Bourgogne

Notice from the author: This is my first subission to Literotica. Please leave me a comment and vote for me if you can. Always open to some criticism, peer support, a compliment, or a joke! All characters involved in sexual situations in this story are are 18+

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Ever since I can remember I've been able to sing. But although it was always there I never understood where the talent came from. I don't even remember when I sang for the first time and although I enjoy music, I wouldn't say I have a passion for it. I'm a lazy guy and mostly used my talent to pay the bills. My name is Mark Rose and

I am thirty five years old.

I'm your average looking guy; slim, about 5'9, long dark brown hair. Like I said, because I didn't really want to work in music I never bothered to even take a course in music or learn an instrument. My talent was discovered early on when I kept getting cast in singing parts for plays in school. I thought that anyone could do it.

Not being the smartest guy, it actually took me a while to catch on to why they always wanted me for singing parts. Once I discovered I could not only carry a tune, but as good as some people on the radio as my all of my friends attested, I knew I was destined to be a singer; for better or worse.

I never bothered with college opting to instead travel to the city of Chicago from the suburb in Illinois where I was born. In the beginning I got by mostly busking on street corners, in clubs in Old Town, and on subways; mostly the Jackson red and blue lines. My long tressed hair and dreams ruffled under and over the windy city.

The only thing I had to worry about was getting a good spot to work from every day. I have to admit that I did alright because I did not have high standards and could manage living in dirty motels, hostels, on couches, with nutty groupies, and boarding houses.

All I did when I was down and ut was purchase popular song books, print out popular music lyrics at the public library, and commit lyrics to memory. I pretty soon developed my own system where I could memorize lyrics very quickly.

Being a people person by nature it made me proud to be able to relieve the people of Chicago from the strain and stress of their worries with some live entertainment. Being a singer is one of the easiest jobs in the world. The girls like you, you make friends effortlessly, and you always meet people to help you get whatever you need.

All a singer has to do is memorize a few songs and learn to carry himself well on a stage. Being an average looking guy I was able to clean up fine when I had to, buy a tux or a suit when I needed them, get my hair cut when it got too long!

Through the years I began getting better and better as my brain became an encyclopedia of lyrics; from crooning, to popular music, to classic rock, to folk, to show tunes, to country. I tried my hand at classic opera once; making adjustments to my voice. I was met with smiles and bills pouring into my guitar case.

Because I hated sharing profits with a guitarist or a band I mostly just sang tunes by myself, or sang with an old electric guitar. I would plug it into a hollow amplifier with the actual stings streaming out of a tiny boom box hidden inside. I knew other musicians and got them to record the strings for my songs.

I suppose I should have at least learned to play a guitar, and I tried. But like I said, I just didn't have the patience. Why God had blessed me with a seemingly unconfined singing talent was a complete mystery to me.

As the years went by I was discovered by an agent who booked me to sing in bars, country clubs, hotels, yes weddings too. The problem was that, as usual, I hated the part where money was cut. Sometimes equally among all musicians. Plus the usual percentage for my manager Elvis Brown; that's his freakin'name. Plus separate fees for my attorney when I needed him.

The one thing about me aside from being lazy has always been my bad temper. I've had my share of fights, overwhelmingly losing almost all. A private lawyer's phone number is a good thing to have when you're stuck in jail with bruised ribs, a broken nose, or swollen cheek.

As I approached my early thirties I had done my share of travelling and had my adventures, some of which involved flirting with the darker side of life. But despite my travelling I belonged to Chicago. I eventually married an aspiring actress slash waitress in Chicago and had two kids.

I wasn't that into partying so my voice and appearance remained youthful. By that time I was a regular on cruises and upscale hotels, but my wife got tired of picking me up and seeing me off at the airport. I never got that recording contract that would allow me to finally retire from D List show business.

I didn't really want to become well known; it was

too late by then anyway. But I was willing to put up with the plague of being famous if there was a lucrative record contract to go along with it. When it never arrived I wasn't too disappointed, the wife however was another story. Having once worshipped me as the next...I don't want to even say his name. I am most often compared to this singer for God know why!

Anyway, she divorced me when my boat never sailed in and married another musician leaving me high and dry. Because I married her when I was still young and dumb she took all of my money and my kids. Not even my lawyer and friend could do much for me in this area.

I decided to drink myself into oblivion in a rental studio apartment living off of whatever was left in the bank. But in spite of it all I always compared myself to a wolf. I rolled with the punches and lived life to the fullest with nothing but persistence. I loved Chicago, and I believe the city loved me back.

After a time I even busked again when I had to because it gave me pleasure to bring people healthy entertainment. I went in and out of depression and playing on the streets was sort of therapy for me.

I began writing my first songs during this time and started reinventing myself a bit. But in the end times were rough. My drinking problem caught up with me and I lost several jobs for being drunk on stage. I thought my life was over. I really couldn't do anything else. What would become of Mark Rose? And this is where this story really begins.

On a winter afternoon on one of the snowiest, coldest days in Chicago's history I lay face down on my couch in my crap apartment and my phone rang. Being semi intoxicated I bolted up hurrying to pick it up hoping it was one of my kids. I was sure their new father was providing for them well. If not with his money then with mine for sure.

"Hullo..."

"Mark??"

"Yeah."

"This is Elvis Brown...you off probation from that fight where you knocked out the drummer because you thought he was getting ahead of the song?? Can you travel, Mark?"

"No, No. Forget it Elvis!"

"I think I found you something my friend. You didn't burn every bridge, apparently. You sold a demo when you were out busking last spring before your arrest. This guy wants you to go New Orleans. A possible recording contract you lucky man!"

"What kind of music?"

"Well they're right for you, I think. They liked your voice so much that they want to try you out."

"They are offering three grand for you to go there. Apparently they were struck by your act and graciousness, and dug your demo. When they asked to possibly sign you they said you gave them my information. They also said you look like their last guy."

"Shit! I did that? I was probably drunk!" I held my face and head in my left palm, still able to feel the pinch and markings of couch fabric patterns on my face. I held the receiver with my right hand and practically heard Elvis rolling on the floor laughing.

"Elvis...stop. You know I don't work with bands."

"Well yeah, of course...I was probably drunk he says! But I think you will like these people. Their front man just died."

"Well, who are they?" I said taking a final swig from a stale can of beer.

"Their band is called..." He paused unable to pronounce.

"B o u r g o g n e. It means Burgundy in English. Their music is kind of folkie and they come from old money. They want you to go out to Louisiana."

"Their singer got a sudden heart attack at thirty-two and they thought they were through. They like your style and if it doesn't work out you just take the money and come back home."

"OK, so where do I have to go."

"New Orleans, bro. You can get the fuck out of the Chicago winter you've been hiding in and stop busking for pennies on the street, Mark."

Chapter 2

Since I can never sleep in flight I tried watching a movie I bought at the airport on my laptop. But it only pissed me off. I find the film industry offensive. Have you ever noticed that when you play a DVD that it starts to actually threaten you? Now I'm going to go to jail or get fined for watching a movie. Then they make you endure previews before a menu appears. Then the same threat again in different languages. You cannot fast forward!

Instead I decided to listen to Bourgogne. Their music was folky when it came to their ballads, but their other songs were more folk-rock than anything else. I felt an inner connection with them having sung my fair share of folk music and having loved it.

I exited the airport after a two hour first class flight to New Orleans, a city I had before visited for different reasons. I could catch the scent of the streets. I took off my coat and jacket tasting the air as it soared into my lungs. It was like the town had burped in my face and I didn't mind at all!

I soaked in a mixture of beer, beaches, cologne, absinthe, Creole, Cajun food, and Marti Gras sex in the air. It was a radiant town. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address. I had done my research on "Bourgogne" while still on the plane. They had gone from complete unknowns to winning music's highest award for two consecutive albums.

The original founder and co songwriter of the band was a man named Laurent Chariere. Apparently Laurent had been a lover of New Orleans Jazz and Blues. "Burgundy Street Blues" by George Lewis was his favorite song. Bourgogne means Burgundy. The clever dead dude had named his band for the song!

My cab stopped just outside a large house. There was the band spread out and waiting for me on the sidewalk smoking cigarettes, along with my manager. There were two of them, and a strikingly beautiful young girl.

"Mark, come here" Said my manager rushing to me as I finished paying the cab driver. The oldest looking one among them tipped the driver and told me to greet everyone after shaking my hand. He humbly introduced himself as Hunter. I recognized him right away. This man was a legendary banjo player every folkie had heard about.

I never imagined he was in this band but it began making sense to me. The driver and Hunter began to pull my suitcases from the trunk and an aid took them and followed Hunter toward the house. By this time I was glad I had come to New Orleans. I would get to play in a band with one of the best ever.

"I'll bet you didn't expect to see me here did you, heh?" Elvis said welcoming me to New Orleans, giving me one of his bear hugs, ruining the moment.

"You met Hunter who plays banjo. He is a real virtuoso and the heart of the band."

"This is the Brayden; guitarist, pianist, harmonica, and songwriter. And this is Hunter's beautiful daughter Sophia who just got back from college in California. She studies photography in UCLA. She just flew in to celebrate her twenty first birthday."

God, she was beautiful! Apparently Hunter who was now divorced had once been married to a model from Greece. Although her father and Brayden had blonde hair and blue eyes, she was extremely thin, pale, tall, with black hair and almond colored eyes behind full long black eyelashes and bangs.

Sophia wore a designer flower patterned denim skirt with frayed edges, a blue silk blouse that tightly outlined her small oval breasts, and a wide brimmed white Italian summer hat. She truly looked like a young model.

"Nice to meet you Brayden!" I said shaking his hand first, desperately wanting to be introduced to Sophia. His grip was strong and he kept shaking my hand. I know what you are thinking but I can hide my emotions well. The man was completely unaware of what I was thinking. I took her in all the while keeping both of my eyes on mostly him.

I assumed greeting a stranger being the current man in charge since their ex front man Laurent had died was unpleasant for him. Maybe he hated that if I got the gig I would probably assume leadership of the band. I gave the matter little importance or thought.

When he turned around anxious to get inside the house away from the hot weather I turned to Sophia. I unabashedly looked down from Sophia's carefully pedicured indigo toenails poking through her gold glitter PVC thong designer Maui sandals, to her thin but lean calves, knees, and thighs.

"I'm over here!" She said smiling. I took her face in and locked eyes with her for the first time. She had a milky complexion, mature facial features, a very tender voice, and her eyes beamed with life. It was one of those rare moments when you can see part of yourself in a woman.

I said my name and told her I was pleased to meet her as I noticed her glittery lip gloss. We shook hands and I felt her get nervous before whispering welcome to me and drifting off like a friendly apparition. Walking behind them beside my manager Elvis noticed I was clearly taken by Sophia.

"Don't fuck this up, Mark. Hunter's the one that found you and recommended you to Brayden. Don't fuck Hunter's daughter!!" He said under his breath while glaring at me.

"Just cool it, Elvis..."

"Just cool it!! You wanna' go back to Chicago, you idiot!"

"Relax. You think I would throw a chance like this in the garbage?"

"OK Mark. That's more like it."

Chapter 3

Once inside their large house I became impressed at how my new friends lived here in New Orleans. A twinge of regret in my stomach for what I could have had had I worked harder. The house was like something out of a music television channel.

It was teeming with rare paintings, servants, mementos, platinum records, and all sorts of awards and collector's items from different parts of the world. Brayden showed me the guest room where Hunter had left my baggage. I took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. I was told by a helper to meet the rest of them in the recording studio by the pool.

When I stumbled inside and they all stared, I could tell that perhaps they weren't too impressed. I had brought a cold with me to New Orleans and hadn't seen domesticity for a while. We sat around each other and got down to business.

They began playing songs for me from their yet to be released album. They had only begun recording a few; one song in particular was very catchy. Hunter and Brayden explained that they were desperate and did not want to let their fans down. The new guy had to be a perfect fit.

Hunter had been looking for a new record label in Chicago and caught my act while I busked in the Washington blue line platform during rush hours. Apparently the label was right outside and when he said he needed new talent they pointed me out. Being able to switch gears from rock 'n' roll, to blues, to country depending on the mood was a rare talent. They were intending on reaching out to me sooner or later if he wasn't interested.

I sensed Brayden wasn't keen on retaining me, saying that they were trying out some other guys. I was at the point of getting up, thanking them, and leaving when Sophia walked through the doors and said hello. As I rose I said I wanted to speak to my manager but Sophia's presence had a strange calming effect on my mood.

"Just give it a try Mark!" My manager kept insisting after a discussion with him in a corner of the room.

Normally I would have left. I could sense animosity brewing between me and Brayden. I overheard them talking as well. They were saying things along the lines that I had never really been a signed artist, that I had a bad attitude, that I didn't have the talent to front a band.

Deciding to look on the bright side I walked toward them and praised them for their last two albums. They were impressed that I knew about them; not Hunter because the man was a legend. They had won music's top award twice, but their fan base was mostly Europe. Although they were huge in Europe and had a tiny following in Canada they were far from mainstream.

I asked them to show me the lyrics for their new album and tell me what they wanted me to sing. I told them we might as well put our cards on the table. Brayden beckoned me into the vocal booth and handed me some sheets of lyrics. It was a song called "A Brand New Man". Within a few minutes of reading I had the lyrics down pat.

"OK, I got it," I said to Brayden and led him out of the booth smiling kindly.

"Let's see what I can do with this."

My self esteem was not at its best but I always had confidence in my voice. Although their attitude caused me to doubt myself I knew for a fact I could sing; like knowing how to ride a bike. I snapped on their studio headphones and when I was wired in gave them the signal to begin.

Within seconds I began hearing what had already been recorded and recognized this song as the one that stood out to me earlier. It was a slow folk song and easy for a singer of my scope to tackle. I began to sing in tune with the rest of the track. Pretty soon I realized that the magic never left.

As I looked out through the pane they were all smiling at me, especially Sophia. I began singing the song to her for a while. I could tell that she was getting drawn in. In a way my voice never sounded better.

As afternoon turned into evening they had enough vocal takes. My manager, Sophia, and I watched Hunter and Brayden from the control room as they played inside the live booth of the recording studio. They kept arguing endlessly over the strings and keys.

Elvis kept patting me on the back and smiling but I had different thoughts. I was going to tell them to trash it. I kept remembering that disagreements that are inevitable when playing with a band. I got up and looked at my manager but he received a phone call from Chicago. He stopped me by motioning me with his index finger and stepped outside closing the door. He left me alone with Sophia inside the control room.

"Are you OK? I really like the way you sing," She said.

"Yeah, it seems your dad and Brayden can't agree on something Sophia."

"Yes, yes...I know. It blows. Brayden can be such a cocksucker!"

Being more sexually experienced than her, the way she said that word threw me completely off. I casually looked at her pale legs as she sat back lifting her lovely sandaled feet up against an amp. She noticed my eyes on her legs but didn't seem to mind at all. My manager came back in the room and asked if everything was OK. I nodded.

Somehow listening to this twenty one year old beauty say the word "cocksucker" was making my head spin. To hear such a dirty word coming from Sophia's lips made me want to fuck her in every possible position. Unconsciously I just took the gig to see more of her. That evening my manager told me he had to get back to Chicago and that my first installment was already in my bank account.

As we recorded more songs for the album the next day Sophia hung around the studio with us the entire time. The following day she wore these designer black jeans, black high heels, and a tucked in over sized pink tee shirt with the name of an indie band on it, her black hair pouring over her delicate shoulders. Her jeans were so stretched out that when she turned around I could practically see a cleavage furrow outlining her cute derriere.