With the Band

With the Band

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

An encounter with an old flame... Who just so happens to be the extremely hot front man to a very famous band these days!

Summary

An encounter with an old flame... Who just so happens to be the extremely hot front man to a very famous band these days!

Content

Submitted: February 27, 2014

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: February 27, 2014

A A A

A A A


Years ago I was really  close friends with a guy called Marshall, who happened to be in a band whilst we were at University together. When I say “band” I use the term loosely – it was a rather hit and miss set up and they were ridiculously disorganised and frankly half-hearted when it came to planning and playing gigs at the local bars and student haunts. Nevertheless, I would tag along more often than not and watch them play. Marshall played lead guitar and sometimes the drums when the need arose. He was talented too, when he applied himself, which was a rarity. Over  time Marshall and I grew close; best mates, soul mates you could say, until that is that fateful night.  It was after a disastrous gig, hardly anyone had turned up to see the band and the pub landlord had laughed in their faces when they went to collect their money. The only solution was to get blind drunk and drown our sorrows. Drunk would be an understatement, we were rat-arsed and somehow Marshall and I ended up back at his studio flat and in bed together, having crazy drunken sex. Things were never  the same afterwards, it grew awkward and tense between us which hit me hard as we had always been so comfortable in each other’s company before. Eventually, tempers flared up between us. I didn’t regret sleeping with him one bit, but I did regret losing our close friendship over one drunken night. During one heated argument things got ugly. I criticised his inability to take life by the short and curlies and realise his potential. He retaliated by saying I was a shallow hanger-on, only concerned with being with the band, a glorified groupie.  I was beyond hurt by this accusation, it cut me very deeply indeed. We lost touch soon after. I could never quite bring myself to call him up for fear of being perceived as a leech.


 

So, years passed by, as they always do. I grew up, worked damn hard and eventually found my niche as a senior PR executive, a successful one at that. It’s a highly competitive world, particularly for a woman. I got balls though and earned the respect of my peers in the industry as well as landing my dream job. The prestigious company I am fortunate enough to work for  won a monumental and lucrative contract and suddenly  I found myself with the both exhilarating and stressful task of managing things. Finally, I was in the driving seat, in the fast lane and heading for the bright lights of the big time baby. My job was to manage the PR for an upcoming popular band, who’d recently been catapulted to fame – what a winner! From promos to merchandise, tour dates to guest appearances and media coverage I was in control, overseeing the whole shebang. It was the first night of the band’s nationwide tour when I finally got chance to see the fruits of my hard labour in the flesh as they actually performed their set to crowds of adoring fans. The venue was huge, completely packed out and I was pleased as punch. The twenty  hour days, frantic conferences and a worrying espresso addiction had all been worth it. I went backstage to check on some last minute arrangements for the lighting and sound and, seeing the door to the dressing room was open, I poked my head in to wish the guys good luck. My eyes darted around the cluttered room, mentally checking for absentees. As I smiled at each of them in turn, my eyes settling on a man that seemed strangely familiar to me but... He looked up at me from his guitar, a flash of recognition his eyes. Before I could place where I knew him from the final call came for the band to take their positions in the wings, show time!


 

It wasn’t until a while later whilst I was stood at the VIP bar with some colleagues and a few media folk that it dawned on me. Oh my God!...  It couldn’t be?  Surely not... Marshall? I didn’t get chance to let it sink in as the opening number began and the guys ran out onto the stage to wild applause. I was gobsmacked. With my eyes fixed onto the lead guitarist, with a jolt I realised it was  indeed Marshall. Despite my usually calm and collected persona,  I found my head filled with what ifs, buts and maybes. The more I thought about it, the more I believed he had recognised me too. Towards the end of the set I was made certain when Marshall spoke into his microphone to introduce the next song. Through the screams and cheers I heard him say  “...like to dedicate.... an old friend... Mia.... wanna say.... so sorry.... “ . He looked straight at me, over the tops of hundreds of bobbing heads, nodding knowing and smiling. I was breathless, lost for words and unable to avoid or respond  to the curious looks from my colleagues.

After the show was over, Marshall tracked me down to where I stood at the bar, sipping champagne hoping to calm my nerves. “Hey stranger!...”.  He greeted me  with his old familiar lopsided grin. “How you been?” I was still in shock, yes indeedy, The Ball-Breaker was dumbstruck. “ Umm, yes I’m err good thanks.”. Then, clearing my throat I added “ Wow, look at you! You made it!”  My words spilled clumsily out and we both laughed. “Guess so, amazing where a bit of hard work can get you eh? That said, you look like you’ve done pretty well for yourself too Mia.” We stood, just gazing incredulously at one another. “Has it really been eighteen years?” He remarked as  I held my hands to my flushed face and replied,  “Oh God, it’s probably longer than that! Where did the time go?” We started talking as though we had never drifted apart or lost touch, as if the argument that put paid to our friendship had never happened. Eager to continue catching up, Marshall invited me back to the band’s deserted dressing room.  It occurred to me that he was still damn good looking, more so in fact with age and I could not deny there was definitely chemistry between us.


 

“Look Mia, I have to get this off my chest. I’m really sorry we fell out. I’ve regretted my outburst ever since. “  I smiled fondly at him, “ And I’m sorry that I couldn’t just let it go, but even more sorry for losing touch with you.”  There was a loaded pause in the small dressing room. Marshall finally broke the silence, saying softly “I’ve missed you Mia...”. To lift the tension I chuckled and  quipped back, “ Even if I was just a, what was it now?  A glorified groupie?” Marshall sighed, “You were so much more than that. Who else do you think inspired me to get off my arse and go make something of myself?”  His slate grey eyes were sincere and my defences came down rapidly. I found myself speaking openly, from the heart. “Marshall, I wish we could have been more. We could have been good together, you and me.”  He was suddenly at my side. “You probably wouldn’t believe me, but I think about what could’ve been all the time.” I was disarmed by his honesty.


 

Our lips met and for the first time since our drunken clumsy tryst all those years ago, we kissed. It seemed age had improved more than just his looks, if you catch my drift. Marshall lifted me up onto the long dressing table, brightly lit with the bulbs that framed the mirror behind it. Words were not needed to heal the rift of almost twenty years. I’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words anyway. Hitching up my expensive pencil skirt and unbuttoning my crisp white tailored blouse to free my breasts, he then moved between my legs. Our movements were erratic, both of us intent on an intimate reunion. It’s true that with age comes experience and Marshall was living proof. With my stocking clad legs wrapped around his waist, Marshall delved within. We became a grasping, groping tangle, a noisy tangle at that. Our lusty groans of pleasure were in perfect rhythm to the banging of my back against the mirror....

After Marshall and I were both sated, we straightened ourselves out then headed down the corridor towards the nearest exit. A burly security guard stopped us, asking to see our VIP backstage passes. Smiling broadly, Marshall said firmly “Mia doesn’t  need a pass mate! She’s very much with the band!”


© Copyright 2017 LexiaThornton78. All rights reserved.

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