Walking into Michael’s, who do I see but erstwhile cub reporter Jimmy Olson waiting for me.
“What’s happening, my man?” I stuck out my hand. He seemed 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 laughed.
My indignation evaporated instantly. I wondered what Jimmy’s real name was. (John)
“We need some press to get the frat parties we’re playing this weekend to be oversubscribed.”
“Yeah, burn down the house,” Jack interjected.
“So, you’re the new singer?” Jimmy hadn’t met Jack before.
“And guitar,” Jack bragged. “Jack’s the name, rock’s my game.”
Jimmy shook his hand, and we sat down to do an interview. We told him all the stories from our roadhouse tour. He broke up and told me he knew we had made it all up when we talked about Springsteen (all except the Patti part). We told him to put it out that we were playing at an unnamed frat, so people would 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 laughed. All the times with Andy were well documented. We now play to the Art crowd.
Rehearsal went well. Jay had gotten a list of songs we could do for Skynyrd. There were about twenty. We knew them all. We went through all the songs and selected five we liked 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 was the sentimental choice. It meant Jack and I could spin stories about our Roadhouse days on stage. Fun to be 16 and have memories.
Isaac and the nerds came to one of our rehearsals. When they saw how much pot we needed to fuel our playing, it shocked them and kept them away. They never said anything about it, but we didn’t exactly invite them to partake. Jack was sure they were abstainers. After they left, we talked about them.
“Prissy bunch, ain’t they,” Robby observed.
“They don’t understand and don’t wanna know about drugs,” Jack defended 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 stopped them.
Robby stared Jack down, then laughed.
“Ya got that right, pretty boy. I just want all this to blow up to prove a point.”
“What point?” Jack took the bait.
“That’s just my point. There ain’t no point.”
Jack looked at him for a long second, then wheeled around, only to run into my arms.
“Stop, you both. If it ain’t fun, then there ain’t no point,” I settled it.
Robby pulled out a joint, causing Jack to be all over me. We played some Zeppelin covers, so Jack could scream and ride me from behind while I ripped the Jimmy Page leads.
Michael did all the Bonham rolls, while Robby pulled his The Who’s Keith Moon antics, standing up and twirling his sticks. The Jacettes walked in just in time to sing backups and our arguments were forgotten.
“Hot, hot, hot; you boys are on fire,” Flo yelled at the end.
They sat down, and we played the five covers for them. We were really into it. It’s what we did, letting the music deal with our emotions. Jack was screaming at Robby while I played long blues riffs. He ended on his knees to Edie, rapping his blues licks while I cut leads at the end of each line. I was answering his pleas. Michael cut in with rolling, get-out-of-town rhythms to drive the beat. ..’Boogie all night long’. Finally Robby did a crash down beat and we stopped. I wanted to go all night long.
Jack was shaking, unable to stop bouncing and thrusting. I pulled him into the bathroom, pulled down his pants, and sucked his rock hard dick until he came hard and long. He did me next. Of course, I lasted about 10 seconds. We’d sell those undies for top dollar.
Jack was still worked up. We split Michael’s and in five minutes were upstairs in my tower room. It took all night to be satisfied. No one said a thing the next day. Robby watched to see who was walking funny. Both of us faked massive butt ache, much to his shock. I fell asleep in English. ‘The Tempest’ had yet to inspire me. My life was too tempestuous.
Friday night came and we got to the frat house early. Intrepid cub reporter Jimmy had gotten a long piece into the Herald’s Arts section that morning. He made it sound like our gigs that night and the next were the reward of a rock treasure hunt. The brothers were worried that their party would be sold out and closed down. I told 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 made sure they had enough spare kegs to keep the bar busy. When they saw that our roadies were fourteen and younger, they threw a fit. Stu was out of control with nervous energy, hoping we’d let them play ‘Diamond Dogs.’ He even had found a rhinestone dog collar. Mike Jr. was a model of calm, keeping Stu from self-immolation. Iggy was in full Stooges drag and makeup. He reminded me of Joey going to NYC. I told the frat boys we’d keep the ‘Out-Crowd’ kids from drinking. We did a quick sound check and disappeared to Sorrento’s for pizza, beer and pot. Mike Sr and Jay were waiting for us. Not sure if Jay was out to anyone, we both just winked at him. He was as excited as we were. It was our first hometown show since New Year’s. I suddenly missed Jace so much. Not that I needed his guitar guidance, but because we always had such fun at these shows. Jack knew what I was feeling and squeezed my leg as we waited for our pizza.
By the time we returned to campus, there was a buzz in the air. People were calling the frat house to confirm that the show was there. Chalked letters with False Gods and an arrow was leading the outsiders to the site. We had to sneak in the back, as a long line was out front trying to get in. We were set up in the front room. The brothers had opened the windows to the street and were telling people if they wanted to listen outside they had to pay five bucks and wouldn’t be able to buy beer. It was time to start, even though it was only eight o’clock.
“Hello, Miami. We are so glad to be back here and playing for our friends.”
I had Hippie start 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 went 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 pointed 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 kept up the beat while I used my SG axe to echo the Manzarek electric piano effects while pushing out the song’s lead riffs. Jack spun and strutted with the frat crowd pushing in towards us. As they grew too close, Jack picked out a foxy chick in the front to sing to:
“Ashen lady, ashen lady
Give up your vows, give up your vows”
The crowd was 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 wanted. The whole room was swaying, yelling back the ‘False Gods’ chorus at us. Jack left enough space at the end of each line for me to tweak leads while Hippie spun like a dervish. Robby jumped up from his drums, joining Jack for each chorus. Michael never missed a beat. We threw the song at the crowd and they roared back at us.
“You like that?” Jack demanded. The crowd responded with multiple ‘Yeahs.’”
“Well, we’re going to slow it down,” and we slipped 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 saw the Frat boy in charge of the door, waving frantically. We had to take a break due to over-crowding. As we finished, Jack announced we were leavin’, just like the song. Three songs were not enough. People were screaming, “More, more.” They all stepped back but kept shouting for us to stay on.
I signaled Dave and John that it was the Out-Crowd’s time to come on. They all jumped up and after a quick change of instruments, they started playing the intro to Bowie’s ‘Diamond Dogs.’ Out jumped Stu & Mike Jr. The crowd was 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 went for the exits, while the other half apparently into Glitter, especially the girls, pushed to the front to see real pre-pubescent androgyny rocking out. It was better than Jack and me fagging out. The boys got down on their knees and were 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 bounded Max to great applause. Everyone knew who Max was, the hero of the Jace murder (sorry, Dad). The room was not nearly as crowded, allowing Max to search and enjoy the joints that were going around. The mood was mellow. Max got 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 was perfect.The Out Crowd bowed to amazed applause. Stu winked at me and we jumped back on stage.
“How about that?” Jack crowed. “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 signaled a thumbs up and we resumed our set.
“Those roadhouse gigs we did were to warm up for our first arena show this month with Lynyrd Skynyrd.” A loud cheer went. I started playing the leads for ‘Free Bird.’ A big cheer went up.
“No, no,” Jack told 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 were shouting Free Bird, so I jumped into ‘Southern Man.” Beer cups rained down on us. It may be Miami but these boys were still Southern. I switched to “Sweet Home Alabama.” The Jacettes jumped up on stage and Jack and I sang 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 thought of Jace’s mom and a few tears slid down my cheeks. I held it together by playing slide on my guitar, while Jack wiped my cheeks dry. I ripped into the long solo. The crowd was back into it, crowding back into the room. Jack took away the piano part, banging out sharp notes through his Mustang. I followed his leads and we put on a dual, “at the Crossroad.”
It was time for one of our originals. Jack mouthed, “Curfew,’ to us.
“You may have noted that the Out-Crowd was 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 were medium tempo, but the chorus was just chords and twice as fast as the verses. People up front were totally into it, spinning and smashing into each other. The girls moved back and the crowd at the back was left puzzled by the thrash metal speed. Some pushed forward, knocking into the people trying to escape the crush up front. It was uncontrolled mayhem, Time for the Monkey song. I told Robby to take my mic.
Jumping up and down, he was 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 jumped on top of the stacked amps, making monkey noises, scratching his armpits, and repeating the final chorus. He threw himself onto the shoulders of a big football player and bounced off the backs of several other football jocks. At first stunned, they quickly decided to chase him around the room. Robby was doing a simian-like run until he reached the front windows, trying to escape his pursuers. They almost had him on the front lawn, but a huge crowd of the $5 outsiders opened up and swallowed him. He reappeared in the trees near the sidewalk. The football players surrounded the tree, thinking he was caught. Robby continued with the monkey taunts, pulling green mangoes from the tree and hurling them at the jocks. He then ascended to the tree top and was gone.
The jocks rushed back inside, followed by the $5 crowd. We had run after Robby until we saw how many people were outside. The Out-Crowd had taken our spots on the makeshift stage and started playing Elvis’s ‘Hound Dog.” Max was right there, barking at the end of each line. Most of the girls in the audience started jitter-bugging to the oldie. The jocks weren’t about to charge through a bunch of girls to beat up 13-year-olds. They turned around, frustrated and determined to take it out on the rest of the band. We saw them coming back out through the front door. We clambered into the mango tree and were gone. The four of us joined Robby at the top of a tree where we could safely observe the whole scene in and out of the frat house. Stu and Mike were churning out the 50’s and 60’s songs of their regular set. Max was inhaling all the good weed going around, while the jocks stomped around intimidating anyone in their way. Campus police finally arrived and chased them back to the football dorm. They shut the party down. We descended from the trees. Robby and Max were the heroes of the night and the crowd surrounded them. The only person unhappy was Iggy who’d dressed up for his Stooges’ songs but the gig had been cut short.
“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” the frat social director complained. “I thought the house would be burned down by those angry assholes.”
“U of M football sucks,” I told him. They did that year. “How much did the bar take in?”
He went over and counted the till. It was over $4,000.
“That’s over a thousand beers,” he was skeptical until he looked at all the empty cups strewn around.
“Those are just the ones they threw at us,” showing him how we were still covered with beer. “The cops arrived just in time.”
“Yeah, the rent-a-dicks,” he joked. He handed 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. Happened every time, especially when we play Neil Young. You know how to get us back. Who ya gonna call?”
Stu ran over with Mike Jr. trailing behind.
“We were great. We were great,” he sang. Mike Jr. just looked 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 looked 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 paid the band $100 each, plus fifty for the Out Crowd. Jacettes (who never got to sing that night) and Iggy. That left $500 for Mike Sr., who paid for the pizza and beer.
“Try this wine,” he offered me a glass of Chianti.
I smelled it and took a sip – pretty bitter, but the stink of stale beer on my clothes made 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 looked at him, realizing he was 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…”
“Don’t repeat yourself. We’ll just practice harder and learn to love ‘em.”
“They’re going to love you, Tim.”
I beamed and finished my wine.
Jack came over and had a glass. He already loved Chianti.
In bed that night, Jack asked if we could be more romantic. I had expected we’d just go at it. I realized he hadn’t smoked enough to spark his usual pot-fueled ardor.
“You don’t feel I love you enough?” I asked.
“Not that. I just miss the kissing part and foreplay before we jump each other.”
“Come here, lover boy,” I ordered, sitting up in a cross-legged position.
Jack sat in my lap with his legs around my waist. We draped our arms around each other’s necks. I placed my palms over his ears and with my thumb lightly stroked his cheeks. His smile brought out the dimples on each side of his mouth. We were staring into each other’s eyes, blinking as we felt our true connection. He touched my lips, rubbing and caressing them. We both were naked and our dicks responded to the sensual touching. I leaned in and grasped his upper lip with both my lips, pulling him toward me. His bottom lip fluttered before grasping my bottom lip. I licked his top lip, mapping its surface. He stuck his tongue into my mouth. My tongue encircled the tip of his tongue and started sucking on it. He was purring like a kitten and his hardening dick started jerking back and forth in my lap. My dick was rigid and straining against his whipping hose. It felt like soft masturbation, with only pleasure, not urgency. Jack’s breathing was speeding up, pulling air in through his nose to avoid having to break our lip lock. My palms pulled Jack’s head into and away from me as I increased the sucking of his tongue. Finally he broke our kiss.
“How did you learn to kiss so hot?” he breathlessly blurted.
“I guess it was from the girls. The guys I’ve been with weren’t into kissing, too straight.”
“Well, I ain’t straight,” Jack initiated another lip lock session. He sucked on my tongue this time, pulling me into him. Suddenly my dick told me I had ignored it for too long and I was going over the edge from the slapping Jack’s dick was doing against it. I picked him up by his butt cheeks and impaled him just before I came. He fell backward, pulling me with him. As I pumped out the last spurts of my climax, he exploded onto my stomach. It was a 15 second mutual orgasm. Instead of stimulating myself to remain hard, I was too relaxed to do anything but fall to the side. Jack squeezed me with both his legs and arms. We had been staring into each other’s eyes the entire time. He was completely satisfied with my romantic moves, even though I barely had said a word.
“Do you want me to tell you what I feel,” I asked.
“Naw. I’m feeling what you feel,” he answered. We both laughed, which caused my dick to slip out, making a burping noise. We laughed even more.
“That was an unbelievable show tonight,” he remarked.
“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 like 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 was jealous.”
I looked over and Jack was falling asleep. It was 3 am. What the hell, I curled up with him after wiping cum off my stomach.
Jack was in a chipper mood in the morning. We rode bikes to his house and enjoyed Isabelle’s breakfast, especially the fresh orange juice. He asked the D&D nerds to come over and a game was started. I figured it would distract me from worrying about the night’s gig and our jock confrontation. Jack suggested I play a healer this time, as my heroic knight needed to be revived too many times when I braved certain destruction. But Jack knew it was in my blood. Finally the nerds refused to go back to the start when I no longer could be revived. Isaac said I was being a jerk, while I knew he was still jealous. I caught him coming back from the bathroom and made a move as if to kiss him. He freaked and ran away. Of course, he told Jack, as proof that I was unfaithful.
“I just wanted to show him that we had something he can’t give you,” I responded when Jack asked 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 gave me the kiss I was looking for.
Later, I called the frat where we were playing that night.
“Hey, did you hear about last night’s gig? It got outta control,” I told 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 said. “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 told Stu that they were not able to come
“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 laughed, which got Stu all embarrassed.
“Trust me, we want you there, but tonight’s not right. 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 arrived at the frat to set up, the social chairman had three big, tough football players waiting for us. We had never had security at our shows, just Iggy and Max, even at the Roadhouse gigs.
“You heard about the fracas at SAE last night?” I asked 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 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 them into the Skynyrd show? They 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 were off to Sorrento’s for our pizza, pot & beer warm up. I told Jack about our plans for the monkey song. He liked that Robby would get his comeuppance but not get hurt. Dave and Jazz were 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, and who knows what might happen. Those same football players will be back.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself from giggling.
I could tell that the previous night’s football jocks were looking for blood. We met them with the players from the frat. After some posturing, we made 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 and 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 had to make 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 started out with all our songs, no covers. We didn’t need to incite beer throwing, so the mood was less radical. The crowd was huge, having heard about the previous night’s exploits and explosions. I could feel a sense of disappointment from the people who came expecting a riot. We took a break after we had played all of Jack’s D&D inspired songs.
“No covers tonight?” Michael asked.
“We’re not getting anything from the bar. They pay at the door and get all 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 winked at Jack.
Our second set was all the old songs about growing up in Miami leading up to the sex songs. No romantic ballads there. Then we did the only covers of the night, the Doors’ ‘Light My Fire,’
leading into ‘Love Her Madly.”
The second song built the tempo and soon everyone was dancing and jumping about. The crowd knew what they loved.
“We got in a little trouble last night and a bit of a riot, so we can’t finish without playing our signature song, “Barefoot Boy.’
Once I said the title and we started playing, I saw the jocks start pushing toward the front. Halfway through the song, a hail of rotten fruit started pelting us and the people in front. It had a sweet, stinky smell and we were soon covered with orange pus. Robby jumped on top of the amps again with the jocks right in front of him. I saw the recognition in his eyes that it was the same jocks as the previous night. He taunted them, jumping up and down.
“Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee”
The jocks had him cornered and started to climb on the riser to get at him. Robby recklessly launched himself at the biggest one. They were prepared for him this night. He did bounce once but the other two grabbed him and threw him to the floor. They were punching and kicking Robby, who was squirming to get away. The girls were screaming and guys were yelling to ‘mellow out, dude.’ Hippie grabbed his bass from the neck and was about to attack. I held him back,
“Wait ‘til the crowd gets more belligerent. We’ll chase them out of here.”
“Do something,” Hippie yelled at everyone.
The jocks loosened their grip on Robby and he scrambled away, heading for the door with the jocks in hot pursuit.
“Stop them,” Jack screamed into the mic.
About 50 guys set out after the jocks chasing Robbie. We dropped our instruments and joined the chase. Most of the girls were with us.
The front door was the only exit. The crush of the crowd made it impossible for anyone to get out. By the time our posse was formed outside, the jocks were long gone. The girls were all praising Hippie for his quick response to the jocks’ attack. I told Jack we’d play a final song. It was ‘Free Bird.’ Mary and Jack did their duet.
After the crowd was gone, the jocks reappeared, carrying Robby on their shoulders. He had produced the proverbial joint to mellow them out. Nothing like a good workout to inspire the jocks. They were excited about Skynyrd. I guess we were, too.
We slept 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 talked at first. We told each other how we felt while fucking, how it made us semi-hard all day long, knowing we’d be doing it every night, and why it was easier for Jack when he was 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. I saw them sitting on a branch just as Jace had thrown me on the bed and was diving on top 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 turned 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 looked 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 flexed for him.
He was getting that misty eyed look that said he was getting turned on. I rolled over and pulled down his briefs.
“I knew you were getting turned on. Was 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 laughed and his dick went down.
“You want to just cuddle?” I asked.
His dick perked up again.
“It has a mind of its own,” Jack laughed.
“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.”
“Pretty deep, Shakespeare.”
“Yeah, I’m an egghead.
“You know what happens to eggs?” I asked him.
I jumped on him. “They get scrambled.”
We started the needed lovemaking with kissing for once. It was our New Romantic phase. I tried to see if I could get off without the usual dick friction. I was wearing Felix’s new boxer briefs. The extra room allowed my dick to creep up my inner thigh and slide around toward my belly button. Sucking on Jack’s tongue, I imagined it was a dick in my mouth. Next I realized my anal sphincter was pulsating as I imagined his tongue was rimming it. The need to have him inside me was overwhelming. My breathing matched his tongue thrusts as I sucked him in. Jacks arms and hands were squeezing me. Jack tried to get me into a belly to belly embrace, but I kept him away. I was squirming and trying to hold him back. Without a warning my dick exploded, while I had Jack’s tongue tightly inside my own rigid tongue. At each ejaculation, I squeezed his tongue while my body jerked. Falling backward, Jack finally was on top. I continued to jerk and suddenly he was climaxing with me, all over my belly. By the time we were both done, I was covered in jism, on my belly and in my briefs.
“Being romantic is messy,” I complained.
“I love you,” Jack announced.
We had said it before. All the romancing made 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 started to cry. I punched him, like Jace used to do to me.
“Being overwhelmed by love is a good thing,” I insisted.
He gulped and looked at me, the tears falling onto me directly from his eyes. I caught them in my mouth and started another kissing session, licking his long eyelashes before the tears could form. He was very salty. I threw off the stained briefs and my dick was already hard again. Throwing his legs over my shoulders, I went down on his ass, rimming him until he was pulsating with need for my dick. No lube required, I entered him in a single, smooth motion, holding him impaled without starting to pump. I stared into his needy eyes, imploring me to fuck him. His dick was not hard. I pumped it up. Each thrust bringing it closer to full erection. Jack was tossing his head back and forth, ecstatic from being pumped. I pulled out to his protest, rolled us over and sucked his dick inside my ass. At first, he didn’t respond, so into being fucked that he was slow to realize he was the fucker now. All at once he bottomed out on me, using short thrusts to completely fill me as well as rubbing my prostrate in just the right way. I let go of any control and came again. He slowed to longer thrusts, unaware of my climax, building his own. His disregard of what was happening for me was a total turn on. He was deeply and forcefully pumping, pulling his head back and arching his back. He was deep inside me, holding himself rigid, while my ass squeezed and pulsated. He let go in a tremendous jerk, quickly jerking again and again. I pushed him out and rolled on top of his ass. He was slickly self-lubed as I thrust my newly revived dick into him. Still coming, he took me all the way in. I pumped forcibly and quickly as he collapsed into post-coital coma. I rode him as he rocked with the thrusts. Turning his head I started kissing him with no response. He was out of it. I pulled out, unwilling to fuck him while unconscious. Rolling him on his back, Jack’s eyes popped open in surprise. Propping his knees on the crook of my elbows, I rotated his butt toward me and entered him again. Jack’s surprise turned to surrender and he relaxed as I slowly and completely fucked him. At each inward thrust, I stuck out my slimy belly and his dick was sliding against me. His breathing sped up and became erratic. Just as he was about to come, I held my dick stuck as deeply as possible inside him, twisting it sideways. He gasped and twitched. I came. He came. We came simultaneously. Not as much as before. We were fucked dry. I collapsed, with his legs now around my waist and my dick still inside him. I was instantly asleep.
I woke before Jack. He was curled next to me, his hand on the side of his face. It looked like his thumb was in his mouth. It wasn’t, thankfully. That would freak me. He was so beautiful, so fragile. I loved his beauty. I loved protecting him. He could be everything for me. That was a dangerous thought. I resolved to make him feel how much I loved him. With Scott and Jace, I had been 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 was a ballad, like a sonnet. I started thinking about the play we were doing for English, ‘The Tempest.” I really hated it. All the plays within the plays, 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 fell asleep and did dream. We were on stage and everyone hated us. Max had his paw over his eye.
Jack woke me later.
“Time for Isabelle’s Sunday breakfast, sleepy head.” He was always perky in the morning.
I was glad to quickly forget my dreams.
Mommy and Daddy were already entertaining Father Frank with mimosas. First we went into the kitchen to give our breakfast orders. Isabelle smiled her best Mona Lisa smile when Jack ordered everything but the kitchen sink. She knew it meant he was happy. I just told her to match everything Jack had ordered.
“Y caramba,” she mock-complained.
“Morning, boys.” Mommy was cheerful as well. “Any songs for us today?”
“Mommy we played the last two nights,” Jack complained.
“I have a short love song,” I ventured. “I wrote it a while ago but was thinking about it this morning.”
“Is it about anyone we know?” Father Frank winked at me.
“Of course, Jack,” I happily announced.
Jack turned red, but Mommy looked pleased. “Please sing it, not to us, but to my boy.”
I got 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 stood 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 smiled despite himself. The adults showed their ‘aren’t they cute’ look with their smiles.
Daddy poured two mimosas. “That happy song calls for fresh orange juice.”
We sat down in time for Isabel arriving with our eggs and bacon. Jack couldn’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 complained. “As long as you’re happy.”
We both gave her our most parent-pleasing smiles. It was time to eat.
Jack whispered 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 rocked my world,” and he hugged me.
Mommy was carefully watching us. She leaned over and whispered to Father Frank. Something was up.
Father Frank cleared his voice. “I was called by Cardinal Cook. He was asking about you two. He was 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 asked.
“Not to my knowledge. The Cardinal assigned the Franciscans to run the Catholic shelters.” He looked conflicted when he said that.
“Are they as gay friendly as you are?”
“Now why would you say that?”
“You’ve never batted an eye at Jack’s and my antics and 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 asked.
“The Church is confused about sex. It requires the priests to be celibate, but 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 have 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 and condemns those who need to benefit from 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 asked 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 shrugged. 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 laughed and winked 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 was 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 interjected, “You boys could go to school in Switzerland next year. Learn French, German and Italian.”
I saw Jack’s eyes light up. Anything new always grabbed 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 felt they were 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 stated.
I wanted to argue. I wanted Jack on my side. I decided to change the subject.
“I’m thinking 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 saw Father Frank give Mummy a pointed look. Love trumps parental intrigue.
“You fell for their trap?” I asked Jack when we went back for seconds.
“You mean spending next year in Europe?” He looked 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 grabbed him and kissed him really hard.
“You’re so bad,” he giggled
Father Frank was waiting for us, by the door, when we went to 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 laughed. “I doubt the Pope wants a gay rocker for a saint.”
“Teen Jesus,” he reminded me.
“Is that why you want to lock me up in a monastery in Switzerland?”
“Montreux,” he told me.
“You’re serious,” and I looked wide-eyed at Jack.
“That’s where Freddie Mercury lives, from Queen.”
“Perfect. We can dress up in surplices and habits, pretending to be little princesses to the Queen.”
“It’d be cool, Tim,” Jack burst out.
I swatted him on the back of his head. Father Frank’s eyes bugged out.
“Sorry, Father, we have fucking to do,” as I dragged Jack up the stairs to his bedroom. Jack was elated.
When we got to the room, he exclaimed, “I love it when you boss me around.”
“Well, don’t expect to be New Romantic.”
I threw him on the bed, pulled down his jeans and briefs. I had my nose and tongue deep into his ass. He jerked and melted on my face. My tongue was going up and down like an Muslim Widow, ululating for her dead husband. He spread his legs out and I felt his twitching prostrate with the tip of my tongue. I pulled back and got three fingers on the gland. The pre-cum had messed up my hair. His legs were up and waving spasmodically. I flattened his knees against his chest and entered him in one thrust again. He grunted several times as I strained against his asshole. I thrust to the rhythm of his grunts. I was turned on beyond holding back. He grunted faster and faster as each stroke became shorter and more insistent.
“No more Europe. No more fucking plots against the band. Fuck me. Fuck me,” I cried even as I was fucking him.
He reached around and hooked his big finger into my ass. I gave one roar and was emptying myself into him. He came with his anal muscles squeezing every drop out of me. Finally as he finished his climax, he pushed my dick out of him. I slapped him.
“I love you,” I screamed at him.
As I reached to kiss him, he bit my lip, drawing blood.
“I love you” he responded with a taunt in his eye.
I spit the blood on him and licked it up. His orgasm done, he fell unconscious. I stopped myself from slapping him awake. I mounted him from behind with my still hard dick. I was instantly asleep. It was 11 am.
When I awoke, Jack was coming in from the pool, drying his hair and wrapped in a big robe.
“It’s hot out there,” he jumped into bed with me.
“Not as hot as in here,” as I grabbed the towel, vigorously drying his hair.
“I’ll turn the A/C up.”
“No, you won’t,” as I stopped him from getting out of bed.”
“No more,” he pleaded. “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 sputtered into hysterics.
“You’re so cruel,” he complained.
“No more New Romantic for you,” I mocked him. “we’re the New Ramones.”
We both sang ‘Beat on the Brat.” Attitude is everything.