The show went off alright, as much as shows can go alright. Yeah, Jason fucked up the bridge in "Alien Piss," but, otherwise, things went off well. The show wasn't the hard part.
The hard part, for Ricky, was not that they only earned seventy bucks for the gig, or that they suffered from a lack of booze. It wasn't that he hadn't pulled off his solos, and it wasn't that he was playing in a dive bar, again. It was the two chicks, one a buxom brunette with a mesmerizing round ass, the other a cute, petite blonde with a smooth stomach and back dimples peeking out from under her short blouse, who had showed up right before the last two songs. By their late appearance, it seemed they didn't give a shit about the show, but they pushed their way to the front of the audience anyways and wanted to dance in a way that waved their beautifully displayed tits right in front of him. The hard part was reconciling his intent to disdain their behavior with his more pressing desire to fuck the shit out of them.
In a way, it wasn't even the girls themselves; it was the ideal, eating into his mind, from the moment he noticed them shaking seductively in front of him. The rock 'n' roll ideal of playing good music and being inundated with amazing new pussy every night seeped into his mind as his eyes followed the lines of peeping panties, bulging cleavage, and seductive smiles.
As Ricky's band finished their set and pulled their gear aside to let the next band set up, Ricky watched the two, out of the corner of his eye, wander over to refresh their drinks.
The brunette was shapely, to say the least. Her large breasts were barely restrained by a red halter top that tapered into her thin waist and showed an inch of skin above jeans that stretched tightly over her hips and round, beautiful ass. Her luxurious mane of hair flowed well down her back in soft-looking waves, almost completely obscuring a small winged tattoo of some sort on her right shoulder. She was tall for a woman, and had a face that was at once pretty and inviting.
The blonde was probably three or four inches shorter, and her small breasts were obviously pushed way up to demonstrate some cleavage in the white button-down blouse she wore, which would break with her skirt and show off the smooth skin underneath as she moved. Her grey pleated skirt was just short enough to make anyone looking gasp in anticipation any time she bent over, even slightly. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulder to teasingly cover her eye, and as she pushed it back she revealed the sharp, striking cheekbones of a model.
As he put his guitar in its case, he got a good long look at the brunette - her feet on the rail as she bent over the bar, with her skin-tight jeans stretching over a perfect heart-shaped ass - and felt his pants begin to tighten.
Goddamn skinny jeans! he thought to himself. Baxter just had to demand that we take on that rock 'n' roll look, and now look where it's getting me; on stage with a boner wedged into pants three sizes too small. He had to think of something else. He peeled his eyes off of the luscious ass and concentrated on the work at hand, making sure to walk back towards his amp before he would have to turn towards the audience again. His amp provided excellent cover; he held it hip-high as he took it off stage, and the mental diversion was starting to work as he turned to help Tommy, the drummer, pull apart his kit.
***
A half hour later, halfway through the next band's set, Ricky was feeling pretty good. He had downed a couple more beers and a celebratory shot of whiskey with the band, and now he was hanging out with his friends who had shown up to support the show.
The band that followed them had a few good songs, but they held a higher entertainment value through their sheer craziness on stage. Jason stumbled over to point out the lead singer literally tearing his shirt off, a feat that was much more difficult than he had imagined because he was struggling, and finally left the tattered remains on when he couldn't tear the seams.
Ricky was having a similar struggle in his mind. Ever since he had gotten off stage, he had been trying to get those girls out of his head; which only resulted in short periods of distraction followed by furtive glances. The girls were alternately drinking, leaning over tables to talk to friends, or dancing to the band, and many times giving glimpses of their generous figures as the blonde's skirt would rise a little as she leaned, or the brunette's beautiful behind was shaken provocatively as she danced.
At one point, Ricky seriously considered making a move to talk to this beautiful duo, his half-hard wang taking up the better part of his reason by that point, but after seeing a couple jokers (much better looking jokers, in his opinion) in khakis and polo shirts try their luck and get shot down, he decided they should probably be left to fantasy.
***
Leaning into the crowded bar with the band's last two drink tickets, Ricky was so focused on fighting for the bartender's attention he completely failed to notice the brunette sidle up beside him until she turned to give him a coy smile.
Previous resolutions partly abandoned, Ricky ventured a quick conversation starter, "crazy show, huh?" jerking his thumb back toward the closing band flailing about on stage.
"Yeah," she replied, "they're the band I came out to see, their show is pretty infamous for being over-the-top." Her deep brown eyes lingered on his for a second, then she looked at the bar and added, "But their guitarist is nowhere near as good as you are." She glanced back, as Ricky tried not to look too surprised, and shyly returned her gaze to the bar. "I kinda wish I hadn't missed the beginning of your set."
"Ur, well, thanks!" was all Ricky could stammer out before the bartender came down to take their orders. He let her order first; she called for two vodka cranberries. As the bartender moved to make them, Ricky floundered fruitlessly in his mind for his next move, but was quickly interrupted by the petite blonde squeezing between them, her pert bottom rubbing dangerously against his crotch in the process.
"Michelle," the blonde quipped, glancing at Ricky with a twinkle in her gorgeous blue eyes, "are you getting us drinks, or are you too busy flirting?"
The bartender returned with their drinks, but Michelle ignored him for the moment and, with a lingering look into Ricky's eyes, responded, "Both," then promptly paid for her drinks and handed one to her friend.
The bartender's throat clearing was necessary to remind Ricky of the task at hand and he quickly turned to order two pints of beer, one for him and one for Tommy, effectively spending the last of the credit the bar gave them for playing the show.
When he turned back to find Michelle and her cute blonde friend, they were a short way down the bar talking to a couple of chiseled gym-monkeys. He cursed himself silently for his inaccurate assessment of them when they first walked in, and doubly for having lost what seemed to be an excellent opportunity to get to know them better. Resigning himself to his fate, he shrugged to himself and, with a few glances in their direction, brought the beers back to the table he was sharing.
The drinks continued to flow, with Jason buying a round of whiskey and another round of beers out of their payoff for the show, which would have pissed Ricky off under different circumstances, but he wanted to get those girls out of his head.
