How to Bang Ch. 02

I touched his silk shirt, near his waist. "So soft," I said.

I held his hand. I could tell he wanted to pull away.

"I'm scared," he whispered.

"And you think I'm not?"

I turned so I was standing beside him instead of facing him, and we both leaned against the side of the building and watched the downpour.

"Why can't bassists tell jokes?" I asked.

"Why?"

"Timing."

He laughed, and while he was laughing I leaned over and kissed him. Just a small peck on the lips. I heard a small intake of breath, like maybe he was desperate for more but also afraid. I couldn't be sure. Then I pulled away and leaned back against the wall again.

I ran my hand up his arm. There was a charge there like I'd never felt before. A combination of unbridled want, sultry atmosphere, and magic electricity. I stroked his arm some more, reveling in the combination of wanting so much more and being grateful for the glorious joy I was feeling at just this simple touch.

For a few seconds the rain came down even harder, the kind of storm you can tell will blow through fast. I leaned over and kissed him again, just the barest touch of lips to lips, feather light. A wind whipped up and soaked us, but I didn't care, it matched the fury I wanted to unleash into the kiss but didn't.

He broke the kiss abruptly. He was panting, and he looked like he needed me like a drowning man but was still going to push me away.

"Aar," I said. "We both love music. We both love travel. We both love pizza."

"We both love to play Frank Sinatra at the very last minute," he said sarcastically.

I smiled.

I rubbed my thumb over the top of his hand.

"I've never met anyone like you. Will you give this a chance?"

He was silent for a beat. Two. That was a beat too long.

"Maybe," he said.

Aaron looked at me for a second. I could see the want, the lust, and the fear. Then he blinked and all that emotion was gone. He stared out at the rain.

"We go back to Nashville tomorrow," I said.

"Mmn-hmn," he said. "Then Memphis."

"How about you let me take you out for dinner again in St. Louis," I said.

"Okay," he said.

I smiled at him. I wanted to kiss him again, but I knew it was too soon. Just as suddenly as the rain started, it stopped. The streets seemed washed clean but still grey.

I let go of his hand, and we walked up and down, looking at people with purple hair, business suits and sneakers, tiny dogs.

Pretty soon it was time to go back.

The thing about being on the road is that one city seems pretty much like another. If all you do is travel, set up, play in a dark club, break down, drive to the next city, set up, repeat, many places seem the same. But I was looking forward to St. Louis. Every four or five cities, on the pretense of giving Zeeter and Julie some alone time, Aaron and I got some alone time too.

It seemed none of these not quite dates had the magic of New York City and those moments in the rain. We never got further than holding hands for a few minutes and a brief kiss that was just a brush of the lips. But despite a gnawing want that was like a red fire eating at my belly, I was also strangely content just to be with Aaron. I treasured every moment for what it was. Laughing, nearness, goodness.

Jacksonville, Tallahassee, Baton Rouge.

In Beaumont, Texas the air conditioning broke down in the middle of our first set. The club had full stage lights and a packed audience. They opened the front and back doors and I was in a cross breeze but Aaron wasn't. He still played like a champ, fierce and full out. But after a few seconds sweat was running down his face. His hair was matted to the sides of his head and his shirt was soaked to skin.

I glanced back at him. He looked delicious. He whipped off his shirt between songs.

"I thought it was supposed to be hot in Texas," Aaron yelled. "You call this hot?"

Someone came up and poured some cold water over his head.

The combination of sweat and water made all the droplets on him pop in harsh relief under the light, and his skin glowed golden. I wanted to stop the show and lick him.

The bartender threw him a small towel and he put it around his neck. I wanted to lean over and tell him he looked like he should be the fantasy man on a calendar or in an X-rated magazine but he yelled, "Ah, one, two, three, four..."

He smiled at me and I missed my first two notes of the song until I turned around and got my head in the game.

I noticed three or four girls tuck numbers into his jeans when he walked off the stage on the first break.

I just threw him a bottle of water and watched him glug it down in one chug. Zeeter played a lick from Nelly's Hot in Here. The club owner took pity on us, and let us go after two and a half hours, before Aaron ended up with heat stroke.

"How often does that happen?" Aaron asked as we were loading up or gear.

"Technical malfunction or drummer looking like he's auditioning for playgirl?" I said.

He flipped me the finger.

"Just don't go all Red Hot Chili Peppers on us and we're fine," Zeeter said. "I think it's a hotel night though. You stink."

Austin, Dallas.

In Montgomery, Alabama it was still over 95 degrees when we were supposed to start at 9 o'clock. Aaron wore just his white tank top and short cut off jean shorts. I ghosted my fingers over the bare skin on his shoulder, across his back, to his other shoulder. I whispered in his ear, "Consider that light touch part of my subtle seduction."

"I'm not going to be seduced," he said in a scared whisper. But his eyes dilated, and he bit his lip.

"Hey, stop macking on my cousin," Julie said loudly from a few feet away.

"I can't help it," I said, and gave her a smile and a stiff middle finger.

Back to Atlanta. Suburbs. Eddie's Attic. Full house, excellent sound quality and a crowd that was really into it.

"Nice," Aaron said on the first break.

I smiled at him. I couldn't agree more.

In Charlotte, NC, early in the day, we played a short free show in a children's ward at the local hospital. A little bald girl, about ten years old, came up to Aaron after the show.

"I always wanted to play drums," she said. "But I don't have time to get as good as you are before I die."

Yikes.

"Hey, hey," Aaron said. "Drummers make their own time. Come on, I'll show you."

He spent about two hours giving her a drum lesson. He left her a pair of sticks and his snare drum.

"I'm going to collect that drum when we come back through here a few months from now, and I want to see you doing those drills like a pro."

The smile she gave him lit up the room. Kind of like the smile I wanted to give him.

"Aaron, do you have another snare in your gear?" Julie asked.

"Nope."

"We have a gig tonight."

"I know. So we have to hit a music store, now."

That one snare cost more than my bass and all my gear. Fuck.

Off to Ashville, one of my favorite cities. Two day break in Ashville with perfect weather.

Richmond, VA. Washington, DC.

We had an extra day in DC. Aaron had never been there before. We did all the touristy things, the Smithsonian museums, and the zoo, and walking the mall. We ended up on the steps of the Lincoln memorial.

He picked up a lock of my hair and ran his fingers through it.

"Did I ever tell you how much I liked your hair?"

"Nope," I said.

"Well I do."

I shrugged. "Gotta keep up the rock and roll appearance. Besides. What if I shaved it off and found I had a wavy-shaped head?"

"For the extra brain power?"

"Or the extra empty space."

"You know, I loved Berklee," Aaron said, abruptly changing the topic. "I loved Boston, and being steeped in the music, and I had good friends."

I nodded.

"But it was nothing like this. I know being on the road can be hard, but you've made it easy for me. Your friendship has made it easy for me."

I nodded again.

"I'm sorry I'm a little basket case about you. I appreciate you not pushing me. I've just had to focus on the tour and that's it. There's been so much running through my head. I just haven't been ready to think about really dating."

I didn't know what to say.

"It's just, you know, it's not really safe getting involved with straight guys, or bi guys."

"God, I hate those labels."

"I was hurt once before, worse than I've said. So, I just don't know what to do sometimes."

"No pressure, dude," I said.

"It feels so urgent all the time," he whispered. "The wanting you. If I don't tamp it down with a lid on it, if I let it rear up for even a second, it's huge, like a monster. It's insane."

I grinned like an idiot.

He punched me in the shoulder.

"Aaron, sometimes its like the music of the universe. You just have to go with your gut, and let the flow of emotions take you where it's gonna take you."

Gently I lifted his hand and I pressed my lips to his knuckles. "But I can promise you this. Whatever happens, I'm not going to hurt you. Ever. You have my word on it."

I wasn't sure if he believed me. But I could tell he wanted to.

*

Double gigs, two a day, in Baltimore. So it was four gigs in two days to packed houses. Lousy tips, long hours, and one of the clubs was down two narrow flights in a sub basement. Made me glad I didn't have to haul a drum kit. Not that bass gear is exactly light. Remind me next life to play the flute.

In Cleveland we played a fancy restaurant on the top floor of a building. Aaron and I got into the elevator. He was holding his trap box filled with the drum stands and I had my big PA in my arms and the bass on my back. A small female chef with two carts of food, a cart of small pastries and one of whole raw dead fish, wanted to get in the same elevator with us. We made room.

I crowded against Aaron, my right side pressing up against his left, and the electricity bloomed up between us.

"How many musicians does it take to fill up an elevator?" I whispered in his ear.

He shrugged. "How many?"

"Depends on the elevator."

He laughed. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard."

"I know, I just made it up." I nipped his ear quickly. He shivered.

The chef unloaded her stuff and I laughed. We seemed so in sync, on stage and off, that it was hard to believe that all the physical contact we'd had had been so light and quick, a symphony of barely touching touches.

The quick bite on his ear and his reaction to it made me grin though. My playful attitude lasted through the whole gig.

We had one more gig in a log-cabin like bar in a suburb west of Cleveland.

Then a long drive to Boise.

"Somehow I feel I should make jokes about Boise," Zeeter said.

"You booked it," Julie said.

"The only joke I can think of is, 'Boise: it's so small there are no jokes about Boise.'"

"Funny," Julie said.

By the end of the first set there were over two hundred people packed in the venue for the show in Boise.

"That's because there's nothing else to do in Boise," Zeeter said.

"Funny," Julie said, in the sarcastic tone she uses to mean it's really not.

When we started the second set there was a beautiful blonde with big breasts and a low cut T-shirt standing right in front of my part of the stage with puppy dog eyes and a fuck me stare. I smiled back at her. I couldn't help it; it was habit. I got off on her grooving on me and played louder, moved more, tossed my hair back doing that rocker thing. Her smile was blinding. Nice.

Zeeter said, "We're going to do one more song before we pause for the cause," what he always said right before we take our third break. So it was the last song before the break when I realized that even though Aaron never faltered, he was playing meathead. He was banging on the two and the four and nothing else. What was his problem? I looked back at him. He was staring straight ahead, his lips rolled in together pressed in one straight line. I tried to catch his eye and mouth 'are you okay?' but I couldn't get him to look at me.

Strange.

As soon as the song was over, he was off like a shot, banging into my shoulder on the way off the stage. I put my bass down and ran after him. He was out the back door. I followed.

"Hey, man, are you all right?"

He spun on me.

"You fucking hypocrite."

"What?"

"You were all over that chick."

"Huh? What? Who? What?"

"That blonde? In the front row? White shirt, big tits. Are you planning on fucking her in the bathroom before we leave?"

"Wait, what?"

"Don't deny it, you were all over her!"

I shook my head like a wet dog trying to get dry. Boyoyiiiing.

I got up in his face. "First of all fuck head, we are not dating, you said it yourself we are not dating, so we sure as shit are not exclusive."

He looked as if I hit him.

"Second of all, I didn't so much as touch that chick, and you know it, because you were up on stage with me the whole time."

"But you wanted her," he whispered.

I brushed my knuckles across his cheek.

"I didn't," I said.

"But you flirted with her," he said softly.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm used to flirting with girls. I didn't know it would hurt you. It was dumb. I'm sorry."

He looked down.

I closed the space between us, so we were chest to chest. "If you don't want me to do it again, I won't do it again," I said.

"I don't want you to do it again," he whispered.

"Say it louder," I said.

"Prick."

I smiled.

"I like you, too."

"Jerk."

I took his chin in my hand and lifted his head up. I brushed a lock of hair back and tucked it behind his ear. "You are the most gorgeous, most handsome guy I've ever met. I only want you."

Then I kissed him. Really kissed him. I let my tongue plunder and dance into his mouth. He tasted faintly of an orange beer, and strong male, and sexual promise. Mist started down and quickly turned to rain. What it is with us and rain?

I backed him up against a wall. I grabbed his neck hard, ground my hips again, and kissed him with everything I had, letting weeks of pent up passion pour into it.

"Are you—holy shit!" Julie said.

She backed into the club.

I smiled at Aaron. "I guess that cat's out of the bag."

He smiled back at me. "Guess so. Less talk. More kissing."

I kissed him again, starting softer and licking into him with more and more demands until I finally noticed his hands on my chest, pushing me away.

"Good thing that bimbo was in the audience, huh?"

"Jerk," he said again, affectionately.

"It's probably time to go back in," I said.

"Yeah," he said and sighed.

"So," I said and raised my eyebrows at him. "We're finally dating now?"

"Yeah," he said and sighed again, like it was a terrible burden.

"Come on," I said. I gave him a push toward the door and walked behind him so I could ogle how his jeans fit his ass.

"Hooray for Boise," I mumbled as we reached the door. I'm pretty sure he heard me.

When we got back in I could tell that Julie had told Zeeter, but neither of them said anything. The girl with the big boobs was gone. A few days later when Zeeter had a moment where he was able to get me alone he told me that she had left me her number with him. "But I guess you don't need it anymore," he said.

I just raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. I didn't take the number from him either.

If I wanted Aaron before, I wanted him even more now. But it seemed like we had even less opportunity to go out or make out then we did before. We were always driving or playing. A few times we would go out back behind a club between sets, and if other people weren't back there smoking, I would be able to get lost in his kisses.

The great divide, those three feet between where he slept and where I didn't stayed as wide as ever. I inched in about three inches, but that was it. I thought he made it pretty clear with his body language that he didn't want me invading his space more than that. If he wanted, he would come to me. But maybe I was misreading it? Maybe he was just waiting for me to make the first move?

We were standing behind a club, between the first and second set, when I finally realized when we kissed he would always still my hands from wandering. I must have realized it before, but it was behind a club in Philly that I realized it really, really clearly.

"Aar?" I said.

"Yeah?" His voice was breathless from kissing. I liked that.

"I want to take this a little further. Are you waiting for me to make a move?"

Slight shake of the head.

"Is it that you want to make the next move?"

Slight shake of the head.

In my mind that left not ready. Fuck. Or not fuck as the case may be.

A thought occurred to me. Nah. He's 22. No way.

"Ah, Aar? You're not a virgin are you?"

Slight shake of the head.

"Not attracted to me that way?" Please God, don't let that be the answer.

Slight shake of the head.

"For a talkative guy, you're not giving me a lot of answers here, Aar. Is this twenty questions?"

Smile from Aaron. Slight shake of the head.

"Help me out here, Aaron."

"It's great so far. What if it doesn't work? What if it's... not that good? We're stuck together 24/7 for the next almost five months."

I nuzzled his neck and rubbed my lips against his ear. He shivered.

"It'll work," I said, my voice a husky growl.

"But what if it doesn't?"

"What if it does?"

Julie came out the back door. "Two minutes."

I backed up and nodded at her. I had forgotten where we were, I was concentrating so intensely.

"I don't want to push you. I've never done this before either. I just know what I feel."

Aaron smiled. "What do you mean, either, straight boy?"

I shook my head at him. "You're a pain in my ass."

"I will be."

"No fucking way."

We were both laughing as we went back in to play. Maybe we did have more to talk about.

Unbelievably, another month went by. Kissing, holding hands, joking.

Multiple dates in Chicago.

We were in Kansas City on my birthday. Just like every year, Julie and Zeet bought me a big cake with small writing. Aaron read it out loud, "One small step for man, one impossible leap for bassists."

Julie and Zeet cracked up. Aaron looked at me.

"I have the same birthday as Neil Armstrong, the Astronaut. So it's supposed to be, one small step for man, one great step for mankind, one impossible leap for bassists."

"Bitch to fit all that on a cake," Zeeter said.

"I thought about doing"—Julie paused to hold her hands up to frame her words—"From space to spacey, but why mess with tradition?"

I could think of something else I wanted for my birthday. But I had to settle with one night off, hearing someone else's band for once, and so-so pizza.

The next night we had a gig in a bar that was the smokiest and greasiest we'd been in so far.

"Matt," Aaron said to me at the end of the night. He lifted up a lock of my hair and brought it to his nose. "You smell like burnt chicken wings. I don't know whether to eat you or hose you down."

I know which I'd prefer.

But before I could think of a sexy comeback, Julie and Zeeter were right by our side. "We're paid, let's blow this joint before the oil seeps into my pores, and I turn into a beer-battered french fry," Zeeter said.

Back to the grind. Milwaukee, Los Angeles.

On the drive to Las Vegas Julie got into a Buckcherry kick. We listened to three hours of straight Buck before Zeeter made her put on her headphones.

In Phoenix we got caught in a sandstorm.

"This is like something out of 'The Mummy,' " Julie said.

"Or that Tom Cruise movie, Mission Impossible 16," Aaron said.

"Funny," Julie said.

We made it to the gig with two minutes to spare, only to find that the gig was canceled.

"There's a bigger sirocco that's going to roll in in a few hours," the owner said. "You guys can park your van in our extra garage if you don't have a covered place to park," she said. "Otherwise you'll probably get sand damage."