I'm was so thrilled by the idea of spending the summer break from law school 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 was 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 as a way to get in free I knew the scene well. But at just twenty-three 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 tried to convince myself I had nothing to worry about. At twenty-three, on break from university before starting my second year of 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 band of raiders coming to destroy your town.
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 bunk, drinking and parting with whatever woman they could lure on the bus from the gig 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.
