When I published a book of those flash stories a few years back, I included an introduction to each of them. This one I introduced with a bit of a "this is based on actual events" kind of intro. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. I'll discuss that at the end, since the actual events did form a bit of a conscience-testing moment.
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NUMBER ONE FAN
By Willsin Rowe
I had to tell her. Before she went too far.
“Janaya–”
She silenced me with her whiskey-soaked mouth. Somehow she landed on
top of me.
“Janaya, I–”
Her cool nipple brushed my lips, deflecting any words I might have
had. She drew patterns on the face of my tongue and then plunged inside me.
“Baby, I know. I’m too young for you.”
“Well, yes–”
“I have all your albums. I used to fuck myself with your action
figure.”
“Um…”
She ground herself on my belly, whittled my voice into hiccuping
moans. Gotta tell her.
The words found my mouth as her mouth found my cock.
“No, I’m...ohhhh...”
“Baby, I want you in me.”
“Me? But I’m–”
“Fuck me.”
“Janaya, listen...”
Steel flashed in her cobalt eyes. “Now.”
So young, so beautiful. For all the fame, I’m still just a man.
Her flesh immolated my cock, and she slammed me against the floor.
She tightened up. All over. She squealed like Buchanan’s Telecaster.
“First time I heard you play, I knew you’d be my perfect lover,
Steve.”
“Janaya...I’m Roger.”
“Huh?”
“The bass player.”
Tight as she’d been, I still felt her clench. “Bass player?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. I tried–”
“Yeah.” She checked the time. “So…Steve’s room?”
I pointed. She kissed me, followed my finger and knocked.
“Hi, Steve? I used to fuck myself with your action figure.”
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Reading back over it, I think it's a little raw by my current standards. But we had (from memory) a 250 word limit on stories so that informs the voice quite a lot.
Now, onto the actual events.
This story obviously features a famous band...something I've never been part of. When I was actively playing in bands, though, I would occasionally (very occasionally, since I was, after all, the bass player!) receive some very nice attention from my gender of preference.
The actual events which inspired this story happened in the outback mining town of Cobar, NSW. We were based in the not-quite-so-outback city of Dubbo, and used to have to go fairly long distances to score gigs. Inland Australia is pretty sparsely populated, after all.
Anyhoo, we'd played Cobar before, and there were some shenanigans after that first gig, involving a party, four well-won (by me!) games of chess, an offer for an MFM threesome (declined by me, but the lead singer manfully stepped up and had an MF twosome), and an accidental jamming of a porn video inside a VHS player (it WAS 1999, after all!) But that is not where this story comes from.
This particular tale came about from the next gig we played. That same young threesome-offering lass was at this later gig, along with a very saucy and curvy friend. After the gig, I was feeling a little out of sorts. I had a young baby son at home along with my wife, and was really feeling my own absence from their evening. So when the saucy and curvy friend came a-knocking on my hotel room door, I simply pretended I was asleep.
The drummer had different ideas, though, and ran around to the window, pulling it open and shoving the gorgeous young woman into the room. A score of -1 for HIS conscience. It took me only about thirty seconds to escort her out again, withstanding a barrage of "aw, you're old" and "you're so boring" comments. Hey, I was STILL the bass player. Those characteristics are IN MY BLOOD, SISTAH!
So she went across the hall to the room the drummer and lead singer were sharing and fucked the singer while the drummer watched. The same singer who'd rolled around with her friend the last time there.
The singer who'd had the same girlfriend waiting back in Dubbo both times. Hence the questioning of conscience.
I was the elder statesman of the band at that point. 29 years old. I'd been married/partnered far longer than the other guys, and was the only one with a child. My point of reference was a little skewed. I was never "rock 'n' roll" even when I was young enough to fit the mould. But it's one of those moments where you have to choose...do I do the right thing and let the girlfriend know about his unprotected behaviour, and thereby risk breaking up the band?
Regrettably, I took the "not strictly my business" line. I didn't know the girlfriend really well. I wasn't sure what the future of the band was.
Hindsight is a wonderful beastie, of course. The band petered out in a mess within a few months, all of its own accord. The other three guys moved to another city to try again, without telling me, and I managed to glean a little bit of a hint from that.
Hindsight also tells me the girlfriend would have been better-served to have the information, at least so she could make him get tested before allowing him back in her bed. They also petered out not long afterward, though.
So...by my scorecard, I get +2 for choosing not to indulge in infidelity on two separate occasions. Given I'm a bass player, that should be at least doubled, since the opportunities are so damn rare! Heh. And I think I get at least a -10 for chickening out on letting the girlfriend know.
Willsin, I love the story and the postmortem explanation. I didn’t know that bass players were last-picked by groupies. (My stepson, also an elder statesman at 37, is a Latin/jazz drummer and winner of many rounds of mixed martial arts. Judging from hints he drops, he never has to go home alone from a gig.) Your behaviour sounds ethical enough. Telling the girlfriend would have been noble, but sometimes the messenger of bad news gets shot. :(
ReplyDeleteGreat flasher, Willsin, but in the real situation, how do you know he didn't use protection? And isn't it the case with rock bands that the drummers are the ones with the substance abuse problems and have to be carried up on stage? Or maybe I just took 'Spinal Tap' as a reference. That and the rock band Momma and I once lived with.
ReplyDeleteHe quite openly told us the next day he'd gone bareback. Actually, after that second time I remember I went to a vending machine and bought him a little two-pack, thinking it was just as likely to keep happening.
DeleteGreat story, Willsin. I mean, both the flasher and the exegesis.
ReplyDeleteTough calls, conscience-wise. However, I don't think you had the same level of responsibility to your mate's girlfriend as you did to your wife.