can repeat positive affirmations till the cows come home but a man like that isn’t interested in a curvy girl. That’s not bad self-esteem, just a long line of men all saying the same thing.
I shook my head. Time to be realistic. You’ll get as far with Blake as you did with your singing career. Six months as a roadie and I’m still making less than minimum wage.
Some roadies join to hang around their favorite musicians or bands. The latest crop of girls from Tennessee fit that bill. They go on the road just for the fleeting chance to fuck Blake Brooks. Others hope they win the marriage lottery and become Mrs. Blake Brooks.
Who could blame them?
I looked up into the poster again and ran my eyes down his chiseled six-pack towards the ‘V’ pointed at his crotch. I let out a long breath.
I’d let him fuck me like a wife on her honeymoon.
So would everyone else, but unlike the crowd of screeching girls, I’m a fan. A true fan.
I’m not one of those girls who know a few songs or worse just the ones in the commercials. I know every song including the ones from his garage days in Texas. Name any song of his and I can sing it.
It seemed like a good idea to join his crew. The chance to make connections and jump-start my musical career? Yes, please!
They weren’t officially looking for roadies and most men don’t believe I know electrical systems. Instead of asking, I gave myself the job.
I snuck backstage during their Austin, Texas show, loaded the truck, and set up the lighting. After a week they found out I didn’t really work there but offered me the job anyway. Can you imagine how elated I felt? I was official – a real life member of Blake Brooks show and getting paid for it.
Thoughts of what was sure to come next went through my mind. Travel all around the country and world, meet celebrities, and attend every single concert free. On top of that, I get to hang out with Blake Brooks.
I let out a small laugh. Yeah, about that.
I’m in a rickety converted bus that smells like fumes and cough, recreational smoke . Cheap hotels look the same in every city – when I’m lucky enough to get one. Most times, I’m in the bus or trailer. Sometimes it’s a tent on a campground before the cops chase us out.
Six months later, I’m still a newbie so they won’t let me around Blake or anyone famous. Although I suspect Miranda’s behind that. For the most part, it’s just hard work. I’m a Southern girl so I’m used to sweat but I thought it would be better than this six months later.
Of course, it’s not like I’ll get benefits with Miranda riding my ass.
Heat flashed through my face as I remembered giving Miranda my music CD. She seemed nice at the time. The sound of my voice rang through my head. “Can you give this to Blake? It’s a collection of his songs I sang. Track three has interesting changes I think he’ll like.”
I pulled at the cable and shook my head. Miranda told everyone what I did. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t protocol? Turns out every wannabe musician passed out their music. Now I joined them.
One day I’ll get on his stage . My eyes went off to the side in thought. Why not now? I looked at the large black velvet curtain separating the snake nest of electrical cords and controls. Nobody said I couldn’t be on stage now.
I slipped through the heavy velvet curtain and stepped into a world more my liking. They were still setting up. Guitars, keyboards, and other instruments were on stage waiting for their owners.
It was just me on stage but for a moment, I saw a full stadium in my mind. In my imagination, fireworks went off behind me. On stage, Blake ran back and forth while his calf muscles fanned out. During an intense note, he’d hold his mike high in the air and flex out his taut arm muscles. If we’re lucky, his developed chest muscles would fan out and stretch the fabric of his T-shirt as he sang his famous long notes.
Once his sweaty body reflected the bright
I shook my head. Time to be realistic. You’ll get as far with Blake as you did with your singing career. Six months as a roadie and I’m still making less than minimum wage.
Some roadies join to hang around their favorite musicians or bands. The latest crop of girls from Tennessee fit that bill. They go on the road just for the fleeting chance to fuck Blake Brooks. Others hope they win the marriage lottery and become Mrs. Blake Brooks.
Who could blame them?
I looked up into the poster again and ran my eyes down his chiseled six-pack towards the ‘V’ pointed at his crotch. I let out a long breath.
I’d let him fuck me like a wife on her honeymoon.
So would everyone else, but unlike the crowd of screeching girls, I’m a fan. A true fan.
I’m not one of those girls who know a few songs or worse just the ones in the commercials. I know every song including the ones from his garage days in Texas. Name any song of his and I can sing it.
It seemed like a good idea to join his crew. The chance to make connections and jump-start my musical career? Yes, please!
They weren’t officially looking for roadies and most men don’t believe I know electrical systems. Instead of asking, I gave myself the job.
I snuck backstage during their Austin, Texas show, loaded the truck, and set up the lighting. After a week they found out I didn’t really work there but offered me the job anyway. Can you imagine how elated I felt? I was official – a real life member of Blake Brooks show and getting paid for it.
Thoughts of what was sure to come next went through my mind. Travel all around the country and world, meet celebrities, and attend every single concert free. On top of that, I get to hang out with Blake Brooks.
I let out a small laugh. Yeah, about that.
I’m in a rickety converted bus that smells like fumes and cough, recreational smoke . Cheap hotels look the same in every city – when I’m lucky enough to get one. Most times, I’m in the bus or trailer. Sometimes it’s a tent on a campground before the cops chase us out.
Six months later, I’m still a newbie so they won’t let me around Blake or anyone famous. Although I suspect Miranda’s behind that. For the most part, it’s just hard work. I’m a Southern girl so I’m used to sweat but I thought it would be better than this six months later.
Of course, it’s not like I’ll get benefits with Miranda riding my ass.
Heat flashed through my face as I remembered giving Miranda my music CD. She seemed nice at the time. The sound of my voice rang through my head. “Can you give this to Blake? It’s a collection of his songs I sang. Track three has interesting changes I think he’ll like.”
I pulled at the cable and shook my head. Miranda told everyone what I did. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t protocol? Turns out every wannabe musician passed out their music. Now I joined them.
One day I’ll get on his stage . My eyes went off to the side in thought. Why not now? I looked at the large black velvet curtain separating the snake nest of electrical cords and controls. Nobody said I couldn’t be on stage now.
I slipped through the heavy velvet curtain and stepped into a world more my liking. They were still setting up. Guitars, keyboards, and other instruments were on stage waiting for their owners.
It was just me on stage but for a moment, I saw a full stadium in my mind. In my imagination, fireworks went off behind me. On stage, Blake ran back and forth while his calf muscles fanned out. During an intense note, he’d hold his mike high in the air and flex out his taut arm muscles. If we’re lucky, his developed chest muscles would fan out and stretch the fabric of his T-shirt as he sang his famous long notes.
Once his sweaty body reflected the bright
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