Sucking the Band by Tilly Snow
Description
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About the author:
I’m Tilly. I have been writing every since I could hold a pencil. I write what I need but can’t have. I live in California and when I’m not writing, I’m listening to dark and inspiring music, watching only the most profound movies, and petting haughty cats.
What inspired you to write your book?
I’m a sucker for musicians, always have been.
Here is a short sample from the book:
My name is Thunder.
That’s what the guys in Thunderstruck affectionately named me. I’m a groupie First Class. I turn twenty-eight this year, ancient in groupie years.
I’ve fucked and sucked musicians up and down the California coast. I love that particular breed of man-child, brilliant at music yet often charmingly helpless in the rest of life.
They are so easy to bag. Married, single, it doesn’t matter. Sex with hot chicks is the unspoken perk of the road. Everyone knows it. Nothing gets my snatch wet faster than seeing a sweaty band-of-brothers, in sync, and in the zone commanding an adoring crowd.
The band Thunderstruck was my favorite hard rocking band since my teen years.
Billy, Vincent, Dylan and Zak. I’ve slept with all four of them before, many times in fact, (hence my name.) But when I learned Thunderstruck was coming through town to give their farewell tour, and I had a goal: I was going to suck them all off on the same night. That would be a good way to retire, end my long, illustrious career. Groupie life is great and all, but it can’t last forever. I had my fucking future to think about…. and my devoted finance.
***
“Excited, are you?” Kevin, my future husband asks as I’m getting ready.
Yeah, I’m fucking excited, I think. I wish Kevin would blow off so I can get in the zone. I flash him a smile in the mirror of my dressing table. “Yeah, babe…. I am super excited!”
I go back to teasing my hair. I make it stand up as high as it will go and spray it with Aqua Net.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Kevin asks. He’s been antsy all week. Probably because he’s heard rumors about me.
I stare hard at Kevin. I love him but he can annoy the shit out of me sometimes. “Baby, I told you I’m meeting up with the girls. It’s a girls thing.” I crinkle my nose the way I know he likes, the way I know will make him drop the subject and let me have my way.
Kevin looks at me adoringly, plants a kiss on my bare shoulder and wanders out. “Okay Honey,” he says from the other room. “I guess it’s movie night for me then.”
“Have fun,” I call, turning back to my reflection. “I’m one baaad bitch!” I mouth to myself in the mirror. But after tonight, I will be hanging up my groupie badge forever. That’s why everything must go perfectly to plan. I am a bit superstitious. I need all four band members to blow in my mouth in order to bless my groupie retirement.
If someone really wants my snatch, they can have it, that’s fine. But blow-jobs are my thing. It’s where I excel. And giving head definitely feels less like cheating than full on banging.
I’m wearing my signature look: Short black mini skirt that shows my ass, an extra small, child’s size band t-shirt, ripped in the front to show my boobs, and fishnet stockings with a large rip in the crotch…. no panties.
I take extra care teasing my long black hair and applying my makeup, not necessarily for the band, guys will fuck an ugly girl so long as there is pussy between her legs. No, I do my fearsome black cat-eyes, my bright red lipstick, and sky-high hair to send a message to the younger girls coming up: Thunder is still queen and every musician on that stage tonight belongs to me.
I throw on my leather jacket, give a quick kiss to Kevin and slip out. “Don’t wait up, babe.”
I jump in my Thunderbird, glad Kevin didn’t make any problems. I’m glad he didn’t learn the little fun fact that tonight I’m going, “vajay-alfresco.”
***
I arrive well before show time, parking my old Thunderbird in garage near by.
I can feel the old family adrenaline rush as I walk towards the venue. The air is crisp and just right. The amphitheater is freaking huge. I make my way in, chat up security and the stage crew. They all know me. I’ve given out many free samples over the years, a blow job here, a hand job there, all for moments like this when I can cash in those checks. This is part of the game too, knowing who to suck off, who to blow off, and who to avoid.
Once inside, a couple younger stagehands who don’t know me look at me with a question in their eyes. I breeze right past them. I’ve already got the drummer in my sights.
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