Being the tallest one on the tour bus is a bitch.
Those other midgets just stretch out comfy in their bunks, acres of space all around them, bedding galore.
Me in the other hand, lanky fuck that I am, am cramped, and squeezed and frankly, bloody miserable.
So, here I am, as usual, trying to find a comfy position in bed, any fucking position that I can actually get some sleep in when I feel someone touch my foot where it's sticking out through the curtain.
Now, this is the Steel Mistress tour bus, full of nob eds strolling about thinking they're funny, and I'm tired, so I shout fuck off and kick out, trying to catch the cheeky cunt in the chin. There's only empty air though, which makes me even madder, so I go to sit up and give em what for when they grab my foot again, and something stops me.
This ain't no man hand. This is a woman hand.
Again, this is the Steel Mistress tour bus, so as well as nob eds, there are occasionally women. Sometimes wives, sometimes groupies, sometimes absolute drop dead stunners.
Tonight, I know it well, been listening to em half the night, there are three of em.
Nick, as usual, with a blonde this time, and I can hear em shagging away up the aisle from me, not exactly subtle is our Nicky.
Minty, naturally, with his selection for the evening, a goth type, the opposite of him with long black hair, eyeliner, piercings, the works. I think he rather likes the contrast.
Harry, he's gone redhead, firey as fuck, up against the barrier all night, yanked out by Tommy after the encore as a titbit for our lord and master.
Now one of them is all over my fucking foot.
One hand round my ankle, the other running fingers up and down my sole.
I stay propped up on my elbows, wondering where the fuck this is leading to.
Don't get me wrong, I love these guys, like brothers, dick head brothers, but still.
It ain't always easy being the funny ugly one though. The one who's left over when all the pretty boys have been snapped up. Drummer's choice is no choice at all.
So I'm pretty certain she's made a mistake. She probably seen blonde hair hanging out the bunk and thought it's Smith or Minty tucked away in here.
But I reckon she can keep thinking that while she does whatever it is she thinks she's doing.
Those fingers on my sole are getting firmer, pressing in and then letting go, pressing in and letting go. They're warm and soft, no sharp nails, squeezing all the right places.
It's good.