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“Just relax.”
I bit back an angry retort. So, he wasn’t going to fuck me? He was actually just going to lay there with his dick inside me? And do nothing?
I was pissed. This was so unsatisfying. The opposite of relaxing. I tried to move again, but he easily contained me. I felt like I was a wrestler caught in a hold and pinned into submission. Instead of tapping out, eventually, I just gave up. I had no energy left to fight it. I was done. Slowly his muscles began to relax too, but he still stayed wrapped tightly around me.
Once I got past the sexual aspect, our position was strangely intimate and relaxing. Almost cozy. My mind began drifting. I thought about our session together and the intense feelings it brought out.
When I’d been in the midst of it all, I hadn’t been able to fully let go. I’d still been analyzing everything that was happening — what he did well, what things he could do that I’d like better, and even how it compared to other experiences. And, I’d always been wondering if my acquiescence had meant that I’d submitted fully to him.
I knew I hadn’t let go of my full control and maybe I could do that with more trust. Over time, like Daddy had said. I really felt like I’d turned over my body to him, but not my mind or spirit. What would it be like if I submitted it all? Was that the key to finding my nirvana?
I was drifting into a peaceful, blissful space. I felt safe and protected.
Chapter 7
Bash
As soon as I hit the stage, the massive crowd roared to life. They had been screaming and stomping for us to come back out for an encore for the past ten minutes. We usually didn’t keep them waiting that long, but we all needed to recharge so we could give it our all for the last two songs.
I climbed up the riser and sat behind my drum kit, then kept my left foot light on the hi-hat pedal while I crashed my drumstick against the cymbals. The insanity level of the crowd climbed higher. There was always that bit of doubt when a band left the stage that the show was truly over, but that one explosive sound was all the confirmation they needed that there was more to come.
The other guys began entering the stage and the shrieking in the stadium grew deafening. Sid crossed the stage first, followed closely by Ryder. As usual, they stood in front of me and to my right. Sid wasn’t as expressive when he played bass, but he and Ryder usually found a groove together and played off each other well. Ghost positioned himself front and center and Knox moved into place, stage left. Knox was more of a showman and moved around the stage, but he wouldn’t go far for the next two songs. A lot of pyrotechnics were about to go off.
Another roar from the crowd rolled over the stage when a spotlight suddenly illuminated Ghost. He began speaking to the crowd, amping them up, but I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying.
I was trying to absorb the moment. With only the single spotlight lighting the stage, I could see out into the writhing audience. We were at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, in front of the largest audience we’d ever played for – at least as the headline act. Years ago, we’d been one of many bands at a festival in Europe where the crowds had been monstrously huge, but tonight, all these people were here to see us.
We were in the middle of a mini-tour, almost all stadium shows, but all the venues were where only top-selling bands could perform. We’d just played in Boston and then at Madison Square Garden, and soon we’d be off to Philly and Baltimore before I could go home for a short break.
We were at the peak of our careers. Sure, it was possible we could hang around for years to come selling out stadiums, but that kind of magic only happened with a handful of mega-bands. Most likely, by next year, we’d be riding the downward slope of that bell curve of our band’s popularity.
Even with the most talented and stable bands in the world, change was inevitable. Band members got older, and being on the road got harder when away from loved ones. We’d already made modifications to our tours to reflect our changing needs, and our record label was bending over backward to keep us happy exactly because we were at the peak. The changes all started with me having Kody and trying to prioritize him without giving up my passion for music and performing, but now, in one way or the other, my bandmates were all in the same boat. I wasn’t the only one with a kid now, which was great because our tour schedule wasn’t as brutal. Change happened. Who knew what the future would bring? Maybe I wouldn’t be in the band anymore after this tour?
I chuckled to myself. Here we were at the very top and I was already mourning the loss of it. Was I depressed about it? Scared? Resigned? Or was I oddly okay with it? Performing in front of a crowd like this was the greatest high in the world, but here I was looking out at the massive, cheering crowd and thinking about Kody.
I missed him. I didn’t like being away from him for so long, but he seemed fine with my parents. Even though my parents recently moved to California to be closer to their grandchildren, I asked them to move into my house while I was on tour so that Kody would suffer the least disruption to his schedule.
Kody had preschool classes three days a week, and he also had his swim lessons and the kiddie gymnastic classes where he tumbled on mats like a crazed nut for an hour. He was too old to drag around on a tour without getting bored and antsy. I’d had a video call with him right after our sound check, where he excitedly told me all about the trampoline they’d just been allowed to try at the gym. Two more shows after tonight and then I could go back and see him for a few days.
Ghost stopped talking to the crowd and looked back at me. That was my cue. I beat my sticks to count the band off and then I was immersed in drumming while we played an older Ghost Parker song that was a big hit with our fans.
I was tired, but it was my job to keep a consistent beat and set the overall energy level, so I dug deep. Feeding off the energy of the crowd, I added some rolls and fills to break up any monotony.
The giant screen behind me that was projecting images to the crowd was casting a mix of lights and shadows all over my drum kit. Strobe lights and a giant puff of smoke that was released from above the stage added to the choreographed chaos. Sometimes I missed the simplicity of playing in a small venue without all the bells and whistles. I liked seeing individual faces in the audience, not just a mass of thrashing humanity.
The song was coming to an end. I transitioned with a six-stroke roll, moved from the toms to the snares, punctuating my strokes, then slammed down on the crash cymbals to signal the ending.
Instantaneously, I cued our last song, as I didn’t want the buildup of energy to wane even a fraction. As soon as Knox played the opening riff, the crowd went crazy. They knew we weren’t going to leave without playing it. We’ve played it in the encore for every show, sometimes first but usually as the last song of the night.
There was no question that Okay Babe was our most popular song by huge magnitudes. Except for Sid, we all grumbled about having to play it — Ghost grumbling the most — even though we owed so damn much to that song. We all got writing credits on it, even though Sidney did most of the work. Just that one song alone had made me enough money that I could retire at the age of 31 and never work again, but what the hell would I do if I didn’t have the band?
I shook off my distraction and focused on the song, accenting certain beats to help lock in and shape the energy around the song, making sure not to overshadow Ghost’s vocals. When the crowd began to sing along with the lyrics, Ghost held out his microphone to encourage them. Sid always chimed in on the chorus for this song, and with Ryder’s voice added to his in front of the shared mic, they sounded pretty good.
I blocked out the words and focused on the pulse and rhythm of the song. The other guys complained about it because it was a catchy and upbeat pop song that didn’t fit our harder style. I hated it because it was about my sister, Kaylie, and anyone who followed the band knew that, too. When Sid and Kay got married, that cat was out of the bag.
The sexual innuendo in the lyrics was unmistakable. I still cringed every time I heard it and even had to endure a few people in the media asking me how it felt to sing those lyrics about my sister.
Sidney had been my best friend for more than a decade and now he was my brother, too. Sid and Kaylie were happily married and had brand new baby boys, my twin nephews, so I should be over being squeamish about it, but hearing those words still pissed me off. Fucking Sidney. Someday I’d get him back.
