The Bass Player's Story

The Bass Player's Story Part 1

I saw her walk in. She looked like she hadn't got loose in years, wild eyed and ogling crotches like an old hound hound dog looking for a good sniff. I knew she'd be onto me eventually. I was at just the right level for the bulge in my black leather pants to catch her eye. Them other guys were out there priming the pump, as usual.

When it came time for break I walked up behind her. Yup, just like I thought, she smelled like a cat in heat. "It's a wonder she isn't grabbing my ass." I thought as I got a beer.

She grabbed my ass. I spun around laughing as my thought came real. That's not all that almost came, playing the bass, feeling the vibrations in your balls like that kinda gives you a hair trigger (Touch hair, trigger.) for a while.

"Just wanted to get your attention..." she mumbled.

"You've got it, honey. Did you want to talk to me?" I grinned, drawing her out. God, the smell of her almost had me throwing her over the bar and pushing her skirt out of the way. I was playing it cool though. I got her into a quiet corner and started talking to her. I even pretended I was married so she wouldn't be scared I'd be following her around. She got petting me so heavy right there in the bar I though I was going to pop. Had to stop her, "Not here." I said.

"Where?" she moaned.

"My van, The parking lot. Hurry."


The Bass Player's Story Part 2 Make Believe

After that van rocker with the she cat from Hellas I was worn right out. I can't help it; no matter what I'm doing it's the only thing in the universe for me. I had spent a lot of energy on that minx, nearly all I had. The guys understood, Hell, they'd all been there, done that, so we slowed it down and did a few crooners in the last set. There was one that I sang on called Make Believe that we used for the last song of the night. As I sang it this cute little blondie came out of the woodwork and stood swaying on the dance floor right in front of me. She was looking at me hungry, but a different kind of hungry than the other one. I'd seen that look before and it scared the Hell right out of me. There are some things I'm not much good at and tears rolling down her face were telling a story I didn't want to hear. Usually it was Love Me Tender that drew them out. The hurt ones, the bruised egos and battered bodies, some with backs you had to be careful of, some with burns or belt marks, wounds in the name of love from twisted men that didn't have a clue what love really was. Despite what the song says if it's love it doesn't hurt, ever. "If it hurts, run." I always say. From what I've seen and heard I'll tell you straight, "If he hit you once, he'll hit you again, harder and harder, until he kills you." Anyway, she had that look. I knew I could satisfy her, but could I do it without hurting her in some way? That was what scared me. I've been hurt myself and don't ever want to cause anyone pain. I know a lot of people think that in a relationship it’s hurt or be hurt. I also know that they are wrong.

She hung around while we packed up, just sorta lurking around in the background, nursing her Tequila Sunrise. I kinda figured that one song had drawn her out and she would go home like a nice little girl when she finished the drink. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Thank all the gods I was wrong. I thought she had gone while we were packing up.

She was waiting at my van when I got to the parking lot. Quickie dropped my amp and scrammed. For a drummer he has a lot of sense. The fact that the blonde knew which vehicle was mine should have clued me in, but before I could figure that out the little head was starting to rule the big head again. Without a word she put her hand inside my silk shirt just like the other one, but it was such a totally different feel that you'd hardly think to call them both the same name. Her little hand was soft, fluttering, like a butterfly that had landed looking for a little nectar, not hard like the other's, hers had been like a predator searching for a kill. Those tears were threatening to overflow the deep pools of her eyes again. "That song." she said, "Thank you. It helped me realize something. I made an important decision tonight. I was going to do something I know I’d regret. Now I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Something I’ll never regret."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it. It’s an oldie, but a goody."

"I'm not sure if I liked it or not, but it made me realize that what I thought I had for so long was only make believe. I couldn't make it work all one sided like that. I told Bubba about a year ago to stay away, after one of his affairs, but I was going to let him come back. I don't really want him and I don't think he ever really wanted me. A girl has to have....a woman has needs.... I want, God, I don't even know what I want. I think you have it though. I, I, I need...... Please. You know what I need. I don, don, I don't even know myself. Please, just once in my life I nee need, God damn it. I, I NEED LOVE." she wailed. "Love me. Love me now. Hold me."

She started to really cry then, gulping, gasping sobs that left her hardly standing and made what she was saying totally incoherent. I knew exactly what she was saying though. I had heard the story so many times. Women like this are touchy. Treat them right and you have a friend for life, not always a sex friend, just a little taste of home whenever you stop by, and guys like me, we'd rather have that than Goldie Hawn with all the trimmings. Treat those ladies wrong though and anything can happen. That's why they scare me. I don't want to read about some woman jumping in front of a train and blaming it on me because I "Didn't understand her." That happened to a steel player I know from Toronto. Tore him right up. He never went on the road again. I heard he started drinking. I let her cry on me for a while. I thought once she had that off her chest and all over mine she'd go home. Shirts wash and a fan's a fan. I held her tight and said, "There there baby, It's OK, I understand. It'll be alright. Shhhhhh." The thing was, I did understand. After what Liz had done to me for all those years I understood all too well. You keep thinking they'll change. They never do. That's one of the most important facts of life that mama never tells you. People never change. Whatever they are, they just get more so.

When the sobs stopped racking her she reached up and gave me a peck on the cheek. I thought for sure that it was night night time. Some girls don't need much. I was hoping that had done it for her. Sometimes the anguish wasn’t worth the finish, if you know what I mean. I didn’t feel up to much, cute as she was, and the creamed spinach her nose had shed onto my shirt wasn’t exactly turning me on.

She kinda whispered, "Could you do that for me? Can you do it again?"

"The song? Sure. It'll sound kinda funny without all the instruments though." I reached into the van for my acoustic six string.

She put her hand on my wrist. "No, not the song. What you did for that other girl. On your break. I was going to leave and got in my truck just as you two got in the van. I watched you. You were so beautiful. No gimme, gimme, no force this and twist that, no arguing and shouting, and she was happy, she was happy." she whispered in wonderment. She was crying again, softly now. "I was watching. I do that a lot now. I watch in parking lots. I peek in windows. I touch myself. God, I touch myself so much. It's a lot better than Bubba, but there has to be more, has to be. Mostly when I watch and listen it's just like him, somebody taking something from someone they don't really want to give and giving them something they don't want at all. You were different, you were giving, she was giving. It was like a book. I want that, please. Just once in my life give me good sex; give me what you gave her. Let me give you all I can. I don’t know much, but I’ll do whatever you ask."

I opened the side door to my van. The heater was running and the smell from a couple of hours before hit me like a sledge hammer. You could see her stagger too. There’s nothing like the smell of a horny woman to get a woman horny. She shook her head though. "No, not here, I want to take you home. In my bed, in Bubba's bed. Pound that bastard right out of the mattress. Follow me." She jumped in her old pick up and tore off like something was cooking and just about to burn. I guess in a way that was true. She sure was hot, and to tell the truth, so was I. There is something about a fragile woman that works better than any aphrodisiac ever made. I can't help it. Tears turn me on. The cat house smell in the old Chevy didn’t hurt either. It’s a wonder I didn’t get it tangled in the steering wheel. I followed her. Down country roads and through stop sign at thirty miles per hour I followed her.

I ended up parking the van at an Amoco station down the street from her house so the neighbors wouldn't talk. Of course I realized what she wanted wasn't anything like what I'd given the other girl in the parking lot, but I figured I could scratch her itch too. Slow and steady like the turtle; slow and steady wins the race. I sure hoped I had read her right. She cried so easily it was hard to tell whether she was happy or sad. She wasn’t complaining yet though.

It was exactly the scene I had expected when we got in the house. She was the perfect little mama bear. She cooked me up some supper and took a shower while I ate. When I found my way upstairs to a bedroom that looked like it had been built for a fairy tale princess she had just set down her curling iron and was plucking the odd out of favor eyebrow. There was incense burning somewhere, sandalwood I think, and candles were lit here and there. The bed was all frilly, with one of those canopies over it. Everything in the room was green and blue, sorta like the jungle and the ocean. She even had one of those sound generator things churning out wavelike noises. I hung my shirt over a chair and undid the buckle on my pants. She blew out the candles, and then she lit them again with one of those long matches like you use for fireplaces. "No," she grinned, "I want to see. Is that wicked? Bu" I covered her mouth with mine before she could start talking about Bubba again. I don't care what that fool thought was wicked. Looking at that sweet woman was the farthest thing from wicked in the universe. Looking at her was my universe at the moment, and there was something in the way. When I got that old flannel nightie off her she stood like a trembling tribute to womanhood in the middle of the floor. We stood there, just kinda dancing to the music in our heads and kissing for a while, getting used to each other. We both knew very well the bed was there, but it wasn't going anywhere and we were fine standing for now. She had a fine firm body, lived in, but not wore out, just what I like. I can't stand those flashy young hardbodies or the flabby never do-nothings. Maybe I'm a bit whacko, but I prefer a belly that shows a couple of stretch marks and breasts that have been chewed up a bit. They aren't so intimidating. They say, "Home." I explored every square inch of her that I could while standing up. Eventually we made it to the bed.

It was quiet. It was slow. It was hard. It was passionate. If anything was gonna pound the last trace of someone out of a mattress that was it. It was all night in the doing and she laughed, cried, sobbed, smiled, and gushed like Old Faithful as I kissed her in places and touched her in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She did some new things too, and she told me that things that she’d never liked seemed wonderful now. I guess it's because she wanted to now, not had to. I never could understand those guys that forced a woman. Like the saying goes, "You can catch more butterflies with honey than you can with vinegar." I suppose you get the same thing, but it's sweeter `when she asks if you want her to. At dawn she fell asleep in my arms. The butterflies had finally had their fill. There was nothing left of Bubba in that bed when we were done. It's a wonder there was anything left of the bed. I wish I could tell you how it was exactly, but words are to small to convey the sense of the washing away of the pain when she moaned over and over again, "Dooooo meeeeee, doooooo meeeee", and clutched so hard her nails sunk into my rump, or the surprise in her voice when she purred, "You touched bottom." and locked her ankles together behind me like a wrestling champion. How could I explain the way her nostrils flared in and out as she panted? It’s funny, but for all the pictures they put out that are supposed to be of a woman in the throes of passion you never see a picture of that, but that is what a man truly sees at the height of passion, the center of his universe is those flaring nostrils telling him he’s doing good. I knew I was going to stay when I saw the glazed look in her eyes as she lay beyond words, grunting her pleasure as I took a break from lapping at the fountain of her desire? I think we made a good start on getting by all the bad stuff we had before that night, may Bubba and Liz find each other somehow and torment each other for eternity.

When I awoke she was sobbing in my arms again. "Thank you. Thank you." she said. "I never knew. I've heard the phrase making love, but only just got screwed before. I'm never letting Bubba come back, never. I couldn't go back to that now. Oh please don't ever leave me." She started to cry again, with that look that had scared me back at the bar in her eyes again; and kiss me, tiny little licky kisses, like a loving little puppy. I realized that maybe I had a bit to learn too. Maybe it was that new look coming in her eyes, that satisfied, hungry, adoring, and wary look, all at the same time. I could get used to looking into eyes like that. Maybe I needed that too. I cried a little myself. That old joke about "What do you call a bass player without a girlfriend?" kept going through my head. Now she was ready for what I had given that vixen in the van. With the licking I was ready to give it to her. There was no hesitation anymore. Thrust met thrust and belly slapped belly in that ancient rhythm that is the basis for all music. We sang and sighed and soared together. When I slipped out she whined like hungry baby. When I slipped back in she growled like a cat. When I finished she went for about the fortieth time just rubbing on my leg. By the time we were both totally spent it was past lunchtime.

That was three years ago and our van doesn't stay at the Amoco station any more since we got married. We discovered that she can wail a fine bit of blues and is learning, or I should say relearning, to play the sax. I guess she played it pretty mean in high school, but had to give it up because her ex didn’t like it. With her along when we gig I don't get the variety I used to have, but she's enough for me. She'll always be enough for me. It was such a strange start that we had to our relationship. I hope we never find out what the ending is like.

Oh yeah, the answer to the "What do you call a bass player...?" thing is, "Homeless."