“Here’s your pay!” Dennis shoved a fist full of dollars into my chest. “And now our business partnership is officially terminated. Don’t ever contact us again.”
The fire in his eyes revealed the anger of Hell. Or it may have been his embarrassment after one hell of a night. Honestly it didn’t matter to me.
Dennis then boarded the bus, and the diesel engine puked out its sooty exhaust at me. As if adding insult, the rear wheels kicked rocks onto my rattlesnake-skin boots. Yes, those same diamondbacks.
I stood on the side of the road until the brake lights disappeared at a bend in Highway 84. The band left me and my saxophone in the Texas wasteland. And that was it. Done and done. As fast as rock n’ roll came, it was gone.
I was alone under the yellow moon, but my shoulders never slumped, not in the slightest. Sure, I had landed in a tough spot. Very tough. Nothing I couldn’t weather though. And holy shit! She was Missy Lanta. Worth all the retribution for sins committed against the band. And I would do it all over again. Not a second thought necessary.
Standing on the highway on that warm night, I couldn’t hold back a light chuckle. It turned into a full-on convulsion of laughter, and soon I was bent over, cracking up, my side hurting with a sharp pain. I thought of Dennis enraged, of the band’s hatred for me, of the curses hurdled at me, of the names shouted from the bus. My convulsions of laughter pushed me to my knees. Despite everything, rock n’ roll— no doubt, rock n’ roll! —I was proud. Proud as hell.
So I grabbed my case and stepped toward Waco. With a swagger, an aching side, and a long, long walk ahead.
The band was headed out on a tour of the South. We had gigs in Vicksburg, two in Shreveport, a couple of dates in Fort Worth and Dallas. Onto Waco, Midland, Albuquerque and finally Tucson. We hired some back-up singers and a stand-in bass player. Our regular bassist, Ricky, had broken his arm in a drunken brawl, so he was out.
Missy Lanta came aboard in Jackson, Mississippi. I first saw her when she auditioned to play bass. She showed up in a pair of painted-on blue jeans. Showing off every part of that slim figure of hers. Lovely. I knew, when Dennis first got a glimpse of her, all she had to do was hold the bass right-side up to get the job. A tight body and a natural smile are things that can’t be taught, dubbed over or muted.
Dennis gave her his full attention, playing favorites. Yeah, but who hasn’t played favorites, right? My sax over my sweetheart. The road over a home. Dennis was no different. Except people hate it when they’re getting the raw end. Me and the band, we were getting that end.
It wasn’t so much that we were ticked about Dennis treating Missy as he did. As good as she looked, any man would. But Dennis shirked his duties as tour manager. Did us over. See, schedules fell behind and became disorganized. He didn’t contact venues about sound checks and set times. We got to the joints at the last minute. Then came that one night. Dennis botched our lodging in a small town outside of Shreveport. I think the place was Red Chute. It should be easy to remember, because that’s where rock n’ roll slipped into my room.
Dennis usually had the band staying at Holiday Inns on tours. Breakfasts were decent. Oftentimes the staff left out the eggs and bacon and coffee, knowing we had come in early in the morning and had slept in late. But when we got to Red Chute, the Holiday Inn reservation wasn’t there and the place was packed. So we got stuck at the I-20 Motel. How bad was it? The sign advertised that it had an RCA color TV in each room. Seriously, that’s what the sign said. Dennis dumped us in that hole for two nights. The band could have beat Dennis then and there.
The first night, I sat in my room because I had slipped the front desk some extra cash for cable TV. The set was bringing in a decent picture, skewed a bit blue though.
A soft knock on the door surprised me. Turned out Missy Lanta was on the other side.
“Your TV working?” she asked without a hello. Before I said yes, she slipped by me. There was a scent of something spicy. It seemed tasty. My eyes slid down her back before she plopped onto the lounge chair beside my bed.
“Your set broke?” I asked, a bit befuddled at her showing up.
“Damn rabbit ears can’t pick up anything. Only that snow static. This place is terrible. Where did Dennis take us?”
I only smiled. Dennis hadn’t lost his mind as a manager until just recently, I wanted to tell her. But decided against it. Instead, I climbed onto the bed, finding that warm spot where I had been sitting.
“Wanting to watch a particular show?” I asked.
“Just something. What were you watching?”
She didn’t want to know. I did not want her to know. But as swiftly as she had slipped in, she stole the remote control and hit the return button. The TV screen jumped back to the channel I had been watching. A wavy pay-per-view screen. A girl was moaning to some generic cheesy background music.
“Seriously?” Missy hooted and covered her mouth. A moment later, she had fallen to her knees, keeled over in laughter. “Were you just …”
Her eyes shimmied down my torso to my lap. I sat there, in the middle of the queen-sized bed, embarrassed to the nth degree.
Missy, with laughter-red eyes, asked, “She got you all hornied up?”
I tried to deflect. “It’s the music. There’s a great sax solo. Maybe it’ll come on again.”
No chance that line would work. I was dumb to even say it. Better to just admit what was obvious.
“At least, she will come again. Probably faking it though.”
What struck me was when Missy moved to the edge of the bed, close to the TV set. She tried to look through the waves on the screen.
“Like titties? She’s got some big ones.”
I gulped and choked. The heat of embarrassment lined my scalp.
Then Missy yee-hawed loudly. “Or do you like a big ass? This girl’s got curves.” Her eyes didn’t leave the TV screen.
I attempted not to answer her questions. “How can you see so good?”
Missy looked over her narrow shoulder at me. “As good as you can, and she’s gettin’ you off.”
Her eyes set on my bulge that I didn’t want to appear so obvious.
“You needin’ a little release?” She arched an eyebrow and then walked her fingers on the bed, like they were spider legs.
I thought I would be cooler under this pressure, that I’d know how to handle being caught, especially by a woman, a lovely woman, a lovely woman who didn’t come unhinged at seeing a man alone. I wasn’t prepared though. I fell silent.
“I will let you finish what you need to finish.” She stood and walked backward to the door. “Go ahead, have some fun.”
And she left.
That began it, for good and for better, to be honest. When we saw each other, Missy would flirt and tease. On stage, she’d get my attention and shake her ass. Her shaking was a little more bouncy than the rhythm of the music. Get me right, I am not complaining. During a show in Dallas, she turned toward me to stroke her guitar’s neck with a tight grip and grimacing as if getting off on stage. I came back at her with my own flirting during and after shows. Soon the band was asking me about her, even prodding me. No doubt Dennis heard about us and kept his eyes peeled.
For our two shows in Waco, Dennis had us stay in the Rodeway Inn on the northside of town. Everyone was content. The rooms had free cable TV, even some premium channels. Sure, we had the channels, but there was a bar. And you know bars beat boob tubes.
I bumped into Missy at the motel’s dim lounge. She and I flirted up close and tested each other’s wares. I tried to feel out what was happening in her mind. Was she still teasing me or wanting to be teased? We were laughing and needling, letting the beers do their job to egg us on. That was until who came along? Yep, him. Dennis took a stool next to Missy, on the opposite side. Our fun died there. Snuffed out. I decided it best to vacate. I scribbled a number on my damp Coors Light coaster. I lifted her mug and slid it underneath.
Girls were dancing on my room’s TV, in vivid color this time, and making me high. In case you believe the hype, rock n’ roll isn’t all hot babes and hard drinking, that is unless you’re playing stadium rock concerts. We weren’t. Sometimes, rock n’ roll only lets you fantasize. A shame.
But there was a knock on my door. A real knock. Not a rock n’ roll fantasy. I changed channels and went to the door.
“Who is it?” I didn’t want to open it to find our drummer, Mick, who’s always pranking. Don’t think he outgrew seventh grade.
“Let me in.”
“You the big bad wolf or something?” I asked.
“Come on, let me in. Or I’ll blow your house down,” she said and pounded on the door.
Did she mean to say that? I never figured it out. No matter, because the phrase immediately sped up my pulse, the vein in my temple thumped. Her words caused an immediate tightening in my jeans.
I unlocked the door and Missy slipped by me like before. She was wearing a white, t-shirt, her breasts wiggling, and a skimpy, black skirt.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“I need a break and so do you.”
“Me? A break from what?”
Missy grabbed the remote control again. She hit the button to switch back to the previous channel that I had been watching. There were the girls.
She turned to me, eyebrows raised, and tossed the remote on the bed. “This is why.”
That same gulp and choke caught my throat. Red-heat burned my cheeks. I managed to speak just one question. “Huh?”
She sat on the bed, relaxed, by me. The nude girls and blatant sex on TV didn’t bother her. Quite the opposite. Her breathing got deeper. She crossed her legs and her hand would rub her thighs on intense scenes. I noticed it most when a woman’s tits were being sucked. Can’t ever complain about that.
I prodded her once more before moving ahead and getting smacked. “You came to my room to watch naked girls?”
She turned toward me with a wry smile. “No, I want to watch you watch these girls.”
My tightened throat that I mentioned? Well, it tightened more. Almost strangling. I had to struggle to temper my breathing, to regain my sensibilities because of Missy’s advances.
She moved from the bed to the lounge chair next to it. Her eyes alone could have manhandled me then and there.
“Get going,” she said flippantly as if I was waiting for her order. “I want to see you jerk off.”
Hearing that, I unzipped and released my hard cock. Its head was already red with excitement. I gripped it, beginning to slowly stroke up and down. My hand was cold compared to my cock’s boiling temperature.
Then she shocked me. “Oh shit, that looks so good. I needed to see a real dick.”
My mind was glued to Missy Lanta. The girls on TV didn’t interest me. I’d forgotten them already. This salacious woman was staring at my hand jerking up and down. I know she was already worked up, horny and willing for almost anything.
She stopped me though. “Let me do one thing.” Her eyes asked permission. I agreed by not objecting.
So she crawled over the bed until her face was directly above my cock, which stared boldly back at her. Her black hair dangled onto my waist, a few strands brushing against my over-sensitive dick. Then a coolness hit the tip. She had drizzled her saliva onto it, from just inches— centimeters!—above.
She grinned at me, knowing how that simple move flipped my mind. Then her greatest words: “Use that to help you.”
Missy Lanta sent me near to crazy. I was ready to meet my peak right there. I saw her move back to the chair, still watching me. I stroked, enjoying her own, personal lube.
I suddenly stopped moving my hand when her feet slid into my rattlesnake skin boots. Yes, those diamondbacks. She settled deep into the chair, raising her black skirt to reveal more thigh. Then she lifted one foot and set it on the edge of the bed. She set her other foot on the bed so I had a clear view of her clean-shaven pussy.
“Keep going,” she directed.
She must have noticed my diverted mind.
“Get a little bit faster now? That’s right. Keep touching my cock, making it nice and hard.”
She reached in between her legs. “Oh my god, you got my pussy so wet.”
That was it. She wasn’t going to see my hand any longer. She was going to feel both my hands. I climbed off the bed between her spread feet.
“What are you doing?” she squealed playfully.
I lifted her onto the bed, and tossed her flat on her back, her black hair splattered on the bed around her bright face. I raised that pair of boots up to my ears and shoved the dick she wanted to see into her welcoming pussy.
Her fingernails scraped over my shoulders to my biceps with the first deep thrust.
“Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she repeated. The words got louder and louder until she was all-out shouting. Echoing in the room, maybe into the hallway. I banged her, hard and fast.
“Are you ready to cum for me, baby?” she prodded. “Go ahead, cum for me right now, fast.”
Before I unloaded, her neck tightened, her face winced and those nails dug deep into my arms. I followed her climax and shot into her, jolts and jolts, until I was deflated.
“Girls on the TV aren’t good enough, are they?” She winked. “Nothing as good as a real tight pussy.”
I grinned, still easing my body, enjoying the waning seconds of pleasure. She was spot-on. Never heard it said better.
I woke up next to her in bed the next morning. She was cuddled against me. Her ass pressed against my morning hardness. But it wasn’t a happy morning. Someone was banging on the door and shouting for Missy Lanta. Dennis.
That was the end. A good ending, despite the long walk to Waco. She enjoyed the night. I know I did. Even my boots had a new appeal.
I wasn’t sure if Dennis kept Missy Lanta or fired her. For now, I just hope to see Missy Lanta again. Rock n’ roll may be kind. Me and Missy did make it proud.