THE JACE EXPERIENCE Chapter 9

We decided we could sleep in the car that evening and used the motel room to catch Casper up on fucking. They declared my ass off-limits after I winced every time anything went there. I missed that sinking feeling that I got before letting either one of them penetrate me. I had become a hopeless bottom. Jack and Casper were squabbling over who would top whom when I fell asleep. Getting fucked in my wet dreams was better than being on injured reserve in an actual 3-way. When I opened my eyes, they were sitting on the bed watching me get off in my sleep.
“You were shaking and moaning, and arching upward, Tim 135 before you spurt all over us and the bed,” Jack narrated my wet dream. “We never touched you.”
Casper signed, “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 finally was done in the bathtub, they were sound asleep in each other’s arms. How sweet. I slipped into bed and soon drifted away. Tim 98

About 8 pm, Hippie knocked on the door, telling us to get ready to leave. We threw all our dirty clothes in a pillow case and headed out. The Uncles had put the tops up as it would get increasingly cooler as we drove north. Jack, Casper and I piled in the back seat of the De Soto with Uncle Tam, where we went back to sleep. Hippie was up front. Robby, Michael and Iggy were in Uncle Steve’s Chrysler, with Max in the back. The Florida Turnpike ended in Jupiter, and we took US 1 north to Jacksonville with orange groves filling both cars with true Florida sunshine orange blossoms. We all slept, until hours later we reached Savannah. The uncles put us to bed in a downtown hotel. It was a sunny morning when we finally woke up.

Welcome to Georgia. The Planters Inn was on Reynolds Square, just off the main historic Bay Street. It was run down but full of Southern charm. Again the uncles had put us in a room with two beds, unaware that Casper needed space as well. There were four of us in one bed, with Robby adding his obnoxious self. Casper slept at the foot of the bed. We all went down to breakfast: hominy and grits, as well as eggs, bacon and sweet rolls. The chatty waitress was thrilled to keep our plates full as we hadn’t eaten much since Sunday morning. According to her, we were ‘just the sweetest things.’ Hippie was captivated. He even tried talking to her
.
The uncles came down and took us on a walking tour of the city,  with its many historic squares Tim 157 and parks. Robby was entranced by the moss draped trees.Tim 156 Walking along the riverfront he found a tree-lined park.  He was off through the branches. We all followed him with the uncles watching in amazement as we swung Tarzan-style from branch to branch. Robby thought the moss would hold him like a jungle vine. He learned his lesson when it broke off, but he only fell a few feet before grasping a solid branch. Tim 140 It only encouraged him to go further and higher. Eventually, we were all standing with the uncles watching him renew his Peter Pan roots.  A photographer asked if we knew the tree climber.Tim 339 We admitted we were all as immature as Robby, just not so much so. He took a dozen or so shots of Boy Tarzan . He found out we were a band going to play in New York City. When Robby came down we posed for more pictures. Max was, of course, the star of the shoot. Back at the hotel, Jack and I decided 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 sang and asked for donations. Max would bark once every time someone donated. A couple of black kids came along and said we couldn’t busk there. They controlled the tourist trade. I said to fuck off, and when they tried to grab my hat full of coins and bills, Jack punched the biggest one. Before he had a chance to punch him back, Max went for him. Tim 318 The kid turned and ran. Max bit him on the butt. The crowd cheered us, which was pretty racist. Still we took the extra money Jack’s feisty attitude earned. We got $100 for an afternoon’s busking. I thought about sending the hundred bucks to the Daytona church, but Jack said ‘Fuck that,’ and we went back to the hotel and got our own room. It was $60, We’d earned the money. Casper had been sitting with the others, while they got stoned. We grabbed our clothes and took him to the new room. We made good use of our afternoon ‘nap.’ My butt was still recovering, so Casper took the butt of Jack’s macho fucking. We had created a monster. He called the nerds to brag about his adventures, but ended up mediating a D&D dispute. Isaac said ‘Hi.’ Casper and I tried writing a song about tree climbing and flying through the air. It ended sounding too much like ‘up up and away.’ Jack came over and suggested:

“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 agreed.
I added a chorus:

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

We started jumping around, acting like monkeys at the zoo. A sharp knock at the door and we opened it to a young black bellhop who told us civilly. “There are other guests who do not enjoy rambunctious children disturbing their peace and quiet,” and he winked at us. Tim 605
We grabbed him and pulled him into the room. Knowing it was racially insensitive, we stopped the monkey act and pulled his trousers down. He just smiled as we attacked him. Somehow all four of us got off from a single blowjob. He sat on the floor afterwards, with a big grin on his face.
“Usually I get twenty bucks when dirty old men do that.”
I pulled out a Jackson and gave it to him. He pushed me flat on my back and gave me a blow job, handing me back the twenty, “I always wanted to do that, but no one was ever as tempting before.”
He had shiny, velvety skin that entranced Casper, who continued to caress him as we lay there naked. Totally unaware of Casper’s attentions, he seemed to glow from the sensual stimulation.
“You boys make me feel so good, even though you raped me,” he observed. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Oh. Now I’m the rapist.” He didn’t look guilty. “I just celebrated my eighteenth.”
“Such baby skin for an old man,” Jack caressed his cheeks.
“You should see it all made up,” he bragged.
“You’re too cute to need makeup,” I asserted.
“Well, come to The Pickup tonight, and I’ll amaze you,” he invited.
“You perform?”
“The Greatest Southern Drag Show south of the Mason-Dixon.”
We were enthralled. “Can we get in at 16?” I asked.
“Just tell the doorman you’re guests of The Lady and smile real pretty.”
“I performed at a gay bar when I was fifteen,” I bragged.
“Well, com’n down. I’ll make you so pretty, those old queens will die.”
“How about me?” Jack wanted 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 now drank,” I declared.
“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 wanted to perform for The Lady.
We did our ‘Barefoot in the Park’ song as Chablis jumped around with us screeching like monkeys. Seeing herself in the mirror, he stopped. “I ain’t falling fer yer black stereotype,” and flounced out.
“Where’s The Pickup?” we yelled after her. Tim 290
“On Congress Street. Look for all the aging gay men hoping I’ll perform tonight. Come backstage and I’ll make you boys look fab-u-lous.”

Casper told Jack the story of our one night stand at the Eros Lounge in North Miami. Then we practiced Abba’s ‘Moma Mia,’ including the strip. Casper helped Jack with his moves and lines. If we got applause, we’d strip and bump, grinding on Casper who’d be in the middle, between us. Casper promised to get us hard if Jack’s snapping of my gay briefs didn’t do the trick. Jack dragged us (getting in the mood) to the other room and breathlessly told them of the night’s performance. Robby and Michael were game to come. Hippie and Iggy said they had other plans and someone had to watch Max. The plan was to check out at midnight and drive to North Carolina to make Monday night’s roadhouse gig. By the time we ate and had everything packed in the car, it was almost eight. All we knew was The Pickup on Congress Street. A De Soto convertible cruising the red light district drew all the queens who told 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 winked at me.

The Pickup was underground off an alley. The queens led us right there. The bouncer knew who we were but carded Uncle Tam anyway. The rest of us were passed on in.
“Are you lookin’ for the Lady?” a cocktail waitress asked.
“Actually looking for our bell boy.” Uncle Tam said.
“You sit over here and I’ll take care of you.”
We all went over to a table, but before we sat down, 2 other girls came by and told us to follow them.
“I’ll be fine right here,” Uncle Tam said.
Michael and Robby were laughing and pointing while Jack and me were signing to Casper, “Check out the tranies. Bet they’ve never seen a real transparent.”
They took us to do makeup and then our hair and costumes.”
Robby insisted we go barefooted, so we all looked like refugees from ‘Little House on the Prairie.’
Michael and Robby were fine until they saw themselves in a mirror. They were pointing at each other, then they were so mad at Jack and me. The tricksters had been 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 threatened.
“Fuck you. We’re not going out there and performing.”
“Who’d want you, Robby May, looking like some hayseed straight from the farm. You both are here to watch us lipsynch and dance our asses off for the crowd. If you go on like that, they’ll go straight to the strip music.”
I explained, “Jace and I did the North Miami strip, so Jack and I will recreate that by doing Abba’s ‘Momma Mia.

Abba If it goes well, we will 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 lipsynch Queen’s ‘Champion.’ We’ll all do a French chorus line but 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.
“Damit, Robby, I wanna wear heels,” Jack demanded.
Growing by six inches does wonders for a poor queen’s ego. Our next outfits were all satin and silk. We were gorgeous. At last.
“When do we see the Lady?” I asked.
“Oh, you mean The Empress.”
“”The Empress?”
“Yes, sonny, the Empress of the South.”
“Had I known,” Jack piped up, “I would have worn the real stones,” flashing the 4 rings on his left hand.
“Now, that’s a girl who knows her place. The Lady Chablis awaits.”
We were ushered into a private dressing room.
“Darlings, you look so lovely. Fresh as apple pie.”
“From the heartland.” I answered, pressing my hands to my scrawny breast. Tim 389
“Lovely, lovely, lovely,” she exclaimed. “And, who are these lovelies,” as she noticed Michael and Robby?”
“We’re the Jacettes, Flow and Eddie.
“Can we go on?” I begged. “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 moved 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 sat down by the other knee, whereas Jack sat 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 gushed.
“We try leaving them wanting more, that’s why we’ll drag out Robyn and Michelle at the end,” as I pointed 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 gave her the music directions, Abba and Queen.
“Showtime, ladies,” the Lady sent out the word and activity went into overdrive. No one was sitting down backstage. We mingled with all the acts and their supporters. It was a cocktail party without the drinks but plenty of cock and tail. Being underground meant no back door and the room was not enormous. If we got raided, Mike Sr.’s political career would be ended right here in Savannah, the ruination of many a Southern boy. Casper signed that there was an empty closet with an inside lock, and I told everyone in case of trouble to get in there, but not to lock it until I showed up.
I thought we were invisible backstage, but I saw Uncle Tam wave at me. I stuck my head out at the stage left curtain. Someone screamed and the others including Casper stuck their heads out, too. Tim 445 A big roar from the audience arose. Desperate for jail bait, weren’t they?

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

It was fun to watch the acts from backstage. There was more drama there then onstage where the acts seemed so serious. Behind the screen, they collapsed into hysterics or grief, depending on their performance. Suddenly we were up.

The Lady kindly introduced as Frida and Agnetha from Sverige.
The spotlight picked us out on stage and we mouthed, “Mamma Mia, here I go again..”

 

as we rocked back to back, butt to butt, keeping our hands up and smiling at all the leering men out front. We got polite applause but went ahead and sang it again as a strip tease.
The reaction was instantaneous, which made our dick snap to attention. We both loved showing off. Our dicks were Jack Spratt and Mrs. Spratt, ready to be licked clean. We turned to each other and Casper jumped into the middle so our dicks were stroking both his hips. It looked like we were getting off without touching. As we finished the lyrics, Jack’s garden hose popped up above his waistband. He was so surprised that he came instantly, spraying the front seats.  People either jumped back or leaped forward. Jack put his fingers to his lips and ran off stage, Casper and I chased him. The cries and cheers were incessant. A stage hand ran out in the darkness and gathered up our dresses.
“You want that jail bait back?” Chablis asked the crowd.
A big yes came back.
We wiggled back into costume. The makeup girls put excessive rouge on Jack’s cheeks and smeared his lipstick. All four of us flounced out. With our arms around each other, we skipped the French leg kicks.
“This is for all the queens out there,” I yelled without a mic.
The recording started at the beginning of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ so we all sang 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 were having so much fun, we did the French Can Can, forgetting that we’d made Michael and Robby go commando. The PA cutoff and Chablis hustled us off stage. She handed me a bag with all our street clothes. It was pitiful.
“Run right now, get in that delovely De Soto, and get the hell out of here.”
We air kissed and promised to stay in touch.
‘Keep the dresses except send me back that Valentino. It was my first real purchase.”
A hundred fans followed us out to the car. Someone had alerted Uncle Tam and he was at the wheel with the top down. We jumped in. He tooted the horn. We tore off in a cloud of ghetto dirt.

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

 

 

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

Max and the boys were waiting at the hotel. We still were in dresses, which caused a scene. After changing, it still was early. We had our evening burgers and shakes before starting out. We five stayed with Uncle Tam and the other two with Uncle Steve. Max, tired of Iggy’s inferior weed, jumped into the back with Casper, while there were 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 slipped into the back with Casper and Max. We ended up curled around each other like puppies. When I awoke we were already at Mount Holly, near the roadhouse at Charlotte.

The Uncles checked us in, but I said I needed to find my friends in Denver, not far away. We three plus Robby took the DeSoto  while everyone else slept. I was fired up to see Floyd’s gang. Even my ass felt well, an ominous sign. I feared I was becoming a bottom because of the sensual feelings it caused. I was sliding into being a pussy boy. Floyd would be triumphant. On the other hand, it might make sense to check in on the Ann sisters. I just wanted them to be at our show that night. I could just call the garage but I wanted to look the big shot. Driving a 50s 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 was. My imagination had blown it up. It was good to return. I pulled to a stop and beeped the horn. The boys looked at us sleepily, 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 ’nuff rich ta afford this one,” Wayne asked, running his finger along the tail fin.
“Who’s these boys?” Floyd pointed at Jack and Robby. “Where’s that other sissy boy y’all was with last summa?”
“History.”
We all got out and made casual introductions.
“We’s all in a band and 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 were other connections made last summer.”
Wayne turned 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 tossed him the keys.
We all piled in, me riding pussy between Wayne and Floyd, Mr. Shotgun. Wayne only knew one speed, pedal to the metal. The big boat slithered down the country roads.

First stop, Sheriff Tom’s office. She ran out the door once she recognized me. He must’ve been keeping a closer eye on Cheryl Ann.. He had her working in the office.
“Oh my goodness, look who’s returned, the lost tourist.”
She hugged me and 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 and we wanna let you know we’re playing the BBQ Pit Bar in Mount Holly tonite and tomorra.”
Sheriff Tom came out.
“Look, honey. Tim came back jist ta see us and he has a band playing hereabouts tonight. Can we go?”
“Howdy, boy. Glad ta see ya no longer hitch hikin’,” as he eyed 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 were 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 roared out of the Sheriff’s station, spitting gravel and dirt as he gunned it. Sheriff Tom ran over and put on his siren, but Wayne never looked back. He drove us to every shack and cabin within fifteen miles, telling everyone to come out for our show that night, He introduced us to everyone he’d ever known. I guess we were now celebrities down in the holler. We took the two of them back to Mount Holly with us. The boys were just waking up. Wayne took an instant liking to Hippie, telling him he got no respect from these sissy boys. Hippie couldn’t have agreed more. Uncle Tam was not that pleased that Wayne was driving when we pulled up. I tried to tell him about Wayne’s great drag racing the previous summer.
“I had all the drag show I need in Savannah,” as he inspected his prize De Soto. It wasn’t so delovely after all the teenaged drivers. Uncle Steve winked at us.
Robby and Floyd seemed made for each other. They went off by foot to find moonshine, with Floyd doing a taste test between Robby’s and his own weed. Tim181 Max accompanied them. Casper, Jack and I were looking forward to some afternoon delight and shuteye. When we looked into the room and its two double beds, we went to the office and got a single for ourselves, telling the clerk to bill the Uncles. He was excited that we were some kind of celebrities. We told him he’d be on the list at the Tar Pit Bar.
We turned the A/C up and slipped naked under the covers. Without the marijuana kick to his libido, Jack was back to his taking it up the butt persona.  Casper quickly took advantage and was soon rimming his ass in preparation of mounting Jack doggy style. I snuck in between them and got there first. Casper took full advantage of my recently healed ass, his friendly ghost thrusting no match for the beatings Jack’s garden hose gave me. I luxuriated in the feeling of giving at one end and getting at the other. Tim 79 Jack was remembering the joys of bottoming, getting off twice from my reach around. We fell asleep, totally connected.
Hippie and Wayne woke us up, saying it was time to go. We let them in. Robby and Floyd burst in after them, sniffing to see if they could ‘smell the devil.’ We quickly got dressed. Not before Floyd was 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 asked. “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 gossiped.
I had to sign to Casper how Floyd got a pair of my Speedos.
There were so many of us, we took both convertibles to the bar. The Uncles felt we’d taken advantage of their prize autos. I hoped they really wanted to see our show. When we pulled up, the parking lot had multiple rundown pickups and sedans. There was a long line at the door. The bouncer was arguing with the people in line.
“There ain’t no list. $5 or ya go home.”
“We’re with the band, man.” They argued.
I spoke up, “We’re the band. We have lots of friends comin’ tonight. Is the boss man heah?”
“Hang on,” and he yelled for the manager, Mr. Big Shot.
He appeared, “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 got a cheer when the bouncer announced there was no cover charge that night.

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

Jack looked out over the crowd which was 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 made him aggressive.
“We’re from Florida, so we know sumthin’ ‘bout assholes.”
He got 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 started playing the bass line to the Doors’ ‘Light My Fire,’ two stepping in front of us to establish our space.Tim 101

 

 

We were off and rockin.’ While I got my long solo in, Jack sauntered up to the bar and got a beer. He chugged it before going into ‘Whiskey Bar.’

 

 

About 60 seconds later, he was wasted and slurring his vocals. I moved over and sang with him to cover it up. When the ‘moon of Alabama’ verse came up, he jumped into the crowd and brought Cheryl Ann to the front, so we could sing it to her, our North Carolina mama.
“Ya wanna sing Free Bird with us?” I asked her.

 

 

She beamed and I told her to alternate with Jack on the vocals. She seemed confused, so I said, “Jist follow me.”
I shortened the intro to just enough that the crowd recognized Skynyrd. When we got to the vocals, Jack did the first line and I did the next. As we went through the duet, people started yelling ‘fag’ and booing. We immediately repeated the verses, except Cheryl Ann took my part. Everybody cheered. We sang the verses a third time with all of us singing all the lines. Jack sat down. One beer was over his limit. I asked Cheryl Ann to fill in. She told me a song she knew, ‘Satisfaction.’

 

We all knew it and she took over the vocals. Jack recovered enough to start jumping around to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

 

 

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

 

 

but afterward, Sheriff Tom pulled her offstage. She had saved our set.
I went to the mic, “Thank you. That was the lovely Cheryl Ann. We’re takin’ a break so Jack can sober up.”
I noticed 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 started ‘Southern Man.’

 

 

The crowd started screaming profanities and the beer rained down upon us. We finished with “Sweet Home, Alabama.’

 

 

We went out the back to the cars, while I noted that the bar was backed up again. Our new posse of boys followed us out, all excited to be at their first roadhouse gig. Robby pulled out two joints and they went around in opposite directions. Max was confused as to which way to get his hits, so I gave him a shotgun. Jack was looking despondent at his inability to handle his beer, so I gave him a shotgun, plus a quick kiss at the end. He perked up. One of the teens noticed.
“Y’all is queer, ain’tcha?”
“Queer as a steer with no balls,” I quipped.
Their mouths dropped 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 laughed and hit each other. The joint was coming by, so their discomfort was forgotten. Weed, the elixir that cures all ills.
Jack apologized, “Sorry guys. Last time I drank a bottle of Jack and it was no problem.”
“’Cause there twern’t no Jack in that bottle, just ice tea.”
He shot me an annoyed look, “Next time tell me.”
“You’ll still be a lightweight.”
I changed 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 looked too serious.
“Fuck you guys. If you don’t enjoy our songs, we might as well keep playin’ covers. Lighten up.”
Robby spoke up, “Let me do ‘Barefoot in the Park.’ I know you wrote it about me, so let me do the vocals.”
Jack nodded and it was agreed. Michael would handle the drumming and Robby would open with ‘False Gods,’ followed by the monkey song, when we’d all sing the chorus and jump around. We could tell how much they liked the serious band song and then just go crazy to the joke one.
The teen posse and we came back on and the crowd all had refilled their beer cups. Some even had two cups in hand.
Jack stepped 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 came flying toward us. We were already soaked.
“If that’s how y’all feel, you can disrespect our drummer Robby on the next coupla songs.”

Robby ran over to the mic as Jack sat on his drum kit, hitting the snare, then bass drum and finally the cymbal, ‘butta dum’ crash.’
Robby took the mic stand and leaned 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, fleas.”
I had changed the riffs at the end of each line, so the words were given enough time to be thought about, before the next line started:
“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 set these hillbillies into metal heaven. They started going ‘yeah, yeah,’ at the end of each line. It wasn’t dance music but the energy had to be spent somehow. They were pushing and shoving. Our linemen went into their 3 point stance and we could watch the mayhem. The gods had blessed us with violence. Beer was flying everywhere. At the ending, ‘False Gods’  was echoed over and over again.

Michael gave a drum roll and short solo. We launched 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 was back with us, imitating our cries. This was all it took to launch Robby. He jumped up on an amp, then leaped to the ceiling, grabbing the fire sprinkler pipe, he swung out over the crowd. Tim 108 We kept playing with everyone screeching the chorus. The crowd screeched back. Robby dropped down on the bar, taunting the crowd, and leaping away when they tried to catch him, swinging hand to hand from the overhead pipes, people were jumping at him as he easily escaped. We kept up the chorus from the stage and half the crowd was channeling their inner monkey with us. Robby swung back to the stage  and fell into the waiting arms of our bouncers, the linemen. They caught him and proceeded to carry him above their heads as they charged into the crowd. Maybe they thought they were running back an interception and Robby was the ball. Their size bulldozed anyone in the way.  Soon most people were sprawled on the floor, covered in beer and whatever else had spilled. We had our revenge. The linemen ran out the front door, and if you believe Robby, spiked him as if they had scored a touchdown. We stopped playing and watched the mayhem.
Hippie stepped up to the mic. He played and sang ‘Amazing Grace.’

 

 

It was enough to calm down the crowd which was beginning to pick themselves up. The linemen came jogging back. Everyone got out of their way.
“Get those boys a beer,” I ordered the bartenders, who promptly complied.
Everyone was catching their breath, including us. Robby came in through the back and sat at his drum kit. Those who could see him cheered. He raised 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 loved it and started dancing to the chorus which we repeated over and over. We were back to normal
“This song’s about all the evil things Robby did to Michael,” Jack confessed, causing the two drummers to do competing rolls and flairs. Tim 231
“Look Before You Leap,” Jack shouted.

‘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 finished, Robby and Michael began berating each other. Michael leaped up and chased Robby around the room with his drum sticks, swearing he’d get even. Robby was easily getting away, but two hillbillies got in his way and caught him. Michael started beating rolls on his head, until the linemen rescued Robby. We kept playing without a drum beat.
“Well, now you know what it’s like to grow up in South Florida. Ya 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 walked off as people cheered. Miami was still not the South, but we felt we were. We didn’t figure on an encore, but our loyal Denver fans kept clapping, so we came back on stage.
“You still here Cheryl Ann?” I spoke into the mic. I saw a hand waving from the back.
“Bring that lovely sister of yours and get up here. We’ll do your song.”
They ran up, or at least, waddled in Lee Ann’s case. I was sure glad that wasn’t Scott’s or my baby.
“What song?” they asked.
“Like last year, at the sock hop. Chewin’ Gum.
They broke out big smiles and stepped up to the mike with Jack. I told everyone ‘Does your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor.’

 

 

I had to play a couple of lines before the rest of the band remembered 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 cheered and we were done. Mr. Big Boss came 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 slapped the Jackson on the bar.
I didn’t even look at it. “I guess we’re not coming back tomorra nite,” I stated.
“We wants you 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 squeezed the beer out of my tee-shirt, “That’s yer profit 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 had 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 looked 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 slapped the additional twenties into it, looked me in the eye, and shook my hand.
We both laughed.
“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 was out back. Jack ran 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 sang 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 listened and watched as Jack unconsciously kissed me.
“We knew it,” they all yelled and then cheered.  Maybe even hillbillies could deal, when you were open and true. Or, maybe all the free pot won them over.

Everything was loaded, especially all the band members. The Uncles tooted their horns and back we went to the hotel. Just as we left, the bartenders came 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 noticed Floyd and Wayne didn’t wait to get back before digging in. The rest of us followed suit, tossing the empty containers into the countryside as we drove to Mount Holly. I set aside $40 for a thorough cleaning and waxing of the convertibles. At the motel, Floyd went in with Robby and the straight guys. Wayne hung back until we invited him into our room. Casper signed, ‘what does he want?’
I couldn’t remember if I’d told Casper about my faux rape the previous summer, so I signed the details back. The thought of another bottom excited him. Always ready for another orgasm, the friendly ghost.

Wayne took the middle of the bed, propping himself up against the headboard. Hard to tell what he was thinking: revenge for being bottomed, yearning for it, or just happy to be with us. Jack seemed 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 countered.
Casper was checking him for any reaction to his presence but it didn’t appear he was too open to the spiritual. Jack and I propped ourselves up at the foot of the bed.
“Floyd’s took a likin’ to yer buddy Robby. They seem like 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 dove for me. I moved to put myself between him and Jack. As we squirmed around, all of us started getting hard. As he stuck his head between my legs, Jack reached over and stuck his hand down Wayne’s grease-stained jeans. I was thinking he wouldn’t need to be greased up himself. Casper moved in on Jack’s dick, so all of us were going at it.
“Ya gots ta fight me, or I ain’t getting off,” he begged. Tim 100 Hillbilly repression. We were tumbling all over each other when the bed collapsed with a crash. Luckily we were on the lower floor of the motel and no one knocked on the door to complain. Wayne was totally into the wrestling and grappling, in place of actual sex. I decided to kiss Jack, to get his reaction, which was to move away. He wanted it rough and not too intimate. Taking a breather, I pulled out a joint and we toked up. Tim 89 I knew this would ramp Jack’s engine, and soon he had Wayne’s head against the headboard, begging for mercy. Jack gave no quarter and had Wayne’s jeans and shorts off and legs up in the air, propped on his shoulders. tim-770 Jack teased him with the tip of his hose. Wayne was begging for it. When Jack finally thrust into him, I had been poised to nail Jack. As he went inside, Jack suddenly was impaled from behind by me, pushing him further into Wayne. That boy was screaming from the double thrust, obviously more than he could take. Jack tried to withdraw, but I thrust again, pushing him back inside Wayne. The boy was whimpering with the pain, begging for mercy now. We were relentless until his whimpers became higher pitched and his pain changed to stimulation. Our double action had him cumming way too soon. His ass clenched Jack so tightly that he too was approaching climax. I pulled us both off of him and it was my turn to make Jack whimper. Casper finally saw his opening and rolled Jack and me on top of him, replacing Wayne as receptacle. Wayne couldn’t figure what was happening with Jack, but it excited him enough to get his dick going again. He moved behind me and took his revenge on my ass.  We had a double-decker fuck sandwich going on. Jack was stuck in the middle with my thrust bringing him to quick climax into Casper who stayed beneath Jack as a cushion to my and Wayne’s syncopated thrusting. Finally we were all done and fell apart. I heard a hee-haw from the front window and saw Robby and Floyd peering through a crack where the curtain had been pulled back. Someone had sabotaged out privacy. We ran out butt-ass naked  to chase them away, swinging our dicks as threats to their manhood. Perhaps it was watching that got Robby off, although I remembered Floyd’s ride on me as pretty thorough. We ran back inside and collapsed on the broken bed. We huddled up with me in the middle. tim-787

“I been needin’ that for a few months now,” Wayne confessed.
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” Jack asked.
“Hell no, I ain’t nothin’ but a grease monkey to them girls.”
Jack and I looked at each other and saw the grease marks all over ourselves.
“Well, ya sure left yer mark on us’n,” I joshed.
He squeezed me real good. “I’d be in love wid ya if I weren’t such a fag hater.”
I kissed him on the forehead and he shied away. I cuddled with Jack and soon we were asleep. In the morning, Wayne was cuddled up with us. It took a long time in the shower for all the grease to come off. We all went out looking for a breakfast restaurant. The other room was already there. Robby needled us about our after show party. Floyd was smugly grinning at Wayne. Wayne surprised us by grabbing both Jack and me and giving us a big hug. Kissing was still off-limits. The others all whistled.
“Another one bites the dust,” Floyd complained.
I changed 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 wanted 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 bragged.
“The sheriff’s wife?” everyone concluded.
“You boys got too much imagination. Maybe Jack and I’ll just go get our fill of that fried chicken.”
“You boys is roosters, they’s the hens.”

Nobody wanted to miss the picnic. We expected to be the only guests, but not in Denver. Hospitality meant everyone was invited. It felt like a Tom Sawyer moment. We were local celebrities with word of the previous night’s performance having spread to every hill and holler. Sheriff Tom was the local godfather and he put on a big spread. All the band could think of was the fried chicken, but I wanted to socialize with the Ann sisters. In ways they knew me better than anyone else, at least in a carnal way. Spring had come to North Carolina, making it a great day for a community picnic. The girls took me for a walk, wanting gossip about Scott and just to bring back those crazy feelings we all felt. They both had an arm around my waist as we wandered through the fields with spring flowers popping up. I was hoping that they were experiencing spring friskiness, but it seemed they just wanted to feel close again.
“Y’all weren’t just playin’ with us poor hillbilly girls, now was you?” Lee Ann plaintively asked.
I pulled her into a hug. “We were too young to be playing. Those times was the highlight of our lives,” I assured her.
“My, y’all has learned how to charm a lady since then.”
It was just nine months ago but it seemed 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 concluded.
“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 sat and contemplated 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 grabbed my hand.
“Pretty much threw me off my game. I got so distracted I was injured, then I started smokin’ pot with Robby and Scott cursed me for being lowdown.”
“We both knew you liked each other as much as you liked us,” Cheryl Ann revealed. “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 kissed me on the cheek. I couldn’t help but pull them backwards and we had real making out for 30 seconds.”
“You sneaky little weasel,” they both cried before getting up and running away.
I lay there staring at the sky. I’d passed the time when I could think of this as the way to live, free and careless. Jack came over and lay with me.
“You want to stay, don’tcha?” he accused me.
“And lose you?” I pulled him over and we had a real make out session. Splendor in the grass.

The Tuesday night at the BBQ Pit Bar was different from Monday. It was a full house. The only repeaters were the teen posse we had snuck in. They were overwhelmed when we said they’d have to be the linemen/bouncers for us. With some trepidation, they couldn’t refuse. Southern pride insisted they not wimp out. We agreed not to do ‘Southern Man” until late in our opening set. Max was onstage as backup. We agreed to put on a good show, not just get everyone riled up. We decided to use Iggy that night by only doing English metal and R&B. He came after the Neil Young/Lynard Skynyrd counterpoint. The crowd action has been at a fever pitch throughout the set, so only beer and epithets were coming our way. Iggy burst through the crowd with that night’s followers.
“Hey, assholes,” he screamed. “Ya got sumthin’ a-ginst American metal?”
“Ya got a request?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. Git off’n the stage and let me sing.”
All his buddies were going, “Yeah. Let ‘em sing.”
“Come up and make me.” Jack taunted Iggy.
He jumped up and they played tug-of-war with the mic. His followers tried breaking through the linemen, but they held them back, with Max ready to pounce.
“Y’all want American?… or Brit?” Jack used the mic to get a response.
“Amerikin’” was unanimous.
“Fuck you,” he threw the mic at Iggy.
The band was ready for ‘Search and Destroy.’

 

“I am the forgotten son,” Iggy announced and launched into the song. His fans were whooping and hollering, pushing the other patrons around and dominating the space in front of the band. The bouncers pushed back. Max growled and the line held.
“This song’s for Max,” Iggy announced.

Max lifted his head at the sound of his name. Iggy pulled out one of his second-rate joints. Max bounded onto the stage, as Iggy lit-up and gave him a shotgun. The crowd stopped fighting and cheered Iggy’s audacity.
“Max, ‘I Wanna Be Your Bitch,” Iggy crowed. The crowd howled. Max howled. Iggy took the mic and got on all fours and sang to our hero.

 

 

As we played the song, I saw the owner and bouncers preparing to rush the stage to apprehend Iggy. Hoping that they only wanted to 86 him out of the bar, I hustled Max and him out the back door and into the De Soto with Uncle Tam.
Apparently the parking lot was neutral ground.
I came back on. “Looks like American metal has had its day,” and we jumped 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 was stunned we had gone back to the 50s. We got off the stage to some applause and cries to free Iggy.

The owner came 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 asserted, “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 went outside and were surrounded as usual, with Robby sharing the weed. Iggy was off with his followers who saw him as the hero in our encounter. I told the teen bouncers we needed them to be roadies after our set in case we enraged the bar owner again and had to make a quick getaway. We promised that our own songs were not going work up the crowd as much as the covers. They looked relieved.
“Y’all comin’ back?”
“Ya know, y’all make us feel like this is home, so don’t be sur-prised,” I answered, winking at Wayne. He just grinned. Floyd was too busy with Robby to notice or care. They had something plotted, which must be to do with the monkey song. We’d do that song last.

When we were set up again, Jack took the mic, “Thanks for stickin’ around. That redneck was last seen hightailin’ it out the parking lot.”
“You want American music?” Jack taunted. 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 ripped 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 asked, getting a positive on that. We did the three sex songs in a row.
“How about love?” Not so much a response, so I came over and Jack sang 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 jumped back and gave them space as they kept dancing while we repeated the chorus.
“We have our problems, mostly self-inflicted, so we have learned to ‘Look Before You Leap.’”
Robby jumped up and was beating on poor Michael while we described all his prior abuses. Michael was a trooper and kept up the beat. Tim 231 At the end, Robby came over and joined 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 sung twice through. At the end, Robby launched himself to the rafters, using the fire sprinkler pipes to go hand over hand around the room. Casper was right behind him. We kept playing and making monkey sounds. The surprise came when Floyd launched himself from an amp and tried to catch Robby. It was no contest, as Robby taunted Floyd who doggedly pursued him. The crowd loved it throwing beer and anything they could find at the two boys. Finally Floyd was exhausted and just hung from the pipes. Robby and Casper came over to tease him. Tim 236 Once all of them were on the same pipe, Tim 40 it gave way from the ceiling, pulling down half the piping. The sprinklers went off, and the crowd was soaked. Pandemonium broke out. Everyone was running helter skelter. tim-796 We grabbed all our instruments, and the teen bouncers were already loading the drums and amps into the convertibles. Max was barking. Robby and Floyd were the last ones out the back door. We tore off and watched the mayhem continue in the parking lot. Including the teen bouncers, there were fifteen people in the two cars. Once we were far enough away, we pulled down a side road and parked. Robby passed out the joints. Everyone chilled. Of course that meant Jack was all over me, to the astonishment of the teens.
“Don’tcha mind him perving on ya?” one of the bouncers asked.
“Only if he does it with anyone else,” I shocked 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 turned to face them. When they saw us both turned on, they decided it was time to go.
Hippie confided, “It’s like that all the time.”
“Sick.” But they kept watching.

Sirens were heard going toward the bar. The teens said they lived in the opposite direction, so we left them off first, before their morals were too corrupted.
Wayne, at the wheel, took back roads to Denver. The uncles decided 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 decided. He even hugged Jack and me, to Floyd’s disgust. Casper gave him a kiss, which startled him. He must have a heart after all. I didn’t feel too bad about leaving him alone. I had a feeling his need to wrestle and tumble before getting it on was a trick he shared 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 teased us.
“I’m sure you know,” we told him. He made like he was going to hug Robby, but at the last second, pulled back.
“Psych,” he mocked us.

The Uncles had put the tops up. They promised to find an all-night diner for our hamburger fix. Max barked for his fix. Robby pulled out another of his endless joints. We chattered about being hillbillies for life, until everyone was settled in. Jack was the most settled in, with a hand on my cock. I teased him for hours and never came. He was relentless. We were leaving the South. Next stop, New York City.