Strum

heart//beats: music, sex, and emotion 2023 is a story challenge organised by Literotica author EarlyMorningLight. The premise is Songs for sex and love - Musicians exploring passion, intimate moments defined by sound. We shall see if I do the themes justice.

A previous story I wrote, Girl in a Rock Show, dealt with these themes and would have fit nicely into this challenge, and so it was natural for me to expand upon that story by writing a sequel of sorts. But this is very much a stand-alone story, with no prerequisite reading required. I didn't plan its journey, it happened the way it did.

And just so you know, there's one made up band in this tale, and they're called Rumble Machine. All other bands and musicians mentioned are real.

Oh, and there will be errors, there always are, do forgive them because this is amateur writing on a free amateur writing site.

But most of all, enjoy.

~0~

You, the young woman strumming your guitar in the bar one evening - your voice made me smile and you gave us reason to listen, and there's little wonder we all applauded. Your song-skill was divine, your music magical.

~0~

January 2019

Why was I here?

I didn't mean why in an existential way, but rather in a, I'm half a world away from family and friends, missing them deeply, making my heart feel hollow, missing my dog, missing my home, and now there is a creepy man who doesn't stop leering at me across the aisle, legs manspreading as wide as possible, and he has his hand in his pocket and is playing with himself.

Never judge someone by their appearance, because the man was wearing a three piece suit and looked more than respectable, but he was definitely playing with himself and not even hiding the fact he was looking at me.

Prickles of heat flared across my skin, made worse by the stifling atmosphere and I wanted out of there. Fortunately, the train slowed and without hesitation I stood and didn't look back when I moved up the carriage to the next set of doors. There was an announcement regarding the location of our next stop, but I hardly paid attention as the lights brightened outside the window, my train rushing past people waiting to board, the doors opening and I stepped across the gap. I only looked around when I was on the platform and the train began pulling away. Thankfully creepy suit guy didn't follow me.

My next question to myself was, where am I?

I was in London, I knew that much. I was a long way from home, despite the numbers of fellow Aussies I ran into, many who tried involving me in their shenanigans once they heard me speak their own brand of English. Maybe I should've joined them and burst out of my shell, but I'm naturally introverted, a trait I get from Mum. Yet, she's the one who lived here for several years, doing the sex, drugs and rock and roll thing, making any shenanigans offered to me pale in comparison.

Mum's such a contradiction. Still, her tales inspired me to travel, however I wasn't influenced by her stories of sex, drugs or rock and roll, and other things she didn't tell, but it was Mum's stories involving museums and galleries and landmarks and the like which made the biggest impression. However, one thing Mum never mentioned about her time in London was the Tube.

Now it was my turn to live my own adventure, wondering if I'd made wise choices leading me to stand on a railway platform deep under the Earth, warm wind blowing about me, pushed ahead of a speeding train charging through the tunnel towards me like a piston. The dark tunnel brightened, where it came slowly at first, then quicker, and there was noise of steel wheels on steel rails as the train emerged from the tunnel, traversing the length of the platform and coming to a stop. The recoded announcement told me to mind the gap as I told myself to climb aboard because I needed to continue my journey.

The doors slid aside, revealing people who disgorged onto the platform around me. Office workers, older folk with canes, mums with strollers and children, and teenagers. A young woman carried a sleeping infant in a child harness on her front. Her septum was pierced with a similar stainless steel horseshoe barbell like my own, and when her eyes caught mine it was like looking into a mirror; greyish-blue irises, so very similar to the eyes I inherited from Mum. The girl, for she couldn't be more than eighteen like myself, or maybe nineteen or twenty, reminded me of Mum in other ways. Perhaps it was her long, straight brown hair, her brief smile when our eyes meet, like she was embarrassed, and her polite, "Excuse me."

My face flushed, because I was embarrassed for standing in her path. Stepping aside, I mumbled, "Sorry."

When she passed by, she whispered, "Thank you."

I watched her go, fumbling with her jacket, noting her baby was already rugged up against the cold despite the stifling heat down here in the tunnels, contrasting with the chilly surface world. And this is how I'd come to think of London when I ride the Tube. Down here is the London Underground; hot and stuffy, inhabited by subterranean folk all moving through tunnels like good little worker ants. And up there is the Surface, the real world, brighter than down here, but grey, windy and cold and nothing like my home town of Brisbane.

The recorded voice said, Mind the gap, please stand clear of the doors, this train is about to depart, and the train doors closed with beeping alarm, causing me to turn and watch the train begin to roll. "Darn."

Once the rail noises faded with the departing train, new sounds filled the space, an announcer telling us about the next train's arrival, and three young men were heading in my direction. Their banter bothered me, laughing and jumping, one boy faking a push at his mate towards the edge of the platform in some stupid blokey jokey manner, and they were all laughing. I'm not naïve to young men's carry on, and after the creepy dude on the train I'd used up my will to deal with shitty behaviour. Given the platform was too narrow to step aside without them coming much too close for comfort, I decided to get the hell out of there. I turned and left in the direction of the young mother, wondering where she was now.

An escalator led me to the surface, the boyish sounds of banter and laughter from the young lads behind me on the platform below. They weren't chasing after me, yet the growing natural light comforted me for some reason I couldn't quite understand. Maybe it was something to do with being back in the familiar world of the Surface rather than in the subterranean Underground.

Pulling my coat tight, the breezy chill still managed to bite the moment I exited onto the street. The smell of cars and city replaced the smells of the subway, and people were going about their lives rugged up to the cold. Women in coats and clacking heals, men in business suits and more coats, but the only person here I remember in any detail is the scruffy man with greying dreadlocks, pulling a small cart behind him with what I can only imagine were his worldly possessions.

I contemplated him for a moment, wondering how he survived the northern European winters, thinking to take his photo, but perhaps he felt my eyes upon him, for he turned and looked into my soul, and a rotten gap appeared among his scruffy beard, where I think he was smiling, and I smiled back but quickly decided I'd leave him to his wandering.

There were no landmarks here, at least nothing I could use or recognise, only roads deep between rows of terrace houses like out of story books or movies, but my eye was drawn to several bare trees towering over the road, indicating a park or some other green space.

It was this very moment I heard lyrics from back home, where someone sang with the voice of an angel, accompanied by an acoustic guitar, singing to me, telling me to Follow the Sun.

Xavia Rudd, I thought as memories of family trips to the beach and hanging out with friends in parks on picnic rugs with our guitars instantly filled the hollow space where my homesickness dwelt in my heart. A song of wonderful summer fun and home penetrating this bleak London landscape.

The girl stood out in the bleakness, sitting on the park bench in the centre of the small reserve, dark curls spilling from the edges of her black hoodie, which cast dark shadows across her dark face, all while she sang and strummed her guitar.

She possessed a mesmerising voice and she didn't even hint at acknowledging me when I stood in front of her. Not that I need her to. Her guitar case was beside her, propped on the bench seat, not open for money like a busker's would, because there were no people about so she wasn't here for our admiration or money. I could tell she was making music and singing for her own pleasure, where she shared her talent to the world for free. I'm not sure if anyone else was paying attention anyhow.

There were places I needed to be, but I stayed, and she soon finished the song and I clapped enthusiastically. "Bravo, encore!"

Big dark eyes met mine and a hint of a smile formed upon her lips, and without further ado, she began plucking at the strings, then tapping her foot on the on the ground. I knew the tune, a whistle forming on my lips, and her smile grew.

She sang, "Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa..."

"Not the way that I do love you..."

I clapped along, my beat was stronger than her foot on the dew-soaked grass, her fingers plucking their way through Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' Home.

I think we sang the whole song. And by the whole song, I mean all of it. Even the spoken parts, where she spoke Alex's parts, I spoke Jade's, we sang the rest in unison until I ended with more whistling, and she tapped her knuckles on the guitar till we found the natural end.

She crooned, "Home is when I'm alone with you..."

Little flips formed in my heart, and I clapped, beaming, and she smiled back, even more so when I said, "Beautiful! Bravo!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," she laughed.

"And Edward Sharpe."

"Huh?"

"The song, Home, it's by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros."

"Oh, yeah, of course. I knew, I was...confused for a moment."

"Do you like Xavier Rudd too?"

Her stare filled the silence, then she shrugged. "Oh, the other song? I suppose I do. I found his song on YouTube and liked it. Same with many of the songs I play. To be fair I don't always know the artist. I find something, listen to it over and over, learn it, and then move on to another song."

"Oh, I thought you were going to say you were a mad keen fan of indie folksy music."

She shrugged. "I play what I like, so maybe I am a fan. Anyway, you're Australian, right?"

"Don't hold it against me. But, yes, I guess my accent gives it away?"

"Nah, it was the blue stripes through your bleach blond hair. It says, look at me, I'm an Aussie girl in London, but not quite like every other Aussie girl in London. After all, there's so many of you here, so it might have been your accent, not like I could miss it."

"Yeah, I'm not like other Aussie girls in London."

"Are you sure about that?" she said with a chuckled, and I felt my face prickle, suddenly uncomfortable at being the centre of attention. But I'd promised myself I'd jump out of my comfort zone on this trip and leave my tendency for introversion behind. I thought of something more to say, but the girl beat me to it, grinning and saying, "I bet you're from somewhere like Ramsay Street or Summer Bay."

"Oh, for sure. Life's a big soap opera where I come from, drama after drama. I bet you're from somewhere like..." I couldn't think of any British soap operas, "...wherever the Inbetweeners are from."

"What a rubbish guess! Do I look male, middle class and white to you?"

"Ha, no, you look nothing like Ben Folds, even if you are rockin' the suburbs."

"What?"

"Oh, forget it. Sorry, but I don't watch a lot of British TV."

She shook her head. "I'll let you off this one time if you can guess where I'm from."

"Hmmm, I guess you're from around here?"

"Close. I'm from over there." She laughed, pointing in the direction I'd come. "See the big block of flats past the station? That's where I'm from."

"I thought you were going to say you were from down that way," I said, pointing in the opposite direction to her home. "But over there is cool, I guess."

"You're funny."

"And why are you here? Like, singing in the park, and not over there near the big block of flats you come from?"

"Hmmm, I suppose I can tell you. Where I come from our walls are very thin and my neighbours have no taste in music and will complain to Mum or my brother if I play guitar and sing, and Mum would tell me to take it away. Wes wouldn't care what the neighbours said, but Mum would make him take me out, which is what she did since I was about twelve, because I love to play guitar and sing, and one day my brother Wes brought me to this little sanctuary and we jammed. No one bothers me here except for the occasional girl from Australia, and now I'm twenty and still singing in the park. Now you know why I'm here, but why are you here, Miss Kylie?"

Confused, I said, "It's not Kylie, I'm Kim."

"Sure thing, Kylie Minogue. You know, better the devil you know."

"Oh, I get it, but do you actually know who Kylie is?"

"Of course, Mum played her on repeat to me as I grew up."

"Poor you, but like I said, I'm Kim, not Kylie."

She laughed. "I was close, Kim-not-Kylie. The thing is, all you Aussies sound the same to me. Anyhow, you didn't answer me, why are you here?"

"I was asking myself that same question not so long ago. Like, when I was on the train just before and some bloke dressed like a respectable business man kept leering at me and playing with his cock in his pocket."

The girl contemplated me for a moment. "You're in London for the first time ever, right?"

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, I replied, "Second time, actually, but I can hardly remember the first time."

"Oh," she said, a smile forming on her lips. "Too much alcohol and drugs on your first trip?"

"No," I laughed. "I was five when I came out here the first time, with Dad to see mum who was living here for a while."

"Ha! Just so you know, drinking alcohol and taking drugs at five is not cool. But maybe when you're eighteen or nineteen..."

"I'm eighteen, if you're asking," I replied, and with another cheeky smile, I added, "And as if you weren't drinking and taking drugs at five."

A scowl crossed her face. "You take one look at me and find out I live over there and now you think I take drugs!"

"I was only joking," I said, much too quick, feeling I'd perhaps crossed a line with my friendly joke.

"Sure you were," she said with a pout, then gave a little nod while looking past me. "Now look, the police are coming to take me away."

I looked over my shoulder to where she'd gestured, noting a police car driving towards us.

"Don't look," she snapped, "You'll get us arrested. Just act cool."

Shifting from one foot to the other, I turned to face her, watching my breath cloud form and dissipate like smoke. Her eyes locked with mine and I felt her fear, noting her briefly glance to her right, my left, the police car cruising by with two constables inside vaguely taking interest in us for perhaps less than a second, not even slowing as they drove past.

She held my gaze for a moment more, then her face broke into the biggest smile. "You gullible bitch, the police don't give a shit about two random girls in the park! Though I was worried they'd arrest you because you were shaking like a guilty bitch."

"I wasn't scared," I said, smiling because I knew I'd been had. "I was shivering."

"You were quaking in your boots! And you still haven't answered why you're here."

"What's your name?"

"Why are you here?"

"Name?"

She relented, huffing, her name forming a breath cloud. "Tanya. Now, Kim-not-Kylie..."

"It's Kim."

"Kimmy..."

"Tannie..."

She almost laughed, I could tell.

"I bet they call you Cummy Kimmy."

"Oh, good one, do they call you Titty Tannie?"

"You're just jealous of these puppies," she said, laying her guitar on her lap and cupping under her breasts to lift them, through her hoodie jumper, mind you.

"Titty Tannie stroked her kitty..." I couldn't think of anything else and tried in vain not to laugh.

With hands on hips she cocked her head. "Wow, now you're laughing at your own jokes. I'd like to say your talent knows no bounds, Kim, but don't give up your day job. Anyhow, like I asked, why are you here?"

"You're right," I said, still giggling. "And my reason for being here is because, like I think I told you, some random weirdo was on the train watching me with hand in pocket, fondling himself, and so I jumped off the train at the next stop. Which was here. And here is not where I was going."

"And where were you going, Kimmy?"

I sighed. "I'm on my way to Wembley."

"The football stadium?"

"Yep, the stadium."

She contemplated me, her breath condensing with every exhale. "Nothing's on there today, at least as far as I know."

"I know. My family are sports mad and my dad and brothers want me to go and take a photo of the stadium for some reason. Dad saw the current one being built when he visited London way back and took some photos."

"On the trip when you were five?"

"Yeah, probably. I booked a guided tour, but I'll probably miss it now."

"Hmmm," she said, pausing for a moment or two. "It's your lucky day, Cummy Kimmy, because I happen to know someone who works there."

"At Wembley?"

"No, at Big Ben like we were just talking about for the past hour."

"One hour, sure, let's say that. Big Ben would probably say it was a minute and we didn't even mention him, but either way, I'm going to miss my tour. But whatever."

"Like I said, if you'd listened to me, my friend works there."

"At Big Ben?"

"No, silly Kimmy, at Wembley Stadium."

"And are you saying you can get me in?" I was sceptical.

"I could. But there's a fee."

"What kind of fee?"

"You have to give the soul of your first born to me."

"I only just met you and this is crazy. You might be a psycho or something. Only a psycho would sit in this cold park."

"Yeah, perhaps if you hang out with me long enough you'll get to find out how psycho I really am," she replied, grinning.

~0~

Maybe I went along with Tanya's plan because I was feeling alone, and maybe to jump out of my comfort zone. Anyhow, I had nothing better to do and was full of intrigue, thinking perhaps my booking would still gain me stadium entry, even if I missed the guided tour.

I followed Tanya to the Tube station, and in no time we were back in the heat of the Underground, on a train, rattling our way through the Earth. Compared to earlier there were few commuters now, and Tanya placed her guitar, now in its case, between us. It was so close, even rubbing against my arm, and my fingers itched to pick it up and play.

"You in London for long?" she asked, breaking the silence, pulling her hood back to reveal black ringlets falling around her shoulders, as far as her chest. I wanted to tell her how I thought her hair was lovely, but some hesitant habits never die.

The plump old woman sitting across from us pulled her coat tight, despite the heat, pretending to ignore our conversation, subtle glances betraying her interest. I didn't like the fact she was listening in, but we were on a train and not in a private lounge room, so I spoke softly. "I'm visiting the UK and Ireland for two weeks, then off to Holland, Belgium, France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany for four."