The Rock Star
By: Sean
The bar was full of smoke, but the most of the people in the crowd
looked as if they had just recently become old enough to buy
cigarettes legally.
Jimmy was standing just off the stage in the dark wings. He was
beginning to wish that he hadn't signed up as one of the acts for open
mike night. All of the self-confidence he had had when singing into a
hairbrush at home was leeching out of him.
Finally, the young, long-haired MC announced "Jimmy Neptune". Jimmy
felt as though he were outside himself, watching some other Jimmy as
he walked out to the middle of the stage, plugged in the electric
guitar that he had bought used, stood behind the mike stand, and
looked out over the audience. There were a few catcalls from people
who had known Jimmy Rietz a couple of years earlier in high school and
were not impressed with the new name Jimmy Neptune.
Jimmy stood behind the mike stand and strummed a few loose notes.
Then he started playing his first song in earnest, but it only took a
few measures for Jimmy to begin to realize that playing in front of a
crowd was not like playing alone in a room, where he had the freedom
to back up and start over if he made a mistake. He did not have the
luxury of solitary concentration here. All those eyes on him! And if
only his palms weren't so sweaty! Jimmy began to sing into the mike,
and discovered that his voice was nearly strangled by his own
nervousness.
The crowd booed. "You suck, man!" yelled someone near the stage.
Jimmy looked as terrified as he felt, but he managed to keep on until
he made it thru his first song. Just one song done! This was going
awful. Jimmy decided on the spot that he would save the rest of his
songs for another occasion, and bowed to the audience and walked off
the stage, followed by a chorus of catcalls.
In the wings, Jimmy slumped into a chair. Why had he put himself thru
this? How was he going to live down this embarrassment?
Unexpectedly, Jimmy felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Not bad, pal,"
said a mellow, gravelly voice.
From his position in the folding chair, the first thing that Jimmy saw
was a thick belt around a pair of jeans, overshadowed by a belly
tucked into a short-sleeved, button-down shirt. Jimmy looked up. It
was a very large, bearded man, close to twice the age of most of the
patrons of the bar; and more than a head taller than most of them,
too.
"You think so?" asked Jimmy. He was half sarcastic, since the
performance had obviously been awful; but he was also half hopeful
that maybe somebody had appreciated his performance, even if
it was just some older guy.
"Lemme guess- it was your first time," said the bearish man.
"Yeah," said Jimmy, grinning sheepishly.
"That's OK," said the man. "I just hope it's not your last time." He
extended his large hand. "I'm Sam-- Sam Johnson."
Jimmy stood and shook the man's hand "My name's Jimmy Rietz," he said.
Then he grinned sheepishly. "My stage name is Jimmy Neptune, tho.
Like it?"
"It's an excellent stage name," said Sam gravely. "I'm a promoter-
you know what that is?"
Jimmy shook his head no.
"Well, let's just say I work in the music industry," said Sam. "I
scout for new talent."
"Oh?" said Jimmy, his eyes showing obvious interest.
"I'm interested in making a deal with you," said Sam. At that moment,
the next band started up on the stage, and Sam had to shout to be
heard. "Right now's not a good time for me to go over all the
details," yelled Sam. "Can you come by my office at about 1:00 on
Tuesday?"
"Sure!" hollered Jimmy.
"Here's my card," yelled Sam. "That's my office address there; you
know where that is?"
Jimmy squinted to make out the address in the backstage dimness.
"Yeah, down there by the old ceramic plant?"
"Right," said Sam. "Come on by, and we'll talk things over." Before
Jimmy had a chance to say anything more, Sam shook his hand
powerfully, and vanished into the darkness further back in the wings.
Jimmy looked at the card and pondered. After a few minutes, he packed
up his guitar and headed home. Jimmy wondered greatly what kind of
offer Sam was going to make him. In his more honest moments, Jimmy
knew that his performance had been just plain awful, and that he might
as well give up his ambition to be a rock star. But that would mean
admitting defeat. What else could he do with his life? Accountant,
shoe salesman? "I'll be damned if I'll spend my life as one of those
pathetic drones," thought Jimmy. If he practiced more, he'd surely
get better. All those rock stars had to start somewhere. There had
been a time when they weren't as skilled as they were now. Jimmy
would get better too. He looked at the business card Sam had given
him, and wondered and waited.
------
On Tuesday, Jimmy took the bus to the address on the card. The
address turned out to belong to a warehouse-type building sown near
the old factories by the river. Most of the buildings in the area
were run-down or abandoned, but there was no mistaking the building
Jimmy was headed for; it had a neat sign outside with the name
HARMONIC ENTERPRISES. There were no windows in the building; there
was only a steel door.
Jimmy stood timidly before the imposing-looking door. Should he
knock, or should he just go right in? He was half tempted to just
turn around and leave, and to forget whatever offer Sam was going to
make him. But then he thought, "Now or never." He opened the door
and stepped inside.
Jimmy found himself in a hallway lit by fluorescent lights, and tiled
with asphalt floor tiles. There were various doorways on either side
of the hall. The hall was filled with assorted loud fragments of
music from unseen musicians practicing behind some of the doors.
Before Jimmy had time to wonder what to do, the nearest door swept
open, and there stood Sam, now wearing a business suit. Jimmy
immediately wished he had worn something other than his usual jeans,
combat boots, and black T-shirt, but Sam immediately shook his hand
warmly and said, "Hi, Jimmy! Glad you could make it. Come on in and
let's talk some business."
Sam led Jimmy into the office and closed the door. He showed Jimmy to
a comfortable chair. "What can I get for you, Jimmy? Coke, beer,
mixed drink? Maybe some whiskey and 7-UP?"
Jimmy was still one year short of drinking age; not that this kept him
or any of his friends from drinking, of course, but he wasn't quite
sure what to say when offered a drink by someone so unambiguously
adult and so obviously in authority as Sam. "Whiskey and 7-UP, if
it's no problem," said Jimmy, a little uncertainly.
"Sure," said Sam, turning to the office bar. As Sam mixed the drinks,
Jimmy got his first chance to get a good look at Sam in good lighting.
Sam was an unusually tall man, and despite the business suit, Jimmy
could see that Sam had a great deal of body mass. He could have
previously been a wrestler or a bouncer. If Sam had once been
athletic, however, he had now let his belly go; his neatly pressed
business shirt was tucked in around a rounded gut. Sam had light
brown hair which was just beginning to be shot with gray, and a thick
but neatly trimmed beard. Despite his suit, he retained something of
an almost hippie or biker air to his bearing; he was obviously at home
in the music industry.
Jimmy took a glance around the office. It was comfortably carpeted,
and there was an elaborate stereo on the wall behind the executive
desk chair. There were no windows, but it was otherwise a comfortable
room. After the confused mixture of music in the hall from many
rehearsal rooms, Jimmy was struck by how silent the office was; the
room was obviously heavily insulated so that Sam could work without
being distracted.
Sam came back with drinks for himself and Jimmy, which he set on the
coffee table. Sam seated himself in a chair beside Jimmy's and
absently patted his gut. "Cigarette?" asked Sam.
"No thanks," said Jimmy, sipping at his drink.
"No problem," said Sam. Sam leaned forward, signifying that he was
now talking business. "Jimmy, I'd like to tell you about the deal I'd
like to make with you. Now, I can tell that you need a good bit of
work before you're ready to perform. But I can also tell that you've
got talent. If you work really hard, I think you can go places. And
I think that's what you want-- right?"
"Yeah?" said Jimmy, indicating that Sam should go on.
"The way it works is this. I've got a bunch of practice rooms and
equipment for you to use here in this building. You can come here and
use the equipment and rehearsal space as much as you want, at no
charge. If you end up being able to produce a marketable product,
then I will promote you as an act. Now, of course, given the money
and resources I will have put into developing you, I'll want a fair
cut of the profits; that how the business works. But of course,
there'll be plenty for you, also."
Jimmy nodded. "I see- so it's a risk for you, since you can't tell
for sure whether I'll be able to produce or not; but if I make it, it
pays off big for you?"
"Exactly," said Sam, rubbing his belly again. Over the next few
months, Jimmy would learn that this was a common mannerism of Sam's.
"I've had a few acts hit it pretty big- and that more than pays for
the cost of providing the rehearsal space and equipment."
"So I guess there's something I sign?"
Sam grinned. "Yes, indeed." He reached behind his back to his desk
for a folder. "Here's the contract. You're welcome to take it to
your attorney to look it over." He looked evenly at Jimmy as he said
this.
Jimmy didn't want to admit that he didn't have an attorney. He was
also worried that if he waited too long, Sam might change his mind.
"That's OK; can I just look it over and sign it here?"
"Your choice," said Sam, handing the contract to Jimmy.
Jimmy looked at the first page of the contract. Even tho the
definitions and provisions were more clearly worded than was usual in
legal prose, Jimmy had no experience reading a contract. After a few
minutes of reading just the first page, Jimmy finally gave up and
said, "That's OK; I trust you. Can I just sign it?"
Sam shrugged. "If you like." He reached into the coat of his suit
and handed Jimmy an expensive-looking pen.
Jimmy flipped to the last page of the contract, found the place where
he was to sign, and set the paper of the table to sign it. When he
was finished, he gave the contract and pen to Sam, and there was the
sound of the pen on the paper as Sam signed it as well.
Sam smiled. "Welcome aboard!" he said, shaking Jimmy's hand. "Let me
show you where the rooms are you can use, and get you a key and
everything."
-----------
Over the next several months, Jimmy spent a great many hours at Sam's
building. Jimmy had to keep a job stocking shelves at a grocery store
to support himself, but after grabbing a sandwich, he would always
rush to the building to practice and record his progress on tape. He
met other young musicians who had signed the same contract with Sam.
Sam was around a good deal, and despite being older than all of the
musicians, Sam was regarded by everyone as a good pal.
Fall passed to winter, and winter passed into spring. One day, Jimmy
showed up at the building and found a note taped to the wall:
JIMMY, COME SEE ME IN MY OFFICE. --SAM.
For reasons he could not explain, Jimmy felt a pang of fear in his
stomach, as if he were being called to the principal's office. But
why? This was good old Sam, who was going to make him famous. Jimmy
picked up the cassette of his most recent effort in case Sam wanted to
listen to it, and slid it into a side pocket of the faded army fatigue
pants he was wearing. He went up to Sam's office and knocked on the
door. "Come in," called Sam.
"You wanted to see me?" asked Jimmy.
"Yeah," said Sam. "Come in and close the door." Jimmy did so and
kicked back in one of the chair's in front of Sam's desk. Sam was
usually grinning and friendly; he did smile as Jimmy came in, but it
was a grimmer sort of smile than Jimmy had seen on him before.
"Well, Jimmy," said Sam. "It's been six months since you signed on
with me. Do you know what that means?"
Jimmy shook his head no.
Sam nodded, as if he expected this, and gave his characteristic pat to
his belly. "You know, I've signed up a couple hundred guys since I
went into this business, and not a one of you ever actually read the
contract. Of course, you realize that all the time you've been
spending here is getting expensive, and I'm starting to want something
in return for my investment in you."
"You'll get it!" said Jimmy, defensively. "When I'm famous, you'll
get a big cut of the money I make."
"Right," said Sam, leaning back and scratching his belly thru his
shirt. "That's how it works, _if_ you get famous. But you gotta
understand, I can't wait forever, either." Sam reached forward and
picked up a xeroxed copy of the contract Jimmy had signed six months
earlier. He flipped to the third page. "Section 3," said Sam,
handing the contract to Jimmy. "You're 'Artist'; I'm 'Promoter'."
Jimmy looked at the page:
SECTION 3: DELIVERY OF MARKETABLE PRODUCT
Artist agrees to provide a marketable product within 180 days
of the beginning of the period of this contract. The sole and
final judgment regarding the marketability of the product
shall rest with Promoter. If Promoter judges that Artist has
not provided a marketable product at the end of six months,
Artist shall provide Promoter with compensation for the use of
Facilities:
3a. COMPENSATION BY MONETARY PAYMENT. Artist may compensate
Promoter by paying $3,000 per month for the use of Facilities,
for a total of $24,000 for the six months.
"What!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I never agreed to this!"
"Yes, you did, Jimmy," said Sam calmly. "That's your signature on
page 7, right?"
Jimmy stared at Sam. "So what does this mean?"
"I've reviewed your recent recordings, and I'm sorry to say that they
don't come close to a commercial product. If I thought that a couple
more months might help, I'd agree to it. But I don't see that
happening, I'm sorry to say. So I'm going to have to require
compensation."
"But I don't have $24,000!" said Jimmy.
"That's all right," said Sam. "There's another way for you to
compensate me. Read the next section."
3b. COMPENSATION BY INGESTION. If Artist is unable to
provide monetary compensation for the use of Facilities,
Artist consents to being bodily consumed by Promoter, at such
time and place as Promoter shall specify. Artist releases
Promoter from any harm or damages resulting from digestion by
Promoter.
Jimmy looked very puzzled. "'Bodily consumed'?" he said.
"Yes, Jimmy," said Sam, scratching his gut. "It means I get to eat
you."
Jimmy stared uncomprehending. Then he rose to his feet and moved
toward the door. "This is getting too weird, man. I'm getting out of
here."
Sam moved more quickly; he could move with the speed of a professional
wrestler when he wanted to. He stood in front of the door and locked
it with a key, which he put back in his pocket. Then he stood back
and did nothing to stop Jimmy as the young man rattled the door handle
and turned it ineffectively. It was a heavy steel door, and Jimmy had
no chance of breaking thru it.
Sam loosened his tie and pulled it off, and began unbuttoning his
dress shirt. "Sorry, pal, the door is locked," said Sam. "And
besides, you've got an agreement to live up to here."
Jimmy looked around the room in a panic. The only exit was the door;
there were no windows. "What you mean, you get to eat me?"
"I meant what I said," said Sam, unbuttoning his last button and
exposing his big hairy gut. "You're gonna be right in here in a
couple of minutes," said Sam, patting his belly. "It's where most of
the fellows on my contract end up. Not that I mind. I get enough
successful acts to keep me going good. But if I can't get a lot of
money out of you, at least I get a nice full stomach. Nothing better
than the feel of a tasty young punk down here inside of me, waiting to
get digested."
Jimmy felt his heart hammering. "Are you just trying to scare me, or
what? Lemme go, man- I've got a new song I want you to hear!" Jimmy
pulled out the cassette he had brought, waved it, and put it down on
Sam's desk. "Don't you want to find out if it'll sell?"
Sam was unbuttoning his cuff buttons and was slowly walking toward
Jimmy. "The only sound you're gonna be making from now on is the
gurgle in my big belly," he said, chuckling at his own joke. As if in
response, Sam's belly gave a hungry rumble in anticipation of Jimmy's
arrival.
Jimmy's voice was more strangled with fear than it had been the night
that Sam had watched him perform on stage. "You'll never get away
with it- don't you think someone will find out?"
Sam was sliding his arms out of his shirt. "I don't think you realize
your position, pal. Most folks don't take you seriously if you want
to be a rock star. The way they look at it is, if that's all the more
serious you are about finding a career, you're the type that would
just up and run off to another city without telling anyone. Nobody's
going to put too much effort into looking for you." Sam tossed his
shirt onto a chair; his hairy chest, arms, and gut were bare. "And
look at you. Did you even pay enough attention to notice that some of
the guys you met here haven't exactly been around much recently?"
Jimmy stood openmouthed, thinking. "Rob Wilson?"
"Right here," said Sam, patting his fat hairy gut.
"Skippy Stiever?"
"Delicious," said Sam, licking his lips at the memory.
"You're not kidding, are you?" asked Jimmy.
"Nope." Sam was now standing only an inch or two away from the
younger man, and was towering over him. Jimmy was looking up at Sam's
bearded face. "Get out of your clothes, Jimmy," said Sam, solemnly.
"Fuck, no, man!" said Jimmy.
Then Sam's whole weight and force seemed to be crashing down on Jimmy
like an avalanche. The next few minutes were confused and noisy as
Jimmy found himself fighting for his life; he felt himself being
roughly wrestled toward the floor, feeling the warmth of Sam's hairy
skin, the coarseness of his beard, and the frightening strength of his
arms. There was a clatter as a lamp got knocked over in the scuffle.
Jimmy yelled at the top of his lungs for help, even tho he knew that
nobody could hear him; Sam's office was soundproofed so that the
sounds of the practicing musicians couldn't be heard when Sam was on
the phone. A few moments later, Sam had succeeded in overpowering
him; Jimmy found himself pinned to the floor, and for a few moments he
could only see bits of light thru his black t-shirt as the huge man
held him down with one arm and managed to pull off his t-shirt with
the other hand.
There came a clear moment in the confusion where Jimmy found himself
lying with his bare back against the rough carpeted floor. Sam was on
top of Jimmy with his full weight on the younger man; Jimmy felt Sam's
coarse chest hair against his own smooth chest, and felt the heat of
the bearish man's body against his skin. Jimmy could feel Sam's beard
scratching against a corner of his forehead. The only sound was of
both Sam and Jimmy breathing heavily. Anyone seeing the two at that
moment might have mistaken them for lovers pausing for breath in the
middle of a particularly passionate moment. But Sam pinning Jimmy was
not an embrace of mutual love, but rather the ancient embrace of a
hungry predator about to swallow his unwilling prey. Jimmy heard a
soft, unidentifiable noise, but he could not see it when Sam unhinged
his jaw and began to open his mouth wide.
Jimmy felt something pressing down on the top of his head. The
something seemed to get bigger, and he realized that it was Sam's
mouth. Jimmy tried to struggle again, but Sam's mere weight kept him
from being able to move much. Jimmy felt Sam's lips sliding down his
forehead and around his head like a snug hat. The last thing Jimmy
saw was a glimpse of Sam's neck and hairy chest, and of the white
ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights. Then it was all dark as Sam's
lower lip slid over Jimmy's eyes.
Jimmy's mouth was still free at the moment, and if he had had the
presence of mind, he could have still said or shouted something. But
Jimmy was too confused and overwhelmed to think of this, and soon the
moment had passed, as the older, stronger man took Jimmy's whole face
and then his whole head in his mouth. Jimmy could feel the warm, snug
mouth all around his head. Jimmy felt Sam's tongue licking across his
face, and felt the man give an appreciative "Mmm!" at his taste.
"That's what he thinks I am-- food!" thought Jimmy, giving another
struggle. Jimmy was so in the habit of thinking of everything in
terms of songwriting that even at this moment, when it could not
possibly help him at all, Jimmy found that was corner of his mind was
irrelevantly sketching a song in his mind about being overpowered by a
man and swallowed as food. It was a perfect metaphor for something or
other.
But Sam's mind was clearly not on Jimmy's songwriting or music career;
he was taking slow but animalistic pleasure in taking more of the
squirming, tasty young man into his bearded mouth. He felt a pang of
hunger in his belly; his stomach was eager to welcome the young man
inside. Sam inhaled the scent from Jimmy's armpits, male and earthy
but still appetizingly youthful. The promoter took in Jimmy's
shoulders and then his upper torso. At this point, Sam had gotten so
awkwardly hunched over Jimmy that he rolled over on his side, freeing
Jimmy's legs and allowing Sam to angle the young man's lower body for
easier swallowing. Jimmy's legs, still clad in faded green army
fatigues, kicked ineffectively against the carpeted floor.
Sam ate Jimmy down to his waist. Jimmy's hands were clenched into
fists, but his wrists were pinned to his sides by Sam's lips. Sam
unfastened Jimmy's belt and slid down the young musician's fatigues
and underwear. Sam caught the earthy scent of the young man's crotch
sweat, newly freed from his shorts. He saw the sight of the young
musician's bare, wriggling, appetizing ass, right below Sam's eyes.
Sam eagerly slurped the young man's crotch into his jaws, feeling the
wonderfully soft ass in his mouth and tasting the musky cock and balls
against his tongue. Damn, did this one ever taste good. Sam's
stomach gave another impatient gurgle.
Sam slowly peeled Jimmy out of his fatigues as he swallowed him.
Jimmy's upper legs and then his knees were freed from his pants, only
to be taken into the confines of Sam's mouth. Jimmy was still trying
to kick his legs, but the pants were serving as an impromptu pair of
shackles, preventing the would-be rock star from kicking very much.
Soon, the pants were down around Jimmy's ankles, with Sam's lips just
a few inches behind.
Sam stopped gulping Jimmy for the moment and patiently unlaced the
young man's black combat boots. He managed to pull the boots off of
Jimmy's feet, one after another; and then he pulled off the socks and
slid his freed pants off onto the floor. Jimmy was finally totally
naked, even if he was nearly totally inside of Sam. Sam slurped
Jimmy's bare feet into his mouth; the feet were still wriggling,
indicating that Jimmy was still as unwilling to be swallowed as when
Sam had begun.
Sam paused with Jimmy's feet in his mouth, thinking about that with a
little grin on his bearded mouth, which was now closed with Jimmy
inside. Sam was a lot stronger than Jimmy, and he had easily
overpowered him. There wasn't a thing that Jimmy could do
now to stop Sam from swallowing him. With that thought, Sam gave a
final gulp and sent the young man to his stomach.
Jimmy was still quite aware of himself inside Sam's dark, hot stomach.
Sam had completely subdued him by swallowing him whole. Jimmy now
knew that he should always read a contract completely before signing
it. He wouldn't make that mistake next time. But Jimmy knew that
there wasn't going to be a next time; Sam was obviously going to
digest him.
Sam stood, stretched his arms, and kicked back in his executive chair,
rubbing the Jimmy-sized bulge in his gut. "You were a tasty one,
kid," said Sam to the bulge. "I really enjoyed that. I knew you'd be
great to eat when I saw you perform the first time."
Sam stroked his beard, reminiscing aloud and talking to the bulge.
"You know how the whole thing got started was, you guys whine too
much. My first few contracts, I didn't have that ingestion clause. I
found out the hard way that when the six months are up, you guys won't
stop bothering me; I'd be willing to just write off the 24 grand as a
loss, but you keep begging me to just give you one more chance. This
one guy was calling me night and day and always coming to my office
when I had other work to do. Finally, he pissed me off enough that I
ate him. Now, technically, I didn't have any right to do this because
it wasn't in his contract. But he was free to argue his case with my
digestive system." Sam laughed.
Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. He loved this full feeling, and
knowing that he had a delicious young fellow in his belly. Swallowing
a young man always made Sam contented and drowsy, and he snoozed on
and off for several hours while he slowly digested Jimmy. After a
while, he slowly woke up, and his eyes idly fell on the cassette that
Jimmy had brought. Having nothing better to do, Sam leaned forward to
pick up the cassette, and then popped it into the stereo behind his
chair. He hit PLAY.
Thru the speakers came amateurish music with a heavily distorted
guitar. Over the music came the recorded voice of the young man Sam
had mostly finished digesting by now. Sam listened for a minute to
the weak lyrics and poor vocal technique. "Garbage," he said. He
turned off the tape, rubbed his belly, and belched. "You're more use
to me where you are now, Mr. Jimmy Neptune," he remarked. "I knew
you'd taste good when I spotted you."
Late in the evening, the bulge in Sam's belly was mostly gone; the
male predator was done digesting his prey. The man stood and changed
into the kind of casual clothes he had been wearing when Jimmy first
met him. There was a new act at a local club tonight, and Sam was
headed over to take a listen. He might decide to offer them a
development contract. His decision would depend partly on how good
their act was. It would also depend partly on how appetizing they
looked, and the xeroxed promotional poster Sam had seen was enough to
set his mouth watering; he wanted to get a better look. Sam snapped
off the lights in his office, slid on a casual jacket, and headed
outside into the cool spring night air with a quiet grin on his
bearded mouth.
--END--