Just Say Yes

The man grinning at her from a couple of feet away was incredibly sexy. He was unquestionably a bad boy but when he smiled it could melt steel.

"You're perfectly safe with me honey, I'm probably old enough to be your daddy—at least under the liberal marriage laws where I grew up in Louisiana."

"Who says I want to be safe?" Bonnie said, turning on her most lascivious smile.

"Wow, babe! You are a handful. I can see immediately what George sees in you."

"Have you and he been friends long?"

"Not long enough! George came to hear me play a few years back in a place not much better than this place. I'd been in the business for a while but I didn't have a contract or much hope of ever becoming more than a popular but marginally successful bar entertainer; I was damned if I was going back to the Louisiana oil fields. So this kid comes up to the bus after the show. Well, hell, it wasn't a bus, it was this very same old RV you're sitting in. He tells me he enjoyed the show and thinks he knows why I haven't made the big time. I smile; I've heard it before. Then he says, 'you're trying to be a straight country singer but you're a lot more than that. Turn down the steel guitar and crank up the bass and lead. The industry is ready for honky-tonk again, hell they're always ready for it---those assholes in Nashville are just too stupid to recognize it.' So I get all wise-ass and say, 'well son, you don't happen to know someone who's going to give me a recording contract, do you?' And he says, 'well, I know a few people in the industry, but you're not remotely ready for a contract; you need to stop covering old standards, get some better songs, cut loose and let the rock and blues rifts flow'. Can you believe it? The arrogant little piss ant! So I say, 'and I suppose you're the kid that's going to help me find better songs?' And he says, 'well, your original stuff ain't bad, the melodies are decent and the lyrics work but the pace of the arrangements sucks.' He's a nice looking kid, but I'm getting pissed. 'And exactly how many hit songs have you cranked out in your young life, sonny?' And then the little shit rattles off a few songs and then he introduces himself and adds, 'you must have a couple of those records on the bus. Go look at who the fuck wrote 'em. Then we can talk about some new shit that I think would fit your style perfectly.' So we hook his car up to the back of the RV, drive all night and rewrite my songs and learn his songs. It was 1996; I got that recording contract. I made CMT Male Vocalist of the Year based almost solely on the album he helped me put together. In 1997 I had my first number one hit with, 'This Ain't No Thinking Thing.' He and I wrote it together that night with him sitting exactly where you have that pretty little butt of yours planted right now. Plus, he's a damn fine entertainer in his own right but if you're new to country you probably don't know that and then he uses a different..."

George returned with his Fender in hand interrupting Trace's monologue. As Trace led the two of them toward the back door of the bar, Bonnie whispered to George.

"Trace tells me you are a bit more successful as a song writer than you let on to me. What gives, handsome?"

"Success is relative, Bonnie. I've written a few songs that did okay on the country charts but I'm not remotely where I want to be musically. A royalty check now and again allows me to experiment, do different things but the best in the music world pour a lot back into their trade. I know I do."

Bonne took her place at a large table down front and introduced herself to the wives and girl friends of the band members. They were all poured into tight jeans and exceptionally hot. She fit right in, at least physically. 'Songs About Me' had her feet tapping. 'Arlington' brought real tears to her eyes. 'I Left Something Turned on at Home' made her chuckle. 'Honky-tonk Badonkadonk' made her want to get up and shake her ass but she resisted the urge. It also made her want some hard fat cock, preferably George Mason's.

He was a consummate entertainer and an incredible lead guitarist. It was obvious that he and Trace loved performing together. At the end of the set, Trace introduced the band; Trace looked at George; George shook his head. Trace introduced him anyway and it didn't seem to be an issue. Back in the RV, hugs were exchanged and everyone said their goodbyes. Bonnie could have stayed; she was starting to realize that she loved this style of music. George had other musical vistas that he wanted to show her.

Bonnie and George visited a second place in fairly short order. At first, she and George were among only a handful of whites in the club. Bonnie was neither a racist nor a bigot but she was pretty sure her parents were both. The music was classic Delta blues with forays into cool funk. He introduced her to the band during their break. They invited him to sit in on their next number, a very cool jazz number with delightfully funky guitar and bass work. George played the keyboards and Bonnie knew exactly where she wanted those talented fingers before the night was over. They left expressing their regrets and headed back toward, "Paradise Island". She was disappointed as they crossed back over the bridge but at least that meant she'd get her hands and mouth on George Mason's cock shortly. She was wrong.

"Bonnie, I know it's late, but I've got one more gig to sit in on. My trio is actually playing at a little upscale beach club right up the road from where we met earlier. They play dance crap in the earlier sets but after midnight the young dance popper crowd dissipates to go smoke dope and fuck and the club switches to jazz. The crowd becomes a little more sophisticated. It's just scheduled for an hour but we get jamming and sometimes go until two. Are you up for it?"

"I slept in this morning so I'm not remotely tired."

The younger crowd was departing as a decidedly more mature crowd filed in. The guy at the door was nonchalant about granting entrance. Earlier he had been decidedly picky as he screened and admitted only the beautiful people. Bonnie had been here and had hated it. She was prepared to enjoy the jazz set until she saw two couples sitting close to the stage. It was her parents and another couple that she didn't know.

"Oh, shit, my parents are here!" She exclaimed.

"Are you out after curfew? Will they ground you?" George said, chiding her.

"Of course not!" She snapped back before she realized that he was kidding. "Well, I certainly can't ignore them; come on, I'll introduce you. I'll probably have to sit with them for a while at least."

"Mom, dad, this is my friend, George Mason." Her mother and father greeted George and shook his hand. The other couple was far more ebullient.

"The George Mason? Well, hell you're who we came to hear! We heard you perform a couple of months back in Georgetown. You and your trio were amazing! We're both absolutely obsessive jazz fans. You guys are so refreshing. It's the first legitimately new and unique sound in jazz in the last two decades. We're very honored to meet you. Neither of us could believe you didn't have an album out."

"We will; we're working on it right now. It's a little avant-garde and it's going to be on a small, private label. As a matter of fact, the acoustics in this room are pretty decent so we hope to lay a couple of tracks down tonight. That's why the management is serving your drinks in plastic. Thank you for your kind words. I better go get ready."

Bonnie would not let him slip away without a serious hug and kiss which she hoped promised whatever George wanted and might make her parents uncomfortable.

"Where do you and the young man know each other from, dear?"

"It's a long story and you wouldn't believe it. Plus, we've only known each other for a few hours. He's cute, don't you think?"

The other couple was having their own serious discussion. "I didn't notice it until we saw him up close, but doesn't he remind you of someone, someone we've seen somewhere before?" Said Mrs. I-can't-remember-nor-do-I-care-what-her-name-is.

"I'm sure you're mistaken, dear."

Gratefully everyone shut up as the trio took their places to a very respectable welcoming applause from the audience. George reminded the audience that they were going to attempt to record and to try to keep extraneous noise to a minimum. The rolled directly into a straight up blues number with George on lead guitar. It was as if different fingers were in play than those that had caressed a similar instrument a few hours earlier. There were shades of Beck, Clapton, Muddy Waters and even Hendrix as the set unfolded. George handled the few vocals and it was in a different voice than he sang raucous, bar country.

It was his virtuosity on the guitar that captivated the crowd. While the opening blues number had sounded familiar it was obvious that everything else was original. George's vocal style was hauntingly authentic to the bluesy genre even on those songs that crossed over into alternative rock. He joked that he wanted to be sure they did at least a couple of songs that stretched the musical tastes of the decidedly more mature audience. They ate it up. He was a relaxed front man who related to every member of the small audience. The trio played a half hour past the planned finale, finally pleading exhaustion. Bonnie was sure that he spoke to everyone in the audience prior to returning to her table.

"Son, you're going to be huge, I guarantee it." Said the male member of the other couple at the table. Even Bonnie's parents were quite taken by his artistry.

"Well sir, the real problem is, and I know you recognize it, that this kind of sound only works with a decidedly small audience. You have to be able to 'talk to the audience' and you can't do that in a big venue. Five hundred is even too many, we know, we've tried it. Hell, we don't even like our own stuff as much when we listen to the playback. Hopefully we're on to something and other musicians will look back fondly on a more intimate and personal style of music. It'll never be a big time money maker. We'll release an album, which we have real trepidation about, and it just won't sound the same as hearing it live. It probably won't attract new fans and those who heard it in real time will assume we just didn't produce it very well. I love it, I'm passionate about it and we'll keep doing it as long as we can afford to."

The other woman spoke up. "Excuse me, George, but I swear I've seen you perform before, other than here or in Georgetown."

"I've, ah, played some other styles of music and other types of venues but, respectfully, I'm not sure that I was playing, 'your kind of music' so I doubt it." George replied, still polite by almost terse. She didn't pursue the point.

"Do you have formal training, Mr. Mason? Your guitar playing is quite extraordinary." Bonnie's mother chimed in.

"Actually, yes, I do. I started out on a decided classical road." George then went on to elaborate on where he had studied and even Bonnie's mother was impressed.

Bonnie was getting bored and wanted to fuck George sooner rather than later. She kissed her mom and dad and told them, almost facetiously, 'not to wait up'. She took George's hand and led him back to his truck

As her parents and the other couple drove home in their respective cars, Mrs. Unknown was sure she had figured out the puzzle. Her husband was sure that she was mistaken.

"Honey, first there is no way that one of the biggest new stars in country music is playing jazz at two in the morning to fewer than a hundred people. Why would he need to do that? He's got Grammys and ACMs and CMAs. Secondly, don't ever let those two stuffed shirts know we listen to country music. They'll never invite us out again. Not that I really give a shit. Their daughter seemed quite taken by the young man and mommy and daddy did not seem pleased. It'll be a moot point in a few weeks when we drive up to Lakeland to hear your favorite country singer in person. Then you'll see that you were wrong."

Bonnie parked her delectable butt tight up against George on the way home; she fondled his cock through his tight jeans to leave no question in his mind what she had in mind. She wanted to blow him there in the truck but she demurred; there'd be time when they got back to the house. She took his hand and led him outside; she would not be denied her open air fuck any longer. Nonchalantly removing her clothes she noted with approval that George needed no additional guidance as he quickly disrobed. She wondered if she would have to be the aggressor, at least at first. She was quickly and pleasantly surprised.

He came to her quickly, surrounding her in his strong arms and vigorously making his intentions clear as he assaulted her mouth and cupped her tight young ass in his hands. He literally picked her up and placed her on the soft cool grass. His mouth worked its way down her lean young body and found her slippery little slot with no directions. She came under his exquisite oral assault quicker than she would have expected. She was prepared to return the favor but George had other ideas. To her delight he flipped her over onto her front, pushing her down into the grass and pinning her with his muscular body. He softly nibbled her neck and reached around to caress her rock hard nipples.

With no warning he was inside her fast and hard and she felt his fuck tool graze the very limits of her female orifice. And then to her delirious pleasure he just rode her like a nasty little bitch in heat, slamming into her with such force that her body literally scooted across the wet grass. All she could think of was the words to one of the few country songs she had heard on the radio. It was a new one by Garth Brooks called, "Good Ride Cowboy".

He rode her fine young body as no other man had ever done. He owned her; he was laying his masculine claim to her, leaving his unique scent indelibly imprinted on and in her body. It was as if he was wordlessly saying, this bitch is mine, don't even think about it. No man had ever taken her quite like this; she was often the aggressor when it came to fucking. This man was asserting his absolute right to her body now and whenever he wanted it.

She knew he could do with her as he pleased; even pain was not out of the question nor the giving up of her "other" hole. Not unlike many women, Bonnie seldom came simply from the efforts of a man's cock in her tight little pussy. She came several times under his relentless assault. As she approached her final, long, lingering ride over the top, she was not sure she could take much more; she was almost numb when her lover came with a growl and thrust his sweet prick deep inside her as if attempting to force his seed deeper than any man's had ever been before. She was pretty damn sure he had succeeded in that department. She was also certain that no other man would ever satisfy her sexual needs again.

He rolled her over and picked her up effortlessly. Carrying her inside the house he gently tossed her on his bed. Her fingers dropped to her slimy slit as he stood over her, grinning at his conquest. Retrieving his essence from her cunt with her fingers, she sucked it into her mouth, lewdly rolling her fine young hips and grinning back at him. His damn cock was hard and still standing up at an angle. Climbing to the floor she crawled toward that cock like a submissive little slut who has just been commanded to service her man with her mouth. No command had been uttered. She took his tool to the very depths of her throat almost gagging at the onslaught of male meat. She liked the way the bulbous head felt as it grazed her throat. She began to fuck her own mouth with the big cock at her disposal.

Then she did what she knew she did as well as any woman on the planet; she blew him. She knew it didn't matter how many other woman had serviced him this way. This was her cock now and she was the best there had ever been. She took him to the edge more times than either could count; and when she was ready on her time table, she made him cum. When he screamed her name in the agony of excruciating pleasure, she knew he would come back for more. As he had owned her body out on the lawn she had owned his cock with her hot little mouth. As the rest of the night went on it would be a contest to decide who owned whom. By the time the sun came up over the stone wall to the east both were convinced it had been a draw.

"Anything else we need to discuss?" He said as he handed her a hot cup of coffee. Neither had bothered to dress.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm positive that no other woman could come close to fulfilling me sexually the way you do so I'm not planning to keep looking. I don't think I need to ask the trite question, 'was it good for you' because I damn well know it was. So what's left? I guess it might be a good idea to find out if we have anything remotely in common, even like each other when we're not fucking, voted the same way in the last election, you know all that trivial and mundane shit."

Bonnie laughed so hard so nearly spilled her coffee. "You cut right to the chase, don't you George?"

"Look, Bonnie, I'm not exactly suggesting that we run down to the court house and get a marriage license. But face it! We make a cute couple and you know we're almost magic from the carnal perspective. I mean, I'm sorry, but I saw the face of God, the earth moved and I was transformed to another dimension."

"You are a crazy man."

"Yep! That's true. I have to say, I was a little disappointed that you didn't remember me. You we're thirteen and I was sixteen almost twelve years ago when I stole that first kiss---your first kiss. But, I was the caretaker's son and you were the rich bitch next door so that wasn't going to work out. Your parents saw something and that ended our budding romance. So, I did what any normal red blooded American teenager does. I took a blood oath that someday you would be mine. I was obsessed with you and hopelessly in love. So what does the boy do? He figures how to get rich himself and then when he is, he comes back and buys the house next door to her parents. Here's the really embarrassing part. I once stalked you as you were walking from one class to another in college. That behavior started to worry me; it only happened one time, your first year as an undergrad."

"Georgie? Little Georgie?"

"Little Georgie. You were a hair taller than me back then; I had a late growth spurt at eighteen. And now you don't even remember your first kiss, which was also my first kiss..."

"I remember the kiss! I had a crush on you. You just don't remotely look the way I remembered you and until this second I confess that I couldn't remember your name. You've carried a torch for me for all of these years? That's a little..."

"Weird? You bet. I haven't remained chaste nor did my infatuation with you and your skinny little thirteen year old body rule my life but I've thought of you often, if not every second of every day. I came down here a few months ago just for old times' sake. I called the realtor who had a listing on this house for a decade and asked to have a look around. I have an extremely aggressive and irritating business manager. I told him I was interested in the house; he thought it might be a good investment for the right price. He drives a very hard bargain. At some level I thought it would be neat to live in the big house that my parents had once cared for. I do have another home, by the way, more than one actually. I had never really forgotten you but had long since grown out of the fantasy of coming back and, 'making you my woman'. Then I saw you a week ago walking down to the beach. I knew it was you the second I saw you. I could just see you when you would walk out to the pool deck but once you laid down in the sun you were out of sight. So there you were, the first love of my life, the object of many a romantic and masturbatory fantasy over the years. And dammit, I was over you! I'd grown up and moved on with my life. I suffer from no lack of willing female companionship. I had been dating someone that might have turned serious. And then I saw you and I was sixteen again. I had no plan. There you were a hundred yards away and I was like a dumb kid. I started working on the rock wall; I enjoy that kind of work. I actually did a paper on that type of authentic structure when I was in college and helped my dad restore a wall on his farm in Pennsylvania so I do know what I'm doing. But somewhere in the back of my mind I thought, maybe she'll see me, maybe she'll say hello. I mean on tour I play to thousands of people every night. I can get lucky without even trying, but..."