Road Trip Pt. 02

Mid-week, I explained to Crystal that I was restless about getting on the road for my cross-country journey. Crystal was thoughtful, but not sad about my departure. We'd been up front with each other about our mutual affection for each other, as well as not creating any permanent relationship right now. She knew I wanted to travel – needed to travel, and I knew she wanted to devote herself to her music and adoring public. We admitted we were falling in love – having very tender and emotional feelings about each other – and our love felt like the kind that would last.

The next day as Crystal and I were taking a break and planning the next songs to record, Terry came into the meeting room and talked to Crystal about the two concerts she was giving over the weekend: one outside Louisville, Kentucky, and the other near Indianapolis, Indiana. I was going over some sheet music and not paying attention. Suddenly, she shouted, "THAT'S GREAT!" She looked at me proudly, as though she'd just solved a major problem.

I didn't get the connection, so I looked puzzled and said, "Huh?"

Crystal said with joy, "I'm giving concerts in these two places tomorrow and Sunday nights." She paused to see my reaction; I continued to look puzzled. She went on, "You haven't been to these states yet, and they're nearby. We can be together for a couple of nights more before you continue on your trip. My tour bus – now fixed by the way – will travel there ahead of us, so we have a place to sleep. I might even have a surprise or two for you along the way." So Terry couldn't see, she turned her back and gave me an evil grin that insinuated something sexual would take place.

"What would I do while I'm there – besides listen to you sing, something I always enjoy I might add?"

She bopped me in the middle of my forehead. "DUH! I want you to sing on stage with me, at least some of the numbers. We've done them in the studio – it's just like that only there are a few thousand people listening."

I spewed my drink across the room: "A few thousand!" I exclaimed as I sat up straight continuing to choke on my drink.

Crystal ignored the near death experience I was having, "Think about it. You can pretend it's just like singing to the studio control booth. And, yes, I know I had the luxury of starting with very small audiences and building up to the big ones as my career grew ... and that you'll be jumping in with both feet, but I know you can do it." Terry agreed I should give it a try, and then went to one of the offices down the hall to make some telephone calls, leaving us alone in the rehearsal room we'd been using.

I rolled my tongue around in my mouth for a bit as I thought about the offer she made. I told her I wanted to be with her, but I wasn't too sure about the concert 'thingy.' Crystal came over and massaged my neck ... and blew in my ear ... and whispered to me that I could fuck the daylights out of her when she wasn't on stage ... and promised me a sexual surprise that few men in the western world could even conceive of ... and maybe even one beyond that!

In the process, she pulled up her t-shirt – she wasn't wearing a bra. The next thing I knew, I felt her generous tits brushing against the back of my neck and across my shoulders. I could tell the nipples were erect.

Consequently, I promised I'd appear on stage with her – telling her she might have to stop my knees from knocking together, and push me off stage after I'd frozen in position with stage fright. She looked vindicated in her approach. She said, "See, sex sells. I'll have to remember that about you." She laughed and then went down the hall to tell Terry that I'd go on stage with her; when she came back, she told me he was a happy guy too. They both might be happy, but I was terrified at the thought of going on stage. I decided that I could always back out at the last moment and hop on my bike for a quick escape.

Saturday morning, we loaded up my motorcycle with my travel gear and a small bag for her. I used extra bungee cords so I could put more luggage on the front of the bike – in front of the handlebars. Crystal traveled light since she'd connect with her wardrobe at the bus in Louisville. I wondered what I'd wear if I ever got up the courage to even go on stage.

I got her on the bike. She wore her western boots, cutoff shorts, and her bikini bra, and the red helmet; she looked sexy as hell. I almost jumped her in the driveway. The weather was hot and humid; a true July day.

Crystal Lee wrapped her arms around me, and we rode down her driveway. About thirty paparazzi were waiting to take our picture or film us as we rode by on my Harley motorcycle. We both waved and gave them big smiles, then I cranked the accelerator and we sped away.

Road Trip – Kentucky

Our motorcycle trip Saturday morning took us to the Kentucky State Fair Grounds in Louisville, Kentucky. Terry had booked Crystal there as the headliner for the evening's show. We stayed on back roads on the way to Louisville and all the way to the fair grounds. At one of our pit stops along the route, Crystal showed me a text message on her phone from Terry: the concert was a sell out – 18,000 people would be attending. Crystal had the celebrity power to draw a sell-out crowd.

Fear pulsed through me, and I felt my body go cold. I would have to stand on stage – to sing on stage – in front of 18,000 people! Most people fear public presentations more than mad dogs, heights, deep water, flying, and even death. I knew what they felt like. I must have turned pale, because Crystal pushed her lithe body against me and gave me a kiss. She bit my ear and whispered, "Jim, you'll do great. I'll be there with you, and I wouldn't put you through anything bad – I love you!"

I felt better – temporarily. I studied Crystal as we got back on the bike to continue our trip: late-twenties, perfect figure and model quality face, full breasts, cowboy boots, long lanky legs, cutoffs, flat tummy, bikini bra that barely did the cover-up job, and long light brunette hair. About thirty magazines and other media had rated her the most talented country singer of the year, and she had the number one hit still riding the charts after being there weeks and weeks: 'Flirty, Flirty Cowgirl.'

ThePeople magazine article had a lot of information about me that neither Crystal nor I told the paparazzi. The article talked about the 'tragic death of Jim's wife in February from an autoimmune disease,' how I'd rebuilt the Harley Davidson motorcycle that had been my father's as self-imposed therapy, how I'd set out from Dillon, Massachusetts, on a cross-country ride through the forty-eight contiguous states to Anna's home in San Diego, California. The article even talked about my history as a Green Beret, my job as a computer 'executive' – an inflated statement for what I actually did, and how I'd done several heroic deeds along my trip so far: rescuing a farmer from a burning barn in Pennsylvania, saving two children floating out to sea in South Carolina, stopping a rape and getting shot for my troubles in Alabama, and helping police apprehend a dangerous felon in Arkansas. The amazing thing about the article was its thoroughness – I hadn't told anyone in Tennessee the details in the story that had been unearthed about me except Crystal, and I knew she hadn't told anybody because she'd been with me constantly, plus when I'd told her it was the night beforePeople hit the newsstands.

I chuckled at some of the inaccuracies the story contained: that I held a black belt in several exotic martial arts disciplines, spoke six languages, and had made millions off the Internet before the crash of 2001. I don't know where these 'facts' came from, and I wished they were true. Such glaring lies reminded me to never believe what I read in the tabloid press.

Crystal and I stopped near a small community college for ice cream, and sat outside. I thought about Crystal, and I thought about Karen. I'd told Crystal about my ceremony of leaving a trace of Karen's ashes at some picturesque spot along my route. This small town felt 'right' to me, and so I let a small envelope of Karen's ashes fly in the summer breeze in a park across the street from the ice cream place. I stood and said a small prayer of connection. Without saying anything, Crystal came up and quietly and lovingly hugged me from the back, until I was ready to move along to Louisville. I appreciated her compassion and felt such love from her.

After we were underway, I wondered what Karen would have thought about my singing and doing concerts in front of thousands of people. I could almost hear her laughter at my nervousness and angst over the whole change of scenery. I know she liked to do or say things that would rattle my cage a little, and put me off my game. I briefly wondered about the supernatural powers of the dead; could they orchestrate something like the dramatic changes in my life? Was all this Karen playing with me? I pushed the thoughts and questions away.

I was amazed at how many horse farms we passed on the way into Louisville. I wondered if some founding father had drawn a circle on the map around the area and reserved the area only for horse lovers.

We found the fairgrounds and after asking directions found Crystal's tour bus in a guarded and secure parking area behind the arena. The driver was just locking up, and he looked glad to see us. He told us he'd return first thing in the morning to drive the forty-five-foot tour bus to Indiana for the next night's concert. He verified that Crystal knew how to get into the bus when he wasn't there; a keypad sat behind a panel by the main door. We told him we'd ride the motorcycle to Indiana if the weather held. I noticed the band's bus and truck about a hundred feet away.

The inside of Crystal's bus could only be described as posh. We went in and locked up behind us to keep the curious at bay. The tinted windows allowed us to see out, but no one could see in – at least in the daytime.

Crystal immediately turned to me and pulled off her bikini bra and pushed her chest at me. "Feel me," she commanded with a naughty smile. "I've waited four hours to jump your bones. That motorcycle made my tight little pussy all tingly and needy, and only you can fix it." She started to pull off her cutoffs.

I fixed it. Crystal was happy. She still had on her cowboy boots while we fucked. I thought that was kinky and liked it. I was happy.

I had to sing in front of 18,000 people. I was unhappy.

After we cleaned up and donned our clothes again, Crystal and I roamed the fairgrounds for an hour or so, but only after trying to not look like the two singers on the cover ofPeople. We both had sunglasses, hats, and were a bit grungy looking. We ate a highly unbalanced meal as we walked, although I had the jitters and didn't eat much. As we walked and much to my surprise, a dozen different people still asked for our autographs –several on our picture on the cover of People magazine. We both signed but Crystal told me that if I didn't want to do autographs, I could just to just turn them down and shake their hand or allow a quick photo. I'd never had anyone ever ask for my autograph.

About two o'clock, we went to Freedom Hall where we were going to perform that night and gained admittance after explaining to a guard who we were. I think he wanted to frisk Crystal. I already had.

The place was enormous. The stage had a huge banner above it proclaiming Crystal's fame. There were posters advancing the coming album I would join her on: 'Texas Dawn.' Much to my surprise, my name and photo even appeared on a few of the 'Texas Dawn' banners announcing the future album, and that decision was only less than a week old.

At least forty men were setting up equipment, moving speakers around, and testing electrical connections. Crystal's band was there setting up their gear, and we greeted each other. They verified a seven o'clock concert start, and told us a little about the opening band –The Hobo Palace – that would get the audience cranked up before we came on for two hours shortly after seven-thirty. Billy, the bandleader, said we should try to meet their lead singer, Cindy Wonder, before things started.

We went over the order of the songs Crystal would do, talked about how we'd do multiple choruses of each one to lengthen the songs from the three or four minute recording we'd done in the studio to a live entertainment number of up to ten minutes. The 'song order' information would be written in clear large letters on poster board that would sit behind one of the speakers where we could see it, but the audience couldn't. A teleprompter sat to one side of the stage.

Terry arrived with an entourage of five aides around him. I explained to him my worries about forgetting the words and things. He told me he'd fix that problem and not to worry. Why did everyone think I'd do so well at this, and I felt as though I would be sucked up into an alien spacecraft and whisked away to another planet to be dissected?

Ellen, one of the young aides, came up and got very close to me – inside my personal space; she smelled like lavender – really nice. She touched my arm and flirted with me a little as she explained, "We've got your costume for tonight," and pointed to six large shopping bags and some boxes piled near the stage. I hadn't thought much beyond wearing some of the stuff I normally carried on the motorcycle – blue jeans, a t-shirt, and my motorcycle boots. In the boxes, she had three pairs of western boots with all sorts of silver studs on them. The bags contained designer blue jeans – the expensive kind, several western hats of various sizes, and a variety of western shirts to choose from.

Ellen said, "I guessed at the sizes. I only saw you once when you stopped to rescue us at the stalled bus, but you seemed about the same size as one of my old boyfriends. I bracketed what he wore. There's still time for me to replace any of the items that don't fit or you don't like." She looked eager, and so I thanked her effusively for her help. She beamed at my attention and thanks.

Ellen led me to a dressing room off the side of the stage, and I tried on some of the outfits and found a successful ensemble. I wore it out of the men's dressing room for Crystal, Terry, Ellen, and the others to see. Terry spoke first, "Now, that's what I call an entertainer! You're great. You'll do fine tonight. They'll love you."

Terry paused and added, "By the way, I arranged for a teleprompter off to the right of the stage as you look out at the audience. Ellen is putting all the words to the songs you'll be singing up on it – just remember to sing and not read them." Well that solved one of my major angst problems. I liked Terry and the way he thought. Now, I had only 18,000 others.

Crystal liked my outfit too. While I'd been changing, she'd also changed into her onstage clothes she brought in from the bus: really fancy boots that hugged her lower calves and accentuated her curvy legs, a tight skirt that came to mid-thigh and revealed lots of leg, her favorite hat that kept getting crushed in my motorcycle saddlebag, and a tailored top that proved she wore a push-up bra and had significant cleavage to boot. I stared at her; she came up with her evil grin and whispered to me, "If you look at me like that on stage, we'll end up putting on the longest and best sex show Louisville has ever seen on stage ... and, yes, I am wearing underwear – although you tempt me not to." I felt a really strong twinge in my lower regions.

Billy, the keyboard player and bandleader, Crystal, and I went into a side room where he'd set up a portable keyboard: rehearsal time had arrived. Ellen followed us with a laptop computer and a pile of sheet music. Crystal and Ellen exchanged some significant looks, but I had no idea why. I was too nervous to give much thought to anything except surviving my personal appearance on stage. We'd agreed that Crystal would do eight songs before I joined her onstage. Crystal quickly ran through her eight songs, sometimes only mouthing the words to save her voice. They'd talk here and there too, about how to segue between parts of the songs or blend from one part to another. Pretty soon, I caught onto some of the differences between the recording sessions we'd done, and what would happen onstage at the concerts.

When the time to practice our duets came, I joined in. My voice cracked and squeaked throughout the session so much, I asked Crystal if she were sure she wanted me onstage with her. She affirmed that she did, and assured me that this was nerves and I'd be fine once I got in front of the audience. Not likely, I thought.

Ellen disappeared for a while, and reappeared with two small steak dinners. She explained, "This will give you some protein and carbs and keep your tummy from squawking onstage where everyone could hear it." She watched me pick at it, and commanded me to eat. Ellen sat close to me, again inside my personal space and even putting an arm around me to rub my back, talking in a friendly way and trying to get me to relax. Crystal seemed to have a nice connection with Ellen, and didn't seem jealous in the least that she'd sidled up to me.

After the light dinner, we rehearsed a couple of more songs, particularly one song where I had a long solo verse. My voice was doing slightly better. Steak is my 'go-to' comfort food.

I hadn't been that aware of the passage of time until I heard the muffled voice of an announcer and then the opening band start playing. Suddenly, I became aware of the roar of the crowd in the auditorium.

Crystal grabbed me by the hand and led me down a long corridor, out a side door, and into the parking lot where her tour bus was parked. She punched in the access code to the door, opened it, pushed me inside, shut the door, and then yanked down the zipper on my pants.

With a smile she announced, "You are going to get a 'first-class Crystal Lee guaranteed to please' blowjob, mister."

And the next I knew she was on her knees in front of me with her head bobbing back and forth. I took a minute to get past my nervousness into the sex act, but when I did I resolved this would be a short one. Consequently, three minutes later I warned her of my impending climax.

Crystal pulled off me long enough to say, "In here, stud." She pointed at her mouth.

I blasted several shots of man juice into her mouth. When I'd finished, Crystal made a show of opening her mouth to show me my jizz and then swallowing the milky fluid. She then licked me clean, pushed my now-deflating cock back into the new blue jeans, helped me buckle up and zip up, and checked me to be sure I looked normal.

The simple sex act had not only caught me off-guard; it had reduced my tension and anxiety tremendously. I told Crystal, and then kissed her, swirling my tongue into her mouth in a French kiss. She looked pleased and nodded her head knowingly.

She did have another idea; she said, "One more thing before we leave the bus. I want you to finger my pussy right now. If you get nervous onstage, I want you to scratch your nose with that finger, smell my aroma, and remember how much fun we'll have fucking and loving each other after the show – and remember, whatever happens, you're all right, I'll still love you, and I'm still planning on jumping your bones."

She hoisted up her short skirt and pulled her black panties aside to show she was serious. I dipped the middle finger of my right hand deep into her vagina. She was not just moist, she was wet – so wet I worried it'd saturate her panties and run down her leg. She closed her eyes as I penetrated her. I sniffed my finger to be sure it smelled of Crystal. It did. Looking into my eyes, she said longingly, "Oh, if we only had another ten more minutes."