She did offer me a pair of her pajamas to sleep in which I took and realizing that my aunt was over 250 pounds to my 112, I almost drowned in a sea of flannel.
I lay down on the couch and tried to sleep but the blanket she gave me smelled like wet dog and I could swear that I had fleas biting my ankles.
The couch was directly in line with her computer and I could hear every hen peck note she made. I needed sunglasses to shield myself from the glare of her overhead light that she refused to turn off when I went to bed.
I never understood why she had not learned to type better than sounding like a hen pecking at grain. She had been a medical transcriptionist for God’s sake! Learn how to type woman!
I finally fell asleep and woke up to the cat standing on my stomach stealing my breath and the dog licking me in the face.
I needed to get high and get low, if you know what I mean. I needed to get laid but sure as hell wasn’t going to get anywhere in this filthy convent. I missed my rock star!
I kinda panicked when she told me she was leaving the next day but my spirits picked up when she mentioned me going along for the ride. “Just for the company,” she was quick to point out.
That’s nice sweetheart.
I told her that I needed to get to California anyway. When she asked why, I told her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I told her that I had a job in Los Angeles working for Elizabeth Taylor, my parents were excited for me and they had given me a few hundred dollars for the trip.
At the sound of a little jingle in my pocket, she was more than happy to ask me to go with her. I agreed.
That’s nice sweetheart.
I wasn’t looking forward to driving cross country with my aunt. I knew why my mother, her daughter, her two ex-husbands and her neighbors hated her and listening to her talk about the church for the next several days was not high on my list of things I wanted to do before I died.
The last time I went somewhere with her and her daughter, they had gotten into a huge fight about something very, very important to all of us.
My aunt insisted that Jesus had short hair and my cousin said it was long. They fought for hours about this important topic.
I wanted to ask them what type of hair style that Satan had and realized that they would probably find out themselves one day and they could send me a warm picture postcard from Hell.
She had rented a small U-Haul to carry most of her stuff and I helped her pack for the trip. She said the church would send for the rest. She couldn’t take Bonnie and Clyde and a neighbor had offered to take them in for her. She seemed more broken up over leaving them behind than the fact that her own daughter my not live to see 30. That was my aunt.
We headed out, she asked me how much money “my parents” had given me, and I told her the truth, $200. Okay, that was a lie.
I still had most of the $500 my rock star had given me but I wasn’t about to tell her or she might hold me at Mormon gun point and rob me for gas money.
Upon hearing this grim dilemma, she seemed to regret inviting me along for the ride. My parents were not Rockefellers and she knew that so I don’t know why she was freaking out. She had to make the trip anyhow since the church apparently would have to close their doors forever if she stayed in Massachusetts. Please!
I was also not going to tell her the real truth of how I got the money. Well, let me see Aunt Sylvia, I got high on weed and cocaine, drank a Jack and Coke and fucked a rock star in the bathtub of a swank hotel in Boston. He then left me $500 in an envelope and directions to his house where I sucked his cock, and fucked him while his wife called me a fucking groupie whore.
Nah, probably not gonna go there with her. If I had, I wouldn’t have been allowed to enter Utah, the holy land, where they grow Mormons and Osmonds like wheat.
We left Massachusetts and I felt a sense of sadness. My rock star wanted to see me again, or so he said, but I wasn’t going to be there when he returned from their tour, if he even remembered me. Little did I know then that my rock star had the memory of an elephant…he never forgot a thing.
I was jonesin’ for a bump or a toke, anything to get me high and get me laid. However, I was on a road trip with a neurotic, dirty, high-strung version of Mother Theresa and I had a better chance of growing a beard overnight then I had of getting my hands on some pot, my nose on some blow or my lips on some cock.
The hours in the car dragged on and on and it seemed like we had been driving for days but looking at my watch, I realized we had only been driving about 15 minutes.
Oh man, I was either going to die from boredom or kill myself when I got to Utah by jumping into the lake of salt. Was there even such a thing? Wasn’t that why it was called Salt Lake City? Who knows and who cares? I didn’t give a shit, just get me out of this car and away from this crazy woman whose same blood runs through my veins as well.
Oh God what a thought! I was actually related to this woman. This is the same woman who at a family picnic brought along her dog. He was a wirehaired terrier named Mike. Every wired haired terrier she ever owned she had named Mike.
Not only were they possessed with the same stupid name, they were all possessed by demons! Yes, every single one of them had been retarded.
She spent thousands of dollars to take these poor idiotic hounds to the doggie shrink. Yes, apparently there are such people in the world. I imagined an eyeglass wearing Woodstock in a large wing back chair with a tablet talking to Snoopy who is reclining nervously on a faux leather sofa.
Each time, the Mikes lay on the shrinking couch and told the doc their troubles, the diagnosis was always the same. My aunt had made them insane. Stop calling them MIKE!
Anyhoo, the family picnic…my aunt brought along this particular Mike and he had jumped up on the picnic table and took a whiz in the big bowl of potato salad.
My mother, horrified at this act of treason, told her sister that her stupid dog had just “urinated” (that was my mother’s word) in the fresh potato salad.
Upon inspecting the large puddle of yellow urine in the middle of the bowl, my aunt promptly took a spoon, stirred it and said since it already contained vinegar that no one would notice. That was my aunt.
I was driving across the country with this woman. We still have 35 hours to go, that’s 2,346 miles. God help me!
My aunt traveled a lot so she had the route all mapped out to a perfect little tee. We would leave Massachusetts and drive through New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming and finally reaching Utah where the Mormons were waiting for us (her) with open arms.
That didn’t sound too bad did it? Well, if you consider that I would probably die of starvation, lack of sex, lack of weed or her religious music that played non-stop on her radio, I guess I could stomach it to get to my destination, Los Angeles, the big LA.
I never thought about how I was going to get to California from Utah. According to the map, it’s only a few inches so it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll figure it out like I always do.
Out of boredom, I took out her map ticket and read the exact route we were going to take. I almost fell asleep thinking about it.
We headed out going southwest on Route 126, which was Concord Street, then take the first exit onto Union. Then Main Street which becomes Route 30 which is also Edgell Road. Turn left on Worcester Road and merge into I-90 toward Worchester/Springfield then cross into New York.
Holy crow! This is only the beginning.
We spoke very little as we drove since she couldn’t hear me over her sermons and church music. It was 130 miles to New York and I only hoped I lived long enough to see it.
I fell asleep on the dirty pillow she provided me and had dreams of my rock star. I could feel his body next to mine and I squirmed in my sleep as his fingers touched my wet spot. I was craving him but thought I would never see him again except on a stage somewhere in Jerkwater, USA.
I woke up and we had stopped at a gas station somewhere near Buffal
o. We pulled up next to the pumps and I could see my aunt inside at the counter. She emerged with a large bag of chips (the kind I hate) a sandwich and a large bottle of diet root beer.
I was starving but there was nothing in her hands for me. “If you want something to eat, now’s the time to get it. We have to make good time.” she said as she took a gigantic bite of her sandwich.
I looked in my wallet. I had enough to get some food so I went inside and got a small bag of chips, a cookie and Coke. First, I used the restroom and had to stand in line since there was only one and it was unisex.
A guy with long stringy hair and a goatee walked out and stared at me. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” he smiled.
I had to go so I went in and almost fainted from the smell but I didn’t care, I had to piss!
Hovering over the dirty toilet, I looked down and on the floor was a roach. Not a bug type of roach but a pot type of roach. It must have fallen out of the man’s pocket when he pulled his pants down to take a poop. I didn’t care where it came from, it was mine now and I was going to smoke it and get high.
Only one thing. How was I going to light it? My never know bag that contained my lighters, was in the car with my aunt. Fuck! I stuffed it down into my jean’s pocket, wiped and headed out to buy my food.
Opening the door, the man was still standing there. He gave me a weird look and went back into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I watched him as he looked around on the floor, under the sink, around the toilet and I knew what he was looking for. I also saw a lighter sticking out of his back pocket.
I reached into my jeans and pulled out the roach. “Looking for this?” I asked as he quickly turned around.
He smiled a greasy smile, “Yeah, I am,” he said reaching out his hand.
I pulled mine back. “Wanna get high?”
He looked me up and down, “Yeah man,” he said on the down low.
He looked around, pulled me into the bathroom, and locked the door. It wasn’t much weed to do anything but I needed a high and maybe while I was in there, I might get low too.
He pulled out a cool blue and white feathered roach clip he had in his jacket pocket, lit up and then handed it to me. He was wearing an old Army jacket with a bunch of patches on it. I didn’t think for one minute he had been in the military. My dad bought me one of those coats at a gun show and I knew they were a dime a dozen.
There was only enough weed to catch a little buzz but after 130 miles in the car with my aunt, I would take whatever I could get.
He inhaled the last bit of smoke then blew the rest seductively out of the side of his mouth.
“Wanna fuck?” he said.
I said, “Sure.”
He was wearing a pair of dirty old jeans, stretched out boxers and he smelled like old man’s soap. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not but at least he smelled clean.
His dick was almost limp and he wanted me to suck it first to get it hard. I bent down, an odor rose up from the jeans, and I realized that it was funk from them not being washed. I wondered what else down there was going to be dirty.
I knew we didn’t have time for one of my blow job extraordinaire and if so, I wasn’t going to waste my goodies on this loser. I was simply thanking him for the buzz and I needed to feel a man inside me.
“Hurry up,” he ordered quietly looking around the small, smelly shit hole.
Once down there, I found out his jeans were not the only thing that stunk and I could not force myself to put that thing in my mouth. It was like putting regular gas into a Rolls Royce, a bumper sticker on a Jaguar, I just couldn’t do it.
“Are you going to suck my dick or not?” he said impatiently.
I hesitated and there was a knock on the door. “Hey, there’s a line out here, can you hurry it up in there!”
By now, my jeans were already down to my ankles and I guess he hadn’t seen a pussy in a while and his dick was sadly trying to get hard. He pushed me up against the sink and rammed the tiny almost limp thing into me.
It felt like pushing marshmallow cream into the slot of a parking meter and I thought I would throw up. He grunted twice then I felt a warm liquid between my legs. He came all over the crotch of my jeans.
He grabbed a paper towel, wiped off his nasty dick, opened the door, and ran out. I was left standing there with the door open, a line of people starting at me and a crotch full of white shit.
I quickly closed the door, washed off then ran back out to the car.
“Wow, they must be pretty busy in there,” she said over her half eaten bag of Onion flavored chips.
I had run out of the store without my food and a wet crotch but at least I got to get high and fuck. Even though it was only 30 seconds of my time.
We drove a few more hours and according to her map, we had about another 500 miles to go to get to Pennsylvania and we drove straight through into Ohio. She normally liked to drive all night, starting out at midnight and I was surprised she had not done that on this trip.
As we pulled into Ohio, she suggested that we pull over for the night. Toledo was about 300 miles away, she was tired, and I was starving so we pulled into a trashy looking motel smack dab in the middle of a Denny’s and a honky tonk bar.
We got signed in, walked over to Denny’s, she ordered the Grand Slam breakfast, and I got a water and an order of fries.
We could hear the music from the bar as we ate and she made some comments about those “heathens” and she questioned herself as to why on earth did she stop at that motel.
I suggested we go over and try to help those poor wayward souls and maybe, like an angel, she was sent there at that exact moment to help them and show them the light.
“That’s nice sweetheart.”
I wanted to check out the place but knew it would be hours till she was asleep, if at all, and I would need to find a way to sneak out of the room.
Luckily for me, as soon as we got back to the room, she lay down on the bed with a book and was out within a few minutes.
I waited about an hour and made sure the TV was still on and then I washed up, changed my clothes and then headed next door.
There was a flashing neon sign hanging out front that read, “heatin’ Heart” and I guessed the “C” had burnt out unless it was a chili joint and heartburn was a specialty on the menu.
People were walking in and out and some were milling around the parking lot carrying beer bottles.
I walked in and there was a large wooden floor with a small stage and a country band playing. Looking around, I saw a large bar to the left and tables to the right and it looked like a typical redneck Saturday night in the Midwest.
The guy at the door stopped me and told me it would be $5.00 cover and he would need to see some ID.
I pretended to have already been there and had just walked out to my car to get some gum. He looked me up and down and I knew he didn’t believe me but I was young and cute so he let me in.
I didn’t have the money for a drink but I knew it wouldn’t be long till some dumb ass country boy bought me one.
I saddled up to the bar and spun my seat around to get a better view of the crowd. I was not into country singers all that much but the lead singer was pretty hot and from what I could see, the drummer wasn’t half bad either.
However, it’s been my experience with drummers that although they may like to bang all night, pun intended, they are really sweaty but most that I have known are pretty big guys, if you know what I mean.
I scoped the area for any women who were all huddled together to see if they had women with them. They didn’t seem the type to have any groupies of their own, but if a band has a group of swinging dicks, they’ll have a groupie.
It took about five minutes for a good ol’ boy to hop up to the bar and grab the seat next to me. Most of the people were on the dance floor but I was not into line dancing, no thank you.
He ordered a beer and looked at me then looked away. I must have stood ou
t among the Daisy Maes with my bell bottom jeans, long blond hair and midriff top that exposed a tan, taut abdomen.
After a few minutes of awkward nothingness (on his part) he leaned over and asked if I wanted a drink. I said sure and ordered a Jack and Coke which seemed to surprise him.
“That’s not much of a lady’s drink,” he slurred.
“Oh yeah,” I said, “well, maybe I’m not much of a lady.”
He laughed and acted like he had hit the jackpot. “Oh boy!” he called out.
Calm down Wyatt Earp, I’m a sure thing!
“You’re different,” he said in a cornball accent and he began to engage in small talk but all I could think about was the lead singer and the drummer.
Blah, blah, yes, yes, whatever you say…I was not listening to a single word he said and I could give two shits less.
I was going to get high and get fucked tonight but not by this snaggle tooth cowboy.
Finally he said, “Well, what do ya think?”
About what?
I leaned in as though I had a hearing problem and just then the band took a break and dispersed down off the stage. I watched to see who went to who and I was partially right.
A group of women were sitting off to the right of the stage and all the guys matched up with one of them except for the drummer. He hugged a few people and said hello to others but he ended up coming my way and right into my view.
He was a big guy, about 190, had a bald head and a small scruff of hair on his chin. He was sexy in a big boy way and I liked the way he handled his sticks. So I decided to tell him.
He came up to the bar and gave me the once over and looked over at the cowboy sitting next to me. “Hello Roy,” he said, “good to see you here tonight. How’s the missus?”
The cowboy looked at me and stammered, “Oh, well, she’s fine, ya know, she uh, went to visit her aunt up in Cincinnati, got the touch of the rheumatism…” he slowly slithered away.
Thank you drummer boy!
He made himself at home in the seat next to mine and looked at my drink. “Jack and Coke?” he smiled.
I nodded.
Lick and a Promise-Diary of a Rock Star Groupie (Rock Star Series Book 1) Page 7
