her legs across the leopard print sofa she was on. Yes. Green and leopard print. That was the theme in her living room, and though she had often times taken a beating from her best friends for what they referred to as her utter ‘lack of style’, she still loved the comfort of the room and the air of artistry that she had placed into each item and its specific location. Of course, the most beautiful piece of art in the room was not of her own creation or placement. She sighed and tried to push away the thought. “You’re funny,” she brought her thoughts back to the conversation. “But you need to shut up and let me finish.”

“You just started.”

“Let me finish.”

“How can you finish already when you just started?”

“Would you shut up?”

He pouted and grinned. “Fine.” His arms once again crossed over his chest as he stared at her expectantly.

“As I was trying to elaborate, you are in your usual stage attire. The girl in the story, who we’ll call Jenna, is wearing, more or less, nothing and-”

“Why Jenna?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows curiously. He looked like a child, sounded like a child. He had a way of dropping his voice when he questioned things, sounding younger and younger and more, somehow, more curious than ever.

Magdalena shrugged. “Because she reminds me of Jenna Jameson.”

Benji accepted this answer and nodded.

“Tony, for his part, is wearing khaki Dickies shorts and no shirt,” Magdalena continued.

“I don’t care what we’re wearing.”

“Would you shut up?” she huffed, growing truly annoyed at his constant interruptions. She stared into his eyes, questioning him without speaking. Did he really want her to reiterate a tale for him or was he just humoring her stupidity? He answered, though his lips did not move. So she continued. “You’re all on the Mest bus in the back lounge. Jenna is flirting heavily with you, but you appear to be oblivious.”

Benji raised his hand again. “Excuse me, Mags, but oblivious? Are you trying to tell me something?”

Magdalena nodded. “Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “And?”

“SHUT UP!” she grinned. “I’m going to stop telling you this if you don’t-”

Benji raised his hands defensively and began laughing. For the first time that night, Magdalena realized how much she cherished his laughter. It was honest laughter. He truly amused himself, and generally speaking, those around him. Particularly his twin. In fact, in that moment, she realized she missed Joel.

“Continue,” Benji smiled deviously.

Magdalena shot him a quick glare before tossing her brunette locks over her shoulder and across the back of the couch. She rolled her eyes. “Are you really going to let me tell you this?”

“I’ll behave,” Benji grinned sheepishly.

Content that he would halt his interruptions, she continued on. “Jenna was flirting with you, tossing her bleached blonde hair around, but you were oblivious. That is, until Tony stepped in and took a seat beside her on the sofa. He turned the bus TV off, lowered the lights. Grinned at you. You know Tony doesn’t take anything slow, and you know what Tony always has his mind on. You quickly caught on.”

Magdalena paused to collect her ideas and continue with the story, realizing that Benji had relaxed back into the couch across from her and was listening to her intently. Like a child at story time. It was a small miracle, but for once in his twenty-six years on the planet, Benji Madden’s gums weren’t flapping. She had succeeded. This made her grin as she swallowed with emphasis before continuing. “It’s abundantly obvious now that this girl wants only one thing from you- and Tony- and it’s not an autograph. So you allow Tony to dim the lights, and allow her to stand between your knees and remove her clothing. She doesn’t do it frantically, though. No. She takes her time, moves her hips in a seductive dance.

“Her hips are rounded and full, and you grab a hold of them. You can’t help yourself. You know if you don’t respond accordingly, Tony will taunt you for being a ‘pussy’ later that night. And frankly, you can already feel your cock reacting to her movements. So close to you. Her warmth inches away. She moves and smiles at you, and you lose yourself in her ocean blue eyes.”

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he interrupts quickly, voice huskier than normal.

Magdalena doesn’t pause to consider his words, his voice. She simply continues with the fantasy. “She moves perfectly, as though she might have been a stripper in a past life. You’re aware that she’s not, in fact, a professional dancer, though. Tony doesn’t do those types, doesn’t bring them around. He prefers to leave those girls back at the clubs, and instead brings the untainted on the bus. He gives them wings. He dirties their halos. He dirtied your halo once, scratched your wings. You enjoyed it.”

“Yeah,” Benji groans softly in the agreement.

“You think back to that,” Magdalena grinned as she felt her body responding to her words. She slowly licked her lips and continued on, dreamily. “It’s a fond memory of yours, the night that you and Tony decided to experiment together. It was his idea. You were drunk. It was the Uniting The States Tour, and the idea just seemed to stick. Emphasis on stick. Tony stuck it to you that night, and you enjoyed it. And now, as you watch this beautiful blonde woman dance between your legs like a pro, you’re remembering that night when Tony danced for you. The thought almost makes you want to laugh, but you realize that will hurt her feelings.

September 2018
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