California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Sauced

“This isn’t what rock and roll is all about,”

That night in Hollywood, the band was playing the Roxy, and after sound check I had gone to the bar to play the poker machine. I made a huge mistake and had some bad shellfish earlier,”  The raw fish made my stomach churn and roil. I felt what I was sure was just a substantive fart building up, and I let ‘er rip. Unfortunately, I got more than I bargained for and my bowels voided themselves at that moment. There was at least a solid cup of shit. My stomach rumbled again and my gut expelled another wave of noxious waste. It was everywhere. It was, like, a quart of diarrhea. Soiled, shit-stinking, and sick, I retired to a lounge are upstairs and laid down.

Several hours later, I was back in action, hanging out with some of my band mates  in the venue’s VIP section. But the scene was grim, said bassist Frank: “No talent here; not a looker in the lot.” I grabbed the tour manager and headed to the bar next door, where I was soon approached by an enthused fan. “I think she’s half-Mexican, but she’s pretty hot,” he says.

“Yo, I know you’re in one of the bands,” the girl proposed. “I’ll do anything if you get me into the show.”

Now, you might think you know exactly what happened next, but if you’re picturing a sordid, back-room exchange, you’d only be half-right. I handed the girl “a shot of insanity hot sauce,” which she put down without issue. Then she took another. I escorted her backstage to the VIP section and went back upstairs to watch TV, while the girl proceeded to attack with gusto the green room’s generously stocked open bar.

Two hours later, between sets and I run into hot-sauce girl.

“This is the guy who got me in!” she screamed, hammered after a go at the open bar.

She threw her arms around me and shoved her tongue into my mouth. We weren’t really making out, more like she was molesting me. She was sloppy, but that was hardly a deterrent. Wanting privacy, I took the girl through the back of the venue to a quiet area, pulled open a door, and stepped into a small room. Even playing rough house rock and roll, making out with some drunk ass slapper in the middle of the VIP area is frowned upon.

I realize we’re in the trash room.  We’re literally surrounded by gargantuan piles of trash, heaped high and probably smelling like the contents of my underwear earlier that night. (I had cleaned myself up and had changed by then and was feeling much better) Things started getting hot and heavy between us, and suddenly, the girl stopped the action to make a request. “I’m on the rag right now,” she said, before asking me to place myself someplace fairly uncomfortable. She asked me to fuck her in the ass.

That was the first time I had ever done that. I was a little concerned about the two shots of hot sauce I had given her earlier circling back and burning my little German knockwurst.

I think she was from Puerto Rico.

 

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Author: phicklephilly

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