She Had it All

"Do you want to talk or...?"

"I'm thinking the 'or'? How about you?"

"Lead on, MacDuff!"

Taylor was a very sexual creature. More than one therapist had suggested that her often wanton sexuality was some sort of cry for help or a suppressed need for love or intimacy or whatever. Taylor knew she could fuck a man better than he had ever been fucked before or would be again. She was determined to love and fuck this man like no other...make him want her...need her...desire her. She delighted in the tease, in subjecting her partner to excruciating anticipation...holding him off...making him cum when she wanted him to. Sadly, few men she had been with had reciprocated in kind.

As she awoke and gazed at his sleeping form in the early dawn light she almost giggled in the realization that she had certainly met her match. Jake had thrilled her and excited her as no other man ever had. He had found all of her special places, reveled in her friskiness and pleased her completely. She had cum more times than she could count; he had made her scream and made her moan. Just before drifting off, following a marathon string of delightfully nasty and vigorous fucking and sucking, he had made love to her...sweet, tender, passionate, patient, glorious love. She couldn't afford to screw this up but her history said she was bound to. She cried softly and prayed silently as she too drifted off to sleep.

Taylor walked into the kitchen wearing nothing more than one of Jake's shirts to find him pouring coffee and juice.

"That's the way I like my women! Barefoot and damned near naked!" he said, wrapping his arms around her and caressing her perfect rump.

"Actually the line is, 'barefoot and pregnant' as I recall."

"That could be arranged."

"Do you want more children, Jake?"

"I'm very open on that point."

"Good answer. I want babies. Do you mind if I turn on the entertainment news? Someone in that crowd last night has to have figured it out. I can change my name a little, cut my hair, dull the color and go without makeup but my voice is hard to disguise and I actually did one of the songs last night that got me on that damned show. My style on that one is unique to say the least."

"Let me save you the time. I already got a call from the sheriff who has already gotten several calls of inquiry; the snoopers are heading our way. Sorry, babe."

"Shit! This is the last thing I wanted to have happened. I'm going to have to go...before they get here."

"Maybe not."

"What?"

"Okay, first, they can check property records and put two and two together and within a few hours they will be turning into your dirt road---at which point they will promptly be arrested for trespassing and anything else the local constabulary can come up with. This is a very close-knit community, Taylor. You've already made some friends in your brief time here---and those friends are not about to sell you out...or sell me out."

"But..."

"You're here at my house and it will take them a while to figure that out---if they do at all. I agree that it might make sense to get out of town for a few days until it blows over. At some point you probably will have to make some sort of public statement. You should probably call someone back home...a publicist? Family?"

"I fired my publicist; I'll call mom."

"We should probably run over to your place and pick up some of your stuff---enough for a few days at least. Then we might just want to get out of town."

"Oh, darn that's not what I had in mind for the rest of the day but I guess you're right." Taylor replied, stroking his hard cock through his boxers.

She went down on her knees and released his turgid organ; he did not protest as her full mouth engulfed him and began the magic motion that always led to the same conclusion. He came quickly, filling her mouth with his salty essence; she swallowed every drop. Wordlessly, he raised her to her feet, spun her around and pushed her down on the counter.

She pushed her full rump back toward him, presenting as a spring mare might do. He slapped her butt playfully, then harder.

"What a bad little girl!" he growled.

"Am I your bad little girl, baby?"

"No one else's," he whispered.

"Then fuck your bad little girl...your bad little girl needs some cock...your cock...only yours."

Jake's still rock hard tool was deep inside her cunt in a single stroke. He rode her hard and took her deep, alternately pulling her hips back on his cock with his strong hands and slapping her well padded rump. Her fingers fell to her slippery slot...found the perfect spot...she could feel the heat rising...loved it this way...certain that she probably couldn't cum but then to her astonishment it hit her like a ton of bricks and she screamed out...screamed his name...whimpered.

His pace accelerated as he slammed into her...telling her in voice and deed what a hot fuck she was...how much he loved her ass...her mouth...her pussy. He came with a growl, screaming her name, shooting his precious seed deep inside her...so deep...right where it belonged inside her...inside her and no other woman...ever.

He gently turned her around, his fingers finding their way to her folds and then inside. He kissed her...finger-fucked her...caressed her tight anal crease...opened her butt cheeks and strayed there...softly rimming her tightest hole with his strong fingers...and she came again quite unexpectedly.

An hour later, they were on the road in Jake's truck.

"Where are we going?"

"To spend a couple of days with a good friend and his wife. If you're up for it, to lay down some music tracks. I don't want to push you here, Taylor, but, damn, it just feels right."

"We're going to record?"

"Only if you want to."

"I think I want to."

"Good."

An hour later, Jake and Taylor pulled up to the house of one of the most respected singer-songwriters in the business who was also a virtuoso on the guitar. Taylor was shocked to meet the man's wife; she had starred in several of Taylor's favorite movies.

"Oh, my God, you're..."

"And I know who you are too, hon. I'm addicted to reality talent shows—less so to your work since then---but still a huge fan of your amazing voice. Welcome to our home. While the boys talk boy stuff, let's get to know each other. So. How do you know Jake?"

Taylor related her short history less the previous night's activities.

"Taylor, my husband never served in the military; his older brother did. My husband is closer to his brother than anyone in the world---maybe even me. His brother served in the same war with Jake and he only came home because Jake got him out. . . driven back by enemy fire three times...wouldn't give up...wounded himself...got him out...got him to a hospital in the nick of time. Silver Star and a Purple Heart---which didn't mean a hill of beans to Jake.

"I love two men in the world, Taylor: my husband and the man you came with. I would trust him with my life---as would my husband. Don't ever hurt him. Don't even think about ever asking him about what he did in the war. What he did was save men's lives---lots of 'em. They don't come any better. I can see it in his eyes---he loves you. You're a very lucky girl. Please don't hurt my friend."

Taylor was taken aback but knew that no response was appropriate.

Brad and Jake chatted. "Hey, buddy, you're welcome to the studio but I'm going to need it back tomorrow afternoon. We're doing a gig at the Opry Saturday night and the boys are coming in so we can tune up. We haven't been on the road---or in the studio---for a while and just need to shake out the cobwebs. What do you hope to accomplish?"

"The girl's got an astounding voice Brad---but she hates what she's been singing. I've got some stuff I've never given any one that I think would work for her. Minimal accompaniment, just a six string or the piano. I don't think she quite understands how perfect her voice is for our genre. Hopefully if we can lay down a few tracks and she can hear how good it is...it will make her happy."

"You know how resistant the old guard can be about pop cross-overs. If she is as good as you say she is and really wants to do it, she's going to have to pay some dues---tour."

"I think she can handle it if she feels good about what she's doing. At the end of the day this business is about selling records and making money. I've certainly seen what the old guard and the radio station managers can do to bury a new artist---hell, look at the failure of the past three or four Nashville Star winners! She's got an advantage those kids didn't have. She's been part of the crappy side of the music business. She knows the score. Evidently she's socked a decent nest egg away. Right now she's far less about 'making it' in country music than she is feeling good about her music."

"Well, she's a looker and if your songs are as good as you say they are---and I have no doubt---then she's got a leg up. If the voice is as good as I've heard through the grapevine that it could be, she might just be able to pull it off. What's your interest, Jake?"

"I'm in love with the girl?"

"That'll work. Listen. Let me get you guys set up out in the barn; I've got some calls to make---problems to deal with involving the Opry appearance---but when I'm done I'll be glad to come out and run the board for you---or you can run the board and I'll pick."

From the outside it was just an old but well maintained barn; on the inside it was an acoustically engineered, state-of-the-art sound studio. Taylor was in awe.

"If you're up for it, why don't you take a few minutes to peruse my sheet music and we can try a couple. Simple, pure, acoustic---me on piano or guitar. We can run through 'em as many times---or as few times---as you like. If you are comfortable, Brad will be out in a little while to help us out."

"What do we expect to accomplish, Jake?" Taylor asked, with some trepidation.

"It's really about what I hope you can accomplish. I'd just like to get some tracks down---so that you can hear how you sound singing this stuff. Hopefully, you'll feel good about it...that's all. No pressure---no retakes unless there is a blatant screw up."

Brad came in a couple of hours later as Jake and Taylor were just running through the last songs. He liked what he heard in the booth; he wanted to be part of it.

"Mind if an actual professional guitar picker, major recording star and former child prodigy sits in?" he quipped.

For the next six hours the three of them played and made tapes with Brad and Jake alternating between the booth and the accompaniment. They got nine songs down with a minimum number of retakes. Brad knew it was good as did Jake. Now Taylor needed convincing. They loaded the tracks onto an MP3 player. Taylor excused herself and drifted outside to walk and listen to her own music. Jake and Brad chatted.

"Shades of Patsy, friend Jake. She's a natural. For a singer of lesser ability the tracks would be raw but in her hands they come across as just...pure. There isn't a record label in Nashville that wouldn't be excited by this work. Her pop fans would probably hate it but..."

"I don't sense she cares about that, Brad. She just wants to feel good about what she is singing. She was in heaven all afternoon; hopefully she still will be when she gets done listening to herself. Right now this isn't about making or selling an album; it's just about making her smile...feel the joy."

"It'd be a crime not to share it."

"That's up to her."

Taylor came back an hour later and the grin on her face said all that needed to be said.

"I haven't really liked listening to my own voice in a very long time. Of course the songs are absolutely amazing...as if you wrote them just for me, Jake. I know we probably need to re-record some of them but..."

"Taylor, let me be the first to disagree; we made those tracks essentially flat without any tweaking. They don't need it. They have authenticity; unless there's an obvious flaw somewhere that I missed, you've damn near got an album here...if you want it. Sure, it wouldn't hurt to have a producer play with the song order, maybe even dub in an instrument here or there but they'd fly just the way they are," Brad injected.

"That's the part I hate, Brad---producers! They're all looking for a certain sound that says more about the producer than the artist. I don't know..."

"Taylor, I've been there. My first label and my first album---I'm lucky to have survived, career-wise. I've developed a simple philosophy when it comes to producers."

"Which is?"

"I don't let a producer touch my music who isn't in his or her own right an accomplished musician who had recorded, performed and succeeded at a very high level. Let me give you an example. Look. There's a friend of mine---he's been around the business a hell of a lot longer than I have.

"Alan's an icon; his albums sell like hot cakes. Everyone wants to write for him. Still, there are those that think he's gone a little too pop and in recent years a little too overproduced---even in concert. He knew it and hated it---wanted to get back to making music---simple, authentic and understated. So he decided to let one of the most revered singer/musician/performers in the industry---twenty-some Grammys---produce his most recent album.

"He had the guts to just put it in her hands and simply be the artist. He gave her free rein. It probably scared the hell out of him at times---she tends to win most battles in the studio. Trust me, I caved in completely on the song we did together and we won every award there is. In any event, it's the best work he's ever done; the critics love it and the fans adore it. I'd love her to produce my next album but she has a real life and family and her own career and getting on the waiting list to do studio work with her is like pulling teeth."

"Do you produce?"

"I'm still learning, Taylor. I know enough about it to know your stuff will stand on its own but I don't have the confidence yet to produce a whole album---certainly not a first effort."

"I don't know a hell of a lot about the current country industry, Brad, but I do know it has a reputation for being tough to break into---be accepted. Let's just take it slow---one step at a time. I decided as I was listening just now that Katherine is dead; I'm Taylor and I wouldn't feel right about trading on my pop success just to sell some music. I want to do this right---on my terms for a change. No disrespect but I need to feel a real audience beyond the two of you or Jake's friends and neighbors."

"Well, I might just have that opportunity for you---sooner, rather than later. Look, I'm a member of the Opry but this gig coming up was essentially helping out a friend. Seems one of his clients---also a product of a TV talent show---lost her contract after a disappointing reaction to her 'gimme' album and was hoping to reinvent herself. She cancelled, supposedly due to laryngitis but my gut tells me its nerves---she's just not ready."

"Oh, my."

"There's a duet I'd like to do at the Opry---the Grammy winner I spoke of with the angel of modern bluegrass---you could handle it and you'd be helping me out. You could also do the love song Jake wrote for you...and..."

"And?"

"We could do the duet you and Jake did together---particularly if he'd let me record it with you for my next album, which just happens to be lacking one more song—and is due out in just a few weeks."

"Oh, I...don't know...I..."

"Look, Taylor, I have a simple formula for singing very personal love duets like that. My wife stands in sight just off stage and I essentially sing it to her and I'm sure Jake would be glad to provide the same service for you."

"Taylor, your two voices would be perfect for it. Brad only does an album every couple of years and they go platinum in a matter of days. It would be perfect exposure for you without the strain of an album or even a solo single."

"Suppose someone recognizes me?"

"Well, that could happen but we can get you some boots, a Nudi suit and a big-ass cowboy hat and, hell! Your own mother won't recognize you! It's an easy crowd; they're just thrilled to see and hear their favorite stars and hear good live music. People make mistakes but no one cares. It's very, very, laid back."

"Okay...why not?"

"Well that was easy---although you had me worried for a minute there. Taylor, you've toured and performed in front of much larger audiences but the Ryman is a delightfully personal venue---you can see their faces. Let's throw some dinner together and look forward to a decent night's sleep. The guys will be here in the morning, then they're going to head for Nashville tomorrow afternoon; we'll head over on Saturday."

"I hate to come off as geographically challenged but how far is it from here?" Taylor inquired.

"Barely two hours from here by road. Not much over an hour from where you guys live. The boys are going over a day early with the bus. We'll head over the next day by car."

The two couples did in fact cook dinner together, although everyone seemed to defer to Jake who actually did know his way around a kitchen. The four turned in early but sleeping was not the first thought on their minds.

The next day, Brad's band drifted in. Taylor and Jake sat in the booth and listened to them until Brad asked her to join them. He asked her if she knew the words to a certain up-tempo honkytonker that was a crowd favorite at the Opry.

"I know I've heard the song, Brad; let me see some lyrics and sheet music if you've got it."

Taylor perused the sheet music and lyrics for a minute or so, looked up, smiled and said, "Yeah. I think I've got it."

"You've got to be kidding me!" he responded, and as if in challenge, the band kicked off the song. She hadn't been kidding; she nailed the song the first time through.

"How the hell do you do that?" one of the band members inquired.

"Half the time, I can't remember where I left my keys but I've always had an uncanny ability to look at music and lyrics and instantly commit them to memory."

"Ever do any writing?" Brad asked.

"I've tried. My 'people' never responded very well to anything I wrote and in all honesty it probably wasn't very good...at least not good pop."

"Taylor, bluntly I'm a better song writer than singer, but virtually every hit I've written has had collaboration. You ought to let someone work with you. The country audience has a very special place in their hearts for singers who write their own stuff. Other than King George, few really make it without writing. What am I saying? The 'man that brung you' is a friggin' song writing genius. You don't really need to go shopping."

By late afternoon the band felt comfortable. It was decided that Brad and Taylor would do three songs together, to include the honkytonker, the duet he had won a Grammy for and the one Jake had written. Then she would do the love song by Jake to minimal accompaniment. The band departed on Brad's bus for the two hour trip south. Right after lunch on Saturday, the four of them departed by SUV.

"I've recently started using a jet on tour. I don't really own it; it's a share kind of relationship, four of us formed a corporation and bought it. When concert appearances are fairly closely spaced---under four hours---I take the bus. I like the bus---Kim hates it. The plane has been a Godsend; living on the road can be hell on a marriage and a family. We're not really part of the Nashville social scene. Living here we're close enough to Music Row from a business standpoint while being far enough away to have some privacy."

Appearing at the Grand Ole Opry was unlike anything Taylor had ever experienced. People were so amazingly warm, friendly and supportive. While she wasn't up to date on the current country scene, she was flabbergasted to meet a number of the icons of traditional country back stage---people whose names and music she knew from listening to the radio with her grandparents many years earlier.