Hard Rider

We settled into a fun routine over the following few weeks as our band tour finally wound down.

Working on material while Angel slept.

Chatting, eating together during downtime.

Practicing with the band.

Rocking out onstage.

Briefly appearing at the after-parties.

Finally, taking Angel in my bed.

It was the perfect routine. Out on the road, doing what I love, and coming back to the bus with the girl I had slowly turned into my own, private sex fiend.

She might have been a virgin, but she was making up for lost time. Angel loved fucking everywhere she could, burning through my extensive repertoire of sex positions, and just flat out reveling in our contact together.

Which didn’t bother me one bit.

Besides being physically a challenge in the bedroom, she still contested me mentally. She was always trying to pry into my head and figure me out.

For someone who had been stuck in the sticks for as long as she had, Angel had ideas – big ideas...

To my total surprise, she was fun to brainstorm with. I’d sit in the room and write poetry – pretty much the closest you can get to a song when you lack the instrumentals – and I let her read some of it sometimes.

Angel made solid suggestions, and helped me tighten up some of the lyrics. I’d sing a few parts, here and there, and she’d recommend different tones or help guide me a little in the delivery. The girl was a natural.

Sometimes we listened to recorded jam sessions together when a song was coming along. I played a few studio session snippets, singing some of my lyrics over them.

And the feedback she gave?

Golden.

It was fresh… Almost naive. A new take on the sound.

Where did this fucking girl come from?

Of course, I knew that. I’d plucked her out of that place, thinking she was a challenging, hot piece of ass that I couldn’t bear to part with.

Turns out I’d found myself a diamond in the rough. Angel was proving herself incredibly useful in ways I hadn’t even remotely considered.

She held up to her end of things. She was like a ghost to the rest of the band, but I knew she was getting bored. Restless.

That’s how I noticed her penchant for drumming her fingers. I didn’t think much of it at first, but the more that she did it, I realized that she was pretty good at keeping rhythm.

“Do that again,” I asked her one day.

“Hmm?”

“With your fingers.”

“You mean, this?”

She rattled out a slight beat.

“Yeah. Do that again. Faster.”

She did so.

“Do it four times in a row.”

Angel looked at me oddly, but complied.

“You can hold rhythm,” I observed. “And you’re pretty talented at it, from what I can tell…”

“Is that good?”

“It means you might make a decent drummer someday,” I chuckled. “If Dylan ever drops dead on us, that could be useful.”

We were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Yo, we’re refueling for the road,” Terence called out. “You need anything?”

“Come on in,” I called out.

Terence quietly let himself into the room, smiling politely to my girl. “Hiya, Angel. You enjoying yourself?”

“When someone’s here, yeah,” she smiled.

Of course, out of everyone around us who would be even remotely civil about Angel being around, it’s my bassist. I didn’t overlook that fact as I motioned him over.

“Hey man, take a look at this…”

After introducing Terence to her surprisingly rhythmic skills, we took turns giving her instructions for drumming her fingers. I thought better and drug up a pair of pens, and had her rattle out some cadences against a few surfaces.

“Yeah…” Terence nodded thoughtfully. “Your girl’s good. She’ll need training to take it any further than pens on your countertop, but this is actually pretty rad.”

“Yeah,” I thought aloud. “I definitely agree.”

Since we needed to get going, we left her to her devices for the time being. Taking advantage of the pit stop for refueling and supplies before getting back on the road, I took the opportunity to refill the mini-fridge in my room.

I also decided to treat her to a tablet.

She almost didn’t accept it, until I reminded her how much time she’d be alone while I was working with the band on and off the stage. It was a bit of an impulse buy, but I had the cash to blow, and I wanted her happy while I was gone.

Besides. Chances were, she would stop putting out if I didn’t try to make an effort, anyway.

“Well… okay,” She whispered to me after unboxing the device. “But seriously, you didn’t have to do this. I’ve got books and everything, I could probably keep myself fulfilled anyway…”

Angel thanked me later that night with a ton of fantastic sex; it culminated in the most incredible blowjob I’d ever felt.

After that gesture, I felt better about dragging her along and leaving her trapped in my small bus suite. Most of our stops had decent wifi, and with some movies and books on the tablet, she’d have something to occupy herself.

We were on the tail end of our tour. RipFest was just a last-minute addition that sold tickets – lining our earnings during what would have been a brief lull, while taking an already great lineup and making it better.

But that meant that we were tired.

Tired and volatile.

I know that I should have spent a little more time with them, instead of cooped up in the back of the bus with my little Angel, but I hadn’t anticipated that the rest of the band was growing resentful.

“Look who’s here!” Waylon sneered at me when I walked into the practice session one afternoon.

“Sorry I’m late,” I replied. “Lost track of time.”

“I’ll bet. Guess you’re finally done fucking your little honey for a few minutes, eh?”

I ignored his remark, knowing that he was just trying to goad me on. I would find a way to stick it to him later, maybe after the tour…but there was no point in fueling him before another big show.

“Let’s just get to it,” I grunted.

Terence the bassist glanced up at me with a slight nod of his head. No matter what, he was always the agreeable, reasonable one.

We practiced for a while, but I wasn’t really feeling it. The rest of the musicians seemed to pick up on it, but I forced myself to go through the motions.

Angel was a distraction.

But not the kind they probably thought.

It had taken her presence for me to realize how grueling and miserable the tour had been. Part of me felt bad that the others didn’t have this – that they had to watch me experience this bliss without finding their own way to attain what I suddenly, irreversibly had.

The stress relief helped, that’s for sure.

But she complemented me.

The more I talked to her, the sharper I realized she was…and the more vulnerable. It was this pervasive feeling hidden just out of view. I knew that her forgotten past bothered her, although she tried to keep it out of the way. I also knew that she did her best to leave it well out of sight, but the unanswered questions burned in my bind. Why had she run away from home? How much of her past was lost to the accident, and how much had she chosen to forget…

Didn’t take long to realize she was just as stressed as me…And just as grateful for the endless carnal distractions.

The rest of the band wouldn’t understand.

That was fine by me.

I remembered thinking about the filth that I was drenched in…and how the darkness swallowed me whole, tainting me in its depths.

But when I was with her…

I felt a little lighter.

I didn’t directly understand this intoxicating whirlwind of tension just beneath my skin… not until

she brightened her light on me.

I was tired.