Rock All Night(120)

The whole blowjob thing had been such a turn-off, though, that it took me forever to get into sex. I eventually did come, but it took a lot longer than usual, and it wasn’t as good as it usually was.

What disappointed me was he didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t as into the sex. He just kind of kept going at it, never stopping to ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ or ‘Can I do something for you?’

On the plus side, he never asked me for a blowjob again.





101




So, amidst all the hot and heavy memories, there were at least a couple that stood out because they were unpleasant.

But there was one that was freakin’ awesome. And really, really unusual. And didn’t involve psychedelic mushrooms.

We were in Salt Lake City at the time. I remember that because ‘the Mormons’ figured prominently in the conversation.

The day after the performance, Derek and I decided to strike out and go see the Great Salt Lake. After a day of band practice, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. We left the hotel around 7 o’clock in the evening and drove the Mercedes convertible he’d bought in Irvine.


The Mercedes had become the bane of Miles’s existence, because it was one more thing to be taken care of. Crew members had to be assigned to drive it behind the tour bus as we moved from city to city, and then park it somewhere safe overnight. You never heard the crew members complain – hey, they got to drive a ‘69 Mercedes – but Miles was always super-pissed.

“Thank you so f*ckin’ much for makin’ me the babysitter for your impulse f*ckin’ decisions,” Miles barked one afternoon. “Not that you don’t make my life f*ckin’ hard enough already.”

“What do I pay you 15 percent for?” Derek taunted him. “You certainly don’t do anything else to earn it.”

Which turned into another memorable confrontation.

But today I was thankful, because we were tooling around with the top down, the hot sun warming our skin and the wind whipping through our hair. In case you’re wondering, the sun doesn’t set in Salt Lake City in the summertime until around 9:00. Whether it’s a quirk of the altitude or where the city lies in the time zone, it was still plenty bright and plenty warm at 8 o’clock at night.

On the off chance we actually went swimming in the lake – at up to 25% salt concentrations, you were supposed to be able to float in it like the Dead Sea, which I kind of wanted to try – I made him stop and let me buy a black bikini at Target. I wore it out of the store, underneath my regular blouse and skirt, and we set back off down the road.

We weren’t near the water yet, but it was pretty damn warm, so I unbuttoned my blouse and let the sunshine and wind play over my skin not covered by the bikini top.

Derek couldn’t stop looking at me. We’d had a fight the day before, and hadn’t had sex in almost 48 hours – which was a new record. But now he was absolutely enthralled.

And I was eating it up. It was just me and him, and I was soaking up the attention like it was sunshine after a long, cold winter.

“You better start watching the road instead of me,” I teased him, “or you’re going to crash.”

“I’m not going to crash,” he said, though he returned his eyes to the road – for about ten seconds. Then he glanced back over at my boobs.

We weren’t in much danger. We were on a small local road, not on the interstate. The suburbs and restaurant chains had given way to farmland, with cows and horses and wide-open fields. And there were almost no cars, with none behind or ahead of us, and only one or two going in the opposite direction.

While keeping his eyes on the road, he reached over and caressed the side of my breast. Let the back of his fingers play over the curve, lightly touching my skin.

Mmmm.

But I wasn’t giving it away that easily.

“Stop,” I said, playfully smacking away his hand. “The Mormons are watching.”

“I’ll bet they are,” he grinned. “You’re corrupting them as we speak.”

He reached back over and lightly caressed the front of my bikini top.

My nipple grew hard beneath the fabric.

Unnnhhh…

This time I didn’t bat his hand away.

He cupped my breast in his palm, then slipped his fingertips beneath the top. Lightly circled the nipple, and squeezed it softly between his fingers.

Two could play at that game.

I looked over at his lap, deciding how best to torture him – and got a little surprise. He was already getting hard… except his cock was trapped along the inside of his pants leg. It made a wonderfully enticing bulge stretching a third of the way down his thigh.

I reached across and put my hand on the leg of his jeans, then started to stroke the outline of his cock. Within seconds he was even harder and thicker, with an even more pronounced outline as it strained against his jeans.

“Oh, that is so not fair,” he complained as he grabbed my boob a little tighter.

“You’re touching me.”

“Yeah, but you’re not at a horrible angle,” he groaned. “My dick feels like it’s going to break off.”

My fingers moved down to his crotch, and I let my fingernails glide across the cloth. I could feel the vibrations as they played over the natural weave of the denim, tickling his balls beneath.