I inhaled the poison smoke and although my lungs thanked me for the hit, my veins craved something more dangerous. I didn’t know him or if that was his thing so I didn’t ask. I had to be satisfied with this for now.
I also didn’t know if this was part of his courtesy bindle and he didn’t mind sharing as long as I didn’t take too much or was he hiding his real stash?
“No story,” I coughed.
He didn’t buy it, everyone had a story.
“Well, I heard a rumor that the band was all sent to rehab or something. Why didn’t you go with them? I mean aren’t you with the lead guitarist?”
I nodded, “No rumor and it’s a long story…”
He looked at his watch and said, “I’ve got time.”
I said, “Yeah, well I don’t.”
He looked around the quiet, empty house. He knew I was lying. “Well what else have you got to do, wash the dishes or something?”
He was an arrogant asshole whose reputation preceded him. I had heard all I wanted to know about him while we were on tour. However, I had grown up in a French household, I was used to arrogance, and I liked it when someone challenged me.
He was okay and why not talk to the guy. What harm could it do?
We sat there for what seemed like hours in a staring contest but I was really wanting to get a higher fix.
I had heard somewhere that he started his illustrious career as an Optometrist. A fucking eye doctor for crying out loud! I was curious as to how he had made the jump from eyeballs to sweating balls on stage. I cared but I didn’t really care.
He was the lead singer of the Canadian group, On Fire, which I thought was a stupid name so in my loopiness, I told him.
“Your band name is pretty lame man,” I blurted out.
Off guard, he sneered, “Oh yeah, what do you know about band names? What are you an expert or something?”
“I know when one sucks or not, I’ll tell ya that right now.” I just kinda hated him and really wanted him to go blow and kick mud.
He looked at me liked he liked that or something however I wasn’t trying to turn him on, I just wanted to be left alone. He just kept staring at me though like he was retarded or something.
In my cockiness I said, “What are you doing man, giving me an eye exam or something?” I laughed to myself. I was hilarious.
He smiled and said, “No but do you know of anything else that sucks?” He slowly slid his hand down to the growing bulge in his tight blue jeans. “I know who you are Poppy Bleu…I’ve heard all about you…you’re well known in the rock and roll world…hell you‘re practically a backstage legend…known best for one thing…” he licked his big full pouty Italian lips.
Okay, I thought, I’ve had enough. I am as wet down there as the lake outside, the love of my life is in rehab, I’m a junkie who needs help and there is no way in hell I am gonna fuck this prick.
I smiled, “Hmm, you know what? I am not gonna suck you or fuck you so you might as well take that hard on of yours and ram it up your own fucking ass. It’s probably the only hole in town it hasn’t been in.” I laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world. At that moment, to me it was.
He got up and approached me. “You fucking cunt!” He opened the door, walked out and the door slam scared the poor geese off the lake. Good riddance!
Now, back to business, where did the singer keep his stash?
I walked around the room and just stood there looking. The baby grand was dominating the living room and I couldn’t for the life of me imagine how they got it in there.
Suddenly my eye caught sight of something on the kitchen counter. It was a large ornate mosaic jar marked CANDY. Hmm…knowing him…
I approached the jar and slowly lifted its beautiful and hopefully magical lid. Inside was one the most glorious sights I had ever seen.
No, not chocolate and peanut butter (another glorious sight), but the stuff, the good stuff that dreams are made of.
I pulled out the red velvet bag and gently emptied its contents onto the kitchen counter. Releasing it from its velvet prison was everything I needed to get Hhhhigh….H-I-G-H…!
I took the heroin and the needle upstairs. I wanted to be in a bed when I shot up so I could lie down afterward. I learned a trick called “skin-popping” where I didn’t inject the stuff right into my veins but directly under my skin. I had a childhood fear of needles, imagine that.
The bed was soft, plush and oh so Arabian Nights. Big, exotic pillows, thick, bouncy comforter in deep, vibrant colors of purples, greens and golds. Scarves hung over the lampshades, wind chimes in the windows and a tambourine hung on a hook over the nightstand.
The whole house was magical and had a cool, earthy vibe that made me feel safe.
I liked the cool idea about the incense. The house smelled good, heavenly and after closer inspection, I noticed that the timer on the weird thing went off every few hours to keep the house smelling grand.
There was one in every room.
I lay down on the bed, prepared my arm with the rubber hose and pricked a hole into dreamland.
As I fell back onto the big pillows, I thought about my rock star. Did he know that I was here? If so, was he okay with that or did he think that something weird was going on? He told me before that once he was there, he was not able to communicate with the outside world. No bad influences, no nothing, no me.
I was tired, spaced and just plain worn out. I was only 21 but I felt like an old hag. Probably looked like one too.
Falling off into a drug induced slumber, I thought about him. I thought about how we first met, our first talk, our first kiss, our first fuck…our first fight.
I tried to let that awful image go away and I thought about happier times.
As the venom took its effect on my sorry soul, I dreamt of him.
I could feel him walk into the room and see me lying on the bed, waiting for him, wanting him, needing him.
His jeans unbuttoning and falling to the floor…the bed sinking down as his body climbed on top of me…his lips finding their way to my neck and then to my waiting mouth.
He gently unbuttoned my bell bottoms, slid them down to my ankles, and glided his strong but gentle hand over my shaved pussy. He moaned with excitement.
My eyes were closed and I kept dreaming of fucking him. I missed him so much already and was so afraid of losing him…but now, in my dreams, I could have him…but this was not real, not real in any way.
However, I gave in to my dreams and let him take me, even if it was only for tonight.
I felt him go down between my legs as his tongue gently massaged my clit. I writhed in passion and my head began to spin as I felt him climb back on top of me.
Gently, he held my arms down as he entered me and began to fuck me…
Wait, something wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right…this is a dream right? I’m spaced and fucked out my mind, but this feels too real.
I tried to lift my head and open my eyes but I was so fucked up that I could barely see straight.
He kept pumping away, harder and harder, hurting me…finally saying, “I knew you wanted it, you little slut!”
At that I opened my eyes and realized that I was not fucking my rock star in my dream, I was being raped by a wannabe.
“Oh my God!” I screamed. “Get off me!!!” I tried to fight but he held my arms down, and then punched me in the face. I tasted blood in my mouth.
“Deo, stop, get off me, please stop!!!” I screamed as he fucked away.
My right arm got free and I frantically searched for something to stop him. In the covers, I felt something sharp, pointy…the needle…I grabbed it and there was still some juice inside and with all I could muster, I stuck that mother fucker in the neck. The needle broke off in his skin.
Grabbing his puncture wound, he jumped off the bed and hit me again. He then took his filthy raping hard on and ran out of the house.
Shaken and stirred like a bad martini, I began to
scream, then cry then scream some more. I put my head down on the bed and cried and cried.
After several hours, I made my way into the bathroom and looked into the large antique mirror. I had a black eye and a busted lip. He didn’t come inside me so I was okay for the most part.
Fuck Poppy! What the hell are you doing?
I knew then, that was it, I needed help. Oh my God, my bag, my never know bag. I frantically looked for my bag with my clothes, my stuff, my plane ticket, my rehab invite and my $5,000 cash.
Oh thank God! The only thing he stole from me was a little piece of pussy and I had given up enough of that over the years that it really didn’t matter anymore. What mattered to me though was that my rock star was not the last man to be inside it, but that was not my choice.
I didn’t want to stay at the house anymore so I slept there that night, cleaned up the place, put the drugs away, locked the door, put the key under the mat and split.
Rock bottom was getting pretty hard on my ass and I needed help. I felt bad, I smelled bad, my fruit was rotten and the hole in my soul needed fixing.
I decided after that night, I was gonna do it. I was gonna go to Arizona, check into rehab and get clean. It was only six weeks of my life and maybe, just maybe, I could spend that life with the man of my dreams, my rock star.
A Little Drop of Poison Can Be Good for You
I knew all I had to do was call for a car to come and get me but I didn’t want the singer to know what had happened. A decent girl would have called the police and reported it but there wasn’t a whole lot decent about me anymore, if there ever was.
I was a good girl from a good family who kinda strayed off the path. I never did too much wrong, never stole, never had an abortion or sold a baby to the black market in Russia.
I hitched a few rides to get into Boston, no party favors this time. That asshole rubbed me the wrong way if you know what I mean and that kinda shit was no longer on my agenda.
I got into Boston at nightfall and tired, I needed a place to crash. I still had the money and I thought about getting a room.
As I got dropped off in the middle of the city, my eyes got a glance of a flyer on a telephone pole.
One of the biggest 80’s hair bands was playing that night at a local club. Although I was a fan, I was not so much into the lead singer. He was hot and all, but I was never one for blondes however he was the type of guy who looked like a sweetheart.
However, on my groupie grapevine, he was quite the disappointment in the sack. He wore that stupid bandanna everywhere he went which accented his golden beach blonde hair in the front but the back was mostly hair extensions.
Back in the day, they were the shit with big girl hair, dark eye makeup and lipstick. Kinda like Tim/Flash’s band but these guys weren’t wannabes, they were got to bes.
According to my sources, the sexual stud of the group was the drummer. He was well hung with over 8 inches of drumstick, was said to be a dynamo in bed, and treated his “ladies” with respect.
The bass player was considered average and the guitarist was described as either a pig or a nice guy, depending on how he was approached by women. If he respected you, he was nice to you but if you acted like a stupid groupie whore, he would treat you like the trash that you were.
Okay, well, none of that mattered at the moment, I was only reading a fucking flyer for crying out loud. Geez Poppy!
The club was a few blocks down and next door to a hotel so I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. Speaking of stone…
I was trying to fight it until I got to Arizona. I was going to catch a flight the next day out of Boston Logan International Airport and didn’t see anything wrong with catching a show, a maybe a buzz, before I split town.
I found a hotel, got a room and settled in. I knew that I couldn’t lug around all of my stuff so I left the majority of my rags back at the singer’s house with a note on them. In my mind, I would call him when I got the chance. For this trip, I just took the essentials, my never know bag, several changes of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, makeup…you know, shit like that.
I got dressed up and tried to cover up my black eye which wasn’t as bad as it looked when it first happened and into the Boston night I went.
The club was packed with an outside crowd, mostly young girls, and several guards were at the door.
Approaching them, I heard some murmurs amongst the crowd.
“Isn’t that…?”
“Oh my God, where is he?”
“Is he with her?”
I was not about to stand in a line, I was used to better treatment than that by now, I know, I was a cocky little bitch so I walked up to the front and asked to be let through.
The guard looked me up and down, “Do you have a ticket?” he growled.
No.
“Are you on the VIP list?”
Well, no…
Suddenly, a man came out of the club and in a slightly fake sounding British accent, he called out, “Poppy? Poppy Bleu is that you love?”
Straining to see who this was, I waved my hand to say hello. At that point, I didn’t give a shit who he was, he had been in the club, he was now outside the club, he knew me and that meant he could take me back inside with him.
“Oh my dear Lord, it is you!” he said and as he got closer, I recognized him. Doogie, the roadie from the concert with Peggy, the first blow job that I ever gave, it was him and yes by George, he did remember me. Imagine that? Not only did it leave a taste in my mouth, it must have left an impression on him as well.
However, what was he doing here with this band? Was he even with the band? How old was this dude back then anyhow? Fuck, what was happening?
“It’s okay Marco, she can come in,” he said as the body guard unlocked the thick velvet rope and let me by.
“Oh boy will the band be happy to see you. He never forgot you, you know. How long has it been? Oh God, let me see…”
What?
You got to be fucking kidding me! The band will be happy to see me? He never forgot me? Oh good grief! The band that played that summer in the open field, the up and coming 80’s hair band was THEM?
I sucked the cock of that lead singer? That gorgeous hunk of blonde hair extensions? The one who left me the note, “The Englishman was right…”
Oh God! I started to laugh out loud like a hyena. He must have thought I had gone mad or something. I just could not believe it. No way!
He escorted me into the club and the band was still backstage. What did he think, I was there to service them or something? Hell, let me check out the scene before I got all paranoid.
“He spoke of you often after that night,” he said.
“Really?” I mumbled.
“He wondered, well actually, I did too, we wondered what had happened to you. Now, here you are, in all the rock magazines, attached to that sex god guitarist.” He actually squealed a little.
What was he gay or something?
“He will be so happy to see you!”
I just came to see the concert man.
He led me backstage and there they were. One of the biggest bands in the world…an 80’s hair band in all their glory. A little older though and still looking like women.
Looking around the dressing room, I smiled to see it was stocked with six-packs of Dr. Pepper and 7UP, a loaf of white bread, peanut butter and jelly, three boxes of granola bars (two strawberry, one blueberry), and a twelve pack each of Heineken and Coronas.
Oh the excesses of rock stardom and their backstage riders!
“Look who I found out front!” the Brit shouted into the room!
Embarrassed, I said hello and the other women in the room turned their heads in disgust and the other guys pretty much just said, “Hey.”
Seems the only one who was impressed by me was this bloke.
However, the singer was not in the room but had been out talking to reporters and once he got back inside, I was standing there like an idiot.
With Doogie’s arm around me, he practically pushed me into the lead singer’s face.
“Look who’s here! She was standing out front, trying to get in, can you believe it?”
“Well,” I said sheepishly, “I wasn’t really trying to get…”
“Poppy, Poppy Bleu…” the singer said sweetly, “how the hell have you been girl?”
I smiled and nodded. “I’m okay…been a long time.”
“It sure has, here have a seat.” He pulled up a chair in the dressing room and some of the people left and gave us a little more privacy. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.
As I recall, I only sucked his dick once that night, way back then, but we pretty much fucked all night. I didn’t think he was that bad but then again, I was still a kid, young and dumb and he was full of…
“So,” he interrupted my teenage thoughts, “you doing okay? I mean, I read a lot about you, wow, what are you doing here?” He could barely contain his excitement or the bulge in his tight leather pants.
I was kinda embarrassed and I laughed an uncomfortable little laugh and said, “Don’t really know actually…,” we both laughed.
He seemed genuinely interested in me, I mean like he was a cool dude or something. He was sitting on the chair, backward with his crotch facing me and he had on that bandana and a kick ass expensive looking cowboy hat. Tanned skin, perfect white teeth, golden blonde hair (real or not) he was fucking gorgeous and his manners and personality made him even more adorable. I kept looking at him thinking, oh wow, I fucked that!
“So,” I said, “I see you guys made the big time. Good for you.”
He shifted in his chair, “Yeah, hard work and a lot of blood, sweat and tears but here we are, wherever here is!” God, he was adorable!
“So, um you staying for the show right?”
“Uh, yeah that was my intention, is that cool?”
“Oh god yes, um here, I’ll get you up by the stage and you can listen with the other girls.”
The thought of standing up near a stage again with a bunch of whores who already hated me was not my idea of a good time.
Lick and a Promise-Diary of a Rock Star Groupie (Rock Star Series Book 1) Page 18
