Drummer Boy - the Call

The scene: Austin, Texas, an off-campus house party filled with college students. Early summer, with finals almost over. Reason enough for a party. Cheap beer and empty conversation flowed freely.

Jason's band had finished playing their set a half-hour ago, and he was half a beer away from taking off. The band's gear was already in his truck. He'd loaded it himself, since his drum kit was the biggest part of it, and besides, he didn't trust his bandmates with his drum kit. Or his truck for that matter.

Jason Sturmer. Musical prodigy at age five, All-State Band Percussionist at age 18, college dropout at age 20, vagabond drummer-for-hire ever since. Currently the drummer with the neo-shoegaze-trip-hop local band Lazy Cunts.

Jason didn't care much for parties like this. At 25, he felt he was getting a little old for the company. College students, they seemed like such little kids, even though the difference between their ages and his wasn't that great. He knew wasn't going to make any sort of meaningful connections tonight. His bandmates, the same age as Jason, had other ideas, and were milking their temporary celebrity for all it was worth.

At least it was a paying gig. Fifty bucks apiece, except for Percy, who got seventy-five and all the Lone Star they could drink. They'd played on the back lawn of the house for almost two hours, and the crowd seemed to dig it, even though Jason thought they sounded like crap. But it was a gig, and he always enjoyed playing for an audience.

Jason sat inside the house, on a tatty brown couch that was older than he was. He was inside because, although it was kind of stuffy, it was cooler than outside, and less crowded to boot. He was just cooling down, after the gig and the roadie work. The Lone Star was helping as much as lukewarm beer could, but it was on the house, so there you go.

A woman's voice came from the other end of the couch. "Are you troubled?" she said.

Jason looked to see who had spoken. He didn't recognize her. She was older than most of the other party folk, maybe late twenties. Olive-complexioned, foreign-looking but he couldn't place it. Middle-eastern, maybe? Her wavy black hair framed a cute round face, like a pixie's, and she had wide, almond-shaped eyes with coffee-colored irises. She wore no makeup that Jason could see, but her lips were round and pink and full, with a natural pout to them.

Her outfit was nothing remarkable, jeans and a white v-neck tee shirt. Over that she wore a zippered black leather vest that did little to hide the fact that she was blessed with large breasts, at least E-cups, putting her out of the range of casual bra-shopping. Probably explained the vest. He wondered if she was even wearing a bra underneath.

"Life of a drummer, is all," Jason said, answering her question. "Not the easiest gig in the world."

"What's so bad about it?" the woman said. "You get to play your little songs, and for that you receive the accolades of your peers. What more could a human want?"

Jason cocked an eyebrow. The inferred condescension was one thing, but her voice...something about her voice was...off. Her voice was sort of nasally, but it sounded affected. And the way she spoke. Quickly and precisely. Kind of nerdy, or rather, like she was trying to sound nerdy. Like she was trying to hide her real voice for some reason, and didn't think he'd notice.

Whatever, Jason thought. Maybe she was a TA at the college or something. And this was some sort of 'live experiment'. He could play along.

"Well, lemme tell you," Jason began, "It's like this." he gestured with his beer at a small crowd of people across the room.

"See that guy over there?" he said. "The one doing the leg-up against the wall, surrounded by all the teenybopper freshmen? That's Percy Blevins. Stage name's 'One Love'. He's the lead singer of my band. He writes the lyrics, too. Here's the thing. He's a shit singer, and his songs are terrible. Like 'written by toddlers' bad. But, he's good-looking and he's the lead singer, and that's all the fans care about. He gets first share of the accolades."

The woman nodded, somewhat blankly. "Okay," she said.

"Over there," he gestured towards the kitchen, "Is Aiden. He's lead guitar. He mostly plays power chords, and although he thinks he's awesome, he has trouble keeping up. But he's decently attractive, and he plays guitar in a band, so he's next on the pecking order for attention."

"I see," the woman said. "So your other bandmates..."

"Pecking order," Jason repeated. "Keyboards, bass...and at the bottom you have the drummer."

"Why would this be so?" said the woman. She twisted her mouth into a pout that, despite her strange speech, was adorable. "Is it not the idea of a band that all members must work together to produce harmony?"

She seemed genuinely puzzled. "Oh, that's the theory," Jason said. "But practice is whole 'nother thing. Different levels of prestige for different roles. Me, I blame the Stones, god bless 'em anyway."

The woman considered, then nodded. Jason ventured, "You're in academia, right? It's probably like that there too, amirite?"

"Academia...roles..." the woman said absentmindedly, "Yes, I have experienced..." She broke off, paused and then said, "So your band mates are bad musicians. Am I to assume that you yourself are inept?"

Jason snorted. "Are you shitting me? Girl, I'm the only one who's any good! The other guys got into it for the pussy and the money. Me, I've been drumming since before I could talk. Practice daily whether I want to or not. Didn't you see me playing out there?"

"I missed the performance," the woman admitted.

"I'm the only thing holding those guys together," Jason said. "Folks like to talk about how drum machines and synthesizers made live drummers obsolete, but let's see a machine adapt to those lunkheads and make them sound decent."

"So you are an adept?" the woman asked.

"I'd fuckin' say so," Jason said. "I'm like Buddy Rich had a baby with Charlie Watts, and Ringo Starr's the godfather. If I could hook up with a decent band..."

"So," the woman said, "why don't you do that? Hook up with such a band of adepts?"

Jason looked away from the woman, down at his beer bottle, which was almost empty. He swirled the last swallow around, then downed it.

"Gigs are scarce," Jason said. "This town's saturated with bands. And drummers, even shitty drummers, are a dime a dozen. Anyone who can hit the skins even close to 4/4 time considers themselves a drummer, and jerks like my bandmates don't know the difference in quality. Or don't care."

"Is it the lack of musical agency that causes your turmoil," the woman said, "or the dearth of peer accolades?"

It took Jason a second to translate her question from her acedem-ese. Who talks like this? He looked down at his beer. Or have I had one too many?

"I'd like to hook up with a band who took things as seriously as I do, definitely," he said. "But, I'll be honest with you, I'd be happy with just a few dedicated fans who really got me."

"Perhaps," the woman said, "you have one already."

He looked at the woman again, more closely. She was, no question about it, hot. Sexy face, gorgeous hair. And that body was bangin', with those round hips and fantastic boobs. God, the things he would love to do with those boobs...

"You haven't even heard me play, um..." he stumbled. "I didn't get your name."

"Pearl," the woman said. "As in-"

And that moment, the couch jostled, as the ancient springs bounced Jason into the air. He looked to the other end, and saw that a couple had landed forcefully onto it. They were making out furiously, the woman on top of the man, with her legs wrapped around him, and the man's hands on her ass, holding her onto him, and they didn't give a fuck about Jason's or anyone else's conversation.

Jason sighed and turned back to Pearl. "You were saying-" he said.

Pearl was gone.

Jason scanned around the room, but couldn't spy her. It had only been a second, but she was out of sight.

Just my luck, he thought. I finally get a fan, even one who hadn't heard me play, and she ghosts as soon as I look away. Maybe he had laid the whole 'poor drummer' thing on a little thick, but whatever. If she shows up at the next gig, great. If not...win some, lose some.

Still, it would have been nice to see what was underneath that vest. Tits for days, apparently. It had been months since he'd had a post-concert hook-up, and that had barely been worth it. Not after Kristen found out.

Oh, Kristen. Despite how jealous she got, it was a good thing he had with her. Or kind of had with her. They were on-and-off, and he had no idea which it was from week to week. They were kind of a couple, but only semi-serious. He had his bands and she had her school stuff, and they didn't take it much further than that. But she was cool to hang out with. And they sure as hell liked fucking each other.

Nonetheless, if she'd witnessed his exchange with Pearl, and noticed that he had a semi chub even now, she'd bring all sorts of wrath down on him. Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing, he thought with a grin.

It was time to go home. There was nothing else for him here. He headed to the bathroom to get a slash in before the drive back. The door was locked. When he knocked he heard "Occupied!", and so he waited. When the door finally opened, a pair of girls came out, looking sheepish and avoiding his gaze. He went in, locked the door behind him and unzipped his fly. While he peed, he noticed that the bathroom smelled of fresh vomit, and saw a couple of chunks on the toilet seat. He imagined the two girls who had just exited, and remembered how freshmen girls were legendary for their inability to handle their booze.

He finished up, zipped his jeans and unlocked the door. As he did so, a dude immediately pushed past him, belching disgustingly as he did so, and slammed the door shut. Jason got out of range before he was subjected that the sounds of the loser's retching.

Jason felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that someone had just texted him.

It was Percy. The message read: "In ur truck. Took gear back home. Pick u up tomr."

Jason read the message a few times, getting more pissed off with each read. That asshole! He didn't care about keeping the gear safe as much as he did about having somewhere to get some head. And since the fucktard didn't have a car of his own...

"Motherfucker!" Jason shouted, and all eyes suddenly snapped to him holding his phone. Jason glared back at them, daring anyone to say something. The only sounds now were the faint strains of Less Than Jake from the PA outside.

After a few seconds, he shook he head and pocketed the phone. People gradually went back to whatever they'd been doing before his outburst.

Jason was furious. He was already picking out some choice words for Percy 'One Love' that would almost certainly get Jason kicked out of the band, but he was not going to let shit like this slide.

Hope you're getting your dick sucked real nice right now, Percy, he thought as he stormed outside, cause tomorrow I'm gonna punch it right the fuck off.

It was a half-hour's walk home from here. Hoping it wouldn't come to that, he texted Kristin, asking if she could give him a ride. He lit a cigarette and smoked it as he waited for her to text him back.

Her reply was speedy, but it wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. "Sry at hospital tonite, make up to you ltr?"

So were they "on" now? An encouraging thought, but not particularly useful right now.

It had been a long shot, anyway. He was gonna have to hoof it. He didn't have any other options at this time of night, and had little enough time to waste before work in the morning, so hoof it he did.

The way home was as simple as half a mile down 38th street, a mile and a half up Airport, skirting along the skeevy part of town, and then on to Creekside for eight blocks till he got to his apartment building. Easy to say, tedious to travel. With no headphones, and unwilling to keep himself amused by playing on his cellphone, and thus advertise to the world at this hour that he had a nice juicy phone to steal, he was left alone with his thoughts.

As he walked along 38th, past the neat, quiet, well-lit suburban houses, strolling along the streets since there were no sidewalks, his thoughts were dominated by coming up with inventive ways of naming Percy a Level 1 Jackass. But after making the turn onto Airport Avenue, his anger ebbed somewhat. Cars constantly zoomed past (being a main artery of the city, this road was busy at all hours), bringing a rush of noise and wind with them, and then dopplering away again. He began to think about Kristin's text.

"Make it up to you later" could mean a few different things, from "listen to Jason bitch about it while Kristin rolls her eyes" to "buy you lunch" to "I'm gonna ball the frustration out of you". It was hard to tell with Kristin. It wasn't that she was inscrutable or shy with her intentions, it was just that sometimes what seemed obvious to her wasn't what Jason was expecting. These misunderstandings had led to quite a few epic fights, and some seemingly-definitive breakups.

On the other hand, the make-ups had led to some devastatingly phenomenal sex. When Kristin got going she became pretty wild, a vigorous sexual beast who demanded satisfaction and took it. Most of the time, Jason didn't think about sex all that much, but when Kristin got her hooks into him like the way she did...

Jason thought back to their last make-up fuck-fest. It was after she'd found out about the eager fan after the show a few months back.

She had just come back from her afternoon run, damp and glistening with sweat, her blonde hair bound up in a ponytail, to find Jason outside her building waiting for her. He had said he wanted to talk, and she said "Fine."

She remained silent on the walk up to her apartment, while he made protestations and excuses that, he had to admit, sounded lame to him even as he said them. Inside the apartment, she went to the fridge and got a bottle of water, downing almost the whole thing a little too quickly.

"Jesus, it was just a blowjob!" Jason said.

"Yeah, right," Kristen said. She pulled her sky blue tank top, almost the same color as her eyes, over her head and tossed it angrily into the hamper in her room. Now only in her black tank top and running shorts, she crossed her arms under her breasts and scowled at Jason. "It was just a blowjob that you couldn't say no to!"

"Come on," he said, "It's not that big a deal!"

"Oh really?" she said. "So what was it that sealed the deal, huh? Some starry-eyed freshman cunt? 'Ooh, little drummer boy, I wanna play with your drumstick! Spank my ass with it the way you do on stage! Pound me to the beat with your big stick!' You're such a sucker, Jason."

"That's not what happened-" Jason started.

"God, I bet she had big tits, too," Kristin said. "You and your tit thing." She looked down sadly at her own breasts.

Kristin was being ridiculous, as usual. Her breasts were great: full and round, perky-nippled C-cups that felt as good in his hands as they looked packed into the tight shirts she liked to wear. If she wore a top with any sort of neckline, she displayed an eye-catching line of cleavage, and if she wore a V-neck, look out world.

"Kristin," he said, "we talked about this already! Yes, I I like big breasts, but that doesn't mean I don't like yours!"

"I knew it!" Kristin shot back. "You think my tits are too small."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Your tits are great. I love your tits! Don't be stupid!"

"Oh, now I'm stupid too?" Kristin said. "Well, at least now I know what you really want. A stupid girl with big tits to slurp on your cock until you blow a load into her stupid little mouth. That about right?" She grabbed a towel and stormed off to the bathroom.

"Kristin, you keep twisting everything-" The bathroom door slammed, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Jason sat down heavily onto the bed and sighed. There was no winning with her, not when she was in this kind of mood. After fights like these, and there had been more than a few, Jason always wondered if it would be their last one.

They'd specifically decided not to be exclusive. It was one of the rules. She said she was cool with Jason getting his freak on with other people, and Jason had said the same to her, but whenever they fought it was always about one being jealous of the other. Or rather, Kristin being jealous of Jason. If Kristin was getting some elsewhere, she wasn't telling. But Jason wanted to be completely honest, so he told her everything.

Well, just the headlines. Not everything. He didn't tell her that yes, the girl that sucked him off had bigger breasts than Kristin. She'd been kind of dumpy, though. Not very pretty at all, with a bad case of acne across her cheeks and forehead. And hadn't very good at sucking cock either, for that matter.

Mingling after the house party gig, the girl had offered to share a joint with Jason, and he'd accepted. So they'd both been a little high when she half-heartedly asked if he wanted a blowjob, and Jason had half-heartedly said sure. In an unused room in the house, the girl had nibbled and lapped at his member for a few minutes, and Jason had considered calling it off, when she'd suddenly changed position, and heaved her breasts onto his lap. Jason's cock had twitched and stiffened, and she smiled and began unbuttoning her flannel shirt. She left it open and undid the front clasp on her bra, freeing her boobs to bounce against Jason's moist chubby. Her breasts were a bit saggy, but they felt full, heavy and soft against the sensitive skin of his now-stiffening dick. Her areolae were expansive and dark brown, with thumb-sized nipples. Jason clutched her breasts, his palms barely covering her oversize areolae, and he felt her nipples hardening in his hands.

"You have really big breasts," Jason said, a bit dreamily. "So big and beautiful..." He continued to stroke them all over, feeling their weight and shape, anticipating, longing for the moment when he would bury his cock in between them.

She'd giggled and said, "Mmm...thought you'd like that. You guys always want one thing. Well, two things really."

"Put the tip in your mouth," Jason said. He didn't care one way or another if she blew him at this point, he just didn't want any more chatter while he concentrated on fucking her boobs.

He'd pressed her big breasts around his shaft, and it had felt really good. She licked the tip when she could, but compared the feeling of those fat jugs rubbing against his pole, jerking his cock between all that plentiful breast flesh, squeezing her warm funbags tighter around his stiff erection, the tit-fucking was all that mattered right then. He'd looked down at his cock, glistening with the girl's saliva and sliding rapidly between her big, fat titties and he'd felt his balls contracting.

He'd wanted so badly to come while fucking her big jugs, splatter her neck and face with goopy jizz that drizzled down onto the breasts that had been so good at getting him off. But sensing that he was close, she dove her mouth onto his cock right as he came. To her credit, she had swallowed his entire load, barely letting even a drop of his jizz escape her sucking mouth.

She lifted one breast to her mouth, to lick at an errant dollop of cum that had escaped her lips. "Sorry," she said sheepishly, "couldn't let you get me all spoogey. Good thing, too. That was quite a mouthful!"

"Thanks," Jason had said. "You bring out the best in me." He stroked her long, unkempt brown hair, while she closed her shirt and bra, packing away her booby treasures. It had been good enough, all right. Still, he'd felt like he hadn't really done proper justice to her tits. They were the best thing about her, after all.