THE JACE EXPERIENCE Chapter 9

We decide we can sleep in the car that evening and use the motel room to catch Casper up on fucking. They declare my ass off-limits after I wince every time anything goes near there. I miss that sinking feeling that I get before letting either one of them penetrate me. I’ve become a hopeless bottom. Jack and Casper are squabbling over who will top whom when I fall asleep. Getting fucked in my wet dreams is better than being on injured reserve in an actual 3-way. When I open my eyes, they’re sitting on the bed watching me get off in my sleep.
“You’re shaking and moaning, and arching upward, Tim 135 before you spurt all over us and the bed,” Jack narrates my wet dream. “We never touched you.”
Casper signs, “Go take a bath to clean off. Soak that damaged butt hole. We need you back in action. All Jack wants to do is fuck me.”
When I’m finally done in the bathtub, they were sound asleep in each other’s arms.Tim 98 How sweet. I slipped into bed and soon drift away.

About 8 pm, Hippie knocks on the door, telling us to get ready to leave. We throw all our dirty clothes in a pillow case and head out. The Uncles put their tops up. It will get increasingly cooler as we drive north. Jack, Casper and I pile in and go back to sleep in the back seat of Uncle Tam’s De Soto.  Hippie is up front. Robby, Michael and Iggy are in Uncle Steve’s Chrysler, with Max in the back. The Florida Turnpike ends in Jupiter. We take US 1 north to Jacksonville with orange groves filling both cars with the aroma of sweet Florida sunshine orange blossoms. We all sleep, until hours later we reach Savannah. The uncles put us to bed in a downtown hotel. It was a sunny morning when we finally wake up.

Welcome to Georgia. The Planters Inn is on Reynolds Square, just off  historic Bay Street. It is run down but full of Southern charm. Again the uncles put us in a room with two beds, unaware that Casper needs space as well. There are four of us in one bed, with Robby adding his obnoxious self. Casper sleeps at the foot of the bed. We all go down to breakfast: hominy and grits, as well as eggs, bacon and sweet rolls. The chatty waitress is thrilled to keep our plates full as we haven’t eaten much since Sunday morning. According to her, we were ‘just the sweetest things.’ Hippie is captivated. He even tries talking to her
.
The uncles come down and take us on a walking tour of the city,  with its many historic squares Tim 157 and parks. Robby is bewitched by the moss draped trees.Tim 156 Walking along the riverfront he finds a tree-lined park.  He’s off through the branches. We all follow him with the uncles watching in amazement as we swing Tarzan-style from branch to branch. Robby thinks the moss will hold him like a jungle vine. He learns his lesson when it breaks off. He falls a few feet before grasping a solid branch. Tim 140 It only encourages him to go further and higher. Eventually, we’re all standing with the uncles watching him renew his Peter Pan roots.  A photographer asks if we knew the tree climber.Tim 339 We admit we’re all as immature as Robby, just not so much so. He takes a dozen or so shots of Boy Tarzan . He finds out we’re a band going to play in New York City. When Robby comes down, we pose for more pictures. Max is, of course, the star of the shoot. Back at the hotel, Jack and I decide to try the old Blind Willy trick, busking along the river walk, with Max as guide dog. We set up with the small practice amp, playing requests for oldies; Jack sings and asks for donations. Max barks once every time someone donates. A couple of black kids come along and say we couldn’t busk there. They control the tourist trade. I tell them to fuck off,. When they try to grab my hat full of coins and bills, Jack punches the biggest one. Before he had a chance to punch him back, Max goes for him. Tim 318 The kid turns and runs. Max bites him on the butt. The crowd cheers us on, which is pretty racist. Still we take the extra money Jack’s feisty attitude earns. We get $100 for an afternoon’s busking. I think about sending the hundred bucks to the Daytona church. Jack says ‘Fuck that.’ We go back to the hotel and get our own room. It’s $60, We’d earned the money. Casper sits with the others, while they get stoned. We grab our clothes and take him to the new room. We make good use of our afternoon ‘nap.’ My butt is still recovering, so Casper takes the butt of Jack’s macho fucking. We’ve created a monster. He calls the nerds to brag about his adventures. He ends up mediating a D&D dispute. Isaac says ‘Hi.’ Casper and I try writing a song about tree climbing and flying through the air. It ends up sounding too much like ‘up up and away.’ Jack comes over and suggests:

“Barefooted boy
Makes a stand
To take his joy
Going hand to hand

Flying out free
Branch to branch
Through the trees
Reckless chance.”

“That’s cool,’ we agree.
I added a chorus:

“Free to be
A monkey like me
Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee

We start jumping around, acting like monkeys at the zoo. A sharp knock at the door. We open it to a young black bellhop. He tells us civilly. “There are other guests who do not enjoy rambunctious children disturbing their peace and quiet,” and he winks at us. Tim 605
We grab him and pull him into the room. Knowing it’s racially insensitive, we stopped the monkey act and pull his trousers down. He just smiles as we attack him. Somehow all four of us get off from a single blowjob. He sits on the floor afterwards, with a big grin on his face.
“Usually I get twenty bucks when dirty old men do that.”
I pull out a Jackson and give it to him. He pushes me flat on my back and gives me a blow job, handing me back the twenty, “I always wanted to do that, but no one was ever as tempting before.”
His shiny, velvety skin that enchants Casper, who continues to caress him as he lays there naked. Totally unaware of Casper’s attentions, he seems to glow from the sensual stimulation.
“You boys make me feel so good, even though you raped me,” he observes. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Oh, no. Now I’m the rapist.” He wasn’t look guilty. “I just celebrated my eighteenth.”
“Such baby skin for an old man,” Jack caresses his cheeks.
“You should see it all made up,” he brags.
“You’re too cute to need makeup,” I assert.
“Well, come to The Pickup tonight. I’ll amaze you,” he invites.
“You perform?”
“The Greatest Southern Drag Show south of the Mason-Dixon.”
We’re enthralled. “Can we get in at 16?” I ask.
“Just tell the doorman you’re guests of The Lady and smile real pretty.”
“I perform at a gay bar when I was fifteen,” I brag.
“Well, com’n down. I’ll make you so pretty, those old queens will die.”
“How about me?” Jack wants in.
“’Course, sugar. We’ll call you Baby Cakes.”
“What’s your stage name?”
“I’s the Lady Chah-bli.”
“That did taste like white wine I just drank,” I declare.
“Only the finest, honey. Now tell me you didn’t sneak into this room for some afternoon delight.”
“No, we busked on the riverfront and paid. Last night we had to sleep four to a bed.”
“Wanna hear the song we were singing, when you so rudely interrupted,” Jack wants to perform for The Lady.
We did our ‘Barefoot in the Park’ song as Chablis jumps around with us screeching like monkeys. Seeing herself in the mirror, he stops. “I ain’t falling fer yer black stereotype,” and flounces out.
“Where’s The Pickup?” we yell after her. Tim 290
“On Congress Street. Look for all the aging gay men hoping I’ll perform tonight. Come backstage. I’ll make you boys look fab-u-lous.”

Casper tells Jack the story of our one night stand at the Eros Lounge in North Miami. Then we practice Abba’s ‘Moma Mia,’  including the strip. Casper helps Jack with his moves and lines. If we get applause, we’d strip and bump, grinding on Casper who’ll be in the middle, between us. Casper promises to get us hard if Jack’s snapping of my gay briefs don’t do the trick. Jack drags us (getting in the mood) to the other room and breathlessly tells them of the night’s performance. Robby and Michael are game to go. Hippie and Iggy say they had other plans and someone has to watch Max. The plan is to check out at midnight and drive to North Carolina to make Monday night’s roadhouse gig. By the time we eat and packed in the car, it’s almost eight. All we knew is The Pickup on Congress Street. A De Soto convertible cruising the red light district draws all the queens who tell us where to go.
“Go to Hell.”
“Do wah?”
“You asked me tell you where to go. You can go to Hell,” a silly queen winks at me.

The Pickup is underground off an alley. The queens lead us right there. The bouncer knew who we are but card Uncle Tam anyway. The rest of us pass on in.
“Are you lookin’ for the Lady?” a cocktail waitress asks.
“Actually looking for our bell boy.” Uncle Tam reveals.
“You just sit over here, honey. I’ll take care of you.”
We all go over to sit down. Two other girls came by our table and tell us to follow them.
“I’ll be fine right here,” Uncle Tam clucks.
Michael and Robby are laughing and pointing while Jack and sign to Casper, “Check out the tranies. I bet they’ve never seen a real transparent.”
They take us to do makeup, then hair and costumes.”
Robby insists we go barefooted, so we all looked like refugees from ‘Little House on the Prairie.’
Michael and Robby are fine until they see themselves in a mirror. They’re pointing at each other, until they get so mad at Jack and me. The tricksters are tricked.
“Remember those two boys who almost got busted for doing a strip in Miami Beach. This is conclusive evidence it was you two. I wish I had a picture,” I threaten.
“Fuck you. We’re not going out there and performing like this.”
“Who’d want you, Robby May, looking like some hayseed straight from the farm. You both are here to watch us lip-synch and dance our asses off for the crowd. If you go on like that, they’ll go straight to the strip music.”
I explain, “Jace and I did the North Miami strip, so Jack and I will recreate it to Abba’s ‘Momma Mia.

Abba If all goes well, we’ll do it again and actually strip. With magic underwear we know we’ll have hard-ons for everyone to enjoy. After that, if we get an encore, you guys will come out and lip-synch Queen’s ‘Champion.’ We’ll all do a French chorus line. Without magic underwear you guys have to go commando.”
They stood there for ten seconds looking at each other. Turning around they launched themselves at us.
“You, fuckers,” and a four-way cat fight destroyed our wigs, makeup and especially the dresses.  Back we went for a refit.
“Dammit, Robby, I wanna wear heels,” Jack won’t be denied.
Growing by six inches does wonders for a poor queen’s ego. Our next outfits are all satin and silk. We’re gorgeous. At last.
“When do we see the Lady?” I ask.
“Oh, you mean The Empress.”
“”The Empress?”
“Yes, sonny, the Empress of the South.”
“Had I known,” Jack pipes up, “I would have worn the real stones,” flashing 4 rings on his left hand.
“Now, that’s a girl who knows her place. The Lady Chablis awaits.”
We’re ushered into a private dressing room.
“Darlings, you look so lovely. Fresh as apple pie.”
“From the heartland.” I answer, pressing my hands to my scrawny breast. Tim 389
“Lovely, lovely, lovely,” she exclaims. “And, who are these lovelies,” as she notices Michael and Robby?”
“We’re the Jacettes, Flow and Eddie,” Robby snarls.
“Can we go on?” I beg. “We’re all set. I did this once before except we fully striped and the cops came.”
“Well, aren’t they mean down there. Come and get some of mama’s lovin.’”
I move over and gracefully lowered myself at her knees.
“I’m so surprised you followed me here after our afternoon tryst.”
“We’d hardly gotten to know each other.”
Casper sits by the other knee, whereas Jack sits in front, leaning against me.
“And what are your stage names, girls?”
“We used Max and Bowser before, but Maxie and Bowie will do.”
“My goodness, so well prepared.”
“I feel every performance has to be the once in my lifetime I’ll always remember,” Jack gushes.
“We try leaving them wanting more, that’s why we’ll drag out Robyn and Michelle at the end,” as I point to the two spectators.
“Well, every straight boy in his place and the queens be mastah. Now, tell me exactly what you have planned.”
I give her the music directions, Abba and Queen.
“Showtime, ladies,” the Lady sends out the word. Activity goes into overdrive. No one is sitting down backstage. We mingle with all the acts and their supporters. It’s a cocktail party with the drinks and plenty of cock and tail. Being underground means no back door and the room is not enormous. If we get raided, Mike Sr.’s political career ends right here in Savannah, the ruination of many a Southern boy. Casper signs that there is an empty closet with an inside lock. I tell everyone in case of trouble to get in there and not to lock it until I show up.
I feel we’re invisible backstage. Then I see Uncle Tam wave at me. I stick my head out at the stage left curtain. Someone screams and the others including Casper, stick their heads out, too. Tim 445 A big roar from the audience. Desperate for jail bait, aren’t they?

Chablis takes the mic and does introductions of the acts. She mentioned us as the Lost Boys of Miami, and how we can’t stop exposing ourselves. Robyn sticks her head out again to a big laugh. Tim 410
“Maybe they’s just lost,” she remarks.

It’s fun to watch the acts from backstage. There is more drama there then onstage where the acts seem so serious. Behind the screen, they collapse into hysterics or grief, depending on their performance. Suddenly we’re up.

The Lady kindly introduces us as Frida and Agnetha from Sverige.
The spotlight picks us out on stage and we mouthed, ‘Mamma Mia, here I go again..’

 

as we rock back to back, butt to butt, keeping our hands up and smiling at all the leering men out front. We get polite applause. We go ahead and sing it again as we strip to our briefs.
The reaction is instantaneous, which make our dicks snap to attention. We both love showing off. Our dicks are Jack Spratt and Mrs. Spratt, ready to be licked clean. We turn to each other and Casper jumps into the middle so our dicks stroke both his hips. It looks like we were getting off without touching. As we finish the lyrics, Jack’s garden hose pops up above his waistband. He’s so surprised that he cums instantly, spraying the front seats.  People either jump back or leap forward. Jack puts his fingers to his lips and runs off stage, Casper and I chase him. The cries and cheers are incessant. A stage hand emerges from the darkness and gathers up our dresses.
“You want that jail bait back?” Chablis asks the crowd.
A big yes comes back.
We wiggle back into costume. The makeup girls put excessive rouge on Jack’s cheeks and smears his lipstick. All four of us flounce out. With our arms around each other, we skip the French leg kicks.
“This is for all the queens out there,” I yell without a mic.
The recording starts at the beginning of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ so we all sing to each other, even Michael.

“I’ve paid my dues
Time after time
I’ve done my sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes
I’ve made a few
I’ve had my share of sand
Kicked in my face
But I’ve come through

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

We are the champions – my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting
Till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
‘Cause we are the champions of the World

I’ve taken my bows
And my curtain calls
You brought me fame and fortune
And everything that goes with it
I thank you all
But it’s been no bed of roses
No pleasure cruise
I consider it a challenge before
The whole human race
And I ain’t gonna lose

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

We are the champions – my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting
Till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
‘Cause we are the champions”

Songwriters
Mercury, Freddie
Published by
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

We’re having so much fun, we do the French Can Can, forgetting that we made Michael and Robby go commando. The PA cuts off and Chablis hustles us off stage. She hands me a bag with all our street clothes. It’s pitiful.
“Run right now, get in that delovely De Soto, and get the hell out of here.”
We air kiss and promise to stay in touch.
‘Keep the dresses except send me back that Valentino. It’s my first real purchase.”
A hundred fans follow us out to the car. Someone alerted Uncle Tam. He’s at the wheel with the top down. We jump in. He toots the horn. We tear off in a cloud of ghetto dirt.

Robby starts berating us for leading them astray. We throw him in the back seat and jump back after him. Subduing him and holding him down, Michael gives him a pink belly.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he crows.
“What? Exposing yourself?”
Uncle Tam turns up the radio, authentic 50s pop radio playing ‘Tutti Frutti.”

 

 

“We’re all fags,” he shouts.
“Don’t be so gay,” we all shout back.

Max and the boys are waiting at the hotel. We’re still in dresses, which causes a scene. After changing, it’s still  early. We have our evening burgers and shakes before leaving town. We five stayed with Uncle Tam and the other two with Uncle Steve. Max, tired of Iggy’s inferior weed, jumps into the back with Casper, while there are five in the front seat, comfortably seated with our narrow asses, smoking a joint and relieving Max with a shotgun hit. After some gossiping about our night, I slip in to the back with Casper and Max. We end up curled around each other like puppies. When I awake we were already at Mount Holly, near the roadhouse at Charlotte.

The Uncles checks us in. I say I need to find my friends in Denver, not far away. We three plus Robby took the DeSoto  while everyone else sleeps. I’m fired up to see Floyd’s gang. Even my ass feels well, an ominous sign. I fear I’m becoming a bottom because of the strangely sensual feelings it causes. I’m sliding into being a pussy boy. Floyd will be triumphant. On the other hand, it might make sense to check in on the Ann sisters. I just want them to be at our show that night. I could just call the garage, but I want to look like the big shot, driving a 50’s classic convertible, showing up to see my homies. Fuck yeah.

It was all familiar, driving up to the general store tim-711 with the boys standing outside. Tim 205 Yet it hit me how small the town is. My imagination has blown it up. It’s good to return. I pull to a stop and beep the horn. The boys look at us sleepily, before doing a double take.
“It’s them sissy boys from Miami. What’s up motha fuckas.”
“I toldja I’d be back.”
“Had to steal yerself a fancy car to get here? I know ya ain’t rich ’nuff ta afford this one,” Wayne asks, running his finger along the tail fin.
“Who’s these boys?” Floyd points at Jack and Robby. “Where’s that other sissy boy y’all was with last summa?”
“History.”
We all get out. I make casual introductions.
“We’s all in a band. Y’all gots ta come see us at the Tar River Bar & BBQ in Mount Holly tonight.”
“Do Wot? Ya gotta be shittin’ me. That place is a pit. Can ya get us in? Ya gotta be 18 to git by the bouncer.”
“No problem amigo. We’re connected.”
“The only connection y’all ever made was with yer buddy’s butthole.”
“Well, there’s other connections made last summer.”
Wayne turns red.
“I ah ‘spose ya wanna see the sheriff and his lucky wife?
“Lucky sheriff.”
“Ya got that.”
“How is ol’ Cheryl Ann?”
“Too old for y’all. And her sister Lee Ann got herself pregnant and is retired from the slut biznuss.”
Oh, shit.
“When’s she due?”
“Don’t worry, lova boy. Not ‘til June.”
“How’s Willie, Wayne? Still stealin’ his cars?”
“Same ol piss shit and vinegar. Ya gonna let me drive this heah De Soto? I sees it’s got the big V-8.”
“Sure, give us the tour.” I toss him the keys.

We all piled in, me riding pussy between Wayne and Floyd, Mr. Shotgun. Wayne only knows one speed, pedal to the metal. The big boat slithers down the country roads.

First stop, Sheriff Tom’s office. She runs out the door once she recognizes me. He’s keeping a closer eye on Cheryl Ann.. He has her working in the office.
“Oh my goodness, look who’s returned, the lost tourist.”
She hugs me. I twirled her around.
“My goodness, you’ve gotten older and much more scrawny. They don’t have fried chicken in Miami.”
“It’s called ‘pollo’ there.”
“Here, you’re just a po’ ol’ boy. We need to put some meat on them bones. Where’s ur ol’ partner in crime?”
“History, but these boys are in my band. We’re playing the BBQ Pit Bar in Mount Holly tonite and tomorra.”
Sheriff Tom comes out.
“Look, honey. Tim’s comes back jist ta see us. He has in a band playing hereabouts tonight. Can we go?”
“Howdy, boy. Glad ta see ya no longer hitch hikin’,” as he eyes the De Soto.
“I may have a problem gettin’ the keys back from ol’ Wayne, though.”
“What’s this I hear that you boys are performing at the ol’ Tar River BBQ Pit Bar?”
“We came over to personally invite y’all. Remember what fun we had playing and singing to your collection of 45s. Well, our band tries to do the same but for an older audience. A little bit raunchy, riles everybody up.”
“I’ll be sure’n ta bring ma gun.”
“We’ll play the Beach Boys’ ‘Barbara Ann’ in honor of Cheryl Ann’s mother.”
“We all be there. I’ll be, how’dcha know about Cheryl Ann’s mother?”
“Just a lucky guess. First time we met the sisters, we was showing off and sung that song ‘cause of their names. I hope Lee Ann can come, too.”
“She’s in sore need of cheerin’ up. We’ll bring her.”

Wayne roars out of the Sheriff’s station, spitting gravel and dirt as he guns it. Sheriff Tom runs over and puts on his siren. Wayne never looks back. He drives us to every shack and cabin within fifteen miles, telling everyone to come out for our show that night, He introduces us to everyone he’s ever known. We’re now celebrities down in the holler. We take the two of them back to Mount Holly with us. The boys are just waking up. Wayne takes an instant liking to Hippie, telling him he gets no respect from these sissy boys. Hippie can’t agreed more. Uncle Tam is not that pleased that Wayne is driving when we pull up. I try to tell him about Wayne’s great drag racing the previous summer.
“I had all the drag show I need in Savannah,” as he inspects his prize De Soto. It’s not so delovely after all the teenaged drivers. Uncle Steve winks at us.
Robby and Floyd seem made for each other. They go off by foot to find moonshine, with Floyd doing a taste test between Robby’s and his own weed. Tim181 Max accompanies them. Casper, Jack and I are looking forward to some afternoon delight and shuteye. When we check the room and its two double beds, we go to the office and got a single for ourselves, telling the clerk to bill the Uncles. He’s excited that we’re some kind of celebrities. We tell him he’ll be on the list at the Tar Pit Bar.
We turn the A/C up and slip naked under the covers. Without the marijuana kick to his libido, Jack is back to his taking it up the butt persona.  Casper quickly takes advantage and is soon rimming his ass in preparation of mounting Jack doggy style. I sneak in between them and get there first. Casper takes full advantage of my recently healed ass, his friendly ghost thrusting no match for the beatings Jack’s garden hose gives me. I luxuriate in the feeling of giving at one side and getting at the other. Tim 79 Jack is remembering the joys of bottoming, getting off twice from my reach around. We fall asleep, totally connected.
Hippie and Wayne wake us up, saying it was time to go. We let them in. Robby and Floyd burst in after them, sniffing to see if they can ‘smell the devil.’ We quickly get dressed. Not before Floyd is whooping and hollering about our fancy underwear.
“Woo-ee. You still are sissy boys. Look at them panties.”
“You still have my orange ones, Floyd?” I snarkily ask. “Bring ‘em by and I’ll sign them. I get a hundred bucks a day to sign these.”
“You don’t want them stinky old things. Floyd wore ‘em out months ago,” Wayne gossips.
I had to sign to Casper how Floyd got a pair of my Speedos.

There are so many of us, we take both convertibles to the bar. The Uncles feel we’ve abused of their prize autos. I hope they really want to see our show. When we pull up, the parking lot has multiple rundown pickups and sedans. There’s a long line at the door. The bouncer s arguing with the people in line.
“There ain’t no list. $5 or ya go home.”
“We’re with the band, man.” They argue.
I spoke up, “We’re the band. We have lots of friends comin’ tonight. Is the boss man heah?”
“Hang on,” and he yells for the manager, Mr. Big Shot.
He appears, “Y’all is too young to git in. Come back next year.”
“No, Mr. Big, we’re the band, False Gods. Jake from Daytona called you for this gig.”
“Jeezus, he don’t say y’all is underage. Can you even play?”
“Let’s make a deal. Instead of a guarantee, we’ll play for 25% of the bar but ya gotta let ever’one in for free. They ain’t got a lot but we’ll make damn sure they use it all for beer.”
“20%.”
“If we leave, you’ll see all this money drivin’ out the lot.”
“22%.”
“23.”
“Deal. Now get in heah and y’all sell some beer.”

We get a cheer when the bouncer announces there’s no cover charge tonight.

‘Pit’ is an accurate description of the roadhouse. We check the sound system while setting up our amps and drums. The stage is a 2 inch riser that has no room for us to perform once the equipment is in place. We set up the mic on the floor in front, figuring we’ll need to be aggressive in establishing our space. I tell Floyd and Wayne to find their three biggest friends to act as our own bouncers to keep the crowd from pushing into us. He comes up with quarter-ton linemen from the Denver High football team. They take their football seriously in the South. Those boys drop into a three-point stance to show how they’ll protect us. We head out the backdoor where the Uncles parked the convertibles. They’re anxious about protecting their beauties and say they’ll stay there. Max is sitting up in the front seat of the De Soto, looking more formidable than the effete uncles. Tim 297 Once Robby lights up our pre-show joint, we attract the attention of five other teenagers. They tell us the bouncer  denied them entry for lack of ID. We sneak them in with us and they face off with the linemen.

Jack looks out over the crowd which is mostly backed up to the bar.  Tim 115
“Evenin’ y’all. We’re False Gods. Welcome to Mount Holly.”
“This heah’s Mountain Island, asshole.”
“Okay. Welcome to Mountain Island’s asshole.” Jack shot back. Pot always makes him aggressive.
“We’re from Florida, so we know sumthin’ ‘bout assholes.”
He gets a tepid laugh.
“The band’s Robby and Michael on drums, Tim on guitar, and I’m Jack. Hippie here’s on bass and the king of groupies. Ya wanna get to us, ladies, ya gotta go through Hippie.”
Hippie starts playing the bass line to the Doors’ ‘Light My Fire,’ two stepping in front of us to establish our space.Tim 101

 

 

We’re off and rockin.’ While I get my long solo in, Jack saunters up to the bar and gets a beer. He chugs it before going into ‘Whiskey Bar.’

 

 

About 60 seconds later, he’s wasted and slurring his vocals. I move over and sing with him to cover it up. When the ‘moon of Alabama’ verse came up, he jumps into the crowd and brings Cheryl Ann to the front, so we can sing it to her, our North Carolina mama.
“Ya wanna sing Free Bird with us?” I ask her.

 

 

She beams. I tell her to alternate with Jack on the vocals. She seems confused, so I say, “Jist follow me.”
I shorten the intro to just enough that the crowd recognizes Skynyrd. When we get to the vocals, Jack does the first line and I do the next. As we went through the duet, people started yelling ‘fag’ and booing. We immediately repeat the verses, except Cheryl Ann takes my part. Everybody cheers. We sing the verses a third time with all of us singing all the lines. Jack sits down. One beer is over his limit. I ask Cheryl Ann to fill in. She tells me a song she knows, ‘Satisfaction.’

 

We all know it, of course. She takes over the vocals. Jack recovers enough to start jumping around to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

 

He and Cheryl Ann do ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together Tim 296

 

 

but afterward, Sheriff Tom pulls her offstage. She has saved our set.
I take the mic, “Thank you. That’s the lovely Cheryl Ann. We’re takin’ a break so Jack can sober up.”
I notice that there were no lines at the bar, so I added, “Here’s a little ditty by Mr. Neil Young, I hope you remember,” and we start ‘Southern Man.’

 

 

The crowd starts screaming profanities and the beer rains down on us. We finish with “Sweet Home, Alabama.’

 

 

We go out the back to the cars. I note that the bar is backed up again. Our new posse of boys follows us out, all excited to be at their first roadhouse gig. Robby pulls out two joints which go around in opposite directions. Max is confused as to which way to get his hits, so I give him a shotgun. Jack is looking despondent at his inability to handle his beer, so I give him a shotgun, plus a quick kiss at the end. He perks up. One of the teens notices.
“Y’all is queer, ain’tcha?”
“Queer as a steer with no balls,” I quip.
Their mouths drop open.
“We all heard you was doin’ Cheryl Ann and her sister last summer?”
“Well, when somethin’ as fine as Miss Cheryl Ann wants ya, no one turns her down.”
They all laugh and hit each other. The joint s coming by, so their discomfort is forgotten. Weed, the elixir that cures all ills.
Jack apologizes, “Sorry guys. When I drank a bottle of Jack, it was no problem.”
“’Cause there twern’t no Jack in that bottle, just ice tea.”
He shoots me an annoyed look, “Next time tell me.”
“You’ll still be a lightweight.”
I change the subject, “This set is our own songs. We gotta get ready for New York. We can’t play covers in the big league.”
They all look too serious.
“Fuck you guys. If you don’t enjoy our songs, we might as well keep playin’ covers. Lighten up.”
Robby speaks up, “Let me do ‘Barefoot in the Park.’ I know you wrote it about me, so let me do the vocals.”
Jack nods and it’s agreed. Michael will handle the drumming. Robby can open with ‘False Gods,’ followed by the monkey song, when we’ll all sing the chorus and jump around. We can tell how much they like the serious band song and then go crazy to the joke one.
The teen posse and we go back on. All the crowd has refilled beer cups. Some even have two cups in hand.
Jack steps up to the mic. “Y’all enjoyed our Neil Young? If’n ya had listened to our lyrics ya might have heard we were making Mr. Neil Young remember, but y’all was too busy throwing away your beers.”
About five full cups come flying toward us. We’re already soaked.
“If that’s how y’all feel, then disrespect our drummer Robby on the next coupla songs.”

Robby runs to the mic as Jack sits on his drum kit, hitting the snare, then the bass drum and finally the cymbal, ‘butta dum’ crash.’
Robby takes the mic stand and leans out toward the crowd, staring real hard at them.
“Our band was created by the gods Mael, Tim 299God of Night,  God of the Oak,  and Great Mother. Get on your knees, useless fleas.”

 

I change the riffs at the end of each line, so the words are given enough time to be thought about, before the next line starts:

“Where others feared to tread,
they gave us up for dead,
memories linger on eternally,
as Lucifer’s proud plea,
a world of our own,
on high a black throne,
we sing to make them see,
to be happy for eternity
…we are False Gods, we are False Gods…
a world meek and blind,
laugh at all of mankind,
fools misunderstand,
we’re of 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,
cause
…we are False Gods, we are False Gods…

pray in foreign tongues,
shoot useless guns,
sacrifice hallowed sheep,
shun cold, dark streets,
you’re just nasty fleas,
Set your minds to be

…False Gods, False Gods…

we live eternally,
hear painful screams,

Just wait 20 years or so

You will know just what we mean
….We are False Gods, False Gods..

… False Gods”

The added leads send these hillbillies into metal heaven. They start going ‘yeah, yeah,’ at the end of each line. It isn’t dance music but the energy has to be spent somehow. They’re pushing and shoving. Our linemen go into their 3 point stance as we watch the mayhem. The gods bless us with violence. Beer is flying everywhere. At the ending, ‘False Gods’  is echoed over and over again.

Michael hits a drum roll and short solo. We launch into the jokey monkey song. The crowd was still thrashing from the previous song, but when we got to the chorus, we all were making monkey sounds and jumping around. The crowd is back with us, imitating our cries. This was all it takes to launch Robby. He jumps up on an amp, then leaps to the ceiling.

‘Barefooted boy

Makes a stand

To take his joy

Going hand to hand

 

Flying out free

Branch to branch

Through the trees

Reckless chance.”

 

“Free to be

A monkey like me

 

Ha ha ha

He he he

Haw haw haw

Chee chee chee’

 

Grabbing the fire sprinkler pipe, he swings out over the crowd. Tim 108 We keep playing with the whole band screeching the chorus. The crowd screeches back. Robby drops down on the bar, taunting the crowd. He leaps away when they tried to catch him, swinging hand to hand from the overhead pipes. People are jumping at him as he easily escapes. We kept up the chorus from the stage and half the crowd is channeling their inner monkey with us. Robby swings back to the stage  and falls into the waiting arms of our bouncers, the linemen. They catch him and proceed to carry him above their heads as they charge into the crowd. Maybe they thinkt they’re running back an interception and Robby is the ball. Their size bulldozes anyone in the way.  Soon most people are sprawled on the floor, covered in beer and whatever else has spilled. We have our revenge. The linemen run out the front door. If you believe Robby, they spike him like having scored a touchdown. We stop playing and watch the mayhem.
Hippie steps up to the mic. He plays and sings ‘Amazing Grace.’

 

 

It ‘s enough to calm down the crowd which was beginning to pick themselves up. The linemen come jogging back. Everyone gets out of their way.
“Get those boys a beer,” I order the bartenders, who promptly comply.
Everyone is catching their breath, including us. Robby comes in through the back and sits at his drum kit. Those who can see him cheer. He raises his drum sticks in acknowledgment.
“Now you know that Robby spends most of his time playing Peter Pan. This song’s is how a teenager gets away with everything. It’s called ‘Sneakin’ Around.” Tim 232

“Sneaking around
Never been caught
All over town
Better than not.

Thrill’s in the chase
No time to waste
Folks on my case
All is in haste.

Waiting’s the worst
You were my first
I need you now
We’re on the prowl.

Back of an alley
Sprawled in the dirt
No time to dally
Who will cum first.

shaka shaka love?
‘shaka shaka love shaka shaka
Shaka shaka love shaka shaka.”

The girls love it and start dancing to the chorus which we repeat over and over. We’re back to normal
“This song’s about all the evil things Robby did to Michael,” Jack confesses, causing the two drummers to do competing rolls and flairs. Tim 231
“Look Before You Leap,” Jack shouts.

‘Wanna
set you’re your buddy on fire,
Better buy a rug.
Wanna
send your friends to hell,
Better get a priest.
Wanna
Beat up a bully,
Better get a gun.

Look before you leap
Better to say no
End up in the shit heap
No place to go.

Leap, leap, leap
You fuckin’ freak
Leap, leap, leap
Strip and streak.”

Wanna
Beat up your friend
Get new friends
Wanna
Steal a new car
You won’t get far
Wanna
Rape some sweet lass
A beating comes fast

Look before you leap
Better to say no
End up in the shit heap
No place to go.

Leap, leap, leap
You fuckin’ freak
Leap, leap, leap
Strip and streak.”

Before we finish, Robby and Michael began berating each other. Michael leaps up and chases Robby around the room with his drum sticks, swearing he’ll get even. Robby is easily staying ahead of Michael, but two hillbillies get in his way and catcht him. Michael starts beating rolls on his head, until the linemen rescue Robby. We keep playing without a drum beat.
“Well, now you know what it’s like to grow up in South Florida. Y’all can’t get no further South than that, less’n you go to Cuba. And that ain’t the South.”
We did our ‘South Florida’ song to end the set.

‘Go deep to the South
When you can go no more
Find our city to make a score
Come to our cool house

We bewilder with our drug
Whether it be love
Or just need of a hug
We’re free to meet the need

Miami’s here to serve
keeps you safe and sound
Southern man beats you down
That’s what you deserve

Miami drug
Life too rough?
Take the time
Follow our sign

Girls are free
Always please
Jack your shit
Get into it.’

We walk off as people cheer. Miami is still not the South, but we feel we were. We don’t figure on an encore, but our loyal Denver fans keep clapping, so we come back on stage.
“You still here Cheryl Ann?” I speak into the mic. I see a hand waving from the back.
“Bring that lovely sister of yours and get up here. We’ll do your song.”
They runs up, or at least, waddles in Lee Ann’s case. I’m sure glad that isn’t Scott’s or my baby.
“What song?” they ask.
“Like last year, at the sock hop. Chewin’ Gum.
They break out in big smiles and step up to the mike with Jack. I tell everyone ‘Does your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor.’

 

 

I have to play a couple of lines like a banjo before the rest of the band remembers that novelty hit. Tim 261

‘Does your chewing gum lose its flavour
On the bedpost overnight
If your mother says don’t chew it
Do you swallow it in spite
Can you catch it on your tonsils
Can you heave it left and right
Does your chewing gum lose its flavour
On the bedpost overnight
Oh-me, oh-my, oh-you
Whatever shall I do
Hallelujah, the question is peculiar
I’d give a lot of dough
If only I could know
The answer to my question
Is it yes or is it no
Does your chewing gum lose its flavour
On the bedpost overnight
If your mother says don’t chew it
Do you swallow it in spite
Can you catch it on your tonsils
Can you heave it left and right
Does your chewing gum lose its flavour
On the bedpost overnight.’

Written by: BREUER, ERNEST/ROSE, BILLY/BLOOM, MARTY
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Everyone cheers and we’re done. Mr. Big Boss comes up, slapping me on the back, with his pitch on how much we earned.
You boys done right fine. We even ran out of beer by the end. Jake told me you git these hillbillies drinking, but now I seen it. I figured your 23% cut is $400,” as he slaps the Jackson on the bar.
I didn’t even look at it. “I guess we’re not coming back tomorra nite,” I state.
“We wants ya back. I’s countin’ on it.”
“Well, come up with an honest split and we will.”
“You seem mighty young ta be horse tradin’.” Tim 548
I squeeze the beer out of my tee-shirt, “That’s yer profits for tomorra goin’ down the drain.”
“Now, hold on, boy. You sayin’ we’re cheatin’ you boys.”
“As you said, it’s all about horse tradin.’”
“What y’all think the split should be?” I have him backing down.
“Well, Jake paid us $1000 when we sold out his beer supply, but you let all our friends in for free, so we’ll take $900.”
“How’s ‘bout $600?”
“Naw, how ‘bout we just walk away and tell our friends why?”
“Don’t be threatenin’ me, boy.”
“I gave y’all a fair discount on the agreed 23%, what’s the complaint?”
“You boys think you’re slick coming from Miami and tellin’ us’n how to run our biznuss.”
“$900 and no one knows you got slicked.”
He looks at me and laughed. “That’s fair, but you promise not a word, even when I tells ‘em you walked away with nothin.’”
“I ain’t got no problem with my reputation hereabouts. Let’s shake.”
I put out my hand. He slaps the additional twenties into it, looks me in the eye, and shakes my hand.
We both laugh.
“See ya, tomorra,” I said. “My people won’t be heah ‘cause they’s dead broke now. But they’s sure ta git the word out and draw you a payin’ crowd. No need to skip the cover charge.”
“Well, thank yee for tellin’ me how ta run my biznuss.”
“Anytime.” Tim 326

Everyone is out back. Jack runs up to me, looking hurt. “I’m so sorry I got drunk. You gonna let Robby be the singer now? That’s what he’s saying.”
“That boy’ll abuse you as much as you let him. You don’t really think it matters you was wasted? We just carried on.”
We both sing the Kansas’ song:

“Carry on my wayward son,
For there’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more”

Songwriters: Livgren, Kerry A
© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

The whole crowd listens, shocked when Jack unconsciously kisses me.
“We knew it,” they all yell and then cheer.  Maybe even hillbillies can deal, when you’re open and true. Or, maybe all the free pot won them over.

Everything is loaded, especially all the band members. The Uncles toot their horns and back we go to the hotel. Just as we left, the bartenders come out with nine wrapped BBQ dinners. There were several large bones for Max, who’d been passed out for hours.
“Ya ain’t gonna find no open restaurants ‘round heah at this hour. Y’all look right scrawny to miss dinner.”

I notice Floyd and Wayne don’t wait to get back before digging in. The rest of us follow suit, tossing the empty containers into the countryside as we drive to Mount Holly. I set aside $40 for a thorough cleaning and waxing of the convertibles. At the motel, Floyd goes in with Robby and the straight guys. Wayne hangs back until we invite him into our room.

Casper signs, ‘What does he want?’
I can’t’t remember if I’ve told Casper about my faux rape the previous summer, so I sign back the details. The thought of another bottom excites him. Always ready for another orgasm, that friendly ghost.

Wayne takes the middle of the bed, propping himself up against the headboard. Hard to tell what he is thinking: revenge for being bottomed, yearning for it, or just happy to be with us. Jack seems oblivious to his intentions, enjoying his folksy humor.
“You boys ain’t shy, I give ya that.”
“I remember after you won that drag race, y’all weren’t all that shy yerself,” I counter.
Casper is checking him for any reaction to his presence. It doesn’t appear he’s too open to the spiritual. Jack and I prop ourselves up at the foot of the bed.
“Floyd’s took a likin’ to yer buddy Robby. They seem like two peas in a pod.”
“Well, not as much as we are right here,” as I wiggled my toe into his ribs, tickling him. Instead of moving away, he dives for me. I move to put myself between him and Jack. As we squirm around, all of us start getting hard. When he sticks his head between my legs, Jack reaches over and sticks his hand down Wayne’s grease-stained jeans. I figure he won’t need to be greased up himself. Casper moves in on Jack’s dick, so all of us are going at it.
“Ya gots ta fight me, or I ain’t getting off,” he begs. Tim 100 Hillbilly repression. We’re tumbling all over each other when the bed collapses with a crash. Luckily we’re on the lower floor of the motel. No one knocks on the door to complain. Wayne is totally into the wrestling and grappling, in place of actual sex. I decide to kiss Jack, to get his reaction, which is to move away. He wants it rough and not too intimate. Taking a breather, I pull out a joint and we toke up. Tim 89 I know this will ramp up Jack’s engine. Soon he has Wayne’s head against the headboard, begging for mercy. Jack gives no quarter and gets Wayne’s jeans and shorts off and legs up in the air, propped on his shoulders. tim-770 Jack teases him with the tip of his hose. Wayne begs for it. When Jack finally thrusts into him, I’m poised to nail Jack. As he slides inside Wayne, Jack suddenly is impaled from behind by me, pushing him further into Wayne. That boy is screaming from the double thrust, obviously more than he can take. Jack tries to withdraw, but I thrust again, pushing him back inside Wayne. The boy is whimpering with the pain, begging for mercy now. We’re relentless until his whimpers became higher pitched and his pain changes to stimulation. Our double action has him cumming way too soon. His ass clenches Jack so tightly that he’s also approaching climax. I pull us both off of Wayne. It’s my turn to make Jack whimper. Casper finally sees his opening and rolls Jack and me on top of him, replacing Wayne as receptacle. Wayne can’t figure what was happening with Jack, but it excites him enough to get his dick going again. He moves behind me and takes his revenge on my ass.  We have a double-decker fuck sandwich going on. Jack is stuck in the middle with my thrusts bringing him to quick climax into Casper who stays beneath Jack as a cushion to my and Wayne’s syncopated fucking. Finally we were all done and fall apart. I hear a hee-haw from the front window. Robby and Floyd are peering through a crack where the curtain had been pulled back. Someone  sabotaged out privacy. We run out butt-ass naked  to chase them away, swinging our dicks as threats to their manhood. Perhaps it’s watching that gets Robby off. I remember Floyd’s ride on me as pretty thorough. We run back inside and collapse on the broken bed. We huddle up with me in the middle. tim-787

“I been needin’ that for a few months now,” Wayne confesses.
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” Jack asks.
“Hell no, I ain’t nothin’ but a grease monkey to them girls.”
Jack and I look at each other. The grease marks are all over ourselves.
“Well, ya sure left yer mark on us’n,” I josh.
He squeezes me real good. “I’d be in love wid ya if I weren’t such a fag hater.”
I kiss him on the forehead. He shies away. I cuddle with Jack and soon we’re asleep. In the morning, Wayne is cuddled up with us. It takes a long shower for all the grease to come off. We finally go out looking for a breakfast restaurant. The other room is already there. Robby needles us about our after show-party. Floyd is smugly grinning at Wayne. Wayne surprises us by grabbing both Jack and me and giving us a big hug. Kissing is still off-limits. The others all whistle.
“Another one bites the dust,” Floyd complains.
I change the subject, “Hey, Cheryl Ann wants to fatten us up with a Southern fried chicken picnic at their place this noon. Y’all best not load up on grits this morning.”
“What is it with you two?” Michael wants to know.
“Let’s just say that her sister’s pregnancy was more the just a surprise until I learned she wasn’t due until June.”
“You were doing her sister?”
“I never kiss and tell.”
“It ain’t the sister who’s got the hots for this boy,” Wayne brags.
“The sheriff’s wife?” everyone concludes.
“You boys got too much imagination. Maybe just Jack and I’ll just go get our fill of that fried chicken.”
“You boys is roosters, they’s the hens.”

Nobody wants to miss the picnic. We expect to be the only guests. Not in Denver. Hospitality means everyone is invited. It feels like a Tom Sawyer moment. We’re local celebrities with word of the previous night’s performance having spread to every hill and holler. Sheriff Tom is the local godfather. He puts on a big spread. All the band can think of is the fried chicken. I want to socialize with the Ann sisters. In ways they know me better than anyone else, at least in a carnal way. Spring has come to North Carolina, making it a great day for a community picnic. The girls take me for a walk, wanting gossip about Scott, just to bring back those crazy feelings we all felt. They both have an arm around my waist as we wander through the fields with spring flowers popping up. I’m hoping that they were experiencing spring friskiness, but it seems they just want to feel close again.
“Y’all weren’t just playin’ with us poor hillbilly girls, now was you?” Lee Ann plaintively asks.
I pull her into a hug. “We were too young to be playing. Those times was the highlights of our lives,” I assure her.
“My, y’all has learned how to charm a lady since then.”
It’s just nine months ago but it seems like ages. “Y’all okay with havin’ a baby, Lee Ann?”
“Don’t git my hormones a’goin’.”
“Well, if’n it’s a girl, she’ll be the prettiest thing.”
“I wish I could eat you up,” Lee Ann concludes.
“Speakin’ of eating. How’d ya git so skinny, boy?”
“I got injured and started hangin’ out with these pot headed retards. All the swimmin’ muscle just melted away.”
“Be sure to take some extra chicken with y’all. Ain’t nothing like Southern fried chicken to put meat on yer bones.”
We all sit and contemplate all the changes since we all were runnin’ around wild together.
“Why’d you and Scott fall out. Was it over a girl?”
“Pretty much. He just seemed to lose interest in me after he started sleeping with one of our friends.”
“Broke yer heart, didn’t it, honey,” Cheryl Ann grabs my hand.
“Pretty much threw me off my game. I got so distracted I was injured. Then I started smokin’ pot with Robby and the gang. Scott cursed me for being lowdown.”
“We both knew you liked each other as much as you liked us,” Cheryl Ann reveals. “You was holdin’ hands while you both did us. It weren’t no big shock. You boys were too cute.”
“Just a scrawny white boy now.”
“Well, you was sweet and innocent then. That cain’t ever last. I’m so proud you brought yer boys to play fer us. Y’all’s still sweet.”
They both kiss me on the cheek. I can’t help but pull them backwards. We have a real make out session for 30 seconds.”
“You sneaky little weasel,” they both cry, before getting up and running away.
I lay there staring at the sky. I’m passed the time when I can think of this as the way to live, free and careless. Jack comes over and lays with me.
“You want to stay, don’tcha?” he accuses me.
“And lose you?” I pull him close. We have a real make out session. Splendor in the grass.

Tuesday night at the BBQ Pit Bar is different from Monday. It’s a full house. The only repeaters are the teen posse we snuck in. They are overwhelmed when we tell them to be the linemen/bouncers for us. With some trepidation, they can’t refuse. Southern pride insists they not wimp out. We agree not to do ‘Southern Man” until late in our opening set. Max is onstage as backup. We agreed to put on a good show, not just get everyone riled up. We decide to use Iggy that night by mostly doing English metal and R&B. He comes after the Neil Young/Lynyrd Skynyrd counterpoint. The crowd action has been at a fever pitch throughout the set, so only beer and epithets are flying our way. Iggy bursts through the crowd with that night’s followers.
“Hey, assholes,” he screams. “Ya got sumthin’ a-ginst American metal?”
“Ya got a request?” Jack replies.
“Yeah. Git off’n the stage and let me sing.”
All his buddies are going, “Yeah. Let ‘em sing.”
“Come up and make me.” Jack taunts Iggy.
He jumps up. They play tug-of-war with the mic. His followers try breaking through the linemen, but they are held back, with Max ready to pounce.
“Y’all want American?… or Brit?” Jack uses the mic to get a response.
“Amerikin’” is unanimous.
“Fuck you,” he throws the mic at Iggy.
The band is ready for ‘Search and Destroy.’

 

“I am the forgotten son,” Iggy announces and launches into the song. His fans are whooping and hollering, pushing the other patrons around and dominating the space in front of the band. The bouncers push back. Max growls and the line holds.
“This song’s for Max,” Iggy announces.

Max lifts his head at the sound of his name. Iggy pulls out one of his second-rate joints. Max bounds onto the stage, as Iggy lights up and gives him a shotgun. The crowd stops fighting and cheers Iggy’s audacity.
“Max, ‘I Wanna Be Your Bitch,” Iggy crows. The crowd howls. Max howls. Iggy takes the mic and gets on all fours and sings to our hero.

 

 

As we play the song, I see the owner and bouncers preparing to rush the stage to apprehend Iggy. Hoping that they only want to 86 him out of the bar, I hustle Max and him out the back door and into the De Soto with Uncle Tam.
Apparently the parking lot is neutral ground.
I come back on. “Looks like American metal has had its day.”

We jump into Roy Orbison’s ‘Runnin’ Scared,

 

“Just runnin scared each place we go
So afraid that he might show
Yeah, runnin scared, what would I do
If he came back and wanted you

Just runnin scared, feelin low
Runnin scared, you love him so
Just runnin scared, afraid to lose
If it came back which one would you choose”

Words and music by roy orbison and joe melson

“Arrest that boy. Smokin’ dope and dognapping. He’s a rebel.”

The crowd is stunned that we had gone back to the 50s. We go off the stage to some applause and cries to free Iggy.

The owner comes over to us.
“I don’t know what yer tryin’ ta pull, but no more pot in my bar.”
I was going to argue that Iggy was not our fault, but let it drop.
“The next set is all our own songs.” I assert, “so it won’t be as crazy.”
“It betta not be. But the bar’s doin’ great, so I’ll let ya keep goin.’”
Money talks, pot laws walk.

We go outside and are surrounded as usual, with Robby sharing the weed. Iggy is off with his followers who see him as the hero in our encounter. I tell the teen bouncers we need them to be roadies after our set. In case we enrage the bar owner again, we’ll have to make a quick getaway. We promise that our own songs are not going work up the crowd as much as the covers. They look relieved.
“Y’all comin’ back?” they ask.
“Ya know, y’all make us feel like this is home, so don’t be sur-prised,” I answer, winking at Wayne. He just grins. Floyd is too busy with Robby to notice or care. They have something plotted, which must be to do with the monkey song. We’ll do that song last.

When we’re set up again, Jack takes the mic, “Thanks for stickin’ around. That redneck was last seen hightailin’ it out the parking lot.”
“You want American music?” Jack taunts. Tim 359“We’re good ol’ boys from South Florida. Can’t get more American‘n that. These are our songs, just for you. We’re False Gods.”
We rip into our eponymous theme song, slowing down the lyrics and going up tempo on the riffs between lines. People were swaying, then hopping. Several people hollered out, “False Gods,” at the end.
“Y’all like sex?” Jack asks, getting a positive on that. We do the three sex songs in a row.
“How about love?” Not so much a response, so I come over to him. Jack sings with his arm around me. Not too many fag calls.
“We all is from Miami. Not many think it’s the real South, so here’s our argument that we’re all good ol’ boys.”

We did ‘South Florida.’ All the drug references got a good number of ‘Yeahs.’
“In order to survive there, we learned a bit about ‘Sneakin’ Around.’”
At the end of the song in the ‘shaka shaka love’ chorus, Hippie and I joined Jack at the mic and used our guitars as probes, moving into the crowd and prodding girls to dance. We jump back and gave them space as they keep dancing while we repeat the chorus.
“We have our problems, mostly self-inflicted. We learned to ‘Look Before You Leap.’”
Robby jumps up and beats on poor Michael while we describe all his prior abuses. Michael is a trooper and keeps up the beat. Tim 231 At the end, Robby comes over and joins Jack for our finale, ‘Barefoot Boy’

“Barefooted boy
Makes a stand
To take his joy
Going hand to hand

Flying out free
Branch to branch
Through the trees
Reckless chance.”

“Free to be
A monkey like me

Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee”

They sing it twice through. At the end, Robby launches himself to the rafters, using the fire sprinkler pipes to go hand over hand around the room. Casper is right behind him. We keep playing and making monkey sounds. The surprise comes when Floyd launched himself from an amp and tries to catch Robby. It’s no contest, as Robby taunts Floyd who doggedly pursues him. The crowd loves it throwing beer and anything they could find at the two boys. Finally Floyd is exhausted and just hangs from the pipes. Robby and Casper come to tease him. Tim 236 Once all of them were on the same pipe, Tim 40 it gives way from the ceiling, pulling down half the piping. The sprinklers go off. The crowd is soaked. Pandemonium breaks out. Everyone is running helter skelter. tim-796 We grab all our instruments. The teen bouncers are already loading the drums and amps into the convertibles. Max is barking. Robby and Floyd are the last ones out the back door. We tear off and watch the mayhem continue in the parking lot. Including the teen bouncers, there are fifteen people in the two cars. Once we’re far enough away, we pull down a side road and park. Robby passes out the joints. Everyone chills. Of course that means Jack is all over me, to the astonishment of the teens.
“Don’tcha mind him perving on ya?” one of the bouncers asks.
“Only if he does it with anyone else,” I shock them. “You rather we drive ya home now?”
“Naw, jist sumthin’ to tell the girls ‘bout in school. Jist don’t y’all be showing us right now how ya do it.”
Jack turns to face them. When they see us both turned on, they decide it’s time to go.
Hippie confides, “It’s like this all the time.”
“Sick.” But they keep looking.

Sirens are heard going toward the bar. The teens say they live in the opposite direction, so we leave them off first, before their morals are too corrupted.
Wayne, at the wheel, takes back roads to Denver. The uncles decide they needed to install seat belts in their classic pre-1964s. It was bitter-sweet saying goodbye to Wayne and Floyd.
“That weren’t better than a run but it was more laughs,” Wayne decides. He even hugged Jack and me, to Floyd’s disgust. Casper gives him a kiss, which startles him. He must have a heart after all. I don’t feel too bad about leaving him alone. I have a feeling his need to wrestle and tumble before getting it on was a trick he shares with Floyd. Denial can be rewarding.
“Ya sure y’all don’ wanna make a last stop at Sheriff Tom’s. I hear he’s a heavy sleeper,” Floyd teases us.
“I’m sure you know,” we tell him. He makes like he was going to hug Robby, but at the last second, pulls back.
“Psych,” he mocks us.

The Uncles have the tops up. They promise to find an all-night diner for our hamburger fix. Max barks for his pot fix. Robby pulls out another of his endless joints. We chatter about being hillbillies for life, until everyone settles in. Jack is the most settled in, with a hand on my cock. I tease him for hours and never cum. He’s relentless. We’re leaving the South. Next stop, New York City.