PROLOGUE:
I hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I enjoyed writing it one handed. Exploring my body writhing in pleasure as my fingers explore and disappear inside my soaking wet pussy. My juices flowing, eyes transfixed, waves of pleasure crashing over me. My hands finding my breast pinching my delicate nipples caressing, squeezing, teasing, them. Bringing one of my breast to my mouth I tease with it flicking my long tongue over my erect nipple. Taking my time I let my fingers slide down slowly over my stomach through my soft red pubes to my waiting wet pussy.
Rubbing softly, caressing, making love to myself, letting my fingers play with with my clit. Inserting one then two fingers inside me slowly moving in and out my wetness growing. My juices making a slurping sound as my fingers thrust in then out. I am skilled at the art of fucking myself through years and years of practice. Tingling all over, legs spread and up, knees bent, typing away, writing on my journey of exploration. Moaning as my now wet fingers plunge into me. My body dancing with pleasure, a magnificent feeling, my scent filling the room. Rubbing my swollen clit the first waves of sheer pleasure encompass me.
The sounds coming out of my mouth sometimes surprise me. Something primal taking over, losing all rational control, life is not perfect and neither is my story, it is dirty, unashamed, unedited, baring blemishes and all, bare. it is not a legal brief constructed so every word is perfect, every common in the right place, edited ten times. My tumbling out style of writing comes from emotion, desire, a longing, sexual desire, fun erotica, fantasy. My stories come spilling out of me full of lust, raw energy, with no filter, a friend confessing to you. I'm not looking for perfection in my writing, I'm simply purging my mind. Life is short enjoy the ride.
I know my place in the world I'm a bright, articulate, well educated, highly paid woman but here I'm a writer and a slut. Plunging my fingers in hard, deep ready to cum. I'm Cheryle "Cheri" an Irish Catholic, Attorney, Singer-Songwriter 30year old bi-sexual womanπ
Chapter One-The Tour Bus:
I'm was so thrilled by the idea of spending the summer on tour that I was undaunted by the warning I detect in his voice even as he asked me to join his band "Traveling Circus" for their summer tour. The band is a known commodity from my university grunge rock days, the testosterone fueled mosh pits of my youth. That scene doesn't scare me, never did, I have four older brothers. I've been the only lady plenty of times, as a guitar player and lead singer in a handful of bands over the years, and doing volunteer work for music festivals and concerts mainly to get in free. But at just twenty-two I had never been the only lady in a traveling rock entourage, living cheek to cheek with a smelly pack of men in the cramped living quarters of a tour bus for two straight months.
"Just think of it as an extended family outing with a bunch of cousins you've never met," Rick said. I think that was his way of advising a young woman to steer clear of road romances. I didn't think he needed to but being small five-two men always seem to want to protect me, baby me. Internally, I was already rehearsing my reassurances to my live in boyfriend Pete that he had nothing to worry about and I told myself I had nothing to worry about. At twenty-two, on break from university before starting law school It sounded like a fun way to spend the summer.
I was looking forward to testing my skill set on the road with an established band. I was turned on by the idea of flexing my feminist muscles on stage as a grunge rock goddess. The tour bus was decked out in mirrors and dark velour, a glitzy dance club on wheels, with a front and back lounge, kitchenette and micro bathroom, all expertly engineered to accommodate a traveling party of eight. We slept in double-decker bunks split by a shoulder-width strip of hallway. On day one it hit me, I felt like the sole frontierswoman in a band of wild outlaws, a traveling circus.
Long show days unraveled into ragged all-night drives along dusty hi-ways and interstate bi-ways. Members of the band and crew would commandeer the lounge areas for their parties, audible from my tiny bed, drinking and parting with whatever woman they could lure on the bus well into the night. I would fumble for my ear buds, trying to escape into an Ann Rice novel. Tucked inside my flimsy sleeping bag cocoon, I'm bothered more by the feeling of exclusion than their raunchy behavior. I envy their easy bond that kind of camaraderie eluded the only lady on board. Times like those solidify my sense of otherness of not being their equal. I know that around me, the guys acted differently, spoke differently, behaved differently, I really wished they wouldn't bother, I wished they treated me like they did each other.
I learned to masturbate quietly in my bunk rubbing my wet cunt biting my lip to hold in the moans of pleasure delight washing over my tight little body. Listening to the party in the back lounge area fingering myself rubbing my clit in tiny circles. Toes curling, trembling, exploding in orgasmic bliss before drifting off to a sound sleep.
In the mornings, a chorus of alarm clocks would stir our zombie band to life, rumpled and smelling of beer, sweat and sex. I always tried to be the first one up in order to avoid the tussle at the bathroom door. On show days, I would set up inside the venues green room glad to be off the bus. The green room is the space in a theatre or music venue that functions as a waiting room and lounge for performers to relax before, during, and after a performance or show when they are not engaged on stage. Green rooms typically have seating for the performers, such as upholstered chairs and sofas, event posters on the walls, food and drinks. While the crew spent the day humping gear into the club. I watched as the band baited eager fans into the bus like they were fishing only they didn't throw back any everyone was getting laid except Cheri.
Chapter Two-A New Discovery:
in August we played the Plumer River Bike Rally set in the middle of nowhere in Indiana forty acres of campers, RV's, tents and bikers in their leather vest and Harley Davidsons everywhere. We were in the battle of the bands Thursday night and if we won that, which of course we did, we played Saturday before the headliner "Jackyl".
I watched as a week-end of parting and depravity play out before my eyes. There were topless woman, breast everywhere, all shapes and sizes, young and old alike, sex around every corner, a tent with a mechanical bull and country music, a water slide, and live music and games all day Friday and Saturday an adult Disney land.
One bright spot of the week-end was the shower house big shower stalls, hot water, after being on the road so long a proper shower was wonderful. Soaping my naked body running my hands over my small breast, playing with my nipples, lost in the moment. Eyes closed hands drifting lower over my flat stomach through my red pubes a fantastic feeling.
That's were I met her, Sunny, a twenty seven year old blonde her hair in braids, shorter then me and plump, very attractive in a farm girl sort of way. Chatting with her after my shower there was something about her that intrigued me immensely. She said she loved the band and was looking forward to seeing us play again Saturday.