Emily
Luckily, the tank is still pretty full. I get out, and climb the stairs to mine and Kyle’s apartment. “Hey,” he greets me.
“Hey!” I answer excitedly, taking off my jacket. His boyfriend Luke comes into view, and my face momentarily drops. But, I politely recover, greeting him as well. I like Luke, don’t get me wrong; I was just hoping for a one-on-one hangout with my brother. Perhaps, to talk about my lunch with Scott. We chitchat for a while, then I retreat to my bedroom. I have to plan my night.
I take out two free weekly newspapers, and scan the events sections. The band name “Folly” jumps out at me, and I suddenly remember that Johnny invited me to the show tonight. Not that I would go to see him, in particular, but my mind does wander to Jeremy. Done. The Cave at nine o’clock. I haven’t heard of the headliner, but all the reason to go check it out. Meet new people, be exposed to new music. It’s a crap venue, but it’s important to see those, too, to brainstorm about what can be done better, to improve shows. I consider the time I’m still living with my parents an opportunity to take advantage of completely immersing myself in the scene. I see a show almost every night. I want to know everyone, I want everyone to know me. If only I got paid for doing it.
Before I have a chance to get there, I hear the house music lower, watch the lights suddenly dim, make out the silhouettes climbing through the darkness. The familiar surge of excitement runs up my back, giving me goosebumps. This is better than any booze, drugs, or sex. The bass line of one of Folly’s new tracks starts up for a couple bars while the crowd turns silent and attentive, followed by the subtle drum beat, then the rhythm guitar. The crowd cheers, recognizing the song, and the stage lights suddenly rise, revealing Folly, in all it’s glory. One day, that will be me. I’ll be a part of this. I’ll design the lighting, run the show from the wings, or be one of the rockstars, closing their eyes in grooving concentration. Or, even better, I’ll be the producer. I’ll be the brains behind this whole incredible thing, raking in the dough.
Folly plays a short set, as the show started late, and they probably want the headliner on by ten o’clock. I’m so eager to hear them, I don’t dare leave my spot at the rim of the stage. I look over to see if Johnny’s around, so I can signal to him. I manage to make eye contact, and give him a thumbs up. He smiles broadly, and nods. They really found the pocket in their set; I don’t think I’ve seen them play so well. I’m glad I got to see Johnny really nail it.
Then, the lights dim again, and my goosebumps come back. It’s even better, when you don’t know them. I don’t even know the genre, let alone the members of the band, or their songs. I always enjoy a show more, if it’s the first time I’m hearing the music. If I already know the tracks, I’m too concentrated on singing along, or duplicating the riffs in my head. The only time you get the same feeling I’m talking about when watching a band you’re familiar with, is when they go off from the recorded version slightly, or come up with a totally different live version of a song. You always notice the newness.
The front man uniquely starts with a bit of patter, briefly and charismatically talking to the audience about themselves, and the music they’re going to play. Apparently they’re from out of town, which is why I’ve never heard of them, and why he’s made the decision to open like this. It’s a good choice, because he’s developing a personal connection with you, right from the beginning. Even before you’ve heard them, you feel like you know the front man and the band that stands behind him, yet you still have the new experience of the music. Both of both worlds. He’s done this before. And, he’s not so bad on the eyes, either.
After the encore, I finally make my way to the bar, feeling sweaty, a little dizzy, yet elated. I chug a glass of water, and Johnny comes up behind me, yelling through the din.
“Great, aren’t they?”
“So, good,” I agree.
“Thanks for coming!”
“No problem! Glad I did!”
“What are you doing after?”
“Uh, I might hang around a bit!”
“Ok, cool!”
“Yeah!” I nod, smiling. He makes a gesture with his thumb, retreating back to his band, but I’m already looking for that confident, charming front man. He’s got a good foot on most people, so he’s easy to spot. I don’t have such an easy time, fighting my way through the mass of patrons to get to him. He’s engaged in a conversation with some of his band mates, but happily turns to greet me, him being in a foreign space, and all.
“Hi!” I shout. He bends down to speak into my ear.
“Hey, there! How’s it going?”
“Good! Great set! I’m a friend of Jer’s!” I figure I’d say him over Johnny. Might increase my odds.
“Cool! Thanks!”
“I’m Emily!”
“Where are my manners? I’m too used to hanging out with these lumps! I’m Gregory!”
“Nice to meet you!” I smell a mixture of his cologne and sweat as he leans into me, his unshaven face almost grazing my ear. I see now that he’s quite a bit older; his skin looks weathered and tough, perhaps from too much sun. With that thought, I add, “I’m studying for my PhD in music!”
“You are? Oh man, you’ve definitely got me in the smarts department, then!”
“I doubt it! I prefer scenes like this, actually! Over lecture halls!”
“So, just enjoying some research in the field, are you then?”
“Yeah! You could say that!”
“Do you want to step in another room? I feel like there’s a lot you could teach me! But, we won’t accomplish anything in this noisy hole in the wall!”
“Sure!” Gregory speaks into his friend’s ear, then turns to me, gesturing for me to follow him. I smile at the other members of the band as I pass in front of them. Two smiles back, but one raise his eyebrows, and rolls his eyes. I try not to let it bother me. I don’t know why some people judge others so harshly, before even knowing them.
Gregory leads me down the hall, to the small, humid dressing room. The make up lights are on, casting an attractive glow on the littered cans and beer bottles. He shuts the door behind us, but my ears continue to ring. “Much better,” I remark, trying to get my ears to pop.
“Loud, isn’t it?”
“With how many shows I see, I swear I’m going to lose my hearing before I’m thirty!”
“What do you need to hear for? When you’re a music professor or whatever. Right?” He jokes.
“Yeah! Exactly. You only live once.”
“You only live once,” he mimics, clinking his beer bottle with my empty water glass. He takes a swig. I’m jealous of the liquid.
“So! Do you want to fool around?” I ask, shrugging cutely. He pauses, amused and shocked at my proposition. When he can find the words, he replies, grinning.
“Yeah. For sure.” He leans down to me, kissing me already with an open mouth. His stubble scratches my face, as he aggressively gives me his tongue, tasting of beer and cigarettes. I blindly back myself up against the counter, hoping to get on an even plane with him, reaching behind me with a free hand. I let my jaw relax and take him, his rough movements against my softness. I shimmy up, so that I’m sitting on the edge on the counter, wrapping my legs around his lean hips. He presses his pelvis against me, shifting my butt back against the mirror, hands on the counter beside me. I hear some beer cans hit the floor, and I moan in excited response.
He gropes my tits through my shirt, and I feel my nipples get hard in his hand. He squeezes them, and my back against the mirror, I take his rough grip without any leeway. I reach for his package, feeling him over his jeans, and I rub it just as viciously.
“Are you okay not to come for a bit?”
“Yeah.”
“You can handle it?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“I’ll suck you off, after.” We kiss again, and I hear his belt jingle as he unbuckles it; I pull my tights down over my hips in anticipation. He continues to penetrate me with his tongue, I open my mouth widely, seductively, already thinking of the blowjob, as I feel him shimmy his pants down. I massage myself, preparing, but I’m already sitting in a wet spot.
He leans into me, guiding his cock towards me, and slips in. We moan in unison; singing into each others’ mouths like that Talking Heads song. He puts his weight into his hands now, face beside mine, breathing heavily, crashing into me rhythmically. I moan each time, keeping the beat. I reach down to my clit, and begin vibrating my hand over it. He backs up to give me room, kissing me all the way. I nod for him to keep fucking me, and I feel myself bearing down over his cock. I furiously massage myself, and suddenly feel myself push and relax at the same time, coming as loudly and expressively as I feel like. No one could hear us if they wanted to.
I smile, mouth still open and breathing, as he backs off, pulling out. I see his glistening dick in his hand, and hop off the counter to reciprocate the favour. He leans against the same counter, and I turn and kneel on the dirty carpet. I lick my lips, and take his dick into my mouth, which is coated in my own juices. It allows me to easily slide my mouth over him, even though I am pretty severed dehydrated. I hear the house music bang muffled through the door, and I coordinate my movements. I grip the base of his cock tightly, working my fist up and down with my lips. I freely drool, lubricating my hand and his shaft, as I jerk him with the bass drum. Most people like consistency, so it almost works like a metronome for my movements. My steady work pays off, as he convulses, and I feel him shoot, hot and salty, into my mouth. Not exactly the glass of water I was hoping for, but it does the trick.
“Wow, baby. What was your name again?”
“Emily,” I reply, standing, wiping the dirt off my knees, and pulling up my tights.
I want everyone to know my name.
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