Payton knew she wanted to be famous when she was eight years old. Unlike other young women Payton knew it so strongly that she was more than willing to put in the effort to get famous.
At ten years old she began doing extra chores at home to get money for music lessons. Every dollar she earned her parents met. Studying guitar Payton practiced for hours between her weekly lessons. She learned songs by women who she admired and sang along so much that her parents made her move out to the garage.
Then at twelve, already a very good guitar player and singer, she started taking dance. Then she joined the gymnastics team in school. Every day of the week she had some lesson or activity she was scheduled to go to. When she wasn't in an organized activity of some sort she practiced on her own for hours.
When she had to get braces she was happy, not self-conscious. She knew stars had perfect teeth.
She did yoga, jogged and ate a healthy well balanced diet.
Her intention to be in peak physical conditioning so that nothing stood between her vision of herself as a Rock Star and the achievement of that goal.
She aged.
Payton entered singing contests, and offered her services at weddings and family gatherings. She did whatever she could to get in front of a crowd and learn performance chops.
Winning awards and making a name for herself around her town Payton felt as if she were on the right track, eventual stardom were hers for the taking.
The boys at school started to pay attention to the skinny, little girl who was beginning to blossom.
Getting her braces off and growing breasts; getting a little taller, though still smaller than most girls, made Payton more confident socially. She dated and fell in the fifteen year old version of love.
She had her heart broken and she broke hearts. She sang. She played, she practiced, and she wrote songs.
She learned and she grew up.
She graduated from high school and she went out into the world to find her fame and fortune.
She failed. She met disappointment after disappointment. She became discouraged. She cried. A lot.
She answered an ad for a singer for a band. She auditioned. She got the job. She learned their songs, and taught them some of hers. She worked really hard, and starved. She got better, and the band got better and they got gigs and slowly, ever so slowly they became known. They toured. The made an independent album.
Payton began to see that her goal might actually come true, but she was missing some crucial element in her song writing, or performance. Something she couldn't define.
Time passed as the band toured and spending all her time with a group of guys, on the road in hotel rooms eventually lead to her having some physical needs.
"Payton, wanna hang out after the show tonight?" Dylan called to her from the toilet in her dressing room. The other space the guys were using had no bathroom.
"Sure. What's up?"
"Nothing. I just don't wanna get wasted with those guys tonight, and you barely ever come out, so I thought I'd hang with you if you want."
"Sure. Sounds cool." Payton sat and looked at the door to the bathroom, frozen mid stroke of applying her make-up. Dylan usually was the ringleader of whatever shenanigans the band got up to, so this invitation came as a shock to her.
Turning back to the mirror as Dylan emerged from the toilet she resumed making up her face for tonight. Payton put a great deal of effort into making her face just right for shows. Off stage she wore no make-up whenever possible, but for shows she wanted to look perfect. She never wanted a single photo of her on stage to be anything but ideal.
Payton was a petite nineteen year old at this point, with long dirty blonde hair that was as straight as a ruler. Her tiny heart shaped face looked innocent and sweet. Wide blue eyes and a small nose made her look younger than she was, and her smiling upturned mouth and pouty lips gave her a sensual vibe that added a sexual element to an otherwise angelic face.
Her body was toned and delicate, like a dancer's. Her small breasts and narrow hips giving her a jail-bait quality that made bar owners nervous, and she was never allowed to stay after shows in case anyone found out she wasn't twenty one.
"You look great. Really pretty tonight." Dylan observed.
"Thanks." She said quietly. Payton was getting the impression that Dylan was flirting with her. It was a little unsettling. Was he falling in love? Unlikely. Dylan was good looking, a dark haired, pretty man with chiseled abs and a lean hardness, like a hunter, that worked in perfect contrast to his feminine qualities. And he was the lead guitarist. He got laid almost every night.
The band had talked to her early on in the tour about letting them sleep in her room so that whomever was bunking with Dylan didn't have to try and sleep next to him having sex all night. And Payton had allowed it, but she wore pajamas in the room and went to bed early so nothing had happened with any of them.
No-one had said "No Sex" but she wasn't welcoming it.
Except as Dylan left her alone to get ready she began to think about it in depth.
Dylan was sexy, for sure. And experienced, which wasn't a bad thing, necessarily.
But she wasn't interested in a boyfriend right now. At all. Nor did she want to get a reputation among the band as being easy. So far they had been pretty respectful of her. Crass, and immature sure, but they were in a band, they weren't doctors or accountants.
As Payton went over to the boys change room for a quick warm up with the guys, she felt a little squishy inside thinking about having sex tonight. It had been a while and it would be a welcome relief, if they could set some fair ground rules.
