FINDING THE VOICE
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM
I stood listening to Gareth play, singing "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown."
"What do you think of him?" Colonel Korvet said to me. His last name was emphasized on the first syllable, or KOR-vet; and you could insult him by calling him kor-VET instead, that was a car!
"He's good." I said. And he was. Jim Croce couldn't have sung this song better.
"He stinks!" was Colonel Korvet's appraisal.
"Huh?" I said.
"I mean, take a look at him." Colonel Korvet said.
I did, God, he was gorgeous! Gareth Rivers was wonderfully good-looking in the rugged country-boy way, that mixture of pretty face tempered by rough living into a strength and virility that just dripped off of him with every word out of his mouth. Half the draw of a singer is to be physically attractive, and Gareth was all of that. His body was buff; when he stood up, you could see how narrow his waist was, how broad his shoulders were; but hunkered over his guitar, that tended to be hidden, and his dark clothes further hid it. Except when the spotlight hit him while standing, that turned him into a living silhouette of masculine form that made artists dream of doing a cameo of him, black obsidian framed over an oval of gleaming marble to help bring out that marvelous form....okay, so I'm an artist, at least, when I can afford to be! For now, working backstage at this club was my gig.
"What's wrong with him?" Colonel Korvet pushed me.
Nothing! was what I wanted to shout out. "I guess I don't see it." is what I came out with.
"Well, it ain't with how he looks." Colonel Korvet said. "He's a pretty little thing, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir." I hastily agreed, maybe a bit too much, for he snorted.
"Looks count in this game, but they ain't enough all by themself." he went on. "And it ain't his singing ability, he's got that, all right."
He did. Gareth had that timbre that marks the really great singers. You hear it in some singers, and they always come out to be the ones you really remember. Loretta Lynn has it, so does Cher, so did Elvis. A depth and volume that just can't be faked and probably can't be learned, it has to well from within. Gareth had that depth that can shake your very soul.
"What he's missing is his Voice." Colonel Korvet concluded.
"Voice?" I said, puzzled. "But you said he can sing."
"I said Voice." Colonel Korvet said again, and you could hear the capital letter in it. "Every song he sings, they belong to someone else. You can hear it in the way he sings, he just hasn't found a style that fits him and that he can make his own." Colonel Korvet shook his head. "Until then, he's just another honky-tonk guitar player, banging out other people's songs. Bound for oblivion. Wish I could help him."
"Me, too." I said a little too sincerely.
And I had an idea how to do it.
I had my budget for the scenery, I spent it on some heavy material for the drap ery. Gareth performed in front of a dark red drap e, with his black clothing, it was just wrong, he blended in rather than standing out. He needed a lighter background.
I was going to give it to him.
I was still thinking a silhouette, I marked out on the drap es a circle, or should I say, when the drap es' folds were together right, it made a circle.
When I sewed on the yellow cloth, it would give Gareth his circle of gold to make that black-clothed body of his stand out!
I finished up in the mid-afternoon, the club didn't open until six o'clock. Gareth, as I'd hoped, showed up about four o'clock to get in some practice. He couldn't play much in his motel room, the neighbors would complain. A lot of practice is replaying chord combinations until you can get them just right; or the same chorus repeated in several combinations to find the best; it isn't a matter of free entertainment!
I was just putting the final stitches in when he walked up, intent on my work, I didn't hear him until he said, right behind me, "What'cha doin', Van?"
"Oh!" I said, startled, and turning around. I was looking right at that oversized silver belt buckle of his. Just below it, to be honest, those tight jeans with just the slightest hint of a bulge.
"What'cha got there?" that silvery voice of his asked.
"New background." I said nervously. "You were kind of blending into this heavy red color, I mean, with your clothes all black and dark blue and...and all."
"A yellow circle?" He asked me. He was looking at the finished product, all the yellow pieces making their circle.
"Yeah, yeah, you'll look good against yellow."
"You think?" he said.
"Yeah, yeah, get up on your stool and let me see how it looks." I said.
He obligingly crawled up on the stool and sat there, hands on his thighs. It showed his body off wonderfully.
"How do I look?" he asked me.
"Great!" I assured him. "Shame you have to put that guitar in front of you, it blocks a lot of your body like that."
"Maybe I should try it standing up?" he suggested.
"No, no." I said quickly. I had measured it for the stool, standing up, he'd be off-center. "It'll be okay with the guitar. Just be sure you set it down to talk to people every now and then."
"Let them get a good look at my crotch?" He said.
"Yeah." I said, looking at it. Then I realized, looked up at him.
"That's the idea here, ain't it?" he said to me. Grinning at me.
"Yeah." I said, blushing. "I can take this all down."
"Hey, why'd you want to do that?" he said. "Shit, a fellow like me needs to market his goods, don't he?"
"Yeah." I agreed.
"And if I'm going to market my package, I need someone who appreciates it to help me out, don't I?"
"Yeah." I said, wondering where this was going.
"So would you like the job, Van?"
"Sure." I said. "Heck, I'm doing it anyway." I looked at my handiwork on the curtains. "You have a really nice body, Gareth. You should use it to promote yourself."
"And you're the guy to do it." Gareth said. He shifted slightly on his perch. "Of course, if you're going to promote it for me, I think you need to get a better look at it, don't you think?"
"Uh..." I licked my lips nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."
"So what are you waiting for?" He invited me. "The Colonel will be here in another half hour."
When I still hesitated, he reached down and undid that huge belt buckle. With it out of the way, his jeans showed the crotch wrinkle, the one that always pokes up when you sit down in jeans, but to me, it was like his hard cock was making it do that.
"Come on." he urged me again. "Can do a good job until you know all about it, can you?"
I wasn't about to argue with logic like that! Why would I?
Getting his jeans unbuttoned wasn't easy, he had to shift forward further and lean way back on the stool. But then I got the fly open and underneath was a pair of purple briefs with white trim. "Purple?" I asked him.
"You got a problem with it?" he asked. "Don't nobody else see it. And I think they look sexy."
"Yeah." I agreed. And they are, except it was an additional barrier to overcome. I ended up having to pull his cock out through the fly. That kept his balls trapped inside, but it was okay. His prong was long enough to be available even when he straightened back up on his seat.
"Can you get a good look at it now?" He asked me.
"I think I'd better take a more...in-depth approach." I said. I wrapped my hand around his pud.
"That's getting a handle on the problem." He sighed.
"I think I can manipulate your image quite a bit here." I said as I pumped his prick up and down. The thick skin of the shaft was warm and soft as butter, and it slipped up and down that iron-hard core smooth as could be.
"I think you'd better polish things a bit down there." He breathed at me.
"I was just thinking the same thing." I agreed.
"We're going to work very well together." He gasped as I took his dong into my mouth. The silken feel of his glans as it touched my tongue was intoxicating, I breathed in and that aroma hit me, the musky smell of his cock drove directly up into my brain like a spike, it was masculinity embodied and distilled into its purest form and that was what I smelled, and I sucked his prong deeper into myself, and his flavor exuded onto my tongue and down my throat, the salty nectar of his dick filled my senses and became my world, my universe, I could feel myself becoming a tiny part of this new existence, if only I could stay here forever!
In my delirium of desire, I began to suck on his prick like a madman, like one possessed, for I was, indeed, I began to bob up and down upon his man-tower at a rate that was without grace or design, but was raw lust in motion.
"Agh, ah, damn, yeah!" Gareth moaned as I sucked him. "Shit, yeah, man, suck that dick, suck it!"
As if he had to coach me on this. He was writhing on that precarious perch of his, his head thrown back, his mouth open, loud, guttural sounds breaking out from his very heart, that lithe body was displayed for me, for me alone, in a way that was how I'd always secretly wanted, the silhouette was just the substitue, the one I thought I could have, when what I really wanted was to have it laid out before me, mine, all mine, to do with as I wanted!
I opened my own fly and took out my pud, began to pump it in tune to my motions on Gareth's prick. That helped, some, with the rush of sensations that were overpowering me, I could force them down into my cock, where I was at least used to them and could deal with them. The overwhelming passion of this moment, the sheer power of it, was incredible, it seemed to pour out of him into me through the conducting rod of his dong.
And I had his power inside of me now, I could feel the strength pulsing inside of it, I could feel it boiling up in those balls, that now strained to escape so they could take their rightful place alongside his shaft, locking into firing position. But the fly and the briefs defeated that, and they could only surge up into tight nubs that I could feel underneath the material, begging to be freed.
But that was for another day, for now, I was as limited as Gareth was, he could only swing about on the small circle of his stool seat, I could only suck the cock without having access to his balls, to his ass, to the rest of his body, only the shaft was mine now. But the cock was mine, and I could worship it, taking it for the promise of what was to come.
And given how the cock all alone was working on me, it was all I could handle!
"Ah, God damn, man, I'm going to come now." Gareth panted at me huskily. "You got me so damned hot, Van, I got to cream. How do you want it, man, you can jerk me off the rest of the way, if you...if you need to."
As if I would let go now! I grunted my negative and Gareth keened out a long, low note that was almost out of one of his songs, and the difference was hard to explain, it was like this note was truly from his heart, not the feigned soulfulness of a song professional sung, he was being wrenched and this was the only way he could express it, in this note, in this montonal melody of lust.
And when that note ended, which took a while, then, with a single, almost-silent grunt, he ejaculated, his come exploded into my mouth, hot fiery bursts of semen that seared my throat, I gulped the sperm-packets down as quickly as they fired out of his dong, and it was like I was drinking a powerful liquor, I was intoxicated in a way that several shots would have made me, I was drunk on Gareth.
And I squirted my own jizz at that moment, while he was pumping his spunk into me, and I survived that moment by this expedience, by shooting my own load, I could bear the raw experience of Gareth's jism spurting into me.
So I drained his schlong of every savory, salty drop of semen, and when he was done, panting heavily, he careened and nearly fell of his stool. "Hot damn, man, that's the best blow-job I've had in a long time!" he said to me. "Shit, man, you can sure drain a man dry."
"Just getting in some detailed research." I said, out of breath myself. "Have to get to know a subject if you're going to display it best."
He chuckled, and said, "Well, we'll see how this big yellow circle works tonight."
The Colonel arrived then, and he had this idea for a new layout for the bar that sent me out searching for chrome trim. I got back when the bar opened, and spent my time in my secondary role as dishwasher and ashtray-dumper, picking up empty glasses and busing the tables when and as I could.
Gareth went on at eight o'clock, and he said, strumming his guitar, "Howdy, folks, tonight I have something special for you. It's a song I wrote myself, this afternoon. Hope you all like it."
Colonel Korvet was at my side, "What do you know about this, Van?" He asked me.
"Beats me." I said. "I was gone most of the afternoon, remember?"
"God, I hope it's not a piece of crap." Colonel Korvet sighed.
And Gareth's song began,
"I've been captured by a smile,
Made prisoner by a touch,
I never thought I could fall this hard,
Never thought I could love this much.
But you put your arms around me,
That's how it all began,
Now it's you and me,
Like it ought to be,
Like part of some bigger plan!
"Cause I've been dazzled!
I've been blinded!
I've been captured!
By the twinkle in your eye!"
There was a deep, rich, chuckling sound and it took a moment for me to realize it was coming from Colonel Korvet. "Hot damn, the boy done did it."
"Did what?" I asked him.
"That song." Colonel Korvet said. "The boy has done found his Voice. I just wonder how he did it, is all?"
Gareth looked at me and his smile broadened when I smiled back. The rest of the song was aimed right at me.
"Now we just got one problem." Colonel Korvet said. "Then we can take his show on the road."
"What's that?" I wanted to know."
"His name."
"It's his real name."
"You know that and I know that." Colonel Korvet said, "But with Garth Brooks out there, we can't present them with a country-western singer named Gareth Rivers. Just too damned close."
"I guess so." I agreed.
Gareth's song was wrapping up.
"Oh, I've been dazzled!
I've been blinded!
I've been captured!
By the twinkle in your eye!"
THE END
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