I Saw the Light
by Alicia Night Orchid © 2008

I waved and he waved back, the curly headed one with the "Dirty Road" t-shirt. Pete, the guitar player, said I should show him my tits. I told him I wasn't that kind of girl.

But I did throw him a kiss. His name was Alec and he and his two buddies were on vacation from their jobs at a tire factory in Ohio. They'd attended every concert on our two-week tour through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Indiana. They'd followed our bus everywhere we went. We'd gotten to know them by now.

Alec saluted from behind the dirty windshield of their Ford pick-up. "I love you," I mouthed the words and he and his buddies laughed. They punched him on the shoulders.

I turned away and settled into my seat, intent on a few hours sleep before our concert that night. Scattered about the bus, guys in the band picked out songs, played cards, and shot the shit. Beside me, Bobby Earl rolled another joint. He'd bought some dynamite weed for the tour.

"After I finish this, I'm going take you in the bathroom and fuck you good," he said from under the Stetson pulled low onto his brow. He said it like he was entitled, which he was. After all, it was his band, Bobby Earl and the Truck Stop Daddies.

"I'm tired," I said.

"And I'm horny as."

"I know, a Texas toad."

"Something like that."

"I'll give you a blow job right now."

His eyes widened behind the reefer's red glow. He looked around. "I reckon no one would mind."

He put his hand on the back of my head and pushed my face into his crotch.

I unzipped his jeans, took his fat cock into my mouth, and began to suck. I had him bucking like a stallion out of the chute in no time flat. I got every drop.

It's something you get good at when you're the only chick in the band.

*                 *                  *

I'm not really in the band, but I'm the opening act and I sing harmony on a few songs with the band.

Bobby saw me playing the bars in Austin and liked what he saw. It was too good a gig to turn down. I was thirty-four years old, I had cellulite where I used to have muscle, and I'd been kicking around the Scene since I was sixteen. I could still belt it out, still pick a mean guitar, and still two-step with the best, but I needed a change. I needed a place to sleep, three hots a day, and all the smoke I could toke. I needed some green in my jeans.

Most of all I needed a break from bar room hustlers and drugstore cowboys, from Larry Mahan wannabes and Ray Wylie Hubbard look-a-likes.

It had been a few years since Bobby Earl's last Top 40 hit, but he was still a Texas Outlaw icon, right up there with Willie and Townes and Stevie Ray Vaughn. He played theatres and auditoriums and the occasional convention center. He packed them in to hear his songs—"The Dirty Road," "Forever Texas," "Flat Busted Floozy," and all the rest.

It beat the hell out of smoky bar rooms and honky-tonk heroes.

I understood the tradeoff. I'd be Bobby's girl for the tour. That's the way it went. That's the business. That's what it means to be a blonde chick singer with a nice ass and decent tits.

It really was a dirty road.

I got over it about the time my first paycheck cleared.

*                 *                  *

"No way your daddy is a preacher."

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Alec said.

"I don't know. I'm used to guys lying about everything."

After the concert that night, Bobby invited those boys from Ohio to join us for the after-party. He thought it was cool that they were following us around. He gave them free beer and t-shirts. He autographed CDs. After the party wound down, Bobby passed out and Alec and I went next door to the all night diner.

The waitress called us both honey and kept our coffee cups full. Her eyes looked like ten miles of bad road.

"Well, I'm not a liar," Alec said.

"I can see that."

"How about your family?"

"My daddy worked the rigs on the Corpus Christi Bay. He'd get off at midnight, drink till dawn, sleep the morning away. Momma was a waitress."

He winced. "That's tough. But I can hear it in your songs. I love 'Third Shift.'"

I'd written that song in an alley my first week in Austin years earlier. I sang it the first time on the sidewalk the next day for nickels and dimes. These days, I sang it to crowds who knew every word by heart.

"Yeah, I like that song, too."

Alec stared into his coffee. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with Shana Shackleford. The other guys had decided to follow the tour before we even knew you'd joined. I was on the fence until I heard you were traveling with the band."

I smiled at him. He was just twenty-one, skinny as a birch sapling, hard as nails. I liked his soft brown eyes. "Well, I'm glad you're here," I told him.

"My favorite song of yours is that gospel tune, 'The River.'"

"Preacher's son, it figures."

"Were you really baptized in a river?"

"Honey, I ain't never been baptized."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not one with the Lord?"

The Lord was about the only one I hadn't been one with, but I didn't tell Alec. Instead, I patted his hand. "Not exactly."

"But in your song."

"It's just a song, Alec."

"But the feelings are real."

"I guess. I couldn't have written it otherwise, but it never really happened.

He stared out the window, watched the trucks roll by like steel stallions. "I'll pray for your soul," he said.

I would've slapped him if I'd thought it was a line. Believe me, I've had my share of born again prophylactic pushing proselytizers. Come two in the morning, when the lights go down and the chairs are on the tables, they just want to fuck like all the other midnight ramblers. That one-on-one relationship they've got with Jesus, that little woman back home, that fancy job at the Christian corporation, come two in the morning, when the lights go down, they'll trade it all for a slice of pussy pie.

But I could see, this wasn't a line for Alec. He really did mean to pray for my sorry soul. More than that, he really thought it would make a difference.

"Well, I appreciate that," I told him.

He left a ten on the table for the coffee. I left five more for the waitress.

I knew how much tips meant to a working girl.

*                 *                  *

Bobby Earl was a tiger in the morning. When he rolled over, nuzzled his three day growth into the back of my neck, and spooned me, I knew it was time to rise and shine. He had a hard-on like a bulwark fence post you could hang a five-rail gate from.

"I love the smell of Shana in the morning," he whispered in my ear.

I wriggled out of my panties and t-shirt. I guided his hand to my breasts. He fondled and humped. We had the Presidential Suite at the Knoxville Comfort Inn. From what I could see from under the sheets, we shared it with Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels and George Dickel. Mostly empties.

I flipped over, threw a leg across Bobby's big, hairy belly, and straddled him. I dragged my nipples down his chest.

"Hold on," he said.

He reached into the drawer of the nightstand, searched for and found a bottle of Astro Glide. He rubbed it onto and between my breasts. When I was slipperier than a pig in the mud, I slid his cock into my cleavage. I clasped my breasts around him and he commenced to thrust.

"You like that, baby?"

"You know I do," he said.

I bit my lower lip, sexy like, and pinched my nipples. "Fuck my titties, Bobby," I whispered between clinched teeth.

He didn't have to be told twice.

I guessed him to be forty-five. He'd packed on a few pounds, a few wrinkles, and a few gray hairs since his infamous and groundbreaking "Dirty Road" tour. But he was still cute in a pudgy, grizzled sort of way. As a girl living at home with my folks, I'd kept his poster on the wall of our double wide. You had to look hard to find the Bobby Earl on that poster in the man lying beneath me.

"Oh, yeah," he groaned and squirmed.

I felt it hot and sticky. I milked him like a farmer milking a heifer. "Give it to me, Bobby. Give it to me."

When it was over, he said, "Girl, you are something." He panted like a house afire.

I kissed him on the cheek and settled next to him, both of us staring at the ceiling. Hot and sticky turned to cold and damp real quick.

He lit us both a smoke, before his cell-phone rang. He checked the LCD, turned, and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to me. "It's Maggie," he said over his shoulder.

The wife.

"I'm good, honey. How 'bout you? How're the girls?"

I slid off the other side of the bed. I wiped down with toilet paper and took a long, hot shower.

*                 *                  *

We wrapped up the tour at IU in Bloomington to a sold out crowd. It was one of those times. My voice filled the auditorium, my guitar raged. It's not something you control.

I sang "Third Shift" and "The River," of course. I sang that song about Lillie and Billy from Nagadoches, don't you know. I told the story about the fellow from Waco who bought my first CD online and how I took it to him in person only to have his wife meet me at the door with a shotgun. She told me I'd have to come through her first. Now, that was a true story.

After I got the crowd warmed up, the band took the stage.

Bobby's gravely voice rocked them and they sang along and danced in the aisles. When he and I did our "Blue Bonnet Highway" duet, those college kids went wild. While I sang harmony on "Beef Brisket Breakdown" a girl in the front row threw herself onto the stage. Bobby let her touch his Luccheses before the ushers dragged her away.

I spied Alec and his friends, five rows back. I pointed them out to Bobby and he made a big deal, telling the crowd about how these boys from Ohio had been shadowing us all week.

They received a standing ovation for their loyalty and dedication.

When I took my final bow, following the band's second encore (an unbelievable new version of one of Bobby's earliest hits, "Pistols on the Table" complete with electric guitar riffs and a drum solo), Alec pointed at me, signaling he wanted talk.

Bobby and the boys were off to a party at a local DJ's house and didn't even notice when I slipped away.

I met Alec on the square, outside the Hilton Garden Inn, higher than the Texas sky on post-concert adrenaline.

"You guys were great tonight," he said.

I offered him a tug of my Dickel's, which he turned down because he didn't drink. "Some nights are better than others," I said.

He took my hand. "You ever been on this campus?"

"Nossir."

"It's pretty. Let's take a walk."

I tossed the Dickel's into a trash can.

*                 *                  *

The warm spring air settled over us like a blanket. The dogwoods and cherry trees were in bloom. The daffodils and tulips pushed through the heavy Midwestern loam, their fragrance filling the air. We passed through Dunn Meadow and wandered out back where huge old maples and oaks reached toward the star-filled sky. This late on a week night, even the students had deserted the brick walkways.

"My cousin went to school here," Alec explained. "I used to visit. It's a pretty campus. I wish you could see it in day light."

"This is the furthest north I've ever been," I confessed.

"How do you like it?"

"This is nice enough, but I miss Texas."

We walked in front of what a sign identified as the Chemistry Building. He guided me across the street.

"I prayed for your soul today," Alec said.

I could hear the bubble of a stream. We descended a stairway. "I'll take all the help I can get."

"Over here," he said.

A small limestone building, surrounded by an old cemetery loomed before us. "What's this?"

"This is the chapel. This is where I came to pray for you."

He tried the door. It opened and we stepped inside. Rows of hardwood pews lined both sides of a narrow aisle. Up front was a stage and lectern. Behind and above the lectern an icon of Christ our Savior on the cross was illuminated by a dim light.

"It's pretty," I said.

We sat in the front pew. It seemed a little less worn than the others. Alec slipped one arm across my shoulders and placed a hand on my knee. He stared into my eyes, the most earnest look I'd ever seen playing across his face.

"Can you feel the presence of the Lord?" he asked.

I sighed deeply. "Not so much."

"He's here with us, Shana."

"If you say so."

"He'll forgive you for your sins. All you have to do is accept him in your heart."

"Look, Alec, you're a real sweet guy, but you're over your head here."

He clasped my hand in his. "Shana, you have a gift for music and you write songs that lift people's hearts. I know God loves you."

I stood and took a step away. I straightened my skirt with the "Snowin' on Raton" lyrics embroidered on it. "Do you have a girl friend, Alec?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Do you have a girl friend?"

"No one special."

"Well that explains it. You need a girl friend."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got a crush on me and the only way you know how to express it is by trying to save me."

He looked like he'd been run over by a truck. "I'm just concerned about your soul. My daddy says eternity is a long time to burn."

I couldn't escape those eyes. I reached out and touched his cheek. I brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Then I leaned forward and pulled his face into my bosom. "You've never been with girl, have you?"

He hugged me to him. "No, ma'am. We believe in abstinence until marriage."

My mouth went suddenly dry. I held his face, his beautiful, unblemished face in my hands. "You sweet boy," I said.

He licked his lips. "We should probably go."

I brought his hand under my skirt. I pressed it between my legs. "We're not going anywhere," I told him.

*                 *                  *

Years before, there'd been a rodeo cowboy up Amarillo way. He rode bulls and wrestled steers. For five days we locked ourselves away in a room at the Highway 87 Motor Inn. We lived on Cheetos and Diet Coke and love, sweet love. When we finally stepped out into that bright Texas sun, we had no idea that goodbye kiss was forever. He went north and I went south and we never saw each other again.

That hard Amarillo highway ran the entire length of Texas.

I hadn't felt what I was feeling for Alec since that cowboy.

I pushed him down on the carpet in the aisle between the pews.

I stood over him, removed my blouse and bra, my boots and skirt, my panties. I folded everything neatly and placed the pile on the lectern beneath that icon of Jesus of Bethlehem. Alec watched every move.

I knelt next to him and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Shana, please," he said.

I ran my fingertips over his hairless chest. I pinched a nipple. "Please, what?"

"I can't do this."

I stroked his cock through stiff denim. "Honey, this is what a man and a woman do."

He swallowed hard. "But we're not married."

I unloosed his belt, unzipped him, and pulled his jeans off his skinny hips. I kissed his lips, our tongues dueling. He was slippery, long and hard in my hand. I stroked him slowly, my eyes locked on his.

"This is right and good, Alec. Can't you feel it?"

He had an iron will, but I meant to break it. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"Yes you do." I guided his hand to my breast. He squeezed, tentatively. I lowered a nipple to his mouth. He licked and suckled like a babe.

His resistance was weakening. "You're so beautiful," he said.

I returned the favor, taking him into my mouth. When I withdrew, a gossamer string of pre-cum stretched from his cock head to my lips. "And so are you."

I sat across his flat belly, abs like a washboard. He stared up at me, lower lip trembling. "What will God think?"

"If he's the God you think he is, he won't bat an eye at this."

I squatted, lowered myself, and felt him enter me.

"Oh my God," he gasped.

"I got this. Just go with it." I began to rock. Oh, yeah, it had been a while.

But no sooner had I found a rhythm than he gushed. I squeezed him inside and kissed him gently.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm not, baby."

I knew there was more where that came from. I stayed put, kissing him, feeling his hands on my thighs and back side. After a while, I began to rock again. Angels sang on high. Cherubs floated in the air, strumming harps. Somewhere, not far away, the Beast grunted, snorted fire, but I paid that sonofabitch no mind.

I came, belly clinching, thighs shuddering, eyes locked on that crucifix.

As Alec spurted for the second time that night, I silently mouthed the words, "Thank you, Jesus."

He closed his eyes. "Amen," he whispered.

*                 *                  *

The next morning I packed up while Bobby slept off the whisky and the tour. I could probably have stayed on, hung with the band, and got invited for the next one, but I had other things on my mind.

I grabbed a cup of coffee at Starbucks and used a public computer in the Union to run an Internet search. I turned up five guys named Rowdy Yates. Only one of them lived in Texas. I found a newspaper article about him through Google. He wasn't riding bulls or wrestling steers anymore, but he still worked the rodeo. He'd become a highly sought after rodeo clown.

I got his number from information in San Marcos. I recognized the voice on the machine right away. There wasn't any mention of a wife or girlfriend, so I left a message. I said he should call back, if he ever thought about that 87 Highway Motor Inn in Amarillo and the girl he'd been with there, so long ago.

I caught a ride from a trucker headed south, my guitar on my back, my bag in my hand, and my nose to the wind. I figured to make Texas by night fall the next day.

While me and that trucker listened to the radio and sang those good old country tunes, I jotted out a note to Bobby. I wrote "Thanks and good luck." I advised him to spend more time with his wife and family. I said to go easy on the dope and the booze. I told him what no one else would—he wasn't getting any younger.

I even said a silent prayer for Alec, not that he needed it and not that I thought anyone was listening. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

About the time we reached Louisville, my cell phone rang. It was that cowboy down San Marcos way.

_______
© 2008 Alicia Night Orchid. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: A lawyer by background, Alicia Night Orchid has resigned herself to sensuality. Her stories appear on Clean Sheets, ERWA, and Ruthie's CLub. Her collection, "Fulfillment and other Erotic Stories," was published last year by Renaissance E-books. She is currently at work on an erotic legal thriller. Visit her at www.anightorchid.com.

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