A retired rock roadie finds out he may have some of that rock n’ roll aura when the girl next door starts something with him…
It was a lazy kind of summer, a slow heat that baked my brain into a nice warm fuzz. The kind of summer for lazing in the garden, watching bees bumble around. Perfect festival weather. Shit, those had been good times, but I didn’t miss the hard work on stage and behind the scenes.
As I dozed off, the buzzing of the bees turned into the distant roar of the crowd. Hungry for the band to come up. My body tensed as I wrestled an imaginary monitor. I smelt the sweat and beer wafting from the crowd, and the rubbery stench of hot wires under the lights.
My doorbell ringing shocked me awake. I jerked up, spilling my water over my crotch. The perfect ‘I’ve just pissed myself’ look. That was another festival memory, everybody had woken up in a strange place having pissed themselves.
The door rang again and I stomped through my house to see who was bothering me. It wasn’t even noon yet.
I pulled open my door it to find a strangely familiar young woman standing there. Short and tanned, with dark hair pulled back up into a pony tail. Small breasts, but pert and perfect in her crop top. Damn fine abs showing. And wonderful bronze legs, topped by painfully tight looking denim shorts. Super-hot. The perfect charity beggar or Christian cult recruiter. Manicured feet, pink toenails standing out against her darkened toes. Tarantino bait.
“Mr Stag, hi!” she said. She had a smile that would make a Disney princess envious.
“What do you want?” I scowled.
“It’s me Trinny!” she said. She was beaming with energy.
“Trinny? Oh Trinny. Nigel’s daughter. Hello, sorry I thought you were a salesman. Saleswoman.”
I took her in with new eyes. How long had she been away? She must be nineteen or twenty now. Nigel wouldn’t stop banging on about the prestigious dance academy that he had sent her to. I fucking hate Nigel.
I tried to avoid him as much as possible, difficult considering he was my only neighbour out here in the countryside. He was old rich, very nice and polite but it always felt fake. If he found me dead in my driveway one morning, he would happily dump me into a ditch. With a stick, so he wouldn’t have to touch me.
I think he must have resented me living on his ancestral lands. Way back it had all belonged to his family, but some noble pissed it all away and they had to parcel up the land. Here was me, working class nobody done good, buying a nice little rich boy getaway in the countryside.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“What for? Where’s your dad?”
“He’s out driving in his Jag.”
That I could believe. Nigel was obsessed with his cars. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the old classics. I wouldn’t mind a nice E-type Jag. Truth be told I could afford it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it would make me seem like a wannabe. I earned my money, I didn’t get it given to me by a rich dad. I was careful what I spent it on.
What the hell. Maybe she had been sent over to complain about something on behalf of her dear dad, but I could do with a bit of company.
“Sure come in then. Do you want a drink of water, or juice?”
“Juice, that’s nice. You know I’m old enough to drink now, I’m nineteen?”
“Jesus it’s eleven in the morning, I’m not giving you a proper drink.” If I had been younger, I would have been tempted to crack open some beers and get her drunk. But being on the road with actual rock stars sobers you up. I’d seen too many talented musicians turn their brains and body into jelly with booze and all the rest.
“I’m teasing you!” She swatted me playfully on the chest. Part of me wanted to close the door on her, was she taking the piss? But another, more randy part of me wanted to scoop her up into my arms and carry her inside. Easy caveman, that would be a good way to get Nigel on my case and a restraining order.
“I don’t drink anyway, it dehydrates you.”
“Yeah, not good for dancers. Are you coming in or what?”
“I guess I’m coming in then.” She half-skipped past me like she owned the place. Cute. If she wasn’t a tight-bodied 19-year-old it would be offensive, but I let her have her fun. Her head barely came up to my chest as she went past, and I had to suppress my instincts again. Something about women that height makes me want to chase after them. Why, I don’t know.
“Kitchen in is on the left,” I said.
She skipped into my kitchen and twirled around. “Are you busy? Am I distracting you?”
I should be fiddling with household chores. “I’m not busy no.”
“But am I distracting you?”
“No, what do you want to drink.”
“Orange juice, please.”
“No booze?”
“Are you trying to corrupt me?”
“No, just joking. One orange juice.” I poured her out a glass of juice. It felt like I was having a kids tea party for some reason. I grabbed myself some water.
“I bet you did lots of that with Iron Carnage” She ran her hand over my countertop. It was strangely provocative. She stared at me, eager for stories or gossip. My heart skipped a beat as her dark brown eyes stared up at me through her thick lashes. Hypnotically sexy.
“Not me. The boys in the band did. But I was just a roadie, gopher, chief-fixer-upper.” I sipped my water.
“Do you still talk to them?” she said. My brain clicked and my heart sank. She was fishing for industry contacts. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the connection between working as a dancer or for a rock band made as much sense as a penguin applying for a job as a rollercoaster attendant. In a desert.
But when you’re young, I suppose you just see it as all the same business. And why else would she come round to an old fuck’s house, my sparkling wit and repartee?
“Not really, Trinny. Roger is living in Sweden somewhere with his wife, Adam is doing session stuff in America and Gareth, God rest is soul is upstairs.” Gareth was a laugh. I missed him the most. I coughed and pretended to look at something interesting out of the window. Then wiped a tear away. I was getting maudlin in my old age.
“Upstairs? Oh I see. That’s a euphemism. You can say died, I’m not a kid.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She must have heard something in my voice. “Sorry,” she said in a quiet tone.
“No it’s ok. We all go in the end. I’m glad I’ve got enough health to enjoy my retirement.”
“Retirement! You’re not that old, you’re only 40!” she cried.
That made me laugh. “I’m closer to fifty now, but thanks for the compliment, love”
“Love?”
“Sorry, old habits. A bit sexist now.”
“No, I think it’s nice. One of my drama teachers calls everybody love and dear. I think it’s nice, it shows respect.”
“Yeah, it is nice. I miss it. But, listen, Trinny, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have some stuff to do today.” I felt really irritable all of a sudden. Here was this young woman, bringing up all these memories of the old days, making me feel like I was twenty again, but on the other side of an age gap. There was nothing happening here, even if an animal part of me secretly wanted it.
“Fine.” She span around and almost sprinted out of my kitchen. Before I could see her off, I haerd my front door slam. Little brat.
Ah well. It was a nice distraction. I checked myself out in the hallway mirror. Crow’s feet starting around the eyes, grey hair at my temples. But my hair was still jet black and thick, though I had to keep it cut shorter now. I was trying to be a respectable retiree in his 40s. No more drinking until six and staggering into a hotel with groupies on my arms. Not outside of the occasional dream.
Still, it was nice to have that energy around me again. I shook my head to clear out the oncoming vision. I could stand in my kitchen, reliving past glory in my head, or I could get to sorting out that problem in the attic. Exciting times.
The ladder creaked under me as I climbed it. I came up into my loft, and surveyed my lands. Lots of boxes filled with old band merch, I was saving that to sell on Ebay if I ever needed cash. And somewhere a broken bulb or dodgy wire.
It felt good to be fixing things around my own home. Years spent chasing broken connections and unwrapping the singer from his mic lead, all in the background. It was satisfying at the time, and don’t get me wrong it paid for my house, but it did feel a bit thankless after a while. That’s why I didn’t really miss the band times. You get a lot of free beer and you get paid to travel to places you always wanted to go, but at the end of the day when you come back home you’re just an anonymous bloke. Nothing special.
Now I was an anonymous bloke, in my loft searching for some dodgy wiring. Less exciting but much more satisfying. This was my castle.
Where to start first? I headed over to the window to wipe the dust from it, and let in more light. It was painfully bright at first. My eyes adjusted and I saw out into my garden and over the immense wall to Nigel’s yard. His pool was glittering in the sunglight. I don’t think I’d ever heard or seen him swim in it, but it was always clean and full. All for show. Still, whatever gets you off.
I realised that Trinny was there too ,lying on a sunbed. Kubrick couldn’t have shot it better.. Pool water idly rippling and dancing with sparkling brightness. And a nineteen year old dancer, in a white-blue bikini, lying on a sunbed. Like a decoration on a cake, specially placed for the best viewing angle. Her feet and toes, dangling off the edge of the sunbed. Her dark hair sprawled out around her face. Her breasts cupped with fabric that only highlighted her nipples. And her flat stomach, with the triangle of her bikini pointing to the most hypnotic part. The valley between her tight thighs. And me, an old perv staring at her from my dusty attic.
I was about to turn away and leave her to her privacy, but she raised her arms and waved at me. I froze, caught in the act! But then I realised she was just yawning and stretching. The way that young women do, like cats. Unconscious of how appetising they are.
She yawned again and stretched her arms fully out above her head. Her tits pushed up against her bra. There were small and tight, dancers breasts, like the hardbody girls you saw in 80s music videos. Put some legwarmers and dayglo earrings on her and she would fit right in. Get some knobhead with a guitar and have him jump into the pool whilst doing a solo and you would have a proper music video.
She dropped her hands down onto her stomach and patted herself, satisfied by her yawns. I knew that feeling. She grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion besides her, squeezed a nice amount into her hands. It felt sexual, seeing that white fluid seep onto her hands. She sat up and rubbed the lotion over her legs, reaching down to plink her fingers between her toes.
Damn, I wanted to be down there, holding her ankles and rubbing my hands over her tight calves and thighs. And then slipping a finger into that soft warm place between them.
Fuck, what was I thinking? I needed to remember that I was an old geezer and she was a fresh young student. There was a whole world between us. Not to mention my grimy attic window.
She lay back and spread her knees, both hands rubbing at her thighs. I couldn’t look away. She slipped a finger underneath the bikini, caressing herself under the fabric. Her feet rubbed against each other as she slowly worked up a heat in her loins.
Her other had shot up to her shoulder, and she slowly pulled the string of her top down.
I wanted to look away. My brain was screaming that I was going to get caught peeping. But I was hooked.
She slid her bra off, revealing her magnificent pert tit underneath. She thumbed her nipple, making it stand out like a dark cherry winegum.
“Fuck,” I gasped in the dark. I realised one hand was clutched over my dick, which was hard as a rock under my trousers. I was tweaking my dick the same way she was tweaking her breasts.
I unzipped myself, I couldn’t take this pressure any more. As long as I didn’t get caught, who would know?
She pouted in pleasure and moved her hand over her stomach, plunging it into her bottoms so she could rub more furiously.
Her hips bucked wildly. Her hand was arched and I could imagine her fingers plunging into her pussy as she frigged herself. She had lost all control.
This was rock n’ roll. People think it’s the sex and the drugs, but that’s the aftermath of a concert, people coming down trying to stay up. The sexiest moment of a gig is when the crowd is acting as one, singing and flowing like a sea about to crash over the barrier, anticipating what’s coming next, because they know that solo is about to slice through them like a call from the Gods. Then they go crazy, really crazy, just explode with passion and joy, not caring about how they look or what they’re doing, just plunging into the moment. Keep going, keep going, until you can’t go any more.
She grabbed her bikini bottom and pulled it away completely, letting it fall down around one ankle. Her stomach was taut as she bent up, slamming her fingers into her pussy as if she were being fucked with a jackhammer. Her face was scowling with the effort. She let out a squeal, then the damn burst and she came. Her legs bucked and quivered together, the perfect motion to cling to a pounding lover. Her lithe body kicked and quivered as the orgasm moved through her.
She screamed in pleasure so loud I swore that it shook the glass in my window.
That’s what made me shoot a load so hot and heavy that it felt like hot solder shooting from my dick. My cock pulsed in my hands, in my head I was spilling it all over that tanned and oiled up body, spattering her tight abs and impossible perky tits with spunk.
“Fucking hell, fucking hell,” I groaned in my attic.
I had to grab a cleaning cloth and wipe myself down.
There was one last kick. She rolled onto her side, exhausted and sleepy-looking. But she threw a glance over her shoulder, right up at the window. She knew I was there! I couldn’t believe it. It must be a post-nut hallucination.
I slumped down onto my back, my softening dick hanging out of my trousers, breathing heavily. I was exhausted. I was too old for this madness.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/sn059u/satyr_and_sylph_chapter_1