Just Say YesbyDinsmore©
Edited by Red Martha.
In "Joanne's Metamorphosis" my male protagonist was a successful writer of country music; I've only borrowed a sliver or two from that story theme. My musical tastes are eclectic; I enjoy classical, jazz, blues, classic rock, alternative rock and country---pretty much anything other than gangsta' rap. My son reintroduced me to country several years ago; from Patsy and Hank to Toby and Brad; I love the stories and the tunes.
Those who follow modern country will note that I've slipped a country lyric or song title in here and there just for fun. George's foray into the small audience, intimate, jazz-blues-rock genre was inspired by the John Mayer trio. I grew up in an era in which good live music was widely available and inexpensive; no matter how much you spend on audio equipment, it impossible to reproduce that live sound and feeling.
I will never forget the first time my ex-wife and I took our then six year old daughter to a honky-tonk with a decent steak and a fine house band for her first exposure to live music. When she felt rather than simply heard that opening draw of the fiddler's bow at the beginning of the Alabama classic, "Mountain Music", she looked at me with huge eyes as her shock quickly turned into a grin from ear to ear and she was hooked for life on live music regardless of the genre.
As Bonnie soaked up the sun's rays next to her parents' pool she knew she had to decide quickly what to do with her summer vacation. She despised this nouveau riche town and everything it stood for. Her parents were totally caught up in all of the social bullshit that was the hallmark of this little strip of land a bridge away from Florida's southeastern coast. Her parents had money...lots of money. They hadn't earned any of it; her grandfather had handled that nasty deed. She had money in her own right, again thanks to her recently departed grandparents. She would never have to work nor worry about marrying a man to take care of her.
She had been a debutante a few years earlier and had endured the traditional coming-out party. She was a strikingly beautiful young woman; she was fashionably tall and thin but with bumps and curves in all of the right places. She owed it all to good genes, not medical enhancement. Men wanted to fuck her and more than few had. She liked to fuck; most of the boys she had grown up with would rather drink and play backgammon or golf. By the time they got naked they were often pitiful as sexual partners. The boys and men she had fucked at college were different.
She could afford to be very picky; she eschewed the preppie assholes who dominated the campus. She liked her men decidedly more macho and manly, at least when it came to a fuck. She'd date and fuck them for a few weeks until the poor jerks believed there was a future; then she'd dump them and move on. Men had cocks and she liked cocks. Past that, they weren't of much value. She couldn't imagine herself ever being married; it would certainly not be to one of the poor little rich boys in this town who would end up working for their fathers and go to their graves still living off the family money.
She had to be honest with herself; she had once enjoyed this world. College had changed her. She had not been turned into some sort of left wing Moonbat at the exclusive New England university at which she matriculated but her view of the world had changed dramatically. There was more to life than this pseudo-crap; she was determined to find it.
She could just see the neighbor's expansive yard from the raised pool deck. The house in question actually fronted on the Atlantic. She knew it had been vacant for a number of years. She remembered that more than a decade earlier it had been a high end seasonal rental. She had played with the children who lived there until her parents found out they were just the caretaker's children and forbade her to have future contact with them. She'd even had a minor crush on the older boy but could no longer remember his name. He had been the first boy she had ever kissed. It had been quick and furtive but she remembered it fondly even if she could remember little else.
She had been told that the house had been tied up in an estate conflict for many years. Evidently it had deteriorated without regular occupancy. Her mother, who knew something about real estate values in this area, had said the structure and grounds were priced way above what was reasonable even for this town.
She had noted when she had arrived home from college that numerous workmen were coming and going next door. Someone had bought the rambling old Spanish villa and was fixing it up. She remembered the exquisite hand laid stone wall which surrounded the yard. It had fallen into disrepair over the years. The object of her interest was less the stone wall itself than the muscular young laborer painstakingly repairing it. As she watched him work she was astounded at how carefully he was fitting and placing each stone. He was certainly an artisan more than a common laborer but at the pace he was working his task would take months.
She moved to the edge of the pool deck to watch him. He was tall, certainly over six feet. His well-defined chest, strong shoulders and powerful arms were alluringly displayed as he worked shirtless in the hot south Florida sun. He was a blond with strong, rugged features. He looked up and met her gaze; he smiled and waved. She waved back as the moisture began to build under the thin material of her thong bathing suit. She was horny; she hadn't gotten laid since she had come home two weeks previously. It might just be time to change that.
It was late in the day and the other contractor's trucks had departed. Her parent's pool deck was the only vantage point from which one could see into the yard next door. The house staff had gone home for the day and her parents were at the club and wouldn't be home for hours. She loved fucking outside during daylight. She poured a large glass of fresh lemonade. Opening the gate she made her way toward the worker next door, entering the yard through a break in the once elegant stone wall.
"Hi! You look like you could use a cold drink!" Bonnie said, ratcheting up into full blown seduction mode. She didn't really have to try that hard; she was a very pretty and well-appointed women and she had yet to meet a straight man that didn't want---need---to fuck her.
As Bonnie came close to the muscular young worker she realized that the view was even better up close. He was hot and unquestionably very masculine. He was exactly the kind of man she liked to fuck. He had beautiful eyes and a winning smile. Maybe she might hang around home for a couple of weeks after all---certainly no longer than that.
"I'm Bonnie! I---or rather my parents---live next door."
"Bonnie? Bonnie. Well, well. I'm George. George Mason. 'Pleased to meet you Bonnie." He said taking in her scenery with no attempt to hide his interest.
"You do beautiful stone work but it's going to take months to finish as carefully as you are working."
"Maybe even years but I have the time."
"Do you happen to know who finally bought this place?"
"Well, actually I do. Ah, in reality, it was bought by a corporation whose founder has an idea of possibly using it as a second home. I'm looking after the renovations for the next few weeks; I'm trying to ensure that it's restored to its original state. Are you familiar with the house? Maybe you wouldn't mind taking a look inside and giving me some advice on a couple of things."
"I used to play over here when I was a kid---when I was twelve or thirteen years old. I don't remember much about the architecture; kids don't really remember those things, but I'd love to see inside; it would bring back fond memories."
"So you knew the original owners—the people who built this magnificent structure?"
"No, I never met them. I knew the caretakers who lived in the garage apartment and looked after the place, or more accurately, I used to play with their kids until my parents decided that it wasn't appropriate. My parents were, are, very hung up on little Bonnie having only the 'right' playmates."
Bonnie made no attempt to hide her contempt for the snobbishness that dominated this beach community. She hoped it would make him more comfortable with her but he didn't seem remotely intimidated. On the other hand, her disdain for her parent's social climbing style was real.
"Would you like to see the progress inside?"
Bonnie assented even though an outside fuck would have been more to her liking. A nice quick, hard, dirty little fuck from behind with this attractive young man's strong hands mauling her fine tits and fingering her little nubbin. She hoped his cock was fat and long...and very hard. She knew she was living dangerously but that made the sex so much better. She was on the pill so that wouldn't be a factor. He appeared to be only a few years older than she was.
As he showed her the impressive progress being made in renovating inside, she had wistful memories from a happy summer running through this grand old house playing hide and seek. The living room was several hundred square feet larger than the average new home being built in the United States. The old full size grand piano was still prominently displayed; it appeared to have been completely refurbished. The top was covered with a mass of Compact Discs in unmarked boxes. As she looked at George quizzically, he anticipated her question.
"I enjoy writing songs, Bonnie. Do you like music?"
"Sure! What kind of music do you write?"
"While it's probably not a mainstay in this palm-studded little paradise. I write country music with a little rock and a little blues."
"Have I ever heard any of your songs?"
"Well, unless you're an aficionado of what is currently known as, progressive country, and you don't strike me as the type, I would doubt it. My rock stuff tends to be more rock-country so you wouldn't hear it on the typical rock or pop radio station. My blues stuff is still pretty personal. I've just formed a jazz-blues trio and we're going to test the waters this summer."
"You play too? Well of course you do. Would you play something for me?"
"I suppose so. Let's see, you look like you belong perched on a tall bar stool in a smoky little village dive with a straight up martini in your hand wearing something silk and slinky. Let's go in that direction."
It hadn't been a come on but it had been the most overtly erotic thing she had ever heard a man say to her. Sure, she'd been in that funky little off the beaten path bar in New York City. She loved jazz and she loved martinis. As he started to play the slow, smoky, sensual piece, Bonnie knew she wanted this man's cock. Any man who wrote like this and played like this had to be good in the sack. It just went with the territory. The music flowed across her body and fondled her perfect young form like a great man with strong but gentle hands. It was the definition of sex and longing. He played for over twenty minutes, coming back to the refrain, reasserting the basic theme and Bonnie's little pussy was dripping.
"Wow." Was all she could say.
"I'll take that as approval. Thank you Bonnie."
"I love jazz, particularly when it's smoky with that strong blues tone. I can't believe that you can't sell that one."
"I probably could but then someone else would just fuck it up. First, this kind of music is very personal and the performance almost always makes it or breaks it. Secondly, there is absolutely no money to be made in this particular genre."
"So, you've had some success? You've sold some of your work?"
"Oh, I guess you could say I've received a few royalty checks. I love writing but I also enjoy playing and performing. I'm not sure you'll even know what I'm talking about but I absolutely love honky-tonk. It's music with a solid base line, a rock beat that gets people up and dancing, a fiddle and a steel guitar and a story that only 'hick' music can provide. It's bar or road house music, played load and hard."
"Oooooh, will you play something country?"
"Well, let's see. The piano is not often an essential mainstay of honky-tonk. If you're serious, let's try it on the guitar, electric, of course. It loses a bit with out the rest of the band but let's give it a spin."
George retrieved his guitar from a case next to the piano and plugged it into a small amp.
"Have you ever heard of Alan Jackson?"
"Didn't he do that song, 'Where Were You?' It was about 9/11. He's pretty new isn't he?"
"Well, no, not really; actually he's a living legend in country music but there is no reason you should know that. Anyway, he and I co-wrote this a few years back. It was a big hit for him and actually the first song I had any real commercial success with. We wrote it when I was in high school."
George Mason quickly checked the tuning of his guitar and then jumped right into a rousing rendition of, "Don't Rock the Juke Box." Bonnie found it impossible not to move with the music and was amazed at George's almost effortless guitar work. He had a great voice too, easily professional grade. Maybe she could help him break through in the music business; she had money. She still knew damn well she wanted to fuck him but now she was pretty sure she wanted to get to know him. He might prove to be the most interesting man she would meet in town.
George segued into two other songs, one a classic country cheating song entitled, she assumed, "When I Think About Cheating" and another about a young girl abandoned by the father of her baby who ultimately finds love with another man called, "She Could Have Cried." The last one had her in tears. She'd have to consider expanding her musical tastes
"Gets to you, doesn't it? Modern pop music is pretty much in the toilet. It's hard to get misty eyed when you're listening to talk about 'bitches and hos' or 'busting a cap' in someone's head. Country music, if it works, is genuine, people writing about real life, love found and love lost, 'Songs About Me' as Trace Adkins so eloquently put it."
George put his instrument away and turned back to speak to Bonnie. "Do you have any plans you can't cancel for this evening, Bonnie? I'd be glad to take you out and broaden your musical horizons. There's actually some pretty good live music of almost every genre within half an hour of here. There are some very big names, at least on the country scene who live in these parts, particularly on the next strip of sand to the North. They often play small clubs in the area, often under assumed names to try out something they are working on."
"Why not?" Bonnie replied with little hesitation. She was disappointed that she would have to postpone the quick fuck she had come over for but she'd get some cock before the night was over, of that she was certain.
"Okay, well this is definitely a dress down scene, jeans are mandatory. Why don't we grab an early dinner? How 'bout of I pick you up around six?"
"That'll work!" Bonnie said as she and George went back outside. Impetuously, she kissed him on the lips; it wasn't a whorish probing kiss but certain a warm and inviting one. When his arms slipped around her young body, she did not resist. They both knew where they would end up before daybreak.
"Here! Take this CD with you. You can listen to it while you're getting ready. It's by a guy named George Strait, truly the king of country music. You may not like all of it but there are several that will jerk your heart strings."
"Thanks! I'll see you later."
Bonnie went home and wrote out a quick note to her parents indicating that she would be out until the next day. Not that they would really give a shit. She wasn't a kid anymore. She wiggled her fine young hips into an excruciatingly tight pair of designer jeans and a white shirt that she had once purchased for some silly party at college. It wasn't pure country but the embroidery made it as close as she was going to get. She actually owned western style boots which she'd bought on a hoot at Saks. She looked even more deliciously fuckable than usual in the full length mirror, if that was even possible.
She listened to most of the CD George had given her. She was very glad she didn't wear eye makeup. 'You Look so Good in Love', "The Man in Love With You', 'Blue Clear Sky', 'Today My World Slipped Away', 'Write This Down', 'She'll Leave You With a Smile' and finally, 'Run'; the most incredible words of love and longing she had ever heard, had her in tears.
"Wow" Was all she could say as George helped her into the cab of what she recognized was a real pickup truck. To her surprise the music on his car player was classical; it was Mozart, a violin Concerto.
"My tastes in music are very eclectic. There are even some kids on the scene today, alternative is what it's often called, guy like John Mayer and groups like Maroon Five and Three Doors Down that are a breath of fresh air on the modern music scene. Stevie Wonder has a new album out after fifteen years and he hasn't lost a damn thing! Prince is starting to rediscover that funk groove that made him a superstar. Wait! Listen to this!" George said, punching in a number on his music system. "This actually feeds off of an mp3 player in the glove box; I can load anything I want on it. Listen to this song; I swear to God if Mozart came on the scene today he would be some combination of Stevie and Prince. I'm sure you've heard it; it's still popular dance club fare. It's called DMSR---Dance, Music, Sex, Romance."
Bonnie's fine young butt could not stay still. DMSR was a song she had always enjoyed; she had enjoyed dancing to it and fucking to it. "I love it! That song just says, fuck me!"
"My thought exactly." George said with a grin.
They drove for almost thirty minutes far from the glitz and façade of where they had started. They dined at a little dockside fish-house. Boats would cruise up and sell their catch to the proprietors. The chef would then prepare the fresh fare however you wanted it but included his own suggestions. The wine list was small but impressive and absurdly reasonable. Soon they were back in the truck headed down a two lane highway.
"We're going to a classic shit kicker bar. Most of the people there are local farmers, ranchers or agricultural workers. A guy I know---again you've probably never heard of him---jams out there when he's not on tour and just wants to get back to his honky-tonk roots."
The parking lot of the dilapidated little road house was packed. She doubted that they would be able to get in. George drove his truck around to the back where a security guy with a big cowboy hat waved them past an improvised barricade. There was a modest RV parked behind the building. George jumped out of the truck, retrieved Bonnie and went over to the door of the RV and began to bang on it. The biggest man she had ever met came to the door and opened it with a scowl which instantly turned to a smile of recognition.
"You're a sight for sore eyes!"
"Trace, this Bonnie, Bonnie this is Trace. Trace, Bonnie is just discovering country music so she hasn't got a fuckin' clue who the hell you are."
"Well that might just be a refreshing change! Come on in, guys."
"Where's your regular bus, you decrepit old man?"
"Hell, I've got a house not an hour from here and with the price of gas...Hey! Did you come to play?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look, my lead guitarist got held up with some marital problems; he won't be here until the second set. We've got a table down front for the girls so you can keep a close eye on your lady friend. Did you bring your axe?"
I've got a Fender in the truck."
"Well... go get it! We're on in ten minutes. We're only doing three new songs; you wrote one of them, you co-wrote the second one with me and you'll just have to improvise on the last one. The rest of the stuff you already know. I'll entertain this delightful young lady while you go get your hardware."