We’d all been wrong about that. It took more than growing your hair and stroking a guitar to make it in this business. So far, we couldn’t even break into the local scene, much less hit the charts.
All Myron talked about these days was getting a promotion at the beer plant. Jackie wanted nothing more than to be a cop and was going to the academy in the spring. A cop, of all things. Jimmy would never amount to anything. He was an A-Number-One-Screw-Up. Life had come crashing in on all of us. But I wasn’t ready to give up on this dream of mine, to rock a stadium with my guitar in my hand, Melissa’s worshipful face glowing up at me. Yeah, that hadn’t happened even though I was as talented as the next guy. More so, probably.
Melissa was on her feet now; her hair covered her face mysteriously as she snapped her fingers and twisted her waist to the music. I finished smoking my roach and leaned back to enjoy the show. She was naturally provocative; she had a talent for flirting, one that matched my own. She had a slim body with slightly rounded hips. She wasn’t as chesty as Jackie’s wife, Rhonda, a minor television actress with an incredible rack, but I didn’t care about breasts the way some guys did. Sure, I appreciated a good-looking set, I wasn’t gay or anything, but it wasn’t the most important thing to me. So, what was it about this girl that made me want to marry her? Her eyes. That had to be it. Those shiny blue eyes.
“Dance with me, Levi,” she pleaded again. Her hair slid back, and her moist lips parted as she reached for me. I shook my head and smiled back. I was high, so I couldn’t dance if I wanted to, but she was so beautiful. All I wanted to do—all I could do—was watch her. She turned the radio up as she continued to spin and twist to the song. It would be over soon. And then hopefully she would collapse beside me, and we would make love until neither of us could move. God, I wanted her so badly. I had to have her. I was as high as a kite and could barely move my arms, but my heart was full. I could almost feel it swelling inside my chest. Swelling and shrinking, beating, and thumping for Melissa. If my heart had a voice, it would say, “Mel-lisa, Mel-lisa.”
Hey, maybe it did have a voice.
I laughed at the thought. It didn’t make sense, but then again it did. Everything made sense right at this moment. I was one with the Universe and soon would be one with Melissa. When the song ended, I held out my arms to her and she smiled as she pretended to chew on her fingernail. I was mesmerized by her perfect lips. She never wore lipstick. She didn’t need to; her lips were the perfect shade of pink.
And then she was in my arms and her musky perfume filled my nostrils as I breathed in the scent of her skin. She was kissing me, and I felt as if I would melt into her. The basement was cold; it had begun to snow earlier. Melissa shed her burgundy turtleneck and cast it to the side, so she was just in her blouse. I saw her hard nipples pushing against the flimsy fabric. I tugged off my shirt and we lay together on the sea of pillows, kissing and touching and loving.
She was perfect in every way. I had been her first; I knew that even though we never talked about it. A guy just knows those kinds of things. Her gold heart pendant shone in the dim light, and her eyes glistened with desire as her arms leisurely rested around my neck.
The song finished and the radio station went to the local news and weather.
“Let’s go watch TV and make some coffee. I’m cold,” Melissa said as she jumped up. She started to walk up the stairs and I followed behind her. I then grabbed her ass as she wiggled it in front of me as we went up the basement steps. I knew she’d done it on purpose.
“Get your hands off me!” She yelped jokingly.
“Everything is self-service now,” I said with a dirty laugh. I reached for her hand and pulled her back down the stairs. “I will warm you up!”
“I can’t now,” she pleaded, “I have books to read for my course tomorrow morning.”
“I’d like to browse through one or two things myself,” I added, as I looked down at her perfect little chest.
“I bet you would!”
“Perhaps I can browse through your blouse one afternoon when it’s wet.” I circled the top button with my finger.
“I will send it to you when I next do my laundry,” she added.
“I was hoping you’d be wet now?”
“Oh… I am!”
“Well let’s not waste it,” I suggested.
I pushed my hand down the front of her jeans and she breathed in to help my progress. I slipped it under the elastic of her panties and continued into her soft bushy hair. I then felt the wet slipperiness she’d spoken of with my fingertips. She took a short intake of breath as I reached my destination. We started to kiss, and our tongues spent no time searching and exploring each other’s mouths… it was such a turn on to feel her enthusiasm and adventure. My experience of kissing the town girls in my teenage years ranged from terrible to depressing. Like poking my tongue through the skin off a cold rice pudding or putting a toad in its box for winter.
I thought girls practiced on their hands or teddy bears. I damn sure hadn’t kissed any winners. Until Melissa.
Melissa reciprocated my rubbing by motioning the palm of her hand against the large lump now adorning the front of my pants. She then teased the end with her nails before moving to my zipper. She was never the type of girl to hang about, and in one or two tugs and some nifty hand movements, she’d unleashed my throbbing hardness over the top of my boxer shorts. She then pulled her jeans and panties down in one quick motion and fell to the floor with her legs spread for me to see. She reached up her hand for me to join her, and I pushed her back onto the rug.
I carefully positioned myself on top of her and we came face-to-face. My bulging hardness nudged against her slick and slippery pinkness. We met each other’s gaze again and in the briefest of seconds we were one, staring and delving into each other’s souls. With the smallest movement of my hips, I found myself inside her—in one long slow push. I was amazed at how far I penetrated her in that first motion. She gasped, quivered, and gripped me hard as she reached an instant orgasm. In a moment of silliness, she apologized for coming so fast.
“Never apologize for that.”
I held her wrists and pinned them either side of her head, her legs reached far around me, and I drew my manhood out to the furthest point before burying it deep again, all the way in. I pounded her intently and hard, alternating between slow and fast with complete dominance and control. She was a mere rag doll now. She whispered in my ear, “I’m all yours!”
Melissa was panting for breath and was about to scream. This was not our first rodeo, and I knew all her traits and foibles. I placed my hand over her mouth, I didn’t want her to disturb Debs and Naomi upstairs. One of my fingers found its way into Melissa’s mouth and she started sucking on it with the same motion as my thrust—she held a better rhythm than Jimmy! I slipped out of her, and we clumsily changed positions.
I looked over my shoulder and was blessed to see the awesome sight of my naked toned body pounding her now in the doggy position, with her beautiful breasts swaying back-and-forth with each rapid change of direction, in the mirror above the bureau.
This unexpected reflective pornographic image was the moment at which I knew I was going to explode. I pulled her hair to arch her back for the furthest penetration, as I reached the point of no return.
Melissa duly responded by resisting my pressing, I suddenly let go with everything I owned. I cried out in a mixture of pleasure and release. I no longer cared if the entire block heard. I nearly tore a stomach muscle in that moment.
I hadn’t noticed how dark it had become and I looked over to t see Melissa smiling with her eyes shut, due to the buzzing endorphin overdose caused by our amazing sex. I moved my hand up and down her back in a reassuring manner as I stared up at the staccato ceiling drowning in the peace of the moment. We said no words. Just heavy breathing and the sweet smell of a hot sex afterglow. In that moment, we fused together in the perfect synergy of man and woman in harmony.
We then fell asleep and when I w
oke up, it was morning, and the room was icy cold. Melissa was gone, but she’d left a gift on the pillow beside me. A note she’d penned while I slept.
Furious Peacocks.
To anyone else it wouldn’t make sense, but I knew exactly what this was. This would be the name of the band. I grinned as I folded the paper and dressed quickly. I slid the note in my pocket and dusted myself off. The radio was still playing; another tune from the Black Knights bubbled from the black and silver box. It must be early in the morning because Hillbilly John was still spinning the tunes.
“You heard that right, folks. It’s not a rumor. The Black Knights are coming to the New Field Arena tomorrow night. If you don’t already have your tickets, then you are probably out of luck. This is going to be a sold-out show, folks. Sorry.”
I grinned proudly as the tune faded and Rocket Star began to play. I had tickets, right? I hadn’t dreamed all that, had I? Where had I put those tickets? Man, I didn’t even tell Melissa about the concert. I racked my brain. Come on, dude. How can you be so irresponsible? Those tickets are priceless! Hey, that’s an idea. I mean, the letter didn’t say I couldn’t sell them. I bet I’d make a few dollars. Immediately I shrugged off that idea. No way was I selling those tickets. I dug in my jacket. Not there. I searched my pants pockets. Not there.
“Crap!” I shouted as I tossed pillows around hoping to find where I’d stashed the tickets. What if Jimmy had found them? Aw, man… I flipped open my guitar case. Yeah, there they were, hidden in the pocket where I keep my picks and tuning pipes.
So, it hadn’t been a dream. Not at all. I really did have two tickets to the Elegant Black tour and backstage passes. I put them in my pocket and raced upstairs to make sure Debbie had eaten breakfast. It was eight o’clock already, and I had to be at work in an hour. She’d clearly had a bowl of cereal for breakfast since the Cinnamon Grahams were open and on the table. I closed the box and put it back in the cabinet. Sometimes I only know she is around by the glasses and plates left in the sink. I peeked around the corner and could see that Naomi was passed out on the couch. I crept close to her to make sure she was still breathing, and of course she was. I wasn’t sure how I would feel if she wasn’t, and I didn’t have time to ponder my emotions this morning.
I hurried off for a shower, hid the tickets in my closet and went next door to talk to Junior before I headed to work. Man, I hated taking the bus, but at least I had that option. Nope, I couldn’t be late. I needed tomorrow night off. I wasn’t worried about Melissa taking off work. Her boss was her dad; he owned a diner, and he completely spoiled her. If she wanted to take off, she could, anytime. I don’t think he liked me too much, but he never said it. If I treated his daughter right, why wouldn’t he? Maybe I should ask his permission before I ask Melissa to marry me.
Nah. I wouldn’t do that. He might say no, and then what? I’d ask her anyway. No need to start our son-in-law/father-in-law relationship on bad terms.
After a quick consultation, Junior informed me that I was merely low on oil. I hadn’t slung a rod yet, but I obviously had some kind of serious leak, probably around the manifold. He promised to look at it for me today and let me know something tonight. I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed to the bus. Maybe things were getting better. I hoped Sanja didn’t give me a hard time about tomorrow night. I really hoped he didn’t.
I climbed onto the bus and slowly walked to the back to my usual seat. I hadn’t been on the bus in at least six months, not since I bought the Vega, but not much had changed. The same unfriendly driver who I always suspected took a few nips before climbing behind the wheel. He had a wooden crucifix hanging from his mirror, two smiling children in a picture on the dash, and he prayed under his breath every time he changed gear.
It was the same sad people in their usual spots. The old lady who always crocheted hats was in the first seat. She was busy now working on something black. Four seats behind her on the opposite side was the long-haired older guy who smelled like onions and garlic. He must work at a restaurant or something.
He reminded me of my old shop teacher Mr. Johnson—recognizable by the permanent pencil placed behind his ear, and the sawdust gathered in the turn-ups of his khaki pants. He would shout at the class when we forgot the safety procedures when using the table saw or lathe. He would hold up his hands to show his missing fingers and bellow, “I’m not messing around, I’m not messing around!”
If your shop teacher was not missing a finger or two, he was a sub. Poor Mr. Johnson lost his hearing toward the end of his teaching career and learned to sign, but only with a limited vocabulary. This man did not have a pencil behind his ear.
My dad would throw an onion into his packed lunch and eat them like apples. This seemed appropriate. He had an inability to be empathic or be close to people. His constant onion eating was like an eye-watering invisible shield. I am sure he’d not kissed Naomi in the last two decades. Maybe back when they were kids and would go for a malt, a drive-in movie, and listened to a few tracks from Buddy Holly. I bet they conceived me in the back of his old Ford Skyliner. I guess I should be grateful my name was Levi and not Skyliner. Although Skyliner Wallace does sound like the name of a winner. My sister could have been Skinny Dip Wallace, so she got off lightly with Debbie.
Two seats behind the Onion Man was the kid with the lazy eye. He couldn’t be more than fourteen or so. Why wasn’t he in school? Shouldn’t all kids be in school? Even kids with lazy eyes? He gave me an unfriendly squint with one eye looking at me and the other looking for me, before leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes as the bus began to roll away. I must make a note to remember that Lazy Eye is a good name for a band. I wasn’t too sure about Melissa’s suggestion. Furious Peacocks sounded a bit too…something. Nah, Lazy Eye would work for a country or bluegrass group rather than a rock band.
Yep, all things were as they always had been. Except for the guy sitting in my seat. I was so surprised to see him that I didn’t move for a few seconds. He grinned at me like a knife drawer opening and showed me the widest smile and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen on a human being. He had shaggy, shoulder-length feathered black hair and strange eyes. He was a rocker, that much I knew, with an assortment of leather necklaces around his neck. He tilted his head in my direction, and his leonine smile never faded as his fingers tapped on the back of the seat in front of him. He wore a ripped sleeveless shirt even though it was freezing out.
“Hey,” I said in a whisper as I sat down in the nearest seat. The stranger didn’t return my greeting, and I pretended that it didn't bother me. He continued to stare at me and grin, all the while tapping on the seat.
The bus rolled along the street leaving a cloud of choking diesel fumes. A pink gobstopper then trundled slowly down the center of the bus and nestled at my feet. The bus braked at the lights at the intersection, and with the inertia the candy rolled back down the bus toward the driver. In a visually lacking environment, the smallest things occupied the brain as entertainment. I watched that gobstopper roll backwards and forwards for ten minutes. It was better than making than making eye contact with the guy beside me.
Travelling on the bus always brought back bad memories of taking the school bus. It always parked in the vacant lot across the street from Myron and Jimmy’s house. I had to walk to his home at about six-thirty to wait for the driver to show up to start the bus so we could get on. One frigid January morning the driver didn’t turn up on time, so I pushed on the accordion doors and forced my way in… applying pressure in just the right place to pop them open. I also knew the driver had a key in a magnetic box under the dash, so I started the bus and turned on the heating. Myron had grabbed the broom under the backseat and swept the snow from the bus. The driver then arrived munching on a piece of toast with his shirt hanging out.
He got on to a warm, clean, bus that was ready to go. We sat innocently looking back at him like two cherubs from a Raphael painting. He was not happy! “You’re not meant to be on the bus
and you sure as hell are not meant to start it!” He didn’t seem to mind though, when minutes later he was sat with his feet up drinking coffee from a thermos.
On the way home I jumped off five stops early to nip across the road and hike through a couple of backyards to make it home. I saved thirty minutes of riding time by walking five minutes. I once ran out from behind the bus one afternoon with my hood up, and never saw the car speeding toward me. I tumbled over the hood and bounced off the windscreen onto the road. Surprisingly, I didn't get too hurt, but I was a bit sore and shaken. Naomi forced me to write a letter of apology to the driver for getting in his way!
Bus journeys were all over by ninth grade though. A kid a few years older than me, and not too bright, sat near me. I found an old deck of playing cards in a drawer of the kitchen when looking for some glue for my model, and I brought them with me. Each morning I started to play cards with the kid, and we gambled for money. I quickly learned that if I let him win money in the morning, he was more likely to gamble more during the afternoon return trip. Thus, I could recoup the morning’s losses and add to my winning pot. He bet bigger and bigger over a period of weeks, and I eventually managed to hustle my way to a brand-new Schwinn Sting-Ray bicycle.
I guess the kid's mom caught on that he wasn't eating lunch at school or whatever, because I was taking his money each week. She called the school to complain that her kid was suffering at the hands of a bully. He blabbed in the principal’s office and casually mentioned that we played cards on the bus. They informed the bus driver and told him to police the situation. Apples do not fall far from the tree and his mother, in a moment of misunderstanding, thought she had to call the police. Being unaware of this conversation, I broke the cards out on the way home as always. That’s when the cop showed up! My con made the police unhappy… the principal unhappy… and his mother unhappy! They tagged me as a bully to a twelfth-grade kid twice my size and banned me from the bus, but I now had a bicycle to make my way there.
The Vampire's Song (Vampires of Rock Book 1) Page 3
