Jamie 1-844-332-2639 ext 461
They say rock & roll is forever. I’m beginning to believe it. They always called me a groupie, but that word felt too small for what I do. I”m more of a reape. Harvesting not souls, but the electric residue of rock & roll. One night. One body. One debt. Tonight’s offering was a shoegaze frontman named Lysander. His cute face was pretty much always obscured by a curtain of bleached hair and disdain.
I’d been waiting for him, all leather and come-hither, by his tour bus. When he emerged from the stage exit, he looked at me but didn’t speak. He just pulled me into the shadows, as his hands clawed at my tight dress like he was exorcising a ghost. We fucked in the alley behind the dumpster because the rest of the band was already in the bus. He bent me over, dress pulled up. His teeth left a half-moon mark on my shoulder. I didn’t flinch. Instead, I let him do it then watched as he smiled and stumbled back to his bus.
