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This is Part 5 of a sequel to the Vix’s Licks series, picking up after the epic gig at the Magna Carta, and following Vix’s band as they continue gigging and then embark on a European tour.
Best to read the Vix’s Licks series, and Parts 1 through 4 of this one before this, to be familiar with the characters and background.
***
‘Hi, we’re The Zelmas. Enjoy.’
For the eighth time, we launched into “A Hazy Shade of Winter, to kick off the gig. After one gig in The Netherlands, two in Finland, two in Sweden, one in Norway, and one in France, we were like a well-oiled machine now, and “Hazy Shade” had served us well as our opener.
Our version missed out the quiet intro and went straight into the guitar riff, first with just Jemma, then joined by me, then Roo’s drum beat, and finally the full weight of Mads’ bass and Nikki’s keyboards. It always went down well, and got the crowd “up” right from the start, so we certainly had no intention of changing it.
This gig in Toulouse was our second French show. The first had been in Paris, in front of 2000 people — our biggest yet — and it was the first where the crowd didn’t seem especially into us. Ah well, you can’t win ’em all, I guess.
The Toulouse venue was a bit more intimate and the crowd were definitely more enthusiastic, but I did have a growing fear that we would struggle to maintain our momentum. Only 8 gigs in, and with 15 still to go, I could see how bands get jaded on tour.
We were also finding out how tiring it can be. After the easy start in Holland, we’d had little downtime; the two gigs in Sweden were back-to-back, and we’d already had two overnight drives, which were an experience in themselves. Roo can sleep anywhere, but I found it difficult when the bus was moving. Rhonda is a very smooth driver, so this is no criticism of her, but every time she braked, or went around a corner I would wake up, usually just as I was nodding off, and it took me ages to fall asleep. I was definitely wilting a bit, and was surviving by snatching cat-naps here and there during daytime.
We had another night drive straight after the Toulouse gig, to the Montreux Jazz Festival, but there was some relief on the horizon; We would do our Montreux gig the very next day, but then we’d have five days “off” to relax, watch other bands, and just chill for a while. I was looking forward to that.
We finished our Toulouse set with our upcoming single, “The Cream Song,” which was going down a storm wherever we did it, and here was no exception, but I was beat, and as soon as I came off stage, I went back to the bus to get my head down. The others stayed to watch The Chootes and have a few drinks. They are obviously made of sterner stuff than me.
I calculated that I could get at least a couple of hours sleep before we were on the road again, and with only Rhonda (or Rhoni, as she prefers) on the bus it should be nice and quiet. She may even be getting a few ZZs in herself, ready for her night drive.
But no, I let myself in and found her reclining in the lounge in just her underwear. She had been watching something on the big TV, but she had stopped whatever it was as soon as she heard me coming in, and she looked a little embarrassed. ‘Oh, hi Vix, I wasn’t expecting anyone back yet. Show go OK?’
‘Yeh, good. I’m just shagged out. I need some sleep.’
She made to get up and go back to her bunk but I stopped her. ‘No need to go, Rhoni. Join me for a quick nightcap?’
‘Oo, OK then, but just a tiny one.’ She seemed pleased to be asked, so I poured us a couple of small glasses of wine, and sat opposite her on the other couch.
I’d only ever seen her in baggy shorts and loose tops up to then, but now, in her pretty white bra and pants, I could get a better look at her, and I realised how attractive she is. She has very pale skin, with a few freckles, and a reddish tan on her legs, arms and décolletage, and across her cheeks and nose. Her breasts looked quite full, though not big, and she had nice curvy hips. I took her in appreciatively, and my roaming eyes didn’t go unnoticed. ‘I think you have me at a disadvantage Vix,’ she said.
‘Huh?’
‘Well you’re fully clothed and I’m almost naked. Makes me feel… bare and exposed.’ She was doing this deliberately. Looking at me suggestively and giving off unmistakable “horny” vibes. I had no idea what her sexual orientation was. She had never even mentioned a partner, and nothing had suggested she was gay, yet she was definitely being a little flirty with me. It was intriguing.
My stage outfit of short skirt, vest top and fishnets hardly constituted “fully clothed,” but I saw her point. ‘Well, we’d better even things up then,’ I said. I stood up, kicked off my shoes, pulled off my vest top and dropped my skirt, leaving me in just my sheer black bra and pants and my sexy fishnet tights. Suddenly, my tiredness had gone and my nipples were already responding to the rising sexual tension in the air.
‘Wow, you really are a little Bostancı travesti sex bomb, aren’t you?’ She said, and I looked at her coquettishly.
‘Look Vix, I know you’re gay, and I’m not, but I am fucking horny tonight. Actually, I was watching porn when you came back. Obviously, we’re not going to have sex, but we can bbothhave some fun and get off, can’t we? Shall I put it back on?’
‘Not if there are men in it,’ I said, firmly.
‘Nope. No men. Just women, toys and fingers.’
‘OK then.’
She put the TV back on and I walked over to her, slinkily pushing down my tights and knickers as I went. She may not be gay, but she was definitely watching me appreciatively, and I was shamelessly playing up to it. She was slightly flushed, her mouth open, and her hand went straight to her sex as I sat down beside her.
We played. – by which I mean we had a great mutual wank session — something I love – and we took ourselves to wonderfully intense orgasms, with our knickers/tights around our ankles. There were beautiful women masturbating on the screen, but I was absorbed by watching Rhoni.
She had beautiful copper-coloured pubes, and her fingers were mesmerising as she stroked and caressed herself. I don’t know why, but her fingers fascinated me. They had an elegance about the way they moved, even when engaged in the most base activity imaginable. Even when she began finger fucking herself in time with the woman on the screen, using her two middle fingers, her hands still had a grace about them. I tried to emulate her; my fingers are quite deft (I am a guitarist after all) but I couldn’t quite match her smooth, sinuous movements. It was hard to believe she drives a bus for a living.
She knew what was happening – knew I was watching her and copying – and she was revelling in it. She said she wasn’t gay, but I could tell this situation turned her on madly — as it did me – so I decided there and then she wasn’t entirely straight, either.
After we had both come, and subsided into contented sighs, she suddenly jumped up, pulled up her knickers, kissed me on the forehead, said ‘Night Vix, that was lovely,’ and disappeared to the bathroom. I used my clothes to wipe up our damp patches, then went into the bedroom. In no time at all I was fast asleep.
I was only dimly aware of voices as everyone returned to the bus, very late, and the warm feeling of Roo slipping into bed beside me, smelling faintly of alcohol, smoke, and her subtle Jovan Musk scent. She kissed me on the forehead (the second of those I’d had that night) and I slipped away into smiling slumber again. There was a momentary feeling of unease as Rhoni started the engine, but I didn’t fully wake, and the next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the curtains and the bus was stationary. We were in Switzerland.
I got up and peered out through the high-level windows to see the beautiful blue-green water of Lake Geneva, sparkling in the morning sunshine, and I felt refreshed. My own sparkle had returned. I jumped astride Roo and kissed her awake, then moved up and gave her a nipple to suck on. ‘Mm mm, she mumbled, her mouth full of tit, ‘someone’s feeling frisky.’
‘I am, I’m full of frisk,’ I said, as I pulled her head harder against me. ‘I’m gonna frisk you good.’ We were careering headlong towards wonderful morning sex, but then there was a tap on the door…Dammit.
‘Are you two awake?’ It was Lucy. ‘Have you any laundry?’ Efficient as ever, she was collecting clothes for washing from each of us, to take to the local laundry. She had issued each of us with two large mesh bags to put our items in, labelled with our names. One for general items and one for stuff to be washed separately (like whites).
‘Hang on a sec…’ We stuffed a few things in the bags, including our stage clothes from the previous night, and I opened the door to hand them to her. It never occurred to me to put clothes on, and Lucy was greeted by the sight of me, well both of us, actually, very naked.
Her eyes nearly popped out as she clocked my startling erect nipples, but she coolly took the bags from me and quickly quipped, ‘I hope you still have some clothes left to put on…’ and she turned on her heel and walked off, shaking her head.
We dressed quickly, and emerged to find the bus empty, or almost empty. Rhoni was in her bunk, where we couldn’t see her, but she called out, ‘The others have gone to Le Cabanon for breakfast. They said to tell you.’
‘OK. Aren’t you joining us, Rhoni?’
‘No, I need to get my head down for a bit. I’ll catch you later.’
I found the cafe on Google Maps and off we went to its wonderful location by the lake. Lucy had obviously also got the message and when we got there, all five of them were sat outside in the sunshine, looking very cool and chic, as befits such a locale. Lindi was looking particularly fine in a midi-length ruffle skirt and some strappy mules, with a low-cut top that showed off her cleavage perfectly. Bostancı travestileri Very girly for her — she usually wears trousers.
Unfortunately, the location and the company were the only good things about this place. The owner was a rude and bossy woman, who was too intent on berating anyone within a 30-metre radius (for some reason) to be bothered serving customers, and the food, when we managed to get some, was mediocre at best. We agreed unanimously not to return.
Back at the bus, we started looking at the programme for the festival. We were only here for five days, not the full sixteen, so there were only a few bands we could see, but Massive Attack were one of them, and Roo was buzzing about that. I noticed Deep Purple were also on the line-up, but obviously not the Deep Purple I’d listened to on my dad’s old CDs. Those guys would be ancient by now!
Of course, Purple made Montreux famous in rock circles with “Smoke on The Water,” a song with maybe the most famous guitar riff ever, and without doubt the most boring. Deep Purple have dozens of songs better than that dirge…
But I digress. Because it was a festival, with multiple artists, we wouldn’t actually be supporting The Chootes this time. Jens had got us our own slot on one of the free stages, while Dad would be on stage in the Casino three days later. I was glad our gigs didn’t clash because it meant we could get crew help from Marv, Joe etc.
Our progress had been meteoric. From being frightened of playing in front of 500 people at the Magna Carta, here we were, a few short months later, about to play the Montreux festival. Mon dieu!
We were all sat in the lounge, talking about the gig, which was that afternoon, when a yawning Rhoni appeared. ‘Can I join you?’ she asked, a little timidly, and we said of course. She wriggled into the corner of the sofa between Mads and Nikki, giving me a fruity little smile as she did so, and then sat listening to our excited chatter.
The day was sunny, and becoming uncomfortably hot and humid, so we knew that by the time our slot arrived at 4pm, it would be roasting. I’d never played in the open air before, let alone in these conditions, so it was going to be a whole new experience.
We decided we’d all go on in shorts and bikini tops — Roo style — with dark sunglasses and lashings of sunscreen, and that turned out to be a great decision. By 3pm the air was so humid you could virtually cut it with a knife. These were without doubt the stickiest conditions I’d ever known and I was glad we’d only been allowed a 12-song set. That would be plenty.
I didn’t envy Marv, Joe and Ben, who were already down there sorting out gear. They would arrange all the plugging and unpluggjng, and making all the changes of set up just before we went on, and after we came off. All we had to do was meet them backstage and pick up our instruments. Well, apart from Nikki and Roo, theirs would be already set up onstage.
We strolled down at 3:30 and encountered them looking red faced and sweaty, their tee shirts sodden with perspiration, but they were as cheery as ever. ‘Heeyy, there’s our girls…’ said Ben, ‘…looking coool, ladies, but ye wont be, once you get up on that stage. Christ it’s warm. Not much dancin today, eh?’
I could already feel the trickles of sweat in the usual places and, 12 songs or not, this was going to be a grueller.
“Hi, we’re The Zelmas. Enjoy.’
We launched into our set, and it was certainly a different experience. I was glad of the shades because I was looking straight into the blinding sun, and I could hardly see the crowd.
We were the third act on that stage, that day, and some of the crowd had already drifted away. Not surprising, really, since they were in the full sun, and there’s only so much of that you can stand.
So, we played to a sparse audience who were already half-baked, and mostly half-cut. It wasn’t ideal but our reception was as enthusiastic as we could expect in those circumstances. The fact that they could summon up ANY cheers and whistles at all was a miracle when they were visibly wilting.
I looked at Mads near the end of the set and she looked like she’d been swimming in her clothes; skin glistening from head to toe, shorts sticking to her legs, and hair in ringlets. Her bikini top was fit for a Miss Wet Tee Shirt competition and she looked hot. Yes, I mean fucking hot!
But there was a reward waiting for us after we came off, when Dad (who had braved the oven to come and watch us, bless him) said ‘Come on, grab your cossies from the bus, were off to the Corniche.’
The Corniche is a fantastic, jaw-dropping, stretch of the lakeside, where you can swim, and it was heavenly to jump into the cool (but not cold) waters of Lac Léman after what we’d just gone through. Over the next half hour, we were joined by the rest of The Chootes, Lucy, Rhoni, and even the crew.
I’ll never forget that evening; the stunning location, the oh-so-refreshing water, Travesti bostancı my brilliant dad, my fantastic friends, old and new, and my gorgeous girlfriend. Canoodling with her in the water gave me goosebumps, even though I wasn’t the slightest bit cold, and I just didn’t want it to end.
The ending was pretty special though: We retired to a bar, near the statue of Freddy Mercury, for food and drinks, and we all sat outside in the mercifully-cooling evening air, looking down the length of the lake to a simply sublime sunset. I squeezed Roo’s hand under the table and listened to the oohs and ahhs of our companions as the sun slipped slowly down into a golden haze. Sometimes, I think magic does exist.
***
We slept like babies, but awoke to the sound of a commotion. Nikki was shouting and it sounded like Mads and Lindi were trying to calm her down. We looked at each other… Oh no, what’s this? We thought it best not to leave the bedroom immediately, but I stood behind the door, listening.
‘You’re supposed to be with my mum, you slut!’ yelled Nikki.
‘I AM with your mum, Nikki. Absolutely I am. But Mads and I like each other too. It’s not deceitful or unfaithful. Caro knows… give her a call and ask her. We’ve nothing to hide.’
But Nikki wasn’t listening. ‘Fuck you!’ she shouted, then her footsteps went thump, thump, thump as she stormed off the bus.
It all went quiet, apart from Mads and Lindi’s murmuring voices, and Roo and I quickly dressed and emerged, gingerly, from the bedroom. “Phew, that sounded heavy…’ said Roo.
‘Mm,’ said Lindi, looking fed-up and a little embarrassed.
‘Sorry, Lindi,’ said Mads, I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.’
‘Not your fault, honey. It’s just Nikki. I mean, she’s lovely most of the time, but she does tend to go off at the deep end. She can be a real drama queen sometimes. She must get it from her dad, cos Caro’s not like that at all.’
Roo and I sat on the second sofa, opposite them, and they explained what had happened. Apparently, Mads had been making moves on Lindi for quite some time. I’d noticed them being quite playful and flirty with each other a few times, most recently in the lake the previous evening, when they were both looking gorgeous in their bikinis, and obviously had eyes only for each other.
Mads ‘couldn’t resist her any longer’ (her words) and had quietly slipped into Lindi’s bunk in the early hours of the morning, where she found a warm welcome.
‘There was obviously a limit to what we could do, with only a curtain separating us from everyone else,’ said Lindi, ‘but still… we were having a nice time, when Nikki, obviously having heard us, whipped the curtain back and caught us, “in flagrante.” Of course she flew into a rage.’ She pulled an exasperated face and rolled her eyes, then continued; ‘I wish Caro was more open with her, instead of trying to “protect her” all the time.’ She made the “quotes” gesture with her fingers. ‘I understood it when Nikki was young, but she’s a grown woman now. Hiding things from her only saves up trouble for later.’
I was puzzled. ‘You said Caro knows… About you and… Mads…?
‘Not specifically, but she knows I’m on a bus full of women, and that one of them is Mads, and that Mads is bi…’
‘And so, she assumes you’ll hook up? Roo asked, open mouthed.
Lindi sighed. Look, we’d better get this out in the open. Caro and I have been in a kind of part-time relationship for many years. Even when she got married, we were still seeing each other, and sometimes other people too. We…’
She paused to think, and Roo and I listened, raptly. There was no sign of the others, but I assumed they were all in their bunks, probably straining their ears to also hear this conversation.
‘Our relationship is not exclusive, Lindi went on, but it’s not casual, either. We’re committed, but not necessarily monogamous.’
‘An open relationship,’ I suggested.
‘Ugh. I hate that term, but yes, if you like. She knows something might happen on this tour and she’s cool with it. We’ve mentioned it – not directly, but obliquely – accepted it, and left it at that.’
I must admit, the thought of the two of them together, Mads and Lindi, two of my enduring sexual muses, filled me simultaneously with arousal and an intense green-eyed jealousy.
‘But what about you, Mads’ I probed. ‘I mean, you and Nena?’
‘Oh, Christ…’ She looked at the floor and drew a deep breath. ‘Nena and I have been through this before, when we were separated by university. I’ve probably told you before about that. My libido is sky-high – always has been, I don’t need to tell you that — and I’m a bad girl… and maybe just weak-willed, I dunno. It was impossible for me to stay exclusive to her when we were 200 miles apart and only seeing each other occasionally.’ She took on a pensive look, as if remembering.
‘Back then, it broke our relationship. I knew I’d blown it. I was surprised when she was so eager to get back together with me this time, but she’d obviously been doing a lot of thinking, and one of the first things she wanted to talk about was how we would deal with it this time around. I haven’t changed. I’m still as horny as ever, and still likely to just go after what I want, like that time in your studio, Vix…’
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