TupeloHoney

We were both too young, and had too much to do. I let a couple great ones go like that. I think most road musicians have, which is one of the reasons why the road is so hard on you. I eventually came back to one though, and have been with her for the last 22 years. Thanks. I enjoyed your story too. I'm glad you came back to the one.

Ethereal714, that was a wonderful story. I feel like kicking you in the butt though! Why did you let her go-oooo?

Thank you. Thank you vury much. It warms a dude's heart to know that his 38 years of dedication to that noble cause are recognized and appreciated. I curtsy deeply to you, sir.

Tim, thank you very much. I found your post moving also, and I appreciate you sharing what you shared. Please don't apologize for anything you said earlier in the thread. Boy's clubs are nice, in my opinion. Think of what rock and roll would miss without the swaggering, muscular, "my balls are huge and full of cum" energy that's part and parcel to so much of it, even when it's a woman performing? Besides, I don't really belong here. I'm a guest, a non-musician, and I would have thought it fair if people had told me to {censored} off, or made fun of what I posted in some way. It's your right to react in what ever way you feel like, because you didn't ask me to come here, or for my opinion. I'm grateful that I spread a little understanding, to whomever absorbed it. Don't have any regrets about the past, but if you see things differently now, for the better, then that's wonderful too. Maybe you'll never know specifically if you touched anyone in a special way, but you can almost bet on it, and if that gives you a little energy for continuing to create, then that's just as good as a {censored}, isn't it? Thanks again. I'm reading a lot of the boards because it's so interesting, to get to know what the creative and business process is like for all of you, and I've also found a lot of cool music I never would have been exposed to otherwise. I'm begining to despair about what's available from a lot of the major labels nowadays, so sites like this and the internet in general are indispensible.

thanks for the compliment! I don't get that often. yes, I am the guitarist. Kevin Shields is very influencial to me, he's not technical, but what that guy does with his guitar, it's pure art. but no copious oral for me, not yet. I'm rather a giver though Oh, I do appreciate Kevin Shields. I don't understand the why's, how's, and wherefores, but I know he builds beautiful landscapes. When I saw "Lost In Translation", I knew immediately it was him I heard. Regarding being a giver, the world can never have enough of, nor celebrate adequately, the men who truly enjoy that.

TupeloHoney, as the starter of this thread, I have to thank you for this great piece of writing you produced in this thread. It's the best thing I've read in here since Mr Knobs' story. You made me wish I had met a girl like you as a groupie...that "so and so" dude is indeed a lucky mother{censored}er ! Well...for that, I first need to have groupies... Thank you, though I am nowhere near the writing ability of Mr. Knobs. I was wondering if that's been published yet. I just basically copied what I wrote in my journal to tell my grandkids someday. Eh, maybe not. It might creep them out to think of grandma that way. And to this day, I think of myself as the lucky one. I still can't believe it sometimes, and it's been five years.

wash your face, pluck your eyebrows, brush your teeth, wear deoderant. And, just in case things go that far, wash and at least trim your balls and your ass too.

TupeloHoney, would you have gone that far if the band wasn't as successful? for many bands, groupies are a myth unless the band is famous enough to be on MTV. any advice to regular indie bands? Yes, I would have, all things being the same with him asking someone to go get me. Because the music would have still been the same. I've been following them and loving and buying their CD's from the original EP, and attending concerts since they started coming to my area (I'm from Minnesota, and usually if a band is going to do a concert in this area, it's either part of a big package, or they'll choose Chicago before Minneapolis). And chances are, if I'd just seen him out and about, like in a restaurant or something, I never would have approached him. Even with the fledgeling bands I like now, though they aren't famous, I still wouldn't approach them. I just feel like it's annoying, and if you're seeing them out and about, it's probably the little free time and shred of privacy they have left, and I hate to make an annoyance of myself. Plus, there's no good way (in my opinion, for a girl like me who isn't a hobag) to let a person know that you appreciate their music to the extent that you would like to thank them with your body if that's desirable. Maybe, if you're an Indie band and you have a regular gig or you play around the area where you actually live, you could just invite a girl you like to have a drink with you after, or maybe try to have some parties after your gig and invite them, but make it clear it's not open to everyone, just them? Or, maybe have one of your friends who's a girl sidle up to the girl and engage her in a little conversation (at set breaks), letting her know that you noticed her? I dunno--anyone who cites My Bloody Valentine as an influence should get copious oral sex at least, just on principle. By the way, if your screen name refers to the fact that you're the guitarist . . . you are really, really good. Great control and expression (not that my opinion about that means anything. I just know what I hear). Your singer has a beautiful voice as well.

Hi Lets hope so anyway, the past few weeks I've been having serious anxiety about the commercial appeal of my band, and in a meeting with our lawyer we had a big arguement over how mainstream we want to get, but yeah. As an individual I'd hope that I'm not accessible to everyday people, but in a good way - I always love talking to the fans, nothing gives me more pleasure than sitting down for a beer after a gig with random people who happened to be in the bar and got converted to our cause, bought a CD, etc. Yeah. thanks New band I've just joined for the money and because I want to play big venues and be in the music magazines (I'm not quitting Bubblegum Screw) http://www.myspace.com/andreafaithful You're welcome. Not that my judgement is nearly as useful as those of the other musicians here, but I personally like Bubblegumscrew's music (such that I've heard) MUCH MUCH more than I like Andrea's(Not to dis your gig or anything). And I think I have a pretty good ear, and I know I have a pretty eclectic music collection with plenty of stuff in it that a lot of non-musician people will have never heard of, but which I consider essential works.

Cool story, don't worry about it being too graphic or whatever...we're all in rock bands here To be honest if you didn't go through with it that night you'd be regretting it every second of every day... When you break it down sex is just sex, nothing important, so sort of why not? That's always been my reasoning - why the hell not? By the way, I went to your band's website to listen to the music. All I'll say is, I'm glad I've gotten the chance to say hello to you now, because in a few years I predict you may not be accessible to everyday people. Hi. Sorry if you're embarassed. I wanted to send you a private message about it, but for some reason that feature doesn't work for me.

Cool story, don't worry about it being too graphic or whatever...we're all in rock bands here To be honest if you didn't go through with it that night you'd be regretting it every second of every day... When you break it down sex is just sex, nothing important, so sort of why not? That's always been my reasoning - why the hell not? Thanks. I just wanted to show that some of us are sincere, and actually hope to give you something back, not just have bragging rights or a piece of you. And you're right--I don't regret it to this day, but I think I would have if I'd said no.

Well I guess I'll take my chances. Someone tell me if it's gone too far, and I'll edit. I took a deep breath and eased myself over on top of him. I'd given myself solitary pleasure before, thinking about looking at him and others in the band from this perspective, fantasizing about the possible correlations between the ways they moved on stage and the ways they might move in bed. He'd taken his hat off and twirled it like a frisbee across the room. His hands were on my ass, squeezing hard and pulling me down tightly on top of him, crotch to crotch. I laid my chest against his, my mind counting down the seconds to launch as my face lowered toward his and we kissed. It was a good, good kiss, gentle explorations with our tongues but firm, and a little hint at the urgency to come. Mr. Morrison was singing softly in the background. I believe it was "Into The Mystic". We were kissing a little bit when he broke away and said, "That was some crazy dancing y'all were doing. That's what caught my attention. Then it was your hair." He gathered some of it up at the back of my head before pulling me in for more kissing. To be sure, I've thought this whole episode over many, many times since, and that's the moment that touches me most to recall. I did my best, then, to tell him with my hands and my mouth and other parts of me he wanted, all the things I'd wanted to tell them all when I had my headphones on all those times. He stopped me while I was sucking him and said if I didn't stop he was going to blow right away, and he didn't want to yet. I have to admit that it gave me a thrill, to know that I was pleasing him that deeply, that he had to stop me or lose control. I thought but didn't say that there were so many times he wouldn't stop in a solo, but kept taking me higher, and still higher, driving me and driving me, until trickling down into the rest of them again while I breathlessly tried to collect myself. I was surprised, but he wanted to lick me. I didn't think that was something I could expect in a situation like that. I came twice that way. This is the one time I am tempted to tell who he is, because I feel that any man who's as voracious and persistent in eating {censored} as he seemed to be deserves to be applauded. But I won't say anything. He's married now, and I'm sure his wife wouldn't want to read about any of this or hear it by word of mouth even. Her imagination is probably fertile enough regarding what happens when he goes on the road and she can't join him. Well, the rest of the story is pretty anticlimactic to anyone but me. I will say that it makes sense that so many musicians probably try to hit it and quit it without getting truly intimate, because the worry is that the girl will misconstrue things. I made sure I didn't, just settled it in my own mind, but just the same, when he woke me in the morning and wanted me again, and then after when he didn't seem in any hurry to roust me out, except that they were leaving later that afternoon, I was feeling that if he'd asked me to get on the bus with them and come to the next city, I would have. Truthfully, I didn't want it to end. But after a roomservice breakfast and a shower together, he called down to the front desk, ordered me a taxi, and had them charge it to their room. He did give me his E-mail address and pretty much begged me not to give it out. I said I wouldn't, and I never have. I gave him mine too. He came to the door with me in a towel. The suite was desserted except for the distant sound of a shower running and a television somewhere. We kissed long and deep at the door, and I felt him stirring a little beneath the towel, but when I put my hand on him he kind of groaned and said he wished he could, but they had to go soon. He said again that it was nice to meet me, and that he'd had a really good time. I told him I had as well, and with one more peck on the lips, I left. The next day he did E-mail me and thank me again for a good time. I wrote back and thanked him for the last night, and for everything, but he didn't write back. A couple years later I sent an E-mail to the same address, but it bounced back. I never heard from him again, but that's okay. It was a beautiful experience, and I was happy to look back on it with the knowledge that I'd maybe managed to give him a small measure of the joy he'd given me and so many others, just by picking up his guitar. It's a night of lore repeated to this day amongst my friends, but I haven't ever given them that many dirty details. My girlfriends all got lucky too, but not with anyone from the band, and they have their own dirty details to share. I'm only telling you because it's anonymous, and I feel I can. I wouldn't dissect it to the bone like that with my circle of friends, because even if it was just the once, and even if I'm probably doing just what we're not supposed to do as fans or "groupies" I guess, blow things up bigger than they are, read more into it than that he could have had practically any woman in that crowd and he happened to spot me, that he was young and horny and beautiful and the world was his and I just got lucky. But I can't really help it. When I'm an old lady and perhaps it will have been a long time since anyone has made love to me, I will have that night to remember.

The night wore on, and more drinks went down. I thought about my worry of earlier, but even though he was clearly feeling good, he wasn't sloppy. The speed in the acid I was on was still keeping me bright-eyed, so I didn't feel the drinks I'd had at all. I thought that pretty soon it might be time, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom. "Use the one in my room. I'll be in there in a second if that's cool." He whispered this to me and rubbed his nose against my cheek a little bit. My whole body seemed to respond, but not necessarily sexually. All my pores seemed as if they were like little mouths, open and breathing. He was kind of waiting for my response, so I nodded my head and smiled. "Goodnight Olivia!" my friend called. My face got hot as a poker again, and I turned briefly to both shoot her a look and wave a little. I hunched my shoulders up against her "Call me later if you need a ride, or when you get home tomorrow!" People laughed a little, but it didn't feel too bad. I smiled again because I heard so and so say, "I'll make sure she gets home." I didn't really have to go to the bathroom, but I wanted to clean myself as best I could. I took off all my clothes and used the hotel soap to wash my armpits and my nether regions and my face. I dug in my bag for a little makeup, and some perfume that would have to do for deoderant. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, but decided that what I was seeing would have to be good enough. I couldn't tell, because acid distorts things. I'd peaked long ago, but my image in the mirror was still a little wavery. Just before I left the bathroom, I heard the door to the bedroom close. When I came out, the lamp on the bedside table was on, and he was laying on the bed, fully clothed, watching television. I edged my way into the room and sat on the side of the bed. "You having fun?" "Yeah. This is awesome. Thanks for inviting me over." He turned off the television and put the remote on the bedside table. He picked up another one and used it to turn on a portable stereo in over by the window. Van Morrison. Hence my screen name. I was frozen on the side of the bed until he reached for me. I let myself be pulled back, and soon my head was on his chest, my leg over one of his. "Damn. I can feel your heart pounding." "Sorry." "You scared or something?" I was, but I said no, and explained that I'd been tripping. "Has it been a good trip?" "Unbelievable. The show, and now this . . . It's really been nice to meet you, after all this time of listening to your music and everything, and loving it the way I have." "That's good. It's been nice to meet you too. I could tell how beautiful you were from a distance even. You're {censored}ing hotter up close." "Thank you." We didn't say anything for a little bit. He just rubbed my back and we laid there. I realized later that he was waiting for me to make a move, but luckily he saved us. "So can I be really honest with you?" "Yeah." "I'm not gonna tell you I'll call you next time we're in town or any of that bull{censored}. We could exchange E-mails but I hardly ever check mine. I'm not gonna be pissed if you don't want to do anything, but I really want to {censored} you. Is that cool?" Now some people might think that was {censored}ed up, but I didn't. No matter how much fun we'd had, I knew from the start that I was there to give him something, to give him what ever I could. And it was okay with me. I don't know how much further I should go with this part of the story. It doesn't seem like the system is censoring me so far, but do posts get deleted for cussing and possible TMI? I think I have an idea from what I've read of the entire thread thus far, but I'm not sure where the limits are.

I'm probably not going to be reporting the conversation accurately, because I can't remember it exactly. This is how I recorded it in my journal: "Hey. You're Olivia, right? I'm so and so." "Yeah, I know. I mean. Sorry. I didn't mean to sound bitchy." "You didn't, it's cool. Can I have some of that?" I handed him my cigarette, and he carefully reached around my hand to grab it, as in my disorder I'd handed it to him cherry first. The thought that I'd nearly burned some very important fingers made my stomach do a little roll once again, and the fact that I was staring directly into the eyes I'd only seen on CD covers and in magazines, and that they were so beautiful. The kind of blue with a little gold sunburst around the pupil. Fringed with dark eyelashes a girl would envy. He kept his eyes on mine as he took a drag, and exhaled a little snicker with the smoke. "Are you doing okay?" "Yeah. I'm freaking a little bit, that's all." "Aw, don't freak out. It's okay." "Oh no, I'm good." He took another drag. "That's good. Here's your smoke back." "You want one?" "No, I'm actually trying to quit." "Now I feel like I've corrupted you." "Nah. I still bum them, I just don't buy them. If I buy them, I chain smoke." "I know how that is." I didn't know what I meant by that. I'd never tried to quit smoking. "So did you like the show? It looked like y'all were having fun." "I always like your shows. More than like. I've never been to a show that wasn't good." He laughed and said that if I was on stage, I'd know that there'd been plenty of shows that weren't good. You just had to know where the mistakes were, and be close enough to hear the cussing between bandmates. But he was glad I liked it. Here's where I planned to say all the words of devotion I'd thought of earlier, but somehow they didn't seem appropriate. He was trying to treat me like a friend, not like a fan. I could see that. And I at least had the sense to respect it, even if all of my other senses were swimming. He turned back to chat a bit more with some of the other people sitting around us, and a few who came up from other parts of the room. The drummer threw himself over the back of the couch to jokingly hump the girl who'd reached around to ash her cigarette, and I felt blessed when his leg bumped the back of my head. So and so looked back and said "Hey look out dude." The drummer didn't hear him over the sound of his obnoxious but hilarious faux sex sounds, and I found myself laughing with everyone else. His hair was still wet from the shower, so it was probably darker than when dry, but it was almost black and wavy with damp curls that curved behind his ears under the black porkpie hat he was wearing. I thought about how many times I thought about touching that hair, about lifting it from his sweaty neck as I kissed him deeply just after he left the stage. There was a droplett of water clinging bulbously to the end of one curl, and without realizing I was doing so, I reached up and brushed it away. He kept talking to the highschool friends but squeezed me against him a little more. My elbow was on his upper thigh now. The fact that he had a few acne scars could only be beautiful to me, because it was a bit of vulnerability, a hint of the hell of highschool that the band sang about sometimes. Phrases and lines and choruses of songs flitted through my head. Someone else had given him his own cigarette, and he talked animatedly between drags, releasing his arm from my shoulders to gesture. I was drinking it in.

Well, that didn't take as long as I thought. Anyway. I remember seeing a documentary once where some musicians were being asked about groupies, about the love and lust their music inspires in some of their fans. Carlos Santana said "I try to tell them, listen, I can't do to you with my body what my music does to you." Or something like that. That's always stuck with me. As we distributed ourselves around the room (my friends had no problems involving themselves with the passing of bowls and mixing drinks and amiable small-talk), I started thinking about my own expectations, as I'd already fretted about his. I started thinking about something I'd mused about many times before, how much I hate the fact that magazines and some fans think they are owed so much more than the music, that they have the right to speculate and even demand to know the every visceral curve of the celebrity or musician they're interested in at any given time. It calmed me some to think that that's something I could say to him, that even though I could never explain the places their music had taken me, and never repay, I felt the only thing he owed me was a good faith effort at keeping on with integrity as long as they could, and all I owed him was the money they asked for the CD or the concert. I decided I'd tell him I would never dowload music for free and steal their music. Somehow I'd tell him I didn't expect any more than he'd already given, and for that I was so grateful. I was sitting on the floor interjecting into a conversation with one of my friends and two guys who had been friends with the drummer since highschool and now traveled with them once in a while, and one of their girlfriends. The girl looked like she could be a porn star maybe, but she was very sweet. They all seemed to want to know a little about me, about what I thought of the band, what my favorite album and song were. They all wanted me to know that so and so was a really good guy. This was so helpful, but my stomach still lept into my throat when a door on the left opened and he came in. Another guy jumped up and grabbed him in a bearhug, and they exchanged excited greetings. The scene was repeated as everyone but the singer trickled into the room. Later I learned that his wife was in town and they had a room of their own with their baby somewhere else in the hotel. Another girl I hadn't been talking to leaned past me to ash her cigarette and said "That's his brother. The guy he hugged." It took me several minutes to realize that I was staring in turns at each of the members of the band, and I only realized it because one of the highschool friends informed me that my cigarette had burned all the way down and the ash had dropped onto my pants. I could feel my face get hot and directed my eyes to my lap as I stubbed out the already cashed filter in the ashtray. The three of them exchanged knowing but not unfriendly looks with eachother, kind of like I was a sweetheart and they felt for me. I could hear my friends talking and laughing in various places, and Sarah even called my name a couple of times, but I didn't respond. I was listening through all the chatter to the sound of so and so as he moved about the room, talking loudly to friends, accepting congratulations on the show, dissing the skills of the videogame players, clinking ice into glass. Several minutes later, while I was still eyeing my lap and taking occasional puffs from the fresh cigarette I'd lit, when my contribution to the conversation around me had been reduced to monosyllables, I felt someone plop down next to me on the floor, and an arm go around my shoulder. Someone said to him, "Hey sweetie! You guys were awesome as usual." "Thanks, man." "You must be exhausted!" "Nah, the shower helped. That was {censored}in' kick ass, wasn't it? Did you see all those {censored}in' people?" "Yeah. You guys totally melted some faces tonight." His arm tightened around me, and I leaned into him. I was almost going to burn myself with my cigarette to stop the tears that sprang to my eyes, but luckily I managed to swallow them down. I became acutely aware of my slightly lived-in smell, compared to the soapy freshness of him next to me. I hoped that by the time my eyes made their way from his boots to his face, I would be able to speak. I gingerly rested my hand on his leg, and relaxed. I had a few minutes to look at the side of his face before he turned to me.