the chair in front of me and watched my
hands. To tell you the truth, he was so intense, it made me kind of
nervous. When I was done, he asked me if he could try it once. I
went through my spiel about how you couldn’t just sit down and play
a guitar. You had to learn a lot of things first and practice until
you got good, etc., etc. He just said, “please, Gabe.” I handed the
guitar over to him just to placate him and prove a point. I was
astonished when he played the damn thing, almost perfectly. I know
he didn’t know about reading music or chording or anything then. I
don’t know if he does now or not. I tried to talk him into taking
an interest in some music classes but he never would. I told him
when someone was as naturally gifted in an area like music as he
was, he should concentrate on it. You know what the little shit
told me, Duke, just as matter-of-fact as could be?”
“What?”
“He said he didn’t have enough time to
concentrate on everything he was good at. He’s some kind of fucking
savant, Duke.”
“If you saw him work the women in a crowd,
Gabe, you say he’s some kind of fucking cocksman too.”
*
So on this bright sunny day as Rafe lay out
on that raft in back of the house, he was thinking that although he
was having lots of fun, his restful year was turning out not to be
so restful, in fact, he might be burning his candle at both ends.
He sometimes had to hustle to get from race meets to band gigs. And
then there was the sex. Between the race car groupies and the rock
and roll groupies (not to mention, Laney wanting attention at home)
he thought he might be pushing himself beyond his endurance, which
he had always thought before was pretty well limitless. It wasn’t
the first time he’d had the thought that he needed to start pacing
himself but he wasn’t sure how to do it. The girls at school had
known how to let him know they were interested but they’d been
bound by certain restrictions. Those same limitations didn’t apply
to either the race fans or the music fans who felt free to express
themselves in more direct ways. He’d never had so many breasts
thrust into his face, so many eager hands on his ass, so many
pussies pressed against his groin as he had this summer. School
girls tended to be note writers and he’d gotten plenty of written
offers detailing what he could expect if he took out this one or
that one and he still did get some of those passed up onto the
stage or thrown into the window of his car. But most of them just
came out and told him in graphic terms what they wanted and what
they would do for him in return. He accepted as many of those
offers as he could handle, maybe a few more than he could
comfortably handle.
Duke had ordered him off the young ones at
the dances and for the most part, he’d abided by that. There was
just that one time when the two beautiful twin daughters of the
head of the Congressional Black Caucus said they wanted to play
Oreo with him, him being the white icing in the middle. “Sorry,
Duke,” he’d said to himself, “this is where me and the rules part
ways.” Those girls had turned him every way but loose and when
finally, at dawn, he half fell down the hanging stairs from their
treehouse (yes, treehouse, which they seemed to use much as he used
the cabin on Mount Vincennes only there were mats instead of a
bed), he wasn’t sure he’d even have the strength to push the
accelerator down on the Corvette. When he got home and Laney
approached him, he’d told her, “not now, Lane, I just need a shower
and some sleep”.
One nice thing about the band chasers was
that, because of their following with Washington government types,
there was lots of diversity and diversity was something that Rafe
got off on. It was like having access to an ever-changing
international sexual smorgasbord.
By contrast, the race track devotees tended
to be more all-American, mostly white, some of them a little on the
redneck-y side, although not all
hands. To tell you the truth, he was so intense, it made me kind of
nervous. When I was done, he asked me if he could try it once. I
went through my spiel about how you couldn’t just sit down and play
a guitar. You had to learn a lot of things first and practice until
you got good, etc., etc. He just said, “please, Gabe.” I handed the
guitar over to him just to placate him and prove a point. I was
astonished when he played the damn thing, almost perfectly. I know
he didn’t know about reading music or chording or anything then. I
don’t know if he does now or not. I tried to talk him into taking
an interest in some music classes but he never would. I told him
when someone was as naturally gifted in an area like music as he
was, he should concentrate on it. You know what the little shit
told me, Duke, just as matter-of-fact as could be?”
“What?”
“He said he didn’t have enough time to
concentrate on everything he was good at. He’s some kind of fucking
savant, Duke.”
“If you saw him work the women in a crowd,
Gabe, you say he’s some kind of fucking cocksman too.”
*
So on this bright sunny day as Rafe lay out
on that raft in back of the house, he was thinking that although he
was having lots of fun, his restful year was turning out not to be
so restful, in fact, he might be burning his candle at both ends.
He sometimes had to hustle to get from race meets to band gigs. And
then there was the sex. Between the race car groupies and the rock
and roll groupies (not to mention, Laney wanting attention at home)
he thought he might be pushing himself beyond his endurance, which
he had always thought before was pretty well limitless. It wasn’t
the first time he’d had the thought that he needed to start pacing
himself but he wasn’t sure how to do it. The girls at school had
known how to let him know they were interested but they’d been
bound by certain restrictions. Those same limitations didn’t apply
to either the race fans or the music fans who felt free to express
themselves in more direct ways. He’d never had so many breasts
thrust into his face, so many eager hands on his ass, so many
pussies pressed against his groin as he had this summer. School
girls tended to be note writers and he’d gotten plenty of written
offers detailing what he could expect if he took out this one or
that one and he still did get some of those passed up onto the
stage or thrown into the window of his car. But most of them just
came out and told him in graphic terms what they wanted and what
they would do for him in return. He accepted as many of those
offers as he could handle, maybe a few more than he could
comfortably handle.
Duke had ordered him off the young ones at
the dances and for the most part, he’d abided by that. There was
just that one time when the two beautiful twin daughters of the
head of the Congressional Black Caucus said they wanted to play
Oreo with him, him being the white icing in the middle. “Sorry,
Duke,” he’d said to himself, “this is where me and the rules part
ways.” Those girls had turned him every way but loose and when
finally, at dawn, he half fell down the hanging stairs from their
treehouse (yes, treehouse, which they seemed to use much as he used
the cabin on Mount Vincennes only there were mats instead of a
bed), he wasn’t sure he’d even have the strength to push the
accelerator down on the Corvette. When he got home and Laney
approached him, he’d told her, “not now, Lane, I just need a shower
and some sleep”.
One nice thing about the band chasers was
that, because of their following with Washington government types,
there was lots of diversity and diversity was something that Rafe
got off on. It was like having access to an ever-changing
international sexual smorgasbord.
By contrast, the race track devotees tended
to be more all-American, mostly white, some of them a little on the
redneck-y side, although not all
Similar Books
