Jason offers to give me a blow job to have me introduce him
to the band.
This is apparently standard procedure: groupies give the
roadies and sound men blow jobs so they can get to fuck the band.
Only in the most cases, the groupies happen to be girls.
Being a relatively new soundman and more than a bit shy, I
did not ask for or offer blow jobs.
This really pisses off the rest of the crew, who tell me I
need to get with the program.
“You want to screw up a good thing?” the light man said. “The
band fucks these chicks, we ought to get a piece of the action.”
Jason, of course, is not a girl, a fact I point out to them.
They tell me it doesn’t matter, and if I don’t start acting right, I might not
have may job as sound man any more, and said I have to get a blow job when the
next groupie asks – which turns out to be Jason.
I’d seen the boy around for some time, an 18 year old with
ID that says he’s legal, when I’m scared he might even be younger. He had red
hair and puffy lips others claimed were good for sucking dick, what he wants to
do for the band if only I would make the introduction.
The light man and roadies tells me I had to let Jason blow
me for the good of the crew. When I ask why one of them can’t do it, they tell
me it’s my turn.
Jason has no qualms about blowing me, even when I tell him I’m
not gay, and wants to do it more, and even offers to give references to others
as to how good at it he is, which I tell him isn’t necessary, then started to stall,
finding all sorts of excuses as to why I couldn’t let him do it on this day or
that.
When the others hear about this, they lay down the law and
give me a deadline. I had to let Jason do it sometime during the upcoming
weekend or they would ask the band to fire me.
“I could dress up for you,” Jason tells me. “Some people
like it better if I look like a girl. Then you can pretend you’re getting a
blow job from a girl groupie.”
“I don’t take blow jobs from boy groupies or girls,” I tell
him, and he looks at me as if I’m out of my mind.
With the band playing three nights over the weekend, I have
time to come with a plan.
When the band finished on Friday, the light man asks if Jason
had done it yet. I say it didn’t work out, the same excuse I use on Saturday
when the roadies ask.
Then, setting up for Sunday, the light man tells me: “It’s now
or never.”
I think about complaining to the band, but I know they will
take the crew’s side, since the crew provides the supply of fresh girls they
get to screw. The band might just fire me on the spot.
Keeping his word, Jason shows up in drag, so beautiful he
even gave the rest of the crew second thoughts about taking a blow job from
him.
But by this time, it is the principle of the thing, and after
the first set, the crew drags me out to the van to do what needs to be done.
They bring Jason there next.
“Why don’t you lie and tell them I let you do it,” I ask
Jason.
“I couldn’t do that. That would be dishonest,” Jason says,
though truth be told my constant denials has sparked up an intense interest in
me. He wants to do me even if I never helped him get closer to the band.
At this point, I see the rest of the crew peeping at us
through the van’s rear window, shouting of me to get on with it.
Everything depends on me. I have to go through this almost sacred
ritual in order to keep the faith.
Jason reaches across the seat, putting his hand on my leg,
looking at me with those puppy dog eyes of his, and his perfect puffy lips.
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