Teaser: What’s a girl to do when a guitar god rock star won’t fuck her but his girlfriends will?
Nectar Of The Guitar God
By Jeremy Spencer
April Flynn could barely stop from screaming, she was so excited. The peppy college freshman hopped up and down in line, her red hair bouncing as wildly as her tits, as she waited to get into The Steel Pony. It was her first over-18 concert, and she couldn’t believe she actually had a special pass for her favorite band.
Scott Barnes and the Barnestormers had been her favorite group ever since her junior year of high school. That was the year their debut album came out. Some of her friends thought it was stupid to listen to rock and roll, especially considering the Barnestormers didn’t do any flashy dance moves, and Scott Barnes—the guitar god himself—hardly even looked at the girls. At least that was the official word.
April knew that at some interview, Scott had revealed that he tried to stay away from groupies. He said that’s what his song, “Get Off My Jock, Bitch,” was all about. He said he was in a serious relationship and didn’t want to fuck it up.
April would see about that. She’d dressed strategically for the concert, in her best hip-huggers and a top that revealed more of her belly than her parents would have been happy with, but fuck it. She was 18 years old, 600 miles from home, and her parents would never know. She had a fake I.D. in her pocket, just in case she felt like getting drunk, and judging by the crowd, she probably wouldn’t have any trouble getting high, not that she was that kind of a bad girl.
But she knew tonight was going to rock, with or without the drugs or alcohol. As long as she got to hook up with Scott Barnes, and as she looked at the special, all-access pass that had cost her more time on the phone waiting in line on the local radio station than she was willing to admit, April thought her chances were pretty good.
As soon as she cleared the bar’s bouncer, who April thought got just a bit too personal with the pat-down, although she did think he was kind of cute in a “regular night” kind of way, she hurried up to the stage, in case any of the band members were still setting up.
“Hey,” she said to Donnie, the drummer. “What’s up?” Donnie, who was known far and wide for his sexual exploits with groupies, looked her up and down before answering.
“Hey, Babe,” he said with a leer. “What’s up?”
