The Bassline
I have a secret. Well, it's not really a secret. It just seems like one because I haven't told anyone. Somehow it can seem easier to tell complete strangers about something intimate than it is to tell your best friend. I'm staying anonymous and I'm sharing my secret with you. Later. First I have to give you the context.
I was looking around on FacePage and someone posted a link to a song by a local band I didn't know. I love music...all kinds, but now that I'm single again I'm kind of hesitant to go out at night like I used to. I haven't had the pleasure of going to see live music for a while.
Anyway, I watched the video and was really impressed. I'm not a musician; I don't know any of the stuff about how to make it. But I do know what I like. I like it if I can feel it, and I mean physically feel it. Inside me. In the video the group sounded really professional (at least, to me) and they had a great stage presence. They seemed like the kind of band that has played together for a long time. They were tight, they smiled at each other here and there, they seemed kind of like brothers. A family. That's the vibe I got just from my cell phone screen.
I was so intrigued that I did a search and found their tour schedule. They perform all over the region, but they come back to their hometown often enough and play at the Performing Arts Center one town over. The schedule showed they'd be back at the Performing Arts Center in two weeks. So guess what I did? That's right! I got a ticket and I went to see them...live. By myself. Big deal. At least it was for me!
There they were and there I was at the PAC and wow, is it too obvious to say that they were much more impressive in person than they were on the screen of my cell phone? Well, maybe so but I just said it. Yeah, I don't get out enough. But I was out that night and holy cow, it was worth the wait! I was swept away from the first note, completely pulled in by the sound. Plus, I have to admit, I was smitten. It was the bass player. I happen to have a pre-existing fondness for bass players, but that's another story...
I did what I always do at a concert; I looked towards the back of the stage, next to the drummer to find the bass player. Standing off to the side, almost hiding from the main spotlights, there he was...a man and his bass, right where he belonged. The exposed brick wall behind him, the giant amps on his left, the drummer on his right, this was his niche, his pocket, the place where he made magic. His magic. Where he summoned up from the depths ( his depths I hoped) the thing we all have in common... the heartbeat.
And oh my heart! Once I caught that first groove he played and returned to throughout the first number, once I had that rhythm pulsing and synching up with my insides I was his. I closed my eyes and let the fullness of sound surround me. That low, pulsing rhythm did more than surround me; it knew its way in. The steady beat, punctuated by his skillful variety of licks, lub-dubbed their way into my heart. And elsewhere. Believe me, I was feeling this music. I wanted more; I wanted its maker, the magician who cast spells with his sounds.
I opened my eyes again so I could see this magician. Nope, no magician, it was the same guy I had seen before. The reserved one in humble jeans and a T-shirt. A central casting bass player, in my opinion, certainly nice looking, but this notion I had about a magician must have been brought on by his masterful playing. The actual guy was a bit shorter than his band mates, and very fit, lean and muscular. I watched his forearm, its shape, and the plentiful golden hair that shone whenever he ventured closer to the bright lights. Every so often he lifted his head to look at something other than his instrument, like when he'd signal something to the drummer, I got a brief look at his face. His face! Once I saw those green-gold eyes, the mischief in his eyes and eyebrows, and a full mustache, silvering brown with gold highlights, just wow. How could a man transform so quickly from attractive to beautiful to freak fucking hot?
His hands, those hands, the long fingers, so dexterous, so nimble; they must be able to do magical things! The strong but incredibly sensitive fingertips, even with the calluses that must have developed from years of playing. I stared at his hands. I stared at his fingers. The pads of his fingertips. He communicated so much with them. Sounds, yes...the beat, the time-keeping, of course... but even more. He vibrated deep feeling as his fingers touched the thin strings and the thick wirey cords of that instrument; that vibration was rippling right through me.
I wanted to be his instrument. I wanted to be the one who was the object of such focus, such attention...the one he was so obviously into and in love with. I wanted those long fingers touching me, stroking, plucking, pressing his thumb into my skin instead of that wood and wire thing which hung from his shoulder by a strap. I wanted to feel what might be behind that bass, that low place it covered. What did it hide? The place in him which generated the hypnotic vibrations, the repetitions, the slow or sudden changes which he transformed into sound and sent out to the audience. To me.
What really got me was the way he directed his energy so intently, so intensely to the sounds. Only the sounds. He didn't waste any of it with attention-getting moves across the stage or other hijinks; he let his bandmates do that stuff for the crowd. They were good at it and knew how important it was to let him do what he was good at. He was their ground. Nothing happened without him. I felt my blood pulse in time with the energy he brought up from inside, the place behind his bass. The place he might have been pressing into the back of his instrument that very moment? Oh God, I was really feeling it now.
To hell with being his instrument! I didn't want that anymore; I wanted to be his, as a real woman, and I wanted him to be mine as a real man. I wanted it, but I needed it, too, and in the worst way.
Now for my secret: I am ashamed to admit that I needed a man, that man, so desperately that I would surrender my whole self to him. A man I didn't even know! Does that sound pathetic to you? It sure does to me when I say it. That a stranger whose ability to play the deep tones I love could penetrate me so much that I lost my sense of reality, my sense of self, and wanted to give it all away to him? He wasn't even trying to lure me and there I was practically begging him to take me! Here's the thing, that's not how women are supposed to feel anymore, is it? That's not the modern woman. And it's certainly not the kind of thing we are supposed to admit. We're supposed to be independent, strong, self-assured, separate, and in control. I was not. I was the opposite of all those shoulds.
Where were my pride, my self respect? Gone. But I traded them in for something better...
That beat. That primal beat is as real as it gets. It felt like the music was pumping my blood. It felt smooth but electric. It radiated from his loins, his groin. Smoothly electric, not hectic. Vibrationally stimulating. It was everywhere. And there he was, his long, talented fingers opening his jeans, reaching in and carefully withdrawing his smooth, gorgeous cock. It was exquisite the way he handled his own body with the same strength and sensitivity he handled his bass. I felt like I would turn to putty when he looked at me with that focus, that same intense attention and affection he placed like a crown over his instrument.
