The Making Of A Gigolo 13 Misty ComptonChapter 6
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The Making Of A Gigolo (13) - Misty ComptonChapter 11 free porn video
Bobby took Constance home before driving Misty to Hutchinson. On the way she’d felt like moving over to sit next to him, like Constance had. She wondered what his hand would feel like, resting negligently on her thigh. She didn’t do it, of course ... but she thought about it.
It got her worked up for the rehearsal.
She pried more songs out of Jasper and did ask him if she could play around with some of his compositions, when she got back to Nashville. His Adam’s apple bobbed so much that she was afraid Bobby might be right about the coronary, but he didn’t die. Instead he handed her a sheaf of paper. She promised him he’d get rights to the music, and royalties too, if she recorded it.
That got the band worked up.
They broke for supper but, for once, Misty wasn’t hungry. She was too keyed up. She sat, sipping a 7-Up in a little barbeque shack, while Bobby ate pulled pork. On the way back to the fairgrounds Misty felt jittery. The crowd was already loud when they got back. It was still an hour and fifteen minutes until showtime.
Back stage Misty stood in the shadows of the bandstand with Bobby, while people checked cables, and ran sound checks and did all the things that make a concert work. She wasn’t nervous about the show, but she still felt jittery.
“Do I get another massage tonight?” she asked suddenly.
Bobby looked at her, his face unreadable.
“That might not be a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I like you a lot more now than when we first met,” he said.
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“I didn’t really want to leave last night,” he added.
“I see,” she said. Her stomach did flip flops. She knew it wasn’t stage fright, even though it felt exactly like that.
Amanda appeared.
“There you are! It’s almost time.”
“We’ll be right there,” said Bobby.
Amanda hurried off.
“Would you do something for me before I go on?” asked Misty suddenly.
“Sure ... what?”
“Kiss me.”
“Kiss you.”
“Yes, kiss me.”
“What’s this all about?” he asked.
“Will you do it or not?”
The concert that night could only be described as a blowout success. There were more people there than would fit into the area reserved for spectators. The seats were full an hour before the concert started. The area around them was packed soon after. People sat or stood on top of cars in the parking lot, so they could see.
The kiss she had gotten had almost been a bad idea, as it turned out. When Bobby had kissed her, he’d given her the same thing he gave every other woman he decided to kiss. She was wearing the tank top, sans bra, and the very short skirt she had borrowed from Felicity. She’d decided to wear that just because Felicity had been kind enough to loan it to her. Her own performance clothing was still in the suitcase, back at the farm. When Bobby kissed her, and her breasts were crushed against his chest, his hands went under the skirt and cupped her butt cheeks, pulling her up. She ended up with her arms around his neck and, a minute later, when he withdrew the support of his hands, her knees buckled and she almost went down.
Never in her entire life had she been kissed like that.
She wobbled for five feet, with his strong hand gripping her elbow, before her knees began to work again. She was still panting as she mounted the stage and the crowd started a swelling roar that threatened to blow her back off the stage. Jasper, Rocky and Lucy stood, waiting, grinning from ear to ear. Janie sat hunched on the seat at the keyboard, flushed and wild-eyed.
But, when she picked up her guitar, as the announcer said her name, everything was okay. The blast of the crowd fed her energy, and she bounded to the front of the stage to the microphone.
“Hello hutch!“ she screamed into the mike. “Are you ready to party?“
Then she turned, to flash a manic grin at Jasper, stamped her foot four times, and they were off to the races.
Bobby stood on the ground behind the bandstand. Amanda had her arm around him and was leaning against him. She had to yell into his ear to be heard.
“I wish I’d have thought to have a truckload of her albums shipped out here,” she yelled. “We could have sold every one of them!”
“She’s good,” Bobby yelled back.
“She’s fantastic!“ screamed Amanda.
Later, when Misty asked the crowd to quiet down, so she could sing them a love song, it was as if she had control of their voices. She crooned into the microphone, and there was a hush as all the lights went off except for the spotlight on her. She swayed her hips and almost ate the microphone as she made every man in the audience believe she was singing only to him. The women hated her and loved her at the same time.
Amanda hugged Bobby closer. She didn’t need to yell now.
“I need you in the worst way right now,” she sighed, leaning into him. “You want to make another baby with me?”
He squeezed her back.
“One isn’t enough?”
“She makes me want to have a dozen,” said Amanda, reaching up for a quick kiss.
“Not in public, Amanda!” growled Rodney, from behind them.
It went long, but nobody cared. The band wanted to play all night, but they finally ran out of steam after an extra half hour of concert. They’d given it everything they had.
Oddly, the crowd was also subdued when it was over. There was an atmosphere that suggested thoughtfulness, rather than wild emotion. Maybe they were worn out from screaming and clapping too.
In any case, the lines of people clutching pictures were more sedate. People chatted while in line, waiting for their chance to get Misty Compton’s autograph on the picture KDEF had provided free of charge to so many people. There would be another thousand listeners to KDEF in the weeks to come. Such a little thing, combined with the singer’s willingness to stay and sign her name over and over again, when she was clearly exhausted, meant a lot to people.
No one wanted to go out that night. Everybody was tired. Two of Lucy’s fingertips were actually bleeding where she had pressed through the calluses on them because they’d played so long and so hard. Of them all, Janie was the most radiant. At seventeen, she had just done something she’d remember for the rest of her life, whether she ever got to play in front of a crowd again, or not. She’d been terrified all three nights, but that would never happen again. People were asking her for her autograph. They all lined up with Misty, and shook hands. Somebody came up with more markers, and people gladly asked them to sign Misty’s picture with her.
Amanda broke down when it was all over. She’d had a lot riding on this, and the release of tension left her limp and sobbing. Rodney put her in his car and drove her home.
Finally Misty dragged her feet to the truck and put her guitar carefully in it. Then she took it back out, got in, and pulled it in again, putting it on the floor in front of the passenger seat. When Bobby got in, she leaned against him.
She dozed on the way back, and never felt his hand on her thigh.
“Wake up!”
Misty jerked awake. It was dark and the truck’s engine was off. She was pressed against something that felt solid, but was warm and soft at the same time.
“I don’t want to,” she mumbled.
“Don’t make me carry you in the house.”
It was Bobby.
“Why not?”
“Cause I’ll cop a feel, that’s why.” She smiled at the smile she could hear in his voice. She didn’t believe him.
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Yes I would.”
She felt his hand on her bare knee, and felt it begin moving upward, between her legs. She clamped her knees together instinctively, trapping the hand. It moved another inch or two, letting her know she wasn’t strong enough to stop it, and then stopped on its own.
“Okay, okay,” she said, giving up.
She sat up and, in the process, her knees came apart. The hand moved another two inches, fully onto her inner thigh now and, as she sucked in a breath, was removed.
A wave of cold air wafted into the cab as he opened the door and stepped out, leaving her sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Rather than trying to get out of her own side, she pulled her guitar up onto the seat and scooted over, past the steering wheel. She felt the warmth he had left on the seat on the back of her thighs as her skirt bunched up.
“It’s cold,” she complained, shivering as her feet hit the ground. She felt her nipples stiffen. She pulled her guitar case out and hugged it.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he said. “It will be warm in the house.”
It was warm. It was also dark.
“Where is everybody?” she asked.
“Probably already in bed.” She felt his hand in the middle of her back, propelling her through the kitchen. “Where you need to be.”
He took her to her room in the dark, pulling her along because he knew the way and she wasn’t familiar with the house in the dark. He turned on the reading lamp beside the bed.
“You were good tonight,” he said, taking her guitar case from her and standing it up against the wall.
The emotion she remembered from the concert rushed back and washed all over her and her eyes glazed over slightly.
“It was magical,” she sighed. “It’s never been like that.”
“You were good,” he said again.
Her eyes cleared and she looked at his. He was looking at her chest. It was only the second time he’d ever done that, at least that she’d noticed. She looked down to see her nipples spiked under the tank top. On impulse she reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it up and off her body.
“What are you doing?” His voice was husky.
“Getting ready for bed,” she said, not moving. She watched his eyes devour her breasts and felt the delicious warmth in her belly that told her she was going to have to rub again tonight. “Why? Do you want to help me?”
“I told you that’s not a good idea,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, reaching for the clasp of her skirt. She didn’t want to bend over, because she couldn’t look at those eyes if she did that, so she let the skirt drop. It landed with a soft rustle around her feet. She realized she was still wearing the boots, and felt silly standing there in only cowboy boots and panties.
Stepping out of the circle of the skirt, she moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She tried taking a boot off, but it was stuck to her sweaty foot. Since the boot wouldn’t move she stood and pushed her panties down to her knees. It was obvious they wouldn’t go over the boots unless she stretched them out of shape. Now she felt even sillier. She pulled them back up, but couldn’t look at Bobby any more. She felt like she might cry.
“Give me a foot,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
She stuck one foot out in the air and saw his knees appear next to the boot. His hands came and grasped the back of the heel. They lifted and her tight muscles in her thigh and hip complained. She flopped back onto the bed, one foot high in his hands, and the other limp and hanging from her knee at the edge of the bed.
“You don’t do this a lot, do you?” he asked casually as he started pulling on the boot.
“Do what?”
“Try to seduce a man.”
She thought that was a mean thing to say, even though his voice wasn’t mean.
“I’m not trying to seduce you.” Her voice sounded pouty, even to her.
He didn’t say anything. The boot slid past her heel and was suddenly loose. He pulled it off and caught her sock-attired foot before it dropped. He moved it to the side, spreading her legs and she saw his eyes go to her panties. He kept her that way while he pulled the sock off, inside-out.
She lifted the other foot and stuck the boot in his face. He worked on it without saying anything else, but his eyes were on her body. When he got that one off, she lay there, not knowing what to do. He pulled her up, turned back the covers and then pushed her gently back down onto the bed where she lay, half on and half off until he picked up her feet and moved them onto the bed.
When his hands went to the waistband of her panties, she held her breath. Her body assisted him without conscious thought as her leg muscles tightened to lift her hips a little. He moved the cloth slowly down her legs and past her feet. He tossed the panties negligently on the floor and stood, looking at her.
His hands went to his shirt front and began undoing buttons.
Misty Compton, like most women, was a complex bundle of sometimes conflicting parts. She was a mountain girl, first and foremost, at least in her own mind. Fame and fortune, such as it was up to that point in her life, hadn’t changed the way she thought of herself. It had changed her lifestyle, and habits, and even her personality, to some degree, but she still thought of herself as just Misty Compton, from Hog Holler ... a normal girl ... who was having a run of pretty good luck.
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