by Stahl, Shey
“What about getting arrested, where’s that on your list?” Dylan asked when he caught up with me.
“I was thinking of stealing a cop car or something along those lines.” I was half joking.
Dylan took a second look at me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder again. “Do you want to go to prison? Dumb idea, brown eyes.”
Throughout the rest of our wandering around that grocery store, I thought of ways to get arrested but none seemed worthy enough. Dylan did cool shit when he got arrested like lighting cars on fire and riots.
As we paid for our random shit we collected, I picked up some watermelon gum next to the register and waited for the clerk to look the other way. When he did, I stuffed it in my bra.
You would have thought I had stolen a cop car with how much I was sweating after that. Dylan kept looking at me like he was concerned at my sudden shift in appearance but said nothing until we got outside. “What’s your deal?”
I grinned when we got the car feeling much like I just escaped from prison. “I stole a pack of gum!”
Dylan smirked shaking his head as he opened the trunk and placed the three bags of groceries beside his guitar, slightly chuckling. “You rebel you.”
I smacked at his arm when he threw it around my shoulders and followed me to the passenger side of the car. “Hey, I’m an outlaw now. Treat me with respect.”
That night, back at the hotel, when Dylan was in the bathroom right before we went to bed, I stared at the box of condoms, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Rolling over to face the wall, I tried not to look at it.
My mind was shifting through all the possibilities of when that box would be opened. From what we had experienced already, I couldn’t wait for that moment to come.
When Dylan came out of the bathroom, he laid down on the bed beside me, spreading his arm across the bed for me to come closer. I did.
Curling up beside him, I pressed my cheek to his warm skin. Again, my eyes went to the box at the end of the bed on the table beside the television that Dylan had turned on. A movie was playing though I paid no attention to it, but Dylan seemed interested.
He surprised me when he spoke, I jumped slightly in his arms, the top of my head knocking against his jaw. “That box is haunting, isn’t it?”
“A little,” I admitted burying my head between his arm and chest.
“Take this off,” he said pulling at the end of his t-shirt I was wearing. Underneath it I had nothing but underwear, no bra.
Sitting up, I pulled the shirt away and let it drop on the floor.
“Fuck…” he drew out softly when he saw my bare breasts. “You’re making this so fucking hard.”
Sitting up, he moved his weight to rest against his right hand, his left raised to cup my right breast in his hand. “You’re beautiful,” he said before moving his mouth to my nipple. Right before his lips found the sensitive skin, he looked at me. “Is this okay?”
I nodded with a slight whimper.
His lips closed around it, then I felt the soft swirl of his tongue. It was one of those tingles that you felt in every nerve of your body letting you know that you were alive and feeling the very best sensations’ possible. He kissed my breasts, my chest, my lips, my arms, everywhere as if he was making love to me, pouring emotion, fire and heat, into every kiss.
Before long, he wrapped his arms around me and lowered me back to the bed, climbing between my legs. I willingly opened them wider, his hips moved slowly, his bare stomach pressing to mine as his cotton covered hips meet my own. With one hand on my knee, he opened my legs further. When my legs were apart enough, he sat back on his ankles running his hand down my sides before removing my panties and then his own underwear.
As soon as he shifted forward and I felt him against me, bare, I rocked against him. We both moaned.
Dylan growled, falling forward before catching himself before he slid inside, he was there, ready, shaking with restraint. “It’d be so fucking easy to have you right now, so easy.”
“Then do it.” Holding onto his biceps, I lifted my hips slightly.
Pushing against me, above, moving along the most sensitive part of me, he rocked forward without slipping inside. His thrusts were hard and strong, his hands gripping the bed sheet beside my head, powerful, frustration marked his movements. “I want you brown eyes, I do,” he moaned. “We have time…”
I clutched at his arms, chest, back, anything as the tingles took over and I enjoyed what he was giving me, with no barrier.
Just as I was coming down from my breathy moans and harsh breathing, Dylan moved away before he came saying something about my tattoo and not wanting to get anything on it.
When my hand gripped him tightly, falling against him, he panted and groaned. I loved the way he felt comfortable. So utterly and out of control that I wanted to cry out, beg him for more but this was him, giving himself at the pace he felt comfortable. He pushed and pulled at my body, bringing me close as I brought him to the edge, his face buried in my neck, whispering words too low for me to hear. When he came, he moaned harshly into my skin, holding me tightly. I feel so close to him like this, his pulse just the same as mine, falling apart together, that our closeness felt inseparable.
13. Groupies – Bailey Gray
Dylan and I took our time getting to Birmingham. I think he was stalling but regardless, we spent a good week in Memphis doing nothing but sight-seeing.
It was now the Fourth of July and we were in town watching the fireworks show. When the sun in the sky was swallowed by the river, the night was upon us and I was humming with excitement at wanting to watch fireworks with Dylan.
Noticing my excitement, he thought it was cute and smiled when I pulled a bag of sparklers out that I intended on lighting a little later.
When we were kids, we used to watch the Lake Fair fireworks together every year. Now I was excited to relive those moments with the sparks in his ice blue eyes and the warm summer air around us.
Standing against the front of the car, Dylan pushed me away by my hips and turned me around. He sat on the hood of the GTO and placed me securely between his knees before lighting his cigarette and blowing smoke over my shoulder.
“Have you watched fireworks here before?”
“It’s beautiful, just watch.” He wrapped his hands around my hips.
I leaned against his chest and dropped my head on his shoulder watching him take a few drags.
He noticed me watching and kissed my temple. “What?”
“You’re not at all what I thought you’d be,” I said looking at the tattoo on his forearm that read: Be sure to put your feet in the right place, then stand firm. – Abraham Lincoln.
Dylan flicked his cigarette away from us and crossed his arms over my chest, keeping us together, holding me tighter. “You’re exactly what I expected.”
I held his wrists as we stood against his car, watching, making memories. Loud flashes lit the night’s sky, red, purple, green, a rainbow of colors. Maybe it was the night, being with him, or this last week, with him and only him but I was so far gone, wrapped around whatever this was on my mind, wasn’t the past or the future, it was right now, right here.
Kissing his hand, I maneuvered from his hold. Dylan pushed himself away from the car, standing next to me. Like everything else that’s happened so far, tonight, with him, feels a little different. His cheeks had a tint to them from the afternoon sun, his eyes holding a depth, an openness I hadn’t seen before. He was giving me everything he had to give. He was giving me his soul if I wanted it.
Nervous, I chewed on the inside of my cheek waiting to see what he was going to do. He reached for the bag of sparklers on the hood and handed me one.
He smiled, a smile that was brighter than the sky, holding his lighter in his hand, he lit my sparkler for me.
For a moment, we looked at each other, sparks around us and it was perfect. I wanted to tell him right then that I loved him but every time I tried, I couldn’t speak the words
. To me that words held a meaning that I couldn’t just throw around.
Dylan smiled again, softly, searching my eyes that were as bright as the colors in the sky.
“Dance around like you did when we were kids and I will light your sparkler for you,” he said, kind of shy, keeping his eyes on mine.
Taking Dylan’s advice, I danced around the car with the sparkler in hand, living in my moment, creating my memory and watched Dylan as he moved up the hood to lean against the windshield with a smile, watching, living in the moment, smiling at the memory he was keeping for himself. Pink sparks turned to gold like fireflies as the moon peaked through a thick layer of clouds.
When the gold turned to blue, I could feel the heat and dropped the sparkler with a giggle.
I ended up getting back on the hood with Dylan and laid across the cracked windshield.
If I had to pick the perfect Fourth of July, it was right there on Dylan’s hood, making memories.
A gritty acoustic guitar woke me the next morning. Dylan was playing a song I didn’t know, maybe one of his own. Rolling to curl up next to the pillow he used, I watched as he hunched over the guitar, his right bicep flexing with the movements. The light filtering through the room danced across his body, his bare upper body within view but most of the room was shadowed.
Since hearing him play his own song that night at The Brickyard, I hadn’t heard any more of them.
Earlier in the week, I found a notebook of his, by accident, with close to a hundred songs written in it. Not wanting to pry, I just briefly glanced over them and slipped it back in his neatly packed bag. With his organization, I thought for sure he would have noticed that I looked but he never said anything.
We were still in Memphis and deciding when to head to Birmingham. Dylan was getting anxious to see Drew.
Another thing happened that morning that I wasn’t expecting.
I started my period.
I had no tampons.
Dylan must have noticed my look of disgust when I exited the bathroom and eyed me warily. “What’s wrong with you?” His wary looked shifted to a teasing smirk. “You look like you just dry humped someone’s leg in their sleep.”
“No,” I snapped slamming the bathroom door in my menstrual rage. “I need to find a grocery store.”
Dylan chuckled taking his wallet from the table and placing it in his back pocket. “You’re not in any condition to go anywhere. Look at you.” He pointed at me as if I didn’t know I was aware of the fact that I was curling up into a sea of pillow and moaning while holding my stomach. “What do you need?”
“Tampons and Midol.” Lifting my head from the pillow, I gauged his reaction. “I started my period.”
Dylan’s eyes were wide but he said nothing to embarrass me, a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, well, I’ll get that for you before I head to the bar for sound check.”
“Really? That doesn’t freak you out?”
“No.” His brow scrunched as he hovered over the bed, smiling now. “Why would it?”
“Because it’s a girl thing. Some guys are embarrassed by it. Eric was.”
“Please,” he sighed kissing my forehead and then my nose and my freckles. “It’s a natural thing. I’ll be back later, okay?”
When he got to the door, I confessed my other request. “Uh, Dylan?”
“Yeah?” He turned, the door half opened, his hand on the knob. “Chocolate too?”
“And here I was going to try to surprise you with it.”
I wanted to shout the words I love you after him but didn’t. He was too good to be true. The last thing I wanted to do today was go buy tampons. I also didn’t want to ride in a car. I wanted to lay in this bed all day, eat chocolate and moan occasionally while complaining about my gender.
Dylan wasn’t gone long and came back with more than I expected.
Pizza and chocolate.
After handing over the box of tampons first, and then the chocolate, he sat at the table next to the door and took a slice of pizza from the box looking over a flyer in his hand.
“What’s that?” Placing a pillow over my lap and a blanket around my shoulders, I took a large scoop of ice cream. He even got me the right kind, Rocky Road.
Dylan flipped the flyer over and set it across from him on the table before grabbing another slice of pizza and then handing me one.
“There’s an open mic night tonight,” he said looking to me for approval. “Think I should do it?”
I wasn’t exactly in the mood to go to a bar but the thought of hearing Dylan sing again won me over.
I agreed, with a mouthful of pizza and ice cream, and Dylan made a few calls to the bar to get signed up.
“What time are you going to the bar?” I asked after taking a shower. It made me better to get cleaned up. Dylan tried to get in with me but I told him no, there was no way I was going near him while I was on my period.
“Five,” he said tuning his guitar and looking through that notebook, biting the corner of his lip, he flipped the page again.
I could sense that he was a little nervous, wouldn’t admit to it, but I felt the need to help him out.
“Do you need a distraction?” I asked removing myself from the sea of pillows and candy wrappers around two that afternoon.
Dylan didn’t quite understand the meaning behind my words until I moved from the bed and sat in front of him, on my knees, my hands ran up his thighs.
He snorted, his eyes lighting up as he tossed his notebook aside and moved the guitar to the floor. Leaning back in the chair after peeling his t-shirt off, he started working on his belt buckle. “Fuck yeah.”
If there was any way to relax Dylan it would be seeing my mouth wrapped around him. His eyes were trained on my hands as they moved over him, and then my mouth replacing them.
Dylan was all heavy breaths, dirty whispering and soft grunts, his hips meeting the movements of my mouth. “Jesus,” he moaned in a sound that nearly sounded like he was in pain, one hand in my hair, guiding me, the other on my hand that was rested on his bare thigh. His iPod connected to his docking station rolled The Black Keys through the room.
It was like being at a pep rally and motivated me to continue. Or maybe it was the way Dylan was reacting and talking to me that kept me going because he was all for motivation.
“Fuck, you do that so good…just like that honey…” he moaned and then drop his head back against the chair and close his eyes. I learned quickly the more I swirled my tongue and brought him deeper in my mouth, the more he reacted.
The thought that I was giving Dylan Wade a blowjob was electrifying. I was pleasuring him in the most intimate way, attached to him in ways I’d never been with anyone else. Being on my knees provided me the ability to see his face this time, his beautiful contoured face that was on the edge, moments away from pleasurable numbness.
He looked down, his hand gently touched my cheek, curling around the back of my neck. “So fucking pretty.” Hooded eyes focused on me, thick lashes blinked slowly. “Watching your mouth on me is…” I took him deeper, his voice caught. “My god…”
Those were his last words.
I wasn’t sure what to do with what was in my mouth at that moment and I think Dylan noticed my hesitation when he watched me adjusting his jeans and shirt. Of course I swallowed it. What was I going to do, spit it out?
I heard from the girls in school that boys didn’t appreciate that and it made them feel bad.
“You don’t have to swallow, you know that right?” he said slumping back in the chair, his hands on my hands pulled me up into his lap.
“I know.” My cheeks burned slightly, he noticed and brushed his knuckles over the left side of my face.
“It’s sexy though,” Dylan groaned whispering into my ear before sucking on my earlobe. The sensation sent a wave of arousal through me. He noticed that too. “How long are you usually out of commission?”
Damn period.
“Usually three or four da
ys.”
“Well,” Dylan turned my body so I was straddling him, my legs fell over the sides of the chair. “I have some serious making up to do in a few days.”
I couldn’t fucking wait and hoped that box would finally be opened.
When we arrived at Alfreads on Beale in downtown Memphis, Dylan’s nerves returned and he fidgeted often, all the way up until the time he was ready to take the stage. I didn’t go back with him, instead I sat at a nearby table and tried to go unnoticed since I was only eighteen and it was pure fucking luck that I had been allowed in as many bars as I had. No one checked my ID and I was beginning to think this was just part of the south and something they did. Dylan had another thought on this and said I was dick magnet.
Sure enough, two minutes after sitting down, guys started approaching me. I felt disgusting being on my period and couldn’t understand why anyone found me attractive during that time of the month. Naturally, they wouldn’t have known that I was on my period other than the fact that I wasn’t exactly friendly with anyone.
Bands and local artists took the stage, each one singing a variety of music in different genres. Feeling nervous for Dylan, back stage, alone, I started biting my nails when they announced his name and the raucous throng of people surrounding the stage cheered. They were here to listen to live music and didn’t care who was on stage as long as they could play.
Most of them could too. I was thoroughly impressed with the talent in this city. I think that’s what made Dylan nervous too. Though he never intended to be some sort of rock star, deep down he still looked for approval from an unsparing industry.
The entire way to the bar, Dylan wouldn’t say what song he picked to sing, just that it wasn’t his. And until we got here, and he watched about five bands, I don’t think he had decided on anything until he observed the crowd.
Right before his turn was up, he came out and sat with me for a moment. Appearing relaxed, he slouched to one side drinking a beer the owner had brought out to him. Dylan thanked him, another one was handed to me, which I took and practically chugged. I think I was nervous enough for the two of us.
