A couple of short strokes there, and I cupped his balls before I slid back.
The music was lost behind a deafening roar, but the beat of the drums and the pump of the bass made the floor jump under my knees. I slid all the way back along his shat until his head reached my lips. All the way I gently squeezed his balls. I felt his moans vibrate in his cock. Just like he must have felt mine shake in my throat.
I worked my lips tight and wet around him and slid my tongue along under him. Then I plunged my head down again. He pulsed, hard and hot and thick in my mouth and when I had him in my throat, I squeezed rhythmically. My breasts hugged his thigh and I plunged and pulled and sucked and I sucked and licked and sucked until he yelled and my throat and my mouth were filled with gushes of hot, salty sweet spunk.
The next thing I knew, Blaze’s hand was in the back of my belt. He hauled me up by the waist, my face still down. He reached around and undid the buckle, yanked open the zip and pulled the shorts down to my thighs. The panties, he just tore the crotch out. Then, no massage, no lube, no fingers even, his two thumbs pulled my cheeks apart and he drove his cock straight into my ass. I screamed.
He fucked me dry like that, I yelled, I choked, my mouth watered, my eyes watered, my quim gushed. I mewled and whimpered and wailed and he slammed into me. Farther, harder, deeper, faster. FASTER. On and in and on and in and UP, oh, God it hurt. It hurt so fucking good.
My crotch was drenched and his fingers deftly rolled around my clit and along my weeping lips. Those sweet, sweet little strokes, he knew exactly what a girl wanted. I had absolute heaven on, around, in and up my pussy, and a hot poker of absolute fabulous hell right through my ass.
I cried and I sobbed and I laughed and I shrieked as I came, and I came, and I came, goddamn. I had no sense of the noise or even where I wasBlaze felt it and he squeezed my thighs and rubbed deeper and harder and harder on my clit.
Blaze was still beating and banging and pounding, reaming into my poor, sore, red little rim, but after my last yelps of tortured ecstasy, I felt him slow down. He was holding back. He almost stopped. Then with a whole run of full-throated, rasping yells, he belted into me and his red-hot load pumped against the inside of my raw, devastated ass.
As soon as Blaze hauled his cock back from my ass, my body crumpled down to the bouncing stage like a rag doll. I lay panting and shaking. Blaze’s voice burred dark in my ear.
“Are you okay to go on?”
I reached up and grabbed a hold of his arm. I pulled him close and just clung on for the few seconds I had before he made for the stage. I struggled to my feet and followed him. We ran around to the front of the stage. As I ran, I consciously shook and stretched out my arms and legs, trying to push out the kinks and the exhaustion.
Chapter Sixteen
BLAZE PLAYED AND SANG. I danced. Blaze was singing, Away from That Window, I danced like I was in a dream. Before the second chorus, Blaze called me over to him, by the mic.
“Try a harmony on the chorus here?” While the beat pumped through me, the lights burned hot, the crowd jumped, I knew, he and I not only had the most powerful chemistry, but we had it in the music, too. My panties drenched. The gleam in his eye sharpened and I saw his nostrils widen.
I shared the mic with him. I was nervous. The first note came out bad. I had to swoop to make it sound like it was on purpose. That was almost worse because I thought it might sound to him like I was trying to steal the limelight. Blaze’s face tensed when it happened.
It was only a moment, though. I got in pitch and he relaxed. He called me over for the next choruses, too. At the end of the song, the chorus repeat and I thought it would sound great if I took the harmony up in pitch.
I stood close, feeling his energy. The electricity in his body when he performs is something amazing. I looked up into his eye as the chorus was going to start.
At the last instant, I felt the higher note, but I didn’t go there. I decided I would tell him about it first. Try it out with him if he liked the idea. I didn’t want to push anything.
The song belonged to Blaze and I was only there to help make it sound great. I wouldn’t add a single note unless I knew for certain that he wanted it.
Chapter Seventeen
HE SAID THAT HE was ready to demo some of the new songs. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he asked if I would come into the studio with him and sing backup. But I was. He always surprised me.
“Of course I will.”
Then he played me the songs. Showed me the parts to harmonize. He said, “I really want to know what you think.”
“About the songs?”
“Yes.”
I looked into his face, puzzled. “Do you, though? You’re the artist. You don’t need to know what anybody else thinks.”
“Being an ‘artist,’ it’s not this spooky magic thing that everybody thinks it is, Luce. It’s just music and some poetry. It’s just a thing that’s made out of notes and words.”
I didn’t want to tell him what I thought though, and I think he may have sensed it.
In the hotel where we were staying, there was a little theater. Blaze rented it and he set up a producer in there. He got the Grind’s drummer in and he asked me to sing some harmonies.
I thought the track was flat compared to everything he’d done before. It wasn’t bad, it just didn’t have the spark that set all his songs alight. While the producer was getting the levels, I sang the song with just a tambourine, but I sang it at half the normal speed.
Hearing it in the headphones, the tambourine picked up some echo and the whole thing sounded spooky. Diabolical, almost, even though it had the sweetest lyric.
Blaze’s voice cut in my headphones, “What are you doing?”
And then the producer said, “That’s amazing. Wait while I get a keyboard ready, just give me one second. Let’s just take it like that as a guide.”
I heard Blaze’s voice again, “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, Blaze. Do you want me to not do it?”
“No. No, it’s amazing. Do it.”
“Should I leave off the tambourine?”
“Definitely not. It’s perfect.”
Another moment and the producer said, “Okay, keep it real, keep it raw. It’s just a guide. Red light’s on. Go.” I tapped the tambourine, one, two, three – and I sang it, just like that.
On top of the tambourine and keyboard, and my guide vocal, Blaze sang over my vocal, but he had me harmonize the second and forth lines of each verse, and a low, strong harmony on the choruses. When he mixed the track and I heard the playback, I was shocked. He left my voice up for the last line in each verse. Our voices in unison.
When I heard the track, I was spinning inside. I was in heaven. To me, right then, my voice intertwining with Blaze’s was the most fabulous thing I had ever heard. The fact that an idea of mine was some use to him and helped him to make his art was just double icing on the cake. I could hardly believe it.
I watched on the computer screen, amazed at the pulsing graphs and lines of the recording of my voice. I got a shock when I saw that my tracks were labelled ‘Harms.’
Blaze let out his lethal chuckle and looked at me with his head cocked on one side. “They’re harmony tracks. ‘Harms’ for short.”
When we left, the producer gave him a USB stick with the song on and a hand-written label. I asked Blaze if he was going to call it ‘Demon.’
“What? No…” he said.
“Sorry.” I looked at it again, “I thought it said, ‘Blaze / Demon.’ But it doesn’t. It’s just ‘Blaze / Demo.”
“No, that’s brilliant. That is what I’ll call it.”
Chapter Eighteen
IT ALL KICKED OFF as Blaze took me to a hotel suite, and a party began that went on for the next month, moving to another city every couple of days. The parties were two or three hotel suites, or, in one small town, a whole motel, all around a pool. Wherever we were, the place was mostly packed with hard
-rock or hot rock and soul stars, dancers and bikers, as well as the crew and a few guys, usually in shades, who transacted business in bathrooms and didn’t stay long.
Every night Blaze played one or two songs with Organ Grinders, but the tour was more like a sideshow, an incidental to the epic partying. Blaze was never far from a bottle of bourbon, hardly ever slept, and he fucked me senseless at least half a dozen times every day. Where one day ended and the next began became more of a moot point.
~~
Blaze followed Organ Grind on every date of their tour. I had summer break, so, when he asked if I wanted like to ‘Tag along,’ I said, ‘Yeah.’ I was as cool as I could be when I said it. Which was not very cool at all.
We followed the band to every city. For every show we stayed in the same hotel as the band, we would be backstage at the show. Blaze went out and played Lovelace Lies Bleeding and Away From the Window. The songs got better every night.
Sometimes he would do another song or two. After the first two shows, when he talked about it, he said, ‘we’ would go on, ‘we’ would play. We always went on late in the set.
Then we always went back on for the encore. He had me sing more and more harmonies every night. Another chorus, a line in a verse. We’d sing together and try things out. When I sang something he liked, he’d say, “That’s hot. Do that.”
A few times, we sang Demon. Those nights, he would get a little strange.
There was a thing that he feared. He would never say what it was but sometimes he would wake up in the middle of a dream. Sit bolt upright, drenched in sweat. He shook, pale and helpless. He had a hollow look of terror on his face.
Eventually, he would slip back down to the bed and curl up into the fetal position. The look stayed on his face but his at last eyes would close. First time it happened, I asked him about it the next morning, he genuinely seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. He literally had no recollection of it happening.
I didn’t push it, didn’t ask him too many questions because it felt like it could be something dangerous. Something that could really hurt him.
Chapter Nineteen
WHEN ZELDA CALLED ME to ask how I was, I was in a semi wrecked hotel suite. Blaze was out in a club with Chainsaw and the band. I knew that the party would burn its way through all the clubs and bars in town, collecting and discarding people and wreckage, and it would end up right here. Whatever town the band were playing in, the party always wound up in our suite.
“His mama left him when he was very young. I don’t know whether she really left or if she went to prison or if she did. I don’t know much about her at all, but I know that he was devoted to her. From what I made out, and I’ve only got what I heard from him, but it sounds like she was unbelievably shitty to him. Drunk and drugged, she got into rages, she was violent and abusive. She left him for days at a time with no idea of she was on the street or in jail or dead.
“When she was home, she was often out cold for whole weeks. That’s from piecing together the fragments from him. He talks about her like she was part goddess, part superstar. But that isn’t at all how it sounded to me. I’m not sure, but one thing he said made me think one time she may even have tried to kill him.
“I think that’s part of where his need for myth-making comes from. It makes him a great poet, but it’s all fantasy. It left him scarred. You have to know, Lucy, he has some very strange ideas about love and loyalty. And about loss. You have to be careful of the demon. Please”
Chapter Twenty
BLAZE HIRED A LEARJET to fly the two of us from the East coast to the West. He wanted us to make love over the Grand Canyon. I wasn’t sure, I thought the crew could be watching but Blaze teased me. He got me pretty drunk and got my skirt hiked up. He pulled me to sit on his face and he sucked me until I gushed. After that, when the hypersensitivity wore off, Blaze knew I would be up for pretty much anything.
He fucked me wheelbarrow style right in the middle of the aisle of the plane. By that point I couldn’t get enough of him. I came and came, over and over like a mewling kitty.
While Blaze’s label mulled over his demo, Blaze brimmed with confidence. He encouraged me to think about writing songs.
“That’s where the money is in this game, Lucy,” and he said he had always wanted a collaborator. I was probably too naive taking so much of what he said at face value. When someone tells you what you want to hear, that’s always a danger. Especially if the person who tells you the one you most want to hear it from.
He showed me how to put a song together. How the parts link up, how to make them work, like a call and response. Where to put the hook. When the melody should rise, where it needs to fall. Create tension, then release. I put some songs together and didn’t think too much about them. One or two of them stayed in my head.
After the Demon demo, though, when the tour manager heard me singing to myself, he got me talking. He said he was interested and could he hear them. So I sang one to him.
Next afternoon, he took me into a room with a guy, a computer and some mics. I made rough demos of a few songs with two of the guys from Organ Grinder.
The manager didn’t tell me that the guy with the computer was Organ Grinder’s previous producer. The one who Blaze fell out with.
Chapter Twenty-One
WE WERE STAYING IN a house in Beverly Hills when the label got back about the demo. At first we had a fantastic morning. Blaze was high because they liked his songs. I thought it was weird that he should need their approval. I said, “Your songs are what buys their lunch, Blaze. You must know that way better than I do.”
Blaze and I frolicked in an infinity pool with the valley stretched out in front of us, bathed in golden sun. About twenty old geezers were passing on a ‘Homes of the Stars’ tour bus. They shouted and waved at the sight of my big tits splashing in the pool. Then Blaze came up behind me.
The tourists probably couldn’t hear my moans and shouts but I know they didn’t miss the look on my face as Blaze’s cock split me open. I know because they all cheered.
With that and my head thrashing from side to side, plus my keening wails as Blaze reamed my ass for the third time that morning, we certainly made some old geezers pretty happy, though it might have risked their blood pressure.
The wives of the old geezers weren’t such obvious fans of the show, although one sweet-looking white haired old girl had her nose so hard up against the bus window, I thought her face was going to burst like a balloon full of water. I felt like one of those old-time screen goddesses, being gallantly sired by Douglas Fairbanks or Cary Grant.
Imagine, me, small-town Lucy, in a home of the stars, getting a rolling ripple of orgasms from a real rock god in an infinity pool.
The morning didn’t end so well, though, when Blaze reread the email.
“Lucy, it’s your songs that they’re all going apeshit over. Not mine.”
“Well, fuck the, Blaze. Who cares?” But it took me a while to cheer him up again. I didn’t care about having a career in the music business and I certainly didn’t want to steal Blaze’s thunder. I didn’t believe he was angry that they liked my songs but he was definitely hurt that they didn’t seem interested in his.
The label wanted Demon and they wanted my songs. I emailed the producer and said I wasn’t interested. I hoped they would do something with Demon, because I loved it. And because I thought of it as being ‘us.’
Blaze, being the big rockstar, it meant that he could get things. It became normal for us to have a top-notch restaurant to ourselves, to get into places where the public weren’t allowed. Visit things after hours.
Dirty Rocker Page 6
