<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c4/Metalguy.jpg)</div>It was hot, that June. Hot and fairly wet. And Simon had been out all day out. Filming, mostly. There was this woman, she was the daughter of a famous movie director, and everybody thought that this was more than enough to make her a great director, too. She hired his crew for her pretentious movie and, even if she was quite generous with their paychecks, working with her was like working with a ticking bomb. You had to do what she wanted, what she pictured in her brain, not what she asked for. If not, she yelled and complained and scolded. As a matter of fact, she'd been yelling a lot, that day. Simon had to focus on the paycheck - remarkably bigger than the ones he was used to, when working for local TV channels or commercials - to keep his temper under control and keep for himself his opinion about her, her movie and maybe her close relatives.<br/>Then, in the evening, he had to rehearse with the band. One of his bands, as a matter of fact, the death metal one,<em>Infernal Contraption</em>. The bitch's movie kept him and his crew busy until after dinner time, so he had to run straight to the studio, with his empty stomach and sweaty clothes. Not that the Infernal Contraption guys were so sensitive about sweaty clothes, but he was hungry and tired nonetheless.<br/><br/>So it was far past midnight when he finally got out from the longest and most craved shower he had in the past months. Maybe years. Wandering naked around his small apartment, toweling his long black hair and distractedly making a couple of sandwiches, he remembered about his smartphone. Poor thing, he'd been neglecting it all day long. Among other stuff, there were two text messages from his brilliant tinker friend, Phillup Whitmore. Simon smiled.<br/><br/>Their friendship was an unusual one. They were very, very different. Phill's head could just explode if he ever was to walk close to a grindcore concert. Simon played drums in a grindcore band twice a week. Phillup had a very good job and a nice house, a wardrobe full of sensible clothes and a station wagon. Simon didn't. And Phillup was married, with a gorgeous girl named Kate, the kind of girl who could melt a standard sized car with a smile. Or maybe give that car a hard on. Simon was alone, since when his ex girlfriend Devon decided that she liked pussy more than dick. He didn't feel like blaming her, after all. When he was still with Devon, Phillup's brilliant mind helped him a lot in realizing some clever devices to have fun with her. And sometimes other guys and girls, but mostly it was a thing between him and Devon. A cage with an electrical lock, with timer and remote, was what made them meet and become friends. They clicked immediately, in spite of their differences, and became very good friends, even if they didn't hear or see each other for weeks, sometimes. Simon was sure that the good mannered, polite, highly educated Phill had a darker side somewhere, hidden deep in his heart. When he explained the things that he wanted to do with Devon, he saw fire burning in Phill's eyes. Sometimes he even thought about offering Phill a chance to join him and Devon, but he didn't want to endanger his marriage. Phill wasn't the kind of guy who could jump into a BDSM threesome and then go back to his wife like nothing happened.<br/><br/>And now his friend Phill needed his help. Things are drying out with Kate. Fuck. That was bad news. He felt sad and sorry for them. He thought how to word his answer, then texted back.<br/>'Ok. I can try. Give you some advice. But you know I can't promise it will work. Are you sure Kate's fine with experimenting? I don't want to mess up things.'