A kind, grandmother looking woman approached us as we entered. “Oh Stevie, you are home early and you have brought a friend.”
Stevie? I laughed to myself.
Looking embarrassed by the childhood nickname, he introduced me to Rosie, his housekeeper. She had been with him for many years and had actually been a co-worker of his mother’s. He said he needed someone in his home he could trust and offered her the job.
David Stephen Bailey was born and raised in Indiana in a very strict, Pentecostal upbringing. He was taught at a very young age that TV, women and any type of music was evil and should be avoided at all cost.
He went on to be one of the biggest rock stars in the world as the lead singer of a band known for its appetite for destruction with drugs, alcohol and violence. I was now in his home and presumably in his bed.
After getting the grand tour, we got a bite to eat in the spacious kitchen, being served by his personal cook, Alma. She was also an elderly woman who hailed from Germany and loved to cook and take care of her little “Stevie.” I thought it was cute.
The night came down upon us, the live-in staff went to bed, and we were all alone.
I had no idea of what I was supposed to do. Was he inviting me to move in? Was I going to be shown the door? I was confused.
He led me back upstairs to his bedroom, went into the side bathroom and came back out in a black bathrobe.
“Here,” he said, as he handed me one in pink. I went into the spacious bathroom and immediately was thrown back in time to the bathroom at the hotel in Boston. It looked quite similar with its large marble tub and Jacuzzi, antique mirrors and soft, plush towels. It even smelled like lavender. I had to catch myself from falling too deep into my daydream.
I got undressed and looked in the mirror. I was only 19 and still hot, thin and waif like. My long, blonde hair was in need of a trim but I liked the fact that it was so long that I could sit on it.
I found a toothbrush, brushed my teeth and wiped a cool rag across my face. I also found some neat smelling soap and gave myself a quick T&A bath. Hey, what the hell, maybe I’ll get some tonight.
I put on the robe and slowly opened the door.
He was lying on the bed, on his back, totally nude. His cock was fully erect and from feeling it the night before, I expected a big gun inside his holster but from my angle, it was more of a rose bud.
As I got closer, the image grew larger and I was pleasantly surprised that I had been wrong. He sat up on his elbows and as I got nearer, he smiled.
He was kinda cute in a kinky, weird way. He was all that I had been wanting, he was a rock star, he was filthy rich and famous, and he was a rock star. What more could a girl want?
The bed was huge and covered in a black and cream satin bedspread. It was round with a lot of pillows laying up against a dark wooden rounded headboard and looking up, your reflection stared back at you in a large, round mirror.
On each side of the headboard were built-in hand restraints with leather and Velcro fasteners.
It was a very masculine room and smelled like after-shave and Patchouli.
He was the skinniest and scrawniest man I have ever seen. His arms were muscular though and full of tattoos. However, he had a cock and was obviously in the mood for love and by the looks of the kink in the room, maybe in the mood for something else as well.
Although I had had my share of sex partners, I had never experienced anything too awfully kinky. No handcuffs or peeing on weird things or crazy shit like that.
I crawled up onto the bed and he reached into a side drawer and pulled out a small box. It looked like a cigar box but it was filled with rolled joints and some multi-colored pills.
He pulled himself up into an Indian position, crossed his legs and lit one up. We got high and then laid our heads back onto the plush pillows. He was still naked as a jay bird; me in my soft, pink robe with nothing underneath.
As we passed the joint back and forth, we watched ourselves in the large, overhead mirror. He was playing with his cock and giggled like a little boy as he watched himself. Yeah, he was an odd bird but we still had not fucked and I was getting hotter by the minute.
After getting sufficiently stoned, he leaned over to me and gently opened my robe. He eyed my body as he had not seen it up until now and he began rubbing his hand up and down over my freshly scrubbed skin.
The skin on his hand was smooth as silk and all I could think about at that moment was he must have never worked a day in his life to have hands so soft and callus free.
He gently cupped my left tit and with his tongue, slowly traced the outline of my nipple. I shuddered.
His hand then slid down between my legs and he rubbed the hairless mound, groaning his approval, then slowly glided a finger inside me.
His kisses were soft and gentle and as I reached down between his legs, I could feel his cock pulsating in my hand.
He shifted himself on top of me and gently took my hands and placed them over my head and into the leather handcuffs attached to the bed.
Although I got a little nervous, I must admit the feeling of not being in control was intoxicating and I anxiously awaited his next move.
Next to the bed, on the night stand, was a glass of VO and Coke on the rocks. Taking the glass, he slowly poured the ice cold alcohol onto my tits, immediately calling them to attention. My body jerked from the cool shock but my hands were powerless to stop him and I wouldn’t have, even if I could.
He bent down and began sucking my rock hard nipples while his cock rested on top of me.
Testing the waters between my legs, he slid down and gently put his cock on the tip of my waiting pussy. Slowly moving it up and down, getting not only the tip of his cock wet, but me as well.
He reached down, kissed me hard then put his thick, hard cock inside me. My body, no longer tense, relaxed under his muscular frame.
However, suddenly, he was no longer passionate and seemed to drift off into another world, his world. His weird, wacky and ADD riddled world.
He had a solid stroke and beat my pussy damn near to death. Every move was very methodical and well-rehearsed. There wasn’t much sensuality; in fact it was like fucking a robot. However, that didn’t take away from how good it felt though.
After about 20 minutes, it was all over, all over me really since he didn’t come inside me but on me.
He rolled over and was breathing like he was having a heart attack. He reached up and freed me from the leather chains, kissed me on the forehead and went to sleep. I just lay there. What the fuck just happened?
Did he think it was good for me or something?
I got up and went into the bathroom, took a quick shower and went back into the room. I stood there and looked at him and thought, ‘You’re not as good as you look’ then I crawled back into bed, pulled the covers up over me and fell asleep.
No words were officially spoken about me being there but I woke up the next morning like I had been there forever and no one said anything to the contrary. I was in and he was okay with it. He had “moved me in” overnight, I suppose, and that was his plan all along.
Life was okay with him for the most part. The sex was often weird like that first night and sometimes he would whip out a toy or two and he enjoyed watching me get myself off.
He was also into videotaping and I don’t mean the family vacation kind. He was strange but he was good to me but then again, it had only been a couple of months.
His band was gearing up to go on tour and they were planning on getting in some rehearsal time. There were often parties at the house, band members, roadies, girlfriends, and anyone else who wanted to hang out with the rock stars.
Although there was a recording studio in the basement of the house, the guys liked to use the studio down on Union Street. They were getting ready for the tour and all jacked up and ready to hit the road again.
I didn’t know if I was invited to go on the tour or if
I was to stay home and play house.
He was attentive to me and although the sex was kinda weird and iffy, he was nice to me and made me feel at home. I was kinda happy…until that night.
The tour was starting in about a week and the house was full of people. By 1 am though, most had disappeared except for the band mates, their ol’ ladies and a few roadies.
Everyone was laying around on the couch and the floor getting high, drunk and sexed up. Some were fucking right in front of everyone, while others had gone off into separate rooms.
I was on the couch lying back on a pillow and he was at my feet, sitting up rolling a joint.
It had been a few months since I “moved in” and everyone knew by now that Poppy was here.
After smoking the joint, the lead guitarist brought out a folded up piece of paper with some brown stuff in it which he put into a spoon, mixed it with a bit of water then sucked it up into a syringe.
I knew that it was heroin but was naïve enough not to think that it was in this house, this band and in my life. But here it was, staring me in the face and within minutes would be in my veins.
I watched as he wrapped a piece of rubber around his arm and I recalled how much I hated that thing when I had to get my blood drawn at the doctor‘s office.
Slowly he stuck the needle into his vein, leaned back, smiled and seemed to have fallen asleep.
The needle was still in his arm when the bassist got up from the floor, took it and I watched as he did the same thing with the spoon and injected it into his hungry vein.
After several people there had done it, “chased the dragon” as they called it…it was handed to me. “Go on,” the rock star said, “let me show you how it’s done.”
I didn’t want that thing in my arm, especially after it had been in everyone else’s.
I watched as he wrapped the rubber around my arm and I felt the pinch of the band as it strangled my delicate skin.
I was already high from some of the best dope I had ever smoked and was feeling no pain from the booze, so like a dummy I let him do it.
He gently pulled my arm down toward him, patted on the veins and immediately some nice blue ones emerged. Slowly, the needle made its way to my arm, then into my veins and I flinched as I felt the prick of the needle.
He unwrapped the rubber and suddenly I felt warm, very warm like I had been dunked into a calming bath.
He then injected himself, fell back on the couch and moaned.
I began vomiting but no one noticed and if they did, they didn’t care.
Coke is a Joke and I Can’t Wait for the Next Line
After that first night, my introduction into the world of heroin, I was getting high just about every day but I wasn’t as bad as he was.
He and I would shoot up, try to fuck but end up falling asleep. I didn’t know then what this drug had done to him or what it was doing to me but he was a full blown addict wallowing in misery and I guess he needed the company.
However, when I confronted him about it, he said he was fine and refused to become an addict; he was stronger than the drug he’d say. He had been diagnosed with manic-depressive disorder as well and prescribed Lithium but refused to take it saying he didn’t have a problem “they” did.
His moods were like a swinging dick and often times he was erratic, violent and downright crazy.
The band was set to go on tour in a month and he was a mess and so was I. The lead guitarist was his cohort in crime so to speak and seemed to keep him in steady supply of the brown stuff.
In a matter of a few weeks, I had gone from 112 pounds down to a sickly 98 pounds and I hadn’t gotten my period since I began shooting up.
He seemed to be able to pull himself together for the tour but arrogantly told me “to clean myself up” before I was “allowed” to go on the road with them.
I woke up one morning and on his pillow was a tour schedule and an envelope with several thousand dollars in it. He was gone and I was to meet him at the Hollywood Sportatorium in Pembroke Pines, Florida. The plane ticket was in the envelope with the money.
The tour was set to begin that night and I would just be getting there in time for their show. In my haze, I had not prepared for this. I thought since I was the girlfriend of one of the biggest up and coming rock gods that I would have been shown some special treatment. Maybe on the road, I thought.
Welcome to the world of rock and roll.
I got to Florida and was ushered backstage just before show time. There he was with the band in front of the mirror primping as usual. Hair full of hairspray and wearing more makeup than I was. I was a sucker for a guy in eyeliner.
My mind immediately went back to Tim/Flash.
I walked up to him and he didn’t even acknowledge me. The guys made it to the stage and the crowd went wild.
I was high and could barely see straight. I hadn’t shot up recently but was needing a fix so I thought I would snoop around backstage for some stuff.
The girlfriends of the band members were milling around, one was just hanging out, one was a snobby bitch and the other one was a loud rowdy type of girl with blazing red hair but was pretty cool to me. They didn’t acknowledge me when I came into the room.
Although we were backstage, the noise from the crowd and the music was almost deafening once the door to the dressing room was opened.
A few groupies had been let back stage and as they passed, looked me up and down and giggled.
I was taken up to the side of the stage where me and the other girlfriends got to watch the band perform.
I don’t know how I stood as I long as I did but after almost two hours, I had had had enough and ventured back down the narrow black steps to back stage.
I was wearing a fake fur rabbit coat, bell bottoms and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt. My long blonde hair hung down past my waist and my big hoop earrings rounded out the groovy rock star rags that I was wearing.
I was sick from having thrown up on the plane and was a pretty shade of green as I stumbled down the hall to our dressing room.
Coming down the hall in my direction was him…my rock star…oh my God, what is he doing here?
Tan and beautiful, a stark contrast to the gaunt vampire mess walking toward him…I wanted to die at that moment.
Dressed in head to toe black leather, his shiny black hair with his blonde patches blowing in the backstage breeze. There he was, coming right toward me.
Would he remember me?
He slowly walked toward me, gazed at me then past me. I looked at him as he looked at me.
Oh God, he walked right past me…then he stopped.
“Poppy? Is that you?”
I stopped and turned to look at him.
“My God, it is you? What happened…I mean…” he looked me up and down and I could feel his disgust but he had remembered me. He remembered me.
“Hey,” I said meekly trying not to throw up on him.
He leaned in toward me as he gently put his hands on my shoulders, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, “I got a bad case of food poisoning and man it really takes it out of you.”
He knew I was lying and I felt so ashamed. I was a groupie and he knew it and I never felt so cheap and sick at the same time. I don’t know why I felt that way. Who was I to him? He was one of the biggest, sexiest rock gods in the world in one of the most famous bands, why would he love me? There was that “L” word again. Poppy get it together!
Unknown to me then, he too had been fighting his own demons of drug addiction. Only he kept it together better than I did and sure looked a hell of a lot better at doing it too.
“Well, what are you doing here? I mean…I thought you were still in Boston. When you didn’t contact me, I thought…”
Suddenly the band came backstage and he released his loving grip on me. That word again. Stop it Poppy! None of this is real, not real in any way.
The band looked wired
and suddenly another hand was on my arm and I was jerked away. However, it wasn’t my rock star this time who just stood there looking at me as I was whisked away into the dressing room by that rock star.
“What are you doing talking to him?” he said. “Huh?”
Give me a chance to answer.
Whack! Came the smack to the side of my face. I fell down on the floor of the dressing room. Everyone froze momentarily then went back to business as usual.
“You stay the fuck away from him on this tour do you hear me?”
This tour? Oh my God, they were touring together and I was too wasted to even know. What was I going to do for the next 63 cities?
I knew I had to stay away from him but how could I? He had remembered me, and put his hands on me again, and yes, in a loving, caring sort of way. However, I was not with him now but with another who liked to touch me too but not in a loving caring sort of way.
I had two loves now, him and the needle and both relationships would take me to the brink of hell.
Since the band was not that big yet, but almost, they rode around in tour buses while my rock star and his band flew in their own plane.
After the concert, we headed out to board the bus, I was held back with the other girlfriends by Nick who was one of the roadies.
“Hold it right there Poppy,” he said, “you and the other ladies are riding in the limo following the bus.”
“I don’t understand,” I argued as the red head chick grabbed me by the arm and led me to the waiting limo.
We all piled in the back and got comfy as the tour bus started up in front of us. After a few minutes, the whole limo smelled like makeup and hairspray with little wisps of rabbit fur floating in the air.
I watched as several groupies got on the tour bus with the band, along with roadies, some sound guys, their manager Gooch and their drug dealer Josh.
In the limo, Roxy, the red head was seated next to me and the other two, blonde bimbos, Heather and Pamela sat across from us.
Once we got on the road, I spoke up. “Why are we back here in the car and the guys are up there in the bus?”
The two blondes just looked at each other and continued putting on their cherry red lipstick. I looked at Roxy.
Lick and a Promise-Diary of a Rock Star Groupie Page 11
