Walking into Michael’s, who do I see but erstwhile cub reporter Jimmy Olson waiting for me.
“What’s happening, my man?” I stick out my hand. He seems to know we were in need of publicity. Good timing.
“You ever hear of Jon Landau? He tried to do a hatch job on us when we let him hang in New York.”
“What a dick. C’mon here little boy and let me show you some candy,” he laughs.
My indignation evaporates instantly. I wonder what Jimmy’s real name was. (John)
“We need some press to oversubscribe the frat parties we’re playing this weekend.”
“Yeah, burn down the house,” Jack interjects.
“So, you’re the new singer?” Jimmy hadn’t met Jack before.
“And guitar,” Jack brags. “Jack’s the name, rock’s my game.”
Jimmy shakes his hand. We sit down to do an interview. We tell him all the stories from our roadhouse tour. He breaks up and tells me he knows we made it all up when we talk about Springsteen (all except the Patti part). We tell him to put it out that we’ll play at an unnamed frat, so people will have to look for us on campus. If we get a crowded house, we play better.
I gave him the name of the photographer in Savannah for stills.
“I got plenty of those off the wire services. My favorite is Hippie running barefoot out of the Waldorf.”
We all laugh. All the times with Andy are well documented. We now play to the Art crowd.
Rehearsal goes well. Jay has given us a list of songs we can do for Skynyrd. There are about twenty. We know them all. We go through all the songs and selected five we like the most – ‘House of the Rising Sun – the Animals; ‘Light My Fire’ and ‘Roadhouse Blues’ – Doors; ‘Ramblin’ Man’ – Allman Brothers; ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together’ – Stones. Roadhouse is the sentimental choice. It means Jack and I can spin tales about our Roadhouse days on stage. Fun to be 16 and have memories.
Isaac and the nerds come to one of our rehearsals. When they see how much pot we need to fuel our playing, it shocks them and keeps them away. They never say anything about it, but we don’t exactly invite them to partake. Jack is sure they were abstainers. After they leave, we talk about them.
“Prissy bunch, ain’t they,” Robby observes.
“They don’t understand and don’t wanna know about drugs,” Jack defends them.
“So, they’s your old band? Them nerds. Do they even know rock n roll?”
“Naw, they just did what I told ‘em to do, like you do for this band.”
“Hell, sweetheart, you and Tim run this show.”
“You’re just laying back and lickin’ your wounds, ‘til you decide to fuck everything up.”
“Whoa,” Both Michael and I stop them.
Robby stares Jack down, then laughs.
“Ya got that right, pretty boy. I just want all this to blow up to prove a point.”
“What point?” Jack takes the bait.
“That’s just my point. There ain’t no point.”
Jack looks at him for a long second, then wheels around, only to run into my arms.
“Stop, you both. If it ain’t fun, then there ain’t no point,” I settle it.
Robby pulls out a joint, causing Jack to be all over me. We play some Zeppelin covers, so Jack can scream and ride me from behind while I rip the Jimmy Page leads.
Michael does all the John Bonham rolls, while Robby pulls off his The Who’s Keith Moon antics, standing up and twirling his sticks. The Jacettes walk in just in time to sing backups and all arguments are forgotten.
“Hot, hot, hot; you boys are on fire,” Flo yells at the end.
They sit, while we play the five covers for them. We’re really into it. It’s what we do, letting the music deal with our emotions. Jack is screaming at Robby while I play long blues riffs. He ends on his knees to Edi, rapping his blues licks while I cut leads at the end of each line. I’m answering his pleas. Michael cuts in with rolling, get-out-of-town rhythms to drive the beat. ..’Boogie all night long’. Finally Robby does a crash down beat and we stop. I want to go all night long.
Jack is shaking, unable to stop bouncing and thrusting. I pull him into the bathroom, pull down his pants, and sucked his rock hard dick until he cums long and hard. He does me next. Of course, I last about 10 seconds. We’ll sell those undies for top dollar.
Jack is still worked up. We split from Michael’s. In five minutes we’re upstairs in my tower room. It takes all night to be satisfied. No one says a thing the next day. Robby watches to see who is walking funny. Both of us fake massive butt ache, much to his shock. I fall asleep in English. ‘The Tempest’ has yet to inspire me. My life is too tempestuous.
On Friday night we get to the frat house early. Intrepid cub reporter Jimmy has gotten a long piece into the Herald’s Arts section that morning. He makes it sound like our gigs that night and the next are the reward of a rock n roll treasure hunt. The brothers are worried that their party will be sold out and closed down. I tell them to up the entrance fee to ten bucks.
“If it gets too crowded at the door, tell us to take a break. Then tell the people still outside that the gig is over.”
I make sure they had enough spare kegs to keep the bar busy. When they see that our roadies are fourteen and younger, they throw a fit. Stu is out of control with nervous energy, hoping we’ll let them play ‘Diamond Dogs.’ He even has a rhinestone dog collar. Mike Jr. is a model of calm, keeping Stu from self-immolation. Iggy is in full Stooges drag and makeup. He reminds me of Joey going to NYC. I tell the frat boys we’ll keep the ‘Out-Crowd’ kids from drinking. We do a quick sound check and disappear to Sorrento’s for pizza, beer and pot. Mike Sr and Jay are waiting for us. Not sure if Jay is out to anyone, we both just wink at him. He’s as excited as everyone. It’s our first hometown show since New Year’s. I suddenly miss Jace so much. Not that I need his guitar guidance, but because we always had such fun at these shows. Jack knows what I’m feeling and squeezes my leg as we wait for our pizza.
By the time we return to campus, there is a buzz in the air. People are calling the frat house to confirm that the show is there. Chalked letters with False Gods and an arrow lead the outsiders to the site. We sneak in the back, as a long line was out front trying to get in. We’re set up in the front room. The brothers open the windows to the street and are telling people if they want to listen outside to pay five bucks and won’t be able to buy beer. It’s time to start, even though it’s only eight o’clock.
“Hello, Miami. We are so glad to be back here and playing for our friends.”
Hippie starts the bass line to the Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues”
– bump a bump a bump a da da – while Jack did his monologue.
“We’re gonna start with a cover that brings me back to the road houses we played in Northern Florida and North Carolina.” A few cheers go up from transplants.
“Now you don’t play a roadhouse without some southern blues and without a few minor riots. Our friend Iggy,” and Jack points to him leaning against a wall in then back, “pulled our asses out of the fire a few times up there. So this song’s for him, ‘Roadhouse Blues” by the Doors.”
“Keep your eyes on the road your hands upon the wheel
Down in the roadhouse we’re gonna have a real, a good time…”
John Densmore;Jim Morrison;Robbie Kreiger;Ray Manzarek
DOORS MUSIC COMPANY
Hippie keeps up the beat while I use my SG axe to echo the Manzarek electric piano effects while pushing out the song’s lead riffs. Jack spins and struts for the frat crowd pushing in towards us. As they grew too close, Jack picks out a foxy chick in the front to sing to:
“Ashen lady, ashen lady
Give up your vows, give up your vows”
The crowd is instantly on our side. Time to do our band song, False Gods.
“Where others feared to tread,
they gave us up for dead,
memories linger eternally,
as Lucifer’s proud plea,
a world of our own,
on high a black throne,
sing to make them see,
happy for eternity
…we are False Gods, we are False Gods…
a world so meek and blind,
we laugh at all of mankind,
we’re Satan’s band,
a world of endless flaws,
facades and miracles applause,
eulogized but despised,
shed your false disguise,
fall to your knees,
utter useless pleas,
…we are False Gods, we are False Gods…
pray in foreign tongues,
shoot your useless guns,
sacrifice hallowed sheep,
shun cold, dark streets,
you’re just nasty fleas,
Set your minds at ease
…False Gods, False Gods…
we live eternally,
we hear your painful screams
Just wait twenty years and
know just what we mean
….We are False Gods, False Gods..
… False Gods”
Songwriters: David Delgado, Tar Larner
It wasn’t the Doors, but that’s not what the crowd wants. The whole room is swaying, yelling back the ‘False Gods’ chorus at us. Jack leaves enough space at the end of each line for me to tweak leads while Hippie spins like a dervish. Robby jumps up from his drums, joining Jack for each chorus. Michael never misses a beat. We throw the song at the crowd. They roar back at us.
“You like that?” Jack demands. The crowd responded with multiple ‘Yeahs.’”
“Well, we’re going to slow it down,” and we slip into ‘Ramblin’ Man,’ changing the tempo and the mood from pent-up anger to Southern drawl.
Halfway through, as I was doing my solo, Jack sees the Frat boy in charge of the door, waving frantically. We must take a break due to over-crowding. As we finish the song, Jack announces we were leavin’, just like the song. Three songs are not enough. People were screaming, “More, more.” They all step back but keep shouting for us to stay on.
I signaled Dave and John that it’s the Out-Crowd’s time to come on. They all jump up and after a quick change of instruments, they start playing the intro to Bowie’s ‘Diamond Dogs.’ Out jump Stu & Mike Jr. The crowd is instantly silenced at the sight of a 12 & a 13 year tricked out in dog collars and mascara, with spiked hair.
“This ain’t rock’n’roll. This is genocide!…”
Songwriters: BOWIE, DAVID
Diamond Dogs lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC, TINTORETTO MUSIC
Half the crowd goes for the exits, while the other half apparently into Glitter, especially the girls, pushes to the front to see real pre-pubescent androgyny rocking out. It is better than Jack and me fagging out. The boys go down on their knees and are growling out the lyrics:
“(Will they come?)
I’ll keep a friend serene
(Will they come?)
Oh baby, come unto me
(Will they come?)
Well, she’s come, been and gone.
Come out of the garden, baby
You’ll catch your death in the fog
Young girl, they call them the Diamond Dogs
Young girl, they call them the Diamond Dog”
Out bounds Max to great applause. Everyone knows who Max is, the hero of the Jace murder (sorry, Dad). The room is not nearly as crowded, allowing Max to search and enjoy the joints that are going around. The mood is mellow. Max gets back to John in time for his line:
“Bow-wow, woof woof, bow-wow, wow
Call them the Diamond Dogs…
Diamond Dogs rule, OK
Beware of the Diamond Dogs
Beware of the Diamond Dogs”
It is perfect.The Out Crowd bows to amazed applause. Stu winks at me. We jumped back on stage.
“How about that?” Jack crow. “Two bands for the price of one. That’s ‘The Out-Crowd,’ our protégées in waiting (to grow up).’
The frat boy at the door signals a thumbs up. We resume our set.
“Those roadhouse gigs we did were to warm up for our first arena show this month with Lynyrd Skynyrd.” A loud cheer erupts. I starts playing the leads for ‘Free Bird.’ A big cheer rises up.
“No, no,” Jack tells them. “You get to see and hear the real McCoy at the Hydroplane Stadium in the Bay next week. We’re just getting you warmed up.”
People are shouting Free Bird, so I jump into ‘Southern Man.” Beer cups rain down on us. It may be Miami but these boys are still Southern. I switch to “Sweet Home Alabama.” The Jacettes jump on stage. Jack and I sing to them, our “Alabama Mamas.”
“Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin
Singing songs about the Southland
I miss Alabama once again”
VAN ZANT, RONNIE / ROSSINGTON, GARY ROBERT / KING, EDWARD C.
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
I think of Jace’s mom. A few tears slide down my cheeks. I hold it together by playing slide on my guitar, while Jack wipes my cheeks dry. I rip into the long solo. The crowd is back into it, crowding back into the room. Jack takes the piano part, banging out sharp notes through his Mustang. I follow his leads. We put on a dual, “at the Crossroad.”
It is time for one of our new originals. Jack mouths, “Curfew,’ to us.
“You may have noted that the Out-Crowd is a younger bunch. They get to stay up tonight past their bedtime just to entertain y’all. We wrote this song to protest their having to be home too early. It’s called ‘Curfew.”
“We’re still in our youth
But we have our ken
That these lives are ours
And they don’t belong to them
We’re having fun doing what we like
Then they come around and take away our rights
Makers of trouble
Wild and insane
Just because we’re young
We’re the ones to blame
The time has come
They’re telling us to leave
They’re pushing us around
So we gotta leave the streets
The streets are our domain
So they come and give us pain
But what gives you the right
To come and blow out my light
But since I’m having fun
You’re gonna make me fight
And I just wanna say
Curfew must not ring tonight”
Songwriter: David Delgado
The verses are medium tempo, but the chorus is just chords and twice as fast as the verses. People up front were totally into it, spinning and smashing into each other. The girls move back. The crowd at the back is puzzled by the thrash metal speed. Some push forward, knocking into the people trying to escape the crush up front. It’s uncontrolled mayhem, Time for the Monkey song. I tell Robby to take my mic.
Jumping up and down, he’s in-synch with the thrashers up front.
Makes a stand
To take his joy
Going hand to hand
Flying out free
Branch to branch
Through the trees
“Free to be
A monkey like me
Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee”
He jumps on top of the stacked amps, making monkey noises, scratching his armpits, and repeating the final chorus. He throws himself onto the shoulders of a big football player and bounces off the backs of several other football jocks. At first stunned, they quickly decide to chase him around the room. Robby is doing a simian-like run until he reaches the front windows, trying to escape his pursuers. They almost have him on the front lawn, but a huge crowd of the $5 outsiders opens up and swallows him. He reappeared in the trees near the sidewalk. The football players surround the tree, thinking he’s now caught. Robby continues with the monkey taunts, pulling green mangoes from the tree and hurling them at the jocks. He then ascends to the tree top and is gone.
The jocks rush back inside, followed closely by the $5 crowd. We ran after Robby until we see how many people are outside. The Out-Crowd has taken our spots on the makeshift stage and start playing Elvis’s ‘Hound Dog.” Max is right there, barking at the end of each line. Most of the girls in the audience start jitter-bugging to the oldie. The jocks aren’t about to charge through a bunch of girls to beat up 13-year-olds. They turn around, frustrated and determined to take it out on the rest of the band. We see them coming back out the front door. We clamber into the mango tree and re gone. The four of us join Robby at the top of a tree where we can safely observe the whole scene in and out of the frat house. Stu and Mike are churning out the 50’s and 60’s songs of their regular set. Max is inhaling all the good weed going around, while the jocks stomp around intimidating anyone in their way. Campus police finally arrive and chase them back to the football dorm. They shut the party down. We descend from the trees. Robby and Max are the heroes of the night. The crowd surrounds us. The only person unhappy is Iggy who’d dressed up for his Stooges’ songs but the gig is cut short.
“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” the frat social director complains. “I thought the house would be burned down by those angry assholes.”
“U of M football sucks,” I tell him. They did that year. “How much did the bar take in?”
He goes over and counts the till. It was over $4,000.
“That’s over a thousand beers,” he was skeptical until he looks at all the empty cups strewn around.
“Those are just the ones they threw at us,” indicating to him how we are still covered in beer. “The cops arrived just in time.”
“Yeah, the rent-a-dicks,” he jokes. He hands me $1400. “That’s more than we paid all the bands we had last fall. How’d you learn to agitate a crowd and make ‘em buy more beer?”
“We’ve been playing Southern road houses. Happens every time, especially when we play Neil Young. You know how to get us back. Who ya gonna call?”
Stu runs over with Mike Jr. trailing behind.
“We were great. We were great,” he sings. Mike Jr. just looks bemused.
“Yeah, but don’t tell Mom there was a riot. You’re too young to get into fights.”
“Ya think they’d of hit us?” he looks worried.
“Naw. They’d a just killed ya. Never doubt the idiocy and ignorance of football players. You wanna have some pizza?”
Stu was my man, always easy to please.
Sitting in Sorrento’s, I pay the band $100 each, plus fifty for the Out Crowd, Jacettes (who never got to sing that night) and Iggy. That leaves $500 for Mike Sr., who pays for the pizza and beer.
“Try this wine,” he offers me a glass of Chianti.
I smell it and take a sip – pretty bitter. The stink of stale beer on my clothes makes it a good substitute.
“Jay says you’re worried you won’t get the crowd into your own set at Skynyrd. I think he likes you guys.
“That’s ‘cause we like him. He always does right by us.”
“He got you permission to do covers at the concert?”
“Yeah. We asked him to. Our crowd needs to know the songs we play to get into it.”
“I never thought I’d see you lack confidence in your performance.”
I look at him, realizing he’s right.
“Maybe we’ll just use the covers if we fall flat.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Okay. I see your point. Why do it at all if I’m afraid we’re gonna fail.”
“Exactly. Just play what you love. The crowd will respond to that more than some old hippie top 40’s crap.”
“Those are the songs we love.”
“I’m just saying…”
“No need to repeat yourself. We’ll just practice our songs harder and learn to love ‘em.”
“They’re going to love you, Tim.”
I beam and finish my wine.
Jack comes over and has a glass. He already loves Chianti.
In bed that night, Jack asks if we can be more romantic. I had expected we’d just go at it. I realize he hasn’t smoked enough to spark his usual pot-fueled ardor.
“You don’t feel I love you enough?” I ask.
“Not that. I just miss the kissing part and foreplay before we jump each other.”
“Come here, lover boy,” I order, sitting up in a cross-legged position.
Jack sits in my lap with his legs around my waist. We drape our arms around each other’s necks. I place my palms over his ears and with my thumb lightly stroked his cheeks. His smile brings out the dimples on each side of his mouth. We stare into each other’s eyes, blinking as we feel our true connection. He touches my lips, rubbing and caressing them. We both are naked. Our dicks respond to the sensual touching. I lean in and grasp his upper lip with both my lips, pulling him toward me. His bottom lip flutters before grasping my bottom lip. I lick his top lip, mapping its surface. He sticks his tongue into my mouth. My tongue encircled the tip of his tongue and starts sucking on it. He is purring like a kitten. His hardening dick starts jerking back and forth in my lap. My dick is rigid and straining against his whipping hose. It feels like soft masturbation, just pleasure, with no urgency. Jack’s breathing is speeding up, pulling air in through his nose to avoid having to break our lip lock. My palms pull Jack’s head into and away from me as I increase the sucking of his tongue. Finally he breaks our kiss.
“How did you learn to kiss so hot?” he breathlessly blurts.
“I guess it’s from the girls. The guys I’ve been with weren’t into kissing, too straight.”
“Well, I ain’t straight,” Jack initiates another lip lock session. He sucks on my tongue this time, pulling me into him. Suddenly my dick tells me I ignored it for too long. I’m going over the edge from the slapping Jack’s dick was doing against mine. I pick him up by his butt cheeks and impale him just before I cum. He falls backwards, pulling me with him. As I pump out the last spurts of my climax, he explodes onto my stomach. It’s a 30 second mutual orgasm. Instead of stimulating myself to remain hard, I’m too relaxed to do anything but fall to the side. Jack squeezes me with both his legs and arms. We have been staring into each other’s eyes the entire time. He is completely satisfied with my romantic moves, even though I barely have said a word.
“Do you want me to tell you what I feel,” I ask.
“Naw. I’m feeling what you feel,” he answers. We both laugh, which caused my dick to slip out, making a burping noise. We laugh even more.
“That was an unbelievable show tonight,” he remarks.
“What? The band or the sex?”
“Both, but I was thinking of the frat gig.”
“When did you learn to climb trees?”
“I never had before. I just followed you.”
“That’s how I learned, from following Rob.”
“Have you forgiven him for trying to rape me?”
“I guess, I don’t think about it. Fighting gets all my anger out. I really don’t hold grudges. He better not try it again.”
“Kinda my fault for not being able to defend myself.”
“He’s the asshole. He’s always on some power trip.”
“It seems so long ago. He was one of your best friends. Now he’s afraid of you.”
“Good, Someone needed to curb his scheming.”
“He really was the show stopper tonight.”
“Yeah, I think Max is jealous.”
I look over and Jack is falling asleep. It’s 3 am. What the hell, I curl up with him after wiping cum off my stomach.
Jack is in a chipper mood in the morning. We ride our bikes to his house and enjoy Isabelle’s breakfast, especially the fresh orange juice. He asks the D&D nerds to come over and a game is started. I figure it will distract me from worrying about that night’s gig and our jock confrontation. Jack suggests I play a healer this time, as my heroic knight needs to be revived too many times when I rush toward certain destruction. But Jack knows it’s in my blood to fight. Finally the nerds refuse to go back to the start when I no longer can be revived. Isaac says I’m being a jerk, while I know he’s just jealous. I catch him coming back from the bathroom and make a move to kiss him. He freaks and runs away. Of course, he tells Jack, as proof that I’m unfaithful.
“I just wanted to show him that we have something he can’t give you,” I respond when Jack asks why I tried to seduce him.
“Now he thinks you’re a jerk.”
“Should we break up over what a piss ant thinks?”
“Never,” Jack gives me the kiss I’m looking for.
Later, I call the frat where we’re playing that night.
“Hey, did you hear about last night’s gig? It got outta control,” I tell him.
“Yeah. Everyone’s pretty excited about tonight.”
“Well, I think we need to beef up security. We really pissed off some football jocks. I’m sure they’ll show up looking to even the score.”
“We’ve got football jocks. I’ll have ‘em at the door.”
“If they show, have ‘em come meet with us. We can negotiate a peace agreement.”
“Cool. Hey, did you really go through twenty kegs of beer? We may need more and charge a higher cover. It’s all you can drink once you get in.”
“You don’t run a cash bar?”
“It’s too much hassle. It seems you guys drive them to drink. We never go through more than a few kegs.”
“That means you’ve cut us out of our 25% bar percentage.”
“I wondered why that was in the contract.”
“You need to pay us 25% of the door if it includes liquor.”
“Okay, but can you tone it down so we don’t need to get twenty kegs.”
“Yeah. We’ve been playing bars where they want everyone to get drunk. We’ll do our concert set instead of inciting them to riot.”
“That’s a relief,” he says. “I just want to enjoy the party. You guys are great.”
“We know how to party.”
Next I called Mom Watt about the possible danger to Stu and John because of what happened the previous night. Then I tell Stu that they’re not able to come tonight.
“We saved your asses when those jocks chased you up the trees. If we hadn’t started playing, they would have caught you, especially Jack. He looked like he was too afraid to climb the mango.”
“He was. It was his first time. He did fine.”
“Well, those jocks were afraid to beat us up because we’re so young.”
“I think it might have been the girls dancing up front that stopped them.”
“Com’n, Tim. We had a great time. No one will attack us. You better be ready though.”
“You’re right. I’m not worrying about you guys because you won’t be there.”
I laugh, which embarrasses Stu.
“Trust me, we want you there, but not tonight. There’ll be other nights even more exciting. You wanna go to Skynyrd, right?”
“Ah, Tim. You need us. Please?”
“Listen. We’re ‘sposed to meet those football players before the show. If they calm down, I’ll call Mom and ask her to drive you over. Okay?
“You’re not lying to me?”
“No way. Would I do that?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause you think you’re a big star now.”
“Good bye, Stu. I’m hanging up now.”
When we arrive at the frat to set up, the social chairman has three big, tough football players waiting for us. We had never have security at our shows, just Iggy and Max, even at the Roadhouse gigs.
“You heard about the fracas at SAE last night?” I ask them.
“Yeah. Never piss off a lineman.”
“They chased us up a mango tree.”
“That didn’t stop you from tossing mangoes at them.”
“So you’ve heard their side of it?”
“Yeah. They want to even the score tonight.”
“The truth is, it made for a great finale to our set. We do that monkey song and usually everyone gets into mimicking the monkey chant. It’s never planned, so the singer just thought he could bounce off the biggest guy there. Bad choice.”
“So you wanna apologize?”
“Not exactly. How about we stage it this time and let Robby get caught? As long as they pull their punches, they can recover their lost pride. The crowd will love it.”
“You’re crazy. Those lunkheads may forget to pull their punches.”
“What if we get y’all into the Skynyrd show? Y’all can be security for us.”
“We’ll bring ‘em over before the show tonight. If they get rowdy, we know how to handle them.”
After setting up, we’re off to Sorrento’s for our pizza, pot & beer warm up. I tell Jack about our plans for the monkey song. He likes that Robby would get his comeuppance yet not get hurt. Dave and Jazz are disappointed that the other Out-Crowd kids didn’t come.
“When I saw those goons charging toward us, we almost dropped our instruments and ran.”
“Those girls dancing in front stopped ‘em cold. No way they could knock over girls and beat up 13-year-olds.”
“Hey, I’m fifteen now,” Dave complained.
“Well, act your age. We need you to roadie tonight. Who knows what might happen. Those same football players will be back.”
Jack can’t stop himself from giggling.
I can tell that the previous night’s football jocks are looking for blood. We meet them with the players from the frat. After some posturing, we make our argument.
“You guys were the hit of the show. We couldn’t have planned it any better. How about doing it again tonight?”
“Yeah, and a bunch of kids make us look like idiots?”
“No. You get to catch Robby this time. As long as you pull your punches, you can make him look totally beaten down.”
“And we’ll still look like idiots for beating up a 100 pound weakling.”
“Just carry him. We’ll get everyone to chase you down fraternity row.”
“That’s cool. But we’ll still look like goons.”
“How about being stage security for us at the Skynyrd concert in two weeks.”
“Sure. We open for them at the Hydroplane Stadium.”
“You ain’t mad at us for tryin’ ta beat ya up?”
“Hell, no. Last night was our best show ever.”
“Well, what about the mangoes you threw at us?”
“We knew you wouldn’t climb the tree. We made a stand.”
“Well, what if we pelt you guys with rotten mangoes to get even.”
“Okay, but do it at the end when we start the monkey song. It’s called ‘Barefoot Boy.’
The show starts out with only our songs, no covers. We don’t need to incite beer throwing, so the mood is less radical. The crowd is huge, having heard about the previous night’s exploits and explosions. I can feel a sense of disappointment from the people who came expecting a riot. We take a break after we had played all of Jack’s D&D inspired songs.
“No covers tonight?” Michael asks.
“We’re not getting anything from the bar. They pay at the door and get all the beer they can drink. We get a percentage of the door so there’s no reason to get them to throw beer at us.”
“It seems too tame after all those bar gigs.”
“Wait until the end,” as I wink at Jack.
Our second set is all the original songs about growing up in Miami leading up to the sex songs. No romantic ballads there. Then we do the only covers of the night, the Doors’ ‘Light My Fire,’
leading into ‘Love Her Madly.”
The second song builds the tempo and soon everyone is dancing and jumping about. The crowd knows what they loved.
“We got in a little trouble last night and a bit of a riot. We can’t finish without playing our signature song, ‘Barefoot Boy.’”
Once I say the song’s title and we start playing, I see the jocks start pushing toward the front. Halfway through the song, a hail of rotten fruit starts pelting us and the fans in front. It has a sweet, stinky smell. We are soon covered with orange pus. Robby jumps on top of the amps again with the jocks right in front of him. I se the recognition in his eyes that it’s the same jocks from last night. He taunts them, jumping up and down.
“Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee”
The jocks have him cornered and start to climb on the riser to get at him. Robby recklessly launches himself at the biggest one. They’re prepared for him tonight. He does bounce once. Two others grab him and throw him to the floor. They’re punching and kicking Robby, who is squirming to get away. The girls are screaming and guys are yelling to ‘mellow out, dude.’ Hippie grabs his bass at the neck and is about to attack. I hold him back,
“Wait ‘til the crowd gets more belligerent. We’ll chase them out of here.”
“Do something,” Hippie yells at everyone.
The jocks loosen their grip on Robby. He scrambles away, heading for the door with the jocks in hot pursuit.
“Stop them,” Jack screams into the mic.
About 50 guys set out after the jocks chasing Robbie. We drop our instruments and join the chase. Most of the girls are with us.
The front door is the only exit. The crush of the crowd makes it impossible for anyone to get out. By the time our posse is formed outside, the jocks are long gone. All the girls are praising Hippie for his quick response to the jocks’ attack. I tell Jack we’d play a final song. It’s ‘Free Bird.’ Mary and Jack do their duet.
After the crowd is gone, the jocks reappear, carrying Robby on their shoulders. He produced the proverbial joint to mellow them out. Nothing like a good workout to inspire the jocks. They’re excited about Skynyrd. I guess we are, too.
We sleep at Jack’s that night, both having abstained from pot at Sorrento’s after the show. Continuing our romantic style of love-making, we only talk at first. We tell each other how we feel while fucking, how it makes us semi-hard all day long, knowing what we’ll be doing every night. We wonder why sex is easier for Jack when he is at my house.
“I got used to getting it on when Jace was staying with me. It was exciting that he was hiding out at my house.”
“Don’t you worry that someone will come in while we’re going at it?”
“The door is always locked. Of course, Robby used to come in through the window. The first time Jace and I got it on, Robby and Mary saw us humping each other while playing air guitar. Finally I saw them sitting on a branch watching, just as Jace threw me on the bed. He was diving on top of me to go at it some more. Mary was in shock. It was the night we formed the band.”
“ Band lore.”
“What about you? Did you ever get it on with anyone before me?”
Jack turns red. “Well, at drama camp everyone was fooling around. Finally, I gave in to this hairy guy. He was 16 and I was 12.”
“Gross. That’s a molester.”
“It felt so weird. I was hard but couldn’t get off. He got frustrated and tried to fuck me. I ran away. We were in the woods.”
I look at him. Did he really get away or was he just saying so.
“I got raped in the woods by Floyd while I was fucking Wayne, the guys from North Carolina.”
“That sounds sexy if you were already fucking when he got you.”
“Yeah. They needed to think it was a rape to protect their straight identities.”
“I don’t believe you’d ever be violated. You’re so strong.”
I flex for him.
He’s getting that misty eyed look that said he is getting turned on. I roll him over and pull down his briefs.
“I knew you were getting turned on. Is it because you thought about me getting raped?”
“No, it was you fucking the hillbilly while the other one was on top of you.”
“I was a Southern pulled pork sandwich.”
We laugh and his dick goes down.
“You want to just cuddle?” I ask.
His dick perks up again.
“It has a mind of its own,” Jack laughs.
“Are you turned on when we play?”
“Yeah, that’s why I can’t keep my hands off of you.”
“You’re never shy on stage.”
“It’s like sex, we’re sharing our energy to get off.”
“Nice play, Shakespeare.”
“Yeah, I’m an egghead.
“You know what happens to eggs?” I ask him.
I jump on him. “They get scrambled.”
We start the lovemaking with kissing for once. It’s our New Romantic phase. I try to see if I can get off without the usual dick friction. I’m wearing Felix’s new boxer briefs. The extra room allows my dick to creep up my inner thigh and slide around toward my belly button. Sucking on Jack’s tongue, I imagined it is a dick in my mouth. is overwhelming. My breathing matches his tongue thrusts as I suck it in. Jacks arms and hands are squeezing me. Jack tries to get me into a belly to belly embrace, but I keep him away. I’m squirming and trying to hold him back. Without warning my dick explodes, while I grip Jack’s tongue tightly inside my own rigid tongue. At each ejaculation, I squeeze his tongue while my body jerks. Falling backward, Jack finally is on top. I continue to jerk and suddenly he’s climaxing with me, all over my belly. By the time we’re both done, I’m covered in jism, on my belly and in my briefs.
“Being romantic is messy,” I complain.
“I love you,” Jack announces.
We had said it before. All the romancing makes it seem new and stunning.
“The first day, I said I loved you and it just keeps getting stronger and stronger,” I was surprised at how much saying it meant to me – more than ever before.
Jack starts to cry. I punch him, like Jace used to do to me.
“Being overwhelmed by love is a good thing,” I insist.
He gulps and looks at me, the tears falling onto me from his eyes. I catch them in my mouth and start another kissing session, licking his long eyelashes before the tears can form. He’s very salty. I throw off the stained briefs and my dick is already hard again. Throwing his legs over my shoulders, I go down on his ass, rimming him until he is pulsating with need for my dick. No lube required, I enter him in a single, smooth motion, holding him impaled without starting to pump. I stare into his needy eyes, that implore me to fuck him. His dick is not hard. I pump it up. Each thrust brings it closer to full erection. Jack is tossing his head back and forth, ecstatic from being pumped. I pull out to his protests, roll us over and suck his dick inside my ass. At first, he doesn’t respond, so into being fucked that he’s slow to realize it’s his turn to fuck now. All at once he bottoms out on me, using short thrusts to completely fill me up, as well as rubbing my prostrate in just the right way. I let go of any control and cum again. He slows to longer thrusts, unaware of my climax, building his own. His disregard of what is happening for me is a total turn on. He is deeply and forcefully pumping, pulling his head back and arching his back. He is deep inside me, holding himself rigid, while my ass squeezes and pulsates. He lets go in a tremendous jerk, quickly jerking again and again. I push him out and roll on top of his ass. He is slickly self-lubed as I thrust my newly revived dick into him. Still coming, he takes me all the way in. I pump forcibly and quickly as he collapses into a post-coital coma. I ride him as he rocks with my thrusts. Turning his head I start kissing him with no response. He’s out of it. I pull out, unwilling to fuck him while he’s unconscious. Rolling him on his back, Jack’s eyes pop open in surprise. Propping his knees on the crook of my elbows, I rotate his butt toward me and enter him again. Jack’s surprise turns to surrender. He relaxes as I slowly and completely fuck him. At each inward thrust, I stick out my slimy belly so his dick is sliding against me. His breathing speeds up and becomes erratic. Just as he is about to come, I hold my dick stuck as deeply as possible inside him, twisting it sideways. He gasps and moans. I cum. He cums. We cum simultaneously. Not as much as before. We are fucked dry. I collapse, with his legs now around my waist and my dick still inside him. I was instantly asleep.
I wake before Jack. He is curled next to me, his hand on the side of his face. It looks like his thumb is in his mouth. It isn’t, thankfully. That would freak me out. He is so beautiful, so fragile. I love his beauty. I love protecting him. He can be everything for me. That is a dangerous thought. I resolve to make him feel how much I love him. With Scott and Jace, I was the strong one. We never needed to express love in words. We knew what we felt. I had to do more with Jack. I wanted to be able to express my feelings with words. I thought about the love song we had discarded. It started, “I wake up every day, you’re by my side. You reach and touch me, when I say good-bye. You stick around when we’re in a crowd. We smile when fools shout out loud.” Was it more a poem than a song. Maybe it’s a ballad, like a sonnet. I start thinking about the play we are doing for English, ‘The Tempest.” I really hate it. All the plays within the play, people plotting, hate and more hate. Maybe we could do Shakespeare’s sonnets as a play. I had to read more. I knew Jack would love doing the sonnets which were often love poems. I rolled over and imagined how romantic I was being. Maybe it was just a dream. It was good to think of something other than the band. Was the band consuming my life? I fall asleep. I dream we are on stage and everyone hates us. Max has his paw over his eye.
Jack wakes me later.
“Time for Isabelle’s Sunday breakfast, sleepy head.” He is always perky in the morning.
I’m glad to quickly forget my dreams.
Mommy and Daddy are already entertaining Father Frank with mimosas. First we go into the kitchen to give our breakfast orders. Isabelle smiles her best Mona Lisa smile when Jack orders everything but the kitchen sink. She knows it means he’s happy. I tell her to just match everything Jack ordered.
“Y caramba,” she mock-complains.
“Morning, boys.” Mommy is cheerful as well. “Any songs for us today?”
“Mommy we played the last two nights,” Jack complains.
“I have a short love song,” I venture. “I wrote it a while ago but was thinking about it this morning.”
“Is it about anyone we know?” Father Frank winks at me.
“Of course. Jack,” I happily announced.
Jack turns red, but Mommy looks pleased. “Please sing it, not to us, but to my boy.”
I get on one knee, which made him turn from red to purple. I was so pleased.
“I wake up every day, you’re by my side.
You reach and touch me, when I say good-bye.
You stick around when we’re in a crowd.
We smile when fools shout out loud.
“I never thought I’d feel this way.
I go around happy every day.
Knowing you’re here to stay.
Don’t trust love but who can say?
I stand up and sang the chorus to the adults.
“We can’t live all by ourselves.
We need people we can love
We hate those who hate themselves.
We know what we’re made of.”
Jack smiles despite himself. The adults show their ‘aren’t they cute’ look with their smiles.
Daddy pours two mimosas. “That happy song calls for fresh orange juice.”
We sit down in time for Isabel arriving with our eggs and bacon. Jack can’t contain himself, grabbing me by the arm.
“We’re calling ourselves the New Romantics. It’s a new phase. We even talk in bed.”
“Too much information, honey,” Mommy complains. “As long as you’re happy.”
We both gave her our most parent-pleasing smiles. It’s time to eat.
Jack whisper in my ear, “You wrote that this morning?”
“No, but after last night, it came into my head. The band rejected it as not rock.”
“It rocks my world,” and he hugs me.
Mommy is carefully watching us. She leans over and whispers to Father Frank. Something is up.
Father Frank cleared his voice. “I got a call from Cardinal Cook. He’s asking about you two. He’s so impressed by your passion and the good works you started for youth.”
“How’s the Jace Place shelters doing? The Baptists and Church fighting yet?” I ask.
“Not to my knowledge. The Cardinal assigned the Franciscans to run the Catholic shelters.” He looks conflicted when he says that.
“Are they as gay friendly as you are?”
“Now why would you say that?”
“You’ve never batted an eye at Jack and my antics, our PDA.”
“Regardless of Church doctrine, I can see that the way you are together isn’t anything but natural.”
“Thanks. But just now you seemed unsure about the brothers running the shelters. Do you think they’d condemn kids for same-sex attractions?”
“I’ve been to Ireland and France and seen just the opposite. The brothers there notoriously molest young seminarians.”
“You mean adults abusing kids?”
“You need to read Oscar Wilde.”
“Like letting the fox in the hen-house.”
“Is that why the Church is against gays? There are so many gay priests. They’re controlled by oppressing the kids?” Jack asks.
“The Church is confused about sex. It requires priests to be celibate. Then turns a blind eye when they stumble, often innocently, such as the rural priest who becomes attracted to his housekeeper.”
“What about forgiveness?”
“Jesus loves a sinner.”
“But only if they repent. It would be wrong to believe that what Jack and I do is evil.”
”You don’t have to convince me, boys. I just worry that the Church is so out of touch about sex that it protects its own while condemning those who need its protection.”
“So probably some Brother will try to take advantage of a homeless kid?”
“The odds are not good.”
“What if we create a climate where kids protect each other? Any adult who steps over the line can be weeded out.”
“The Brothers won’t like ceding control to the kids.”
“But that’s a basic premise. Homeless kids cannot help themselves until they take control of their own lives. That’s what we’re teaching, not rules about sex and relationships.”
“What’s the point?” Jack asks somewhat bored with this conversation.
“The point is to allow kids to be safe from the streets, not make them victims to another group of predators.”
Jack just shrugs. He didn’t know Jace well enough to realize how broken he was until he took control of his life. He moved in with me and we discovered his talent as a musical prodigy. His legacy was to help other broken kids. Jack was repressed when we met, not broken. I knew to drop my Crusader Rabbit cloak.
“I’ll certainly keep in touch with the Cardinal and forward your ideas. He also wants to know how well you are. He believes in you, Tim. He asked what your college plans are.”
I laugh and wink at Jack. “I was a dropout last Fall. Now I’m on the college track?”
“Com’n, Tim. This is what we talked about. Thinking about where we want to be in a few years,” Jack is more interested.
“Like I’d want to go to a college where people like Jace’s molester brother Jeff go.’
“No, like Europe or Japan. We could have a completely new life.”
“Totally, no D&D allowed.”
Mommy interject, “You boys can go to school in Switzerland next year. Learn French, German and Italian.”
I see Jack’s eyes light up. Anything new always grabs his attention.
“What about the band? We’re about to play a major concert.”
“You boys are so talented; you can have a band anywhere.”
“The band’s about us all being friends and sharing the fun and excitement.” I feel they’re ganging up on me, even Jack.
“Well, think about it. You don’t want to live a life where your ultimate experiences happen in high school.” Mommy states.
I want to argue. I want Jack on my side. I decide to change the subject.
“I’m concerned about our English class performance. We’ve been doing ‘The Tempest,” but I think it stinks. I want to take Shakespeare’s Sonnets and produce a romantic comedy.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “When did you have that idea?”
“This morning when I was writing that love song for you.”
“Oh, Tim. That would be so great.”
I see Father Frank give Mummy a pointed look. Love trumps parental intrigue.
“You fell for their trap?” I ask Jack when we go back for seconds.
“You mean spending next year in Europe?” He looks confused.
“Oh, Jack. I want to be with you forever. But don’t break up the band.”
“Is that why you want to do the sonnets? So we don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t wanna leave and will never let you leave me,” I grab him and kiss him really hard.
“You’re so bad,” he giggles
Father Frank was waiting for us, by the door, when we get our bikes to go to the Watt’s.
“I didn’t say anything in front of your mother, Jack. The Cardinal has petitioned the Pope to verify Tim’s miracle on Easter Sunday.”
“I just got carried away,” I laugh. “I doubt the Pope wants a gay rocker for a saint.”
“Teen Jesus,” he remind me.
“Is that why you want to lock me up in a monastery in Switzerland?”
“Montreux,” he tells me.
“You’re serious,” and I look wide-eyed at Jack.
“That’s where Freddie Mercury lives, from Queen,” he’s enthusiastic
“Perfect. We can dress up in surplices and habits, pretending to be little princesses to the Queen.”
“It’ll be cool, Tim,” Jack bursts out.
I swat him on the back of his head. Father Frank’s eyes bug out.
“Sorry, Father, we have fucking to do,” as I drag Jack up the stairs to his bedroom. Jack is elated.
When we get to the room, he exclaims, “I love it when you boss me around.”
“Well, don’t expect me to be New Romantic.”
I throw him on the bed, pull down his jeans and briefs. I have my nose and tongue deep into his ass. He jerks and melted on my face. My tongue is going up and down like an Muslim widow, ululating for her dead husband. He spreadd his legs and I feel his twitching prostrate with the tip of my tongue. I pull back and get three fingers on the gland. The pre-cum messes up my hair. His legs are up and waving spasmodically. I flatten his knees against his chest and enter him in one thrust again. He grunts several times as I strain against his asshole. I thrust to the rhythm of his grunts. I’m turned on beyond holding back. He grunts faster and faster as each stroke becomes shorter and more insistent.
“No more Europe. No more fucking plots against the band. Fuck me. Fuck me,” I cry even as I’m fucking him.
He reaches around and hooks his middle finger into my ass. I give one roar and empty myself into him. He cums with his anal muscles squeezing every drop out of me. Finally as he finishes his climax, he pushes my dick out of him. I slap him.
“I love you,” I scream at him.
As I reach to kiss him, he bites my lip, drawing blood.
“I love you” he responds with a taunt in his eye.
I spit the blood on him and lick it up. His orgasm done, he falls unconscious. I stop myself from slapping him awake. I mount him from behind with my still hard dick. I’m instantly asleep. It was 11 am.
When I awake, Jack was coming in from the pool, drying his hair and wrapped in a big robe.
“It’s hot out there,” he jumps into bed with me.
“Not as hot as in here,” as I grab the towel, vigorously drying his hair.
“I’ll turn the A/C up.”
“No, you won’t,” as I stop him from getting out of bed.”
“No more,” he pleads. “I just spent twenty minutes massaging my sore ass in the hot tub. No more, please.”
“I’ll bet you had Isaac in their too, to kiss your ass and make it better.”
We both sputter into hysterics.
“You’re so cruel,” he complains.
“No more New Romantic for you,” I mock him. “we’re the New Ramones.”
We both sing ‘Beat on the Brat.” Attitude is everything.