GROUPIE
by
Cindy Rosmus
1987
Always hated that word. Like I was
this deluded dope, with big, wild hair. High on dreams. Like it could be more
than it was.
Never mind who I knew, or how it was
set up. Who “Jimmy” really was. Just that he was a huge star, from a huge rock band.
The whole world wanted to fuck him. That night was my turn.
Forget
how great the concert was. I
didn’t hear most of it. Or see the mob of screeching chicks around me. Every
sense was zoomed in on the post-show “date”: how his voice would whisper
my name (“Julie.”); how he’d look up close, with sweat-drenched long hair,
tar-black eyes . . . how good he’d smell, despite the sweat. How he would taste
. . .
How he’d feel inside me.
A big secret, but it had to be. The wrong person
could ruin it. “Are you
crazy?” anybody sane would say. My friends. “You don’t even know these people.
Or him. You could be killed!” Or my favorite: “Have you no pride?” Mom’s “special”
word. Everybody knew where pride went before.
“A piece of ass,” was all I’d
be. For one night. But I couldn’t help
thinking . . .
Maybe not.
Female fans I was blinded to. But the guy fan
stuck out. Blond, balding
guy dancing awkwardly to the band’s most killer song, in these outrageous pants.
Zebra spandex. Asshole, I thought. Nobody could wear pants like that but
. . .
Jimmy. Tearing up the stage, right now,
in his own
skintight zebras. Shirt tossed long ago to the manic crowd.
Something made me look back at the balding guy.
Who’d been watching me watch Jimmy.
When he smiled, I looked away.
And forgot all about him.
It was the best hotel, but in a sleazy area. They’d
blindfolded me on the
way over, but I knew by the sounds. I’ve lived near railroads, heard police
sirens, all my life.
God knows who’d booked this place. Even
if I knew, I’ve said too much
already.
Some guy, one of their crew, took me inside and
removed my blindfold. It looked
nice: mirrored hallways, with tiger-striped carpet. Should be zebra, I
thought, like his pants.
In one mirror, I looked scared. I was trembling.
But, why? This was my
dream come true! Any minute, we’d be face-to-face in his room, alone. At least,
I hoped. My God, that was the plan, wasn’t it?
The closer we got to The Room, the louder
it got from others. His
band’s music, chicks laughing. I smelled food, but who could eat? Above that
party noise, I heard my heart pounding.
“Hey.” On this big bed, Jimmy was
chilling, with a beer. By himself. No
music blasting.
When Jimmy waved me in, the crew guy practically
shoved me through the
door. “See you later, Bert,” Jimmy said, and then Bert was gone.
I still didn’t move. What was I waiting
for?
And why was I cold? Sure, the A/C was on, but
all he had on were those
zebra pants, and he seemed OK. His nipples didn’t look stiff, at least from
where I stood. But it was hard to tell on that hairy chest. He had a gorgeous
body, with sculpted muscles.
Smiling, he handed me a beer. “Julie?”
he said. I didn’t answer.
Up close, my brain worked hard to process this.
It was really him, looking
like you’d see on MTV. A little messy from the show, black eyeliner still
intact. Maybe it was tattooed on. Hair curlier than in pics, maybe from
sweating.
I got closer. I wanted to taste that sweat, lick
it all off. When he
grabbed and kissed me, it was the hottest kiss I ever had with anybody. One
kiss led to the next stop. I had his pants down and was sucking him so hard, so
fast, he gasped. He almost lost it right then, I was that good.
For hours, we did everything you’d expect.
He was into my tits, loved sucking
my nipples, and the rest of me. I almost swallowed him whole, made him scream. But
nobody came running. Not in this rock gods’ paradise. When we got to fucking,
we were both screaming.
There were condoms, but not enough. It didn’t
stop us. When he came in me,
I wasn’t sorry.
He got us two more beers. “Thanks,”
he said. “That was really nice.” He
pulled me close, nuzzled my face, like I was his girlfriend.
I wanted to say something, but what? Ask a dumb
question, like, “Did you
always want to be a rock star?”
“Nah,” he said. “Actually, when
I was a kid . . .” He set the beer on the
nightstand. “I thought about becoming a priest.”
I just looked at him. Eyes heavy with near-sleep,
he wanted a reaction.
“You still could.”
Smiling, he rolled over, snuggled in the blanket.
And went right to sleep.
Why I snuck out soon after, I’ll never know.
To prove I was cool? Not fazed
by this night with a hot rock giant? Letting this sweet guy feel like I was
dumping him?
I’d reached over to touch him once more.
Maybe wrap one of his curls
around my finger. But I stopped myself.
Outside, I realized I had no way to get home.
And where was I,
anyway?
It was really dark. Not enough lighting for such
a fancy hotel. No
security guards, either.
Just that balding creep. And no longer in zebra
pants. “What do you
think?” he said. “That rich guy’s gonna marry you?”
“Get away!” I started backing up.
How far to the back exit? Was it locked?
When he grabbed me, I tried to scream, but he
covered my mouth. I fought back,
but not hard enough. He had a blade. Still, I kept fighting. Even after he cut
me. I smelled my own blood but wouldn’t give up.
He dragged me into an alley and raped me. Then
left me there. But I
managed to get up and find help. A stranger took me to the hospital.
From that night on, I hated myself. I couldn’t
stop crying.
I’d been so deluded. That night, and what
happened after, was all my fault.
I wanted to die. I deserved to die.
But, two months later . . .
The rock god’s or rapist’s baby died,
instead.
THE
END
