Author's Note
: This is not an erotic story, but there is some sex here. Again, this was built around the germ of an idea that took on a life of its own. In that regard, it's not a stroke story. It's an homage to music and the connection with the spirit world. Long before Robert Johnson, many artists were rumored to have sold their souls for the chance to perform at the peak of their artistry. From that, I tried my own spin on the myth. I try to put a lot of different ideas in my stories, so I hope I succeed in making you think a little. I hope you have fun reading this, because I enjoyed writing it. Happy Halloween!
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Growing up, a lot of kids have a dream playing in a rock band. Life on the road and all that comes with it is part of the thrill. Reality is always different than the dreams. But when reality goes off the rails, just staying alive may be impossible.
We had booked our tour for the fall, when the local universities were in session, and the clubs where we played were in full swing. Our target audience was the college kids. We, ourselves, Band Hammer, were a few years out of school, so we knew the drill. Don't tour in the summer, when all the students are home. Don't tour in winter, since the holiday breaks and exams reduce the crowds. Don't tour in spring time, since you're competing against spring break.
That left autumn, and so we hit the road.
We started out from our base in the mid-Atlantic area and headed west in small steps. By the time of that tour, we had a good-sized following. We could expect up to a thousand or so paying heads at the gate in Chicago, Knoxville or Austin, and at least several hundred in smaller venues. Our Bandcamp and Soundcloud followings had put some money in our pockets from downloads, but touring was what paid the bills. T-shirts, merch and even CD sales at the shows made it worth the effort and allowed us to continue the illusion being 'touring musicians'. Well, we were 'touring'. And we were 'musicians'. But we were never going to make a career of this. We were really just extending our adolescent fantasies of sex, drug and rock'n'roll and to that point we hadn't fully exhausted our options yet. But we were close, despite some real potential.
The tour was planned for thirty-five dates, and we averaged four to five shows per week, which meant a lot of driving. With that kind of itinerary, the sex and drugs took a distant back seat to the rock'n'roll. After a show, we'd break down our own gear. Roadies? Ha!
We'd hopefully be on the road by about midnight. With some luck, we could get a few hours on the road towards the next destination before crashing at a motel somewhere. If we didn't get out of the show by 2 a.m., we'd stay in town that night and try to make an early start in the morning to the next site, check into the next motel, crash for a few hours and then go for set up and sound check by about 4 p.m. Fighting a hangover means taking away time from something else, and that just wasn't feasible for more than a show or two.
Travel was on our own dime. We had enough gear that we took three vehicles; Kevin and Ronnie drove their cars and I piloted my van. I had the guitars and bases, some of the small amps and Danny's keyboards. We mostly played through house PA systems, but we did need to mic up smaller amps. It was enough gear, and with our suitcases, that it pretty much filled the van. Normally, Dan and Tyler rode in the cars as well with the other two, but occasionally, one of them would ride with me to break up the monotony.
Girls were just as tough at the drugs. Groupies? I can't say we didn't have access, but there just wasn't time. By the time we had a few moments, we were sleeping, eating, setting up, breaking down or otherwise prepping for the next show. It was like being in the Army. Besides, most of us had girls at home.
Which was why we were so looking forward to Chicago.
It was five weeks and twenty-three shows into the tour, late-October by the calendar, when we reached Chicago, and we were a quintet awash in testosterone. Jerking off in motel showers only does so much to take an edge off and we were two-thirds of the way into the tour. We were in need of a break, or recharge or whatever word would be appropriate.
My girl, Anna arranged for all the band significant others to join us to meet in Chicago, where we planned two shows over four days (including a weekend) in order to give us some R&R. Anna was joined by Melanie, Ronnie's girl and Liv, Kevin's long-time girlfriend. Tyler was gay and out, dating Jake, an architect, who also made the trip. Danny was single, making him the odd man out.
The band's caravan pulled into the cheap motel outside the Loop a little before 3 p.m. on Friday, and to our relief, our welcoming party was ready and waiting for us, already checked in. Hugs and handshakes were given all around, and each pair retired to their own room for a more personal reunion.
Anna welcomed me with a deep kiss and grabbed my crotch. "Howdy sailor," she breathed into my mouth with a grin.
"Permission to come aboard, sir," I laughed.
"Sir?" she whispered, her hands went to my belt and began undoing the buckle.
"Ma'am!" I answered. The time away, her familiar smell and warmth of her breath on my face had my dick harder than calculus. I leaned in for a kiss when she freed me from my pants.
We swapped spit for a few seconds, and she pulled away. "Have you been a good boy while you've been away?" She was teasing. She and I both knew I'd never find better than her; at least in the crowds that came to our shows. Her hand wrapped around me, iron in a velvet glove. I sighed softly before answering her.
"The best."
"Still not good enough." Using her grip on my little tiller, she steered me to the lumpy bed, where we took out our weeks of pent up frustrations on each other, atop over-starched, too-thin motel sheets. But to us, it was a bed of roses. At least until we finished, when we counted the friction burns on our knees and elbows.
By the time we all reconvened at the club, everyone except Danny looked exhausted but happy. Danny just looked happy. "I was the only smart one," he said. "I caught up on some sleep."
That night's show was hot. By that point in the tour, we were dialed in with the set list, and we could predict each other's riffs, weaving in and out of each other's lines. Add to that, all of us were motivated by our reunions, and we were firing on all cylinders. There're some nights on stage when you can just feel the energy, the connection with the crowd. That night we were plugged in to 10,0000 volts. Harmonies were sweeter. Solos seemed to pop. We sounded huge. We came off stage for our last encore, we were exhausted but there was that wired optimism that a few more shows like that one and we could just be one of those bands that actually makes it. Even the girls and Jake agreed.
It turned out; we weren't the only ones who thought so. Some critics from the local papers were at the show and wrote rave reviews of our show in the next morning's editions. When we showed up for Saturday's sound check, the club manager met us and told us that night's show was completely sold out. He knew we were booked for the rest of the tour, but asked specially about making a return after the tour's last dates. He offered us a sweeter deal, and while we tried to play it cool saying 'we'd think about it', I saw the looks in the other guys eyes. There was real excitement.
Needless to say, we just about blew the doors off the joint that night as well. By the time we said our final good night, we had over a thousand new best friends and a more than a few dollars in our pockets from selling out all of our merchandise. The fans couldn't get enough of us. Anna nearly screwed me to death back in our room.
We slept in Sunday. Well, we said we were going to. I was still feeling the buzz from the night before, I mostly just tossed and turned after a few hours of sleep. I could still hear the fans screaming for more.
