This was insane, right? Right. Right, this was clearly a dream, or some weirdly prolonged hallucination, or something like that, because this kind of thing? This barely happened to anyone, let alone me.

Six months ago- if it was even that long- I’d been just a regular guy, doing regular things. I got up, got dressed, went to work, did as little work as possible whilst making it look like I was really busy, left work, went home, had dinner, watched TV, and masturbated myself to sleep. You know, typical, everyday things. Okay, so maybe I didn’t exactly follow that exact schedule every single day, but it was close.

The only real vice I had- if you can even call it that- was recording videos for Youtube. Everyone knows that site, right? Filled with people doing all kinds of crap in a bid to get the most attention; it’s basically a website crammed with folks who never got enough love growing up, or whatever. Which, all deprecation aside, included the likes of me. Now, some people would post video after video of themselves sat in front of their computer, umming and ahhing their way through some pseudo-intellectual crap, or some weird little video journal about their lives, filled with references and in-jokes that nobody would ever really get, but might eventually kid themselves into thinking that they did. Others would post videos of themselves talking over games, either trying to be funny and usually failing miserably, or actually being pretty interesting with all kinds of hints, and tips, and assorted info. Yet more- and I fell squarely into this category- would post videos of themselves playing covers of songs really badly, or playing their own creations really badly, or, as some people did- like I did- some would post videos of themselves playing really well.

Growing up, I’d always been interested in music, but that came from being part of a musical family, really; my dad was a saxophonist, playing jazz, blues, that kind of thing, and my mum was an old-fashioned piano player; the kind you find playing smooth music in smokey little bars where only people in the know go. As I got older, they tried to teach me to play things myself, but I didn’t show much aptitude- or show much interest in doing anything they wanted me to, really. I hit my teens, and still didn’t give much of a fuck, flying or otherwise, about what the hell they wanted me to do. By the time I hit my late teens (well, okay, my eighteenth birthday, I woke up with some kind of epiphany: thou shalt be awesome and righteous at music and shit), I realised I actually wanted to do something, and spent a couple of years teaching myself their signature instruments- piano, saxophone, trumpet, harmonica. I even added a little guitar, just for myself, because who doesn’t like a guy who really knows how give a curvy something a really good fingering? It soon became apparent that being an awesome musician was hereditary or something and that led me to my vocation.

I wrote my own songs, composed my own pieces, and always recorded myself playing them, both on tape, and on camera. Of course, my parents would always listen in and tell me how wonderful I was, but I needed more feedback, more praise- stuff that I would never get, when the only people to listen were my family members, and any girlfriends I could persuade to listen; surprisingly, given how many girls seem to like guys in a band, the latter was a surprisingly small percentage.

Anyway, point is, for a long time, I had nowhere to show off my skills. So when I heard about this youtube site, I realised I had a chance to show off, and get critique, and feedback. I signed up, created an account with a suitably pretentious name (IdlingInnocence, or something like that), and started posting videos every other day. Within two months, I’d put up every one I had from my teens, so I began recording new videos, and posting them up. Before I knew it, I was doing a lot of them, and getting so many subscribers and views it was unbelievable. Compliments poured in by the score, comments came in by the dozen, and everyone, without a doubt, seemed to love what I could do. I stuck with mostly the same genres; jazz, blues, swing for the most part; there was something about the smooth, sensual, smoky sounds of the music that just sent shivers down my spine. To be honest, every time I sat down behind that piano keyboard, or played a cool little chord on my sax, I got hard. What? It’s not weird if you don’t make it weird. Weirdo.

Some people, apparently, loved what I did more than others. I did pick up my share of crazed admirers (the kind who'd proclaim that they wanted my babies, or they wanted to marry me- which reminded me, why was it always the utterly batshit insane ones who wanted to settle down?), but in the middle of all the craziness, and insanity, and sudden internet fame (which, let’s be honest, isn’t really real fame, is it? It’s sort of…ersatz fame, if that), there were some surprising messages. One such one was from an agent, who said they’d be interested in representing me, getting my work out to the masses. Of course, I couldn’t turn down such an opportunity, could I? So I accepted, we met, and they said they had some kind of deal; something about partnering me up with some girl so they could market us as the Next Big Thing In Music, Now With Both Boobs And Penis. I’d be the Captain to this chick’s Tenille, the Simon to her Garfunkel, the Hall to her Oates. The Flanders to her Swan. Swann? Swan? Whatever. I’d be the x to her fucking y.

Which was why I found myself in an elevator, staring at the mirrored door, wondering if I looked okay. Having my kind of build- politely known as tall and slim, impolitely known as ‘lanky’, ‘skinny’, and ‘fuck me, lad, you could get lost hiding behind a fucking lamp post’- it was hard to find clothes that fit. So the suit I wore was hanging on me, making me look more like a scarecrow than a person. My hair, as black as the keys on a piano, was sticking up everywhere, a result of me constantly running my hand through it in nervousness. My eyes were bloodshot, thanks to the sleepless night I’d had the night before; but, of course, that wasn’t the worst thing about them. Thanks to heterochromia, I had pretty unusual, and noticeable, eye colours; my left eye was a nice shade of brown, an almost golden colour that I actually thought looked pretty good. My right eye, however, was a bright blue round the outside, and a weird green in the middle, like my eyeball had a runny nose or something. The overall effect was, well, startling. Plenty of people told me they liked it, but I’d never been convinced myself.

The opening of the doors stirred me from my thoughts, and I stepped out, wincing as the briefcase at my side slapped into my thigh. I’d taken it because that showed I Meant Business, right? After all, not just anyone had briefcases- only important people who kept things like important papers, and important snacks and important secret bottles of booze had them.

For a moment I was lost in confusion, desperately trying to spot something that would tell me where to go, but then I spotted a receptionist sat behind a desk, idly typing at her computer. Pasting on my very best smile, and standing as straight as I could, I strode confidently up to her, cleared my throat, and spoke. “Hi, I’m Victor Koch? I’m meant to be having a meeting with, uh..” I trailed off as she shot me a look, and gestured to the chairs. I nodded, wandered to them, and sat down, grasping the case between my knees as I waited patiently. For what, I hadn’t a clue- I knew the girl’d be showing up, but other than that, I had no idea. Frankly, I didn’t care, so long as she had a decent pair of tits I could subtly pretend to not be blatantly staring at.

So I probably have a ton of details wrong there, but bollocks to it; it's mostly decent, right?

Anyway, I actually have a sort-of plot for this one, shock horror; basically, these two have been plucked from obscurity by this record company or whatever, and they're determined to make them The Next Big Thing, by forcing them into a duet. What'll emerge is that they want this to extend to everything, essentially making the two into a fake couple, marketing them as such, making them do all publicity together. However, they're completely different in everything; musical styles, personality, etc.
The long and the short of it is, eventually the fake relationship becomes not so fake any more. If we want to make it a little darker, we can add in things like the company forces them to release a sex tape, or fuck other people, or have some kind of sexually-charged scandal in order to make them seem a little more adult or whatever. I don't know.

As with most of my shit, this is a slow-burner, with lots of character development, plot development, and general development in general. I'm not imposing kinks or limits on this, 'cause we can discuss that in person, but the usual shit does apply; no blood/gore, no incest, no animal fucking.

Same as always, if this is up, I'm digging the idea.