I don’t remember how long I stood there; craning my
neck towards the heavens in a futile attempt to discern
where the building stopped and the atmosphere began.
This was it, I thought, the beginning of the rest of my
life. Twenty-two years all led up to this point. And
all I could do was stare at the sky like a moron. Two
weeks ago, I was just another English major wasting his
time schlepping around Boston looking for something
more intellectually stimulating than McDonald’s.
I came home every night to a filthy loft apartment
smelling of French fries and chicken nuggets. When I
submitted a r sum here, I thought it was a pipe dream,
something to stave off depression for a couple of
months before I finally concluded that they would never
call. I had never been happier about being wrong in my
short life. As soon as I got the job,
I immediately sped over to McDonald’s and informed my
manager I quit. I then informed the customers that said
manager liked to jerk off into the happy meals. It was
a retribution for every day off they had called me in,
for every customer that treated me like trash, every
kid that threw their lunch at the wall, and every other
horrendous, degrading activity I had been subjected to
during my four month employment. As I left the parking
lot for the last time, I lit a cigarette and smiled. I
was now a writer
Twelfth floor. The dream job I’ve been yapping about
was for a new music magazine called Demolition. At
first, it sounded like some greasy little booklet for
“metal heads” that had no clue who Judas Priest was and
thought Korn was tough. To my surprise, though, the
founder was quite knowledgeable about music, as
Funhouse blared from speaker during the entire duration
of the interview. Needless to say, I was impressed.
Now, however, all the Iggy Pop in the world couldn’t
help me now. I was as nervous as a kindergartener on
his first day. My palms were sweaty, my knees were
knocking together, and my mouth and dried up somewhere
between the fifth and sixth floor. I tepidly worked my
way over to the receptionist seated behind the glass
partition, her blue and green striped hair adding a
much needed vibe of color to the otherwise Spartan
waiting room. I knocked twice, eliciting her attention
from that day’s crossword.
“Hi, Jack Logan. I’m the new…” The receptionist cut
“They’re expecting you. Go on in.” She buzzed me in,
returning her concentration to the crossword as quickly
as she had lifted it. I inhaled deeply, and then moved
forward through the unlocked door, ready to begin my
new career as a writer.
The office floor that lay beyond was, to say the least,
a letdown. I had expected a bustling nerve center of
the latest occurrences in the wide world of music. A
couple disheveled individuals shuffling about and one
computer was a far cry from that vision. I was about to
check and make sure this was the right office when the
magazine’s founder, Dean Hopkins, emerged from his
office to greet me.
“Ian, good to see you. We’ve read your writing samples,
we checked out your references, everything, and we’re
really excited to have you aboard. Come with me, your
office is this way.” My office. I’ll never get used to
that. It sounded so foreign. I repeated the phrase over
in my head, but it still didn’t fit. Dean showed me
into my office. There was a sizable dark wood desk, an
office surplus chair and nothing else. The room wasn’t
exactly gigantic, though. As a matter of fact, I had my
suspicions it was just a coat closet with a window
“Feel free to fix the place up however you want. We put
in an order for laptops, but they’ve still got a day to
come in. Now come on, I want you to meet the rest of
the staff.” I left my coat and notebook in my office
and followed Dean, wondering in my head why he thought
I needed an office in the first place.
After I had been properly introduced to everyone, Dean
led me into his office and told me to have a seat.
Seating himself on the opposite side, he handed me a
concert ticket and a laminated badge clipped to a
lanyard. I looked down at the ticket in an inwardly
giddy anticipation, eager to see who my first interview
would be with.
I tried not to let my disappointment show when I
silently read the name: Mandy Moore. My ex-girlfriend
had been into her music, but I had never been too
impressed with her songs. They never sounded all that
interesting, and when you listened to her voice, it
sounded like she wasn’t all that interested either.
Whatever the case was, I had my assignment, so I
listened as Dean gave me my instructions.
“The concert starts at eight, but it’s down in Foxboro,
so you should get going now. Ninety-five’s bound to be
backed up, there’s construction from here to
Providence. Once you’re at the venue, show your badge
to whoever checks your ticket, you’ll be fine from
there.” I rose from my seat, ready to leave, when Dean
spoke up again.
“Oh, one more thing. Save any gas or food receipts. You
get reimbursed for those.”
With that, I was out of the office, heading toward the
parking garage, twirling the keys around my forefinger
like a teenager strutting towards their first car. I
tossed the notebook in the back, lit a Marlboro and
sped out of the parking garage, Electric Six blasting
out of the stereo. Granted, a thirteen-year old Honda
Accord that is made up of none of the original parts
can’t “blast” anything particularly well, but Electric
Six sounds good coming out of anything.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, I was beginning to
wonder if Dean was psychic. Road crews were scattered
quite liberally across ninety-five replacing asphalt,
apparently one granule at a time. And to make the trip
complete, I was running low on gas.
I was debating turning off and asking for directions at
a gas station, but I knew if there weren’t any back
roads, I’d most likely be late for my first interview,
and that wouldn’t look too great. I stared at the
needle teetering near empty for a few minutes, then at
the exit sign. Then I noticed I was down to two
cigarettes. That sealed it. I signaled and slowly
crawled to the strangely empty off-ramp.
The gas station was something that belonged in a
Hitchcock movie. Peeling paint, broken windows, and
rusted pipes. Exposed wires hung from almost every
light fixture. I was hoping this wasn’t an omen of
things to come. I didn’t even want to think about what
the bathroom looked like. As I walked in to pay for the
gas, I was just praying the clerk wasn’t a grown-up
version of the banjo-playing kid from Deliverance.
The electronic chime went off loudly, alerting everyone
to my new presence in their midst. The place was
covered in the same paneling my father had put up in
the living room when I was younger. Age had not
improved it in any way; in fact, I think it looked
worse now. The difference was that my father removed
the paneling once he realized his mistake, which was
about fifteen minutes after he finished.
No such luck here; the paneling was only outshone by
the two obviously fake deer heads that hung over the
check out counter. The whole thing looked like a bad
joke that took on a life of its own. I just hoped they
knew a way to Foxboro that didn’t involve Ninety-Five.
I handed the clerk a twenty.
“That’s for the gas. Do you know a good way to
Foxboro?” The clerk stared at me for longer than felt
comfortable, chewing on a toothpick.
“Sure do. Go down this road ’til ya hit an antique
store. You’ll know when ya get there cuz there’ll be a
cow on top of the barn. Anyway, take a left and go a
couple a miles ’til ya see a Shaw’s. Take a right and
follow the signs.”
“Thanks.” I returned to my car and hit the gas,
repeating the clerk’s directions over in my head,
hoping they actually did lead to Foxboro and not
Toothpick guy was right. I got to the venue with an
hour to spare. I immediately went in, as I was still
plagued with a million thoughts of how this could go
wrong and I’d lose my new dream job. Checking in was
easy; I found the press entrance with no trouble at
I did think the frisking and questioning was a tad
extreme, but I wasn’t my decision, so I put up with it.
After I was deemed safe to enter, a bodyguard the size
of a redwood led me backstage and directed me to where
the press would view the show and informed me of the
rules, mostly common sense stuff.
“Ms. Moore will be answering questions after the
concert. If you require further assistance, please
contact me or one of my fellow protection agents.”
Lurch rattled this off the way a recording would. “Feel
free to exit this area at any time, but keep in mind if
you should desire reentry, you will be subject to
search. Any contraband found on your person will be
seized and you will be forcibly removed form the
premises. Food, drinking, and smoking are allowed
solely in designated areas backstage.” Answering
machine. We’ll get back to you. “At this time, do you
have any questions?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Lurch spun on his heels
and marched off, almost like a wind-up soldier. I was
left by a smoking area, so I sat down and had one,
which was when I remembered I should have picked up a
pack at the gas station. I grimaced into the pack. I
had better get my mind in gear quick or I was about to
go nowhere fast. I seemed to be the only one idle, as I
lost count of the number of people rushing past me. I
considered checking out the opening act, but I could
hear them fine from where I was, and I was none too
interested in moving any closer to the din emanating
from the speakers.
I later found out it was a band calling themselves Life
Savers, a name most ironic because listening to them
caused me to lose any will to live. I knew I wasn’t the
only one who felt that way, because I heard more boos
than cheers. The only I can possibly think to describe
it is Pat Boone doing a rap album, only without the
rebelliousness that Boone brings to music. I know I
shouldn’t be complaining on the same night I landed my
dream job, the job I had worked for years to get, but
this was really horrendous music. Finally tired of it,
I decided to see if the food was anywhere near
It was not. Mandy Moore was about to go up, so I staked
out a spot on the side of the stage for the reporters.
I was too anxious for words, not for the music, but
because I was actually reviewing a concert for a
magazine. My hands were trembling. Finally, the concert
began, and right off the bat, I was surprised. She had
her band with her onstage. She actually had a band. The
concert went smoothly, and I had to admit, the music
didn’t suck. I still wasn’t a fan, but I had heard
worse, and she did a decent cover of “One Way or
Another”. The house lights came up, and I and every
other reporter made off to find the worn-out performer,
hoping to get some comment on the show.
As soon as she was spotted, it was reminiscent of a
lion devouring a gazelle. I remained at a distance for
a short while, but as some reporters began to disperse,
apparently full. I cautiously made my way up to the
surprisingly tall nineteen-year old singer and
attempted to get her attention above the cacophonous
“Ms. Moore? Uh, Ms. Moore!” That was when I was elbowed
out of the way by another reporter.
“Hey, screw off, small fry.” I was never proud of my
somewhat diminutive five-foot-four stature, and I
really didn’t need this asshole reminding me I was
short. I didn’t particularly enjoy the scene that
ensued, with Mandy herself stepping in to defend me.
Not my proudest moment.
“Excuse me, what’s going on here? Did you just push him
out of the way?”
“You really care? Listen Mandy, I just got a couple
questions for ya ” I wanted to disappear right there. I
felt like I was in elementary school all over again.
“Forget your questions! Get out of here, or I’ll have
security help you find your way out!” The next scene
was slow motion. Mandy attempted to brush the guy off
and give her attention to the reporters and me when the
asshole, who looked like a dishonest car salesman and
reeked of sweat and onions, grabbed Mandy by the
shoulder and attempted to say something, I didn’t care
That was when; tired of feeling helpless and extremely
tired of reminiscing on third-grade playground
confrontations, I wheeled back punched the son of a
bitch in the gut. I might have said something like “The
lady asked you to leave” or something similarly
asinine, I’m not quite sure. When he doubled over, I
gave him an uppercut for good measure.
It may sound somewhat implausible, but I get out to a
gym at least three times a week, and this looked like
he hadn’t seen his feet since Clinton’s first term. I
wanted to run around with my arms raised in triumph,
but I found my self hoisted in the air by my old friend
“Do you want these men escorted off the premise,
Ma’am?” Mandy approached the cause of this, Onion
jackass, standing about three inches from his face.
Lurch had him by the collar as well, but he wasn’t off
“You can haul this one off, but the other one’s fine.
Leave him.” I was unceremoniously dropped onto the
pavement while Onion was dragged off towards the exit.
Most of the other reporters had scattered, and I
attempted to do the same when I was summoned by Mandy.
“Excuse me, could you come here a minute, please?” I
slowly spun to face her; unsure of what was to occur
next. I decided to say something before she could,
maybe make this turn out for the best.
“I want to thank you for getting that guy out of here.
I usually don’t fight people like that.”
“Don’t worry, you did everyone a favor. I had to deal
with him a few years ago back when I was singing
“Candy”. He’s a stuck-up, arrogant jerk.” Her voice
dripped with acid on the last words. Her dislike of
this man was evident. I tried to change the subject,
but she continued before I could speak.
“God, just because he gets a blow job, he suddenly
thinks he’s a god among men. Sorry, he just gets on my
nerves.” I wasn’t sure what to say.
“This sure makes for an interesting first day.” I
didn’t even mean to say it out loud, but for some
reason I did.
“It’s your first day? Cool, I’m your first interview!
Come to my bus, we have a sit-down and everything!” She
immediately bounded off towards her bus, with myself in
hot pursuit. I was relieved over her change in
demeanor; it’s not good to begin a job, well, the way I
was beginning it ten minutes ago.
Her tour bus nicer than some hotel rooms I’ve seen.
There was a full kitchen, a living room, wall-to-wall
carpeting, the whole nine yards. It took my breath
away, as did the singer sitting in front of me. I
hadn’t had much of a chance to look at her previously,
but I was making up for that now. She had an air of
elegance around her that was surprising. She handed me
a can of soda with a sheepish look on her face.
“Sorry, it’s all I have. I really feel like I should
have something like tea for this. I’m so excited! I’m
your first scoop, your first story. It makes me feel so
important!” I felt excitement and embarrassment. On the
one hand, she was going above and beyond with this.
However, I always got embarrassed when people doted on
me like this. I never felt comfortable as the center of
attention. Still, it did feel nice.
I started interviewing her, her warm smile a complete
turnaround from earlier. They were banal questions
about her music and her goals and all that, but this
wasn’t a big feature interview, and I didn’t want to
ask her what I was really wondering, which was about
her comment on the guy I scuffled with, her mention of
a blowjob. Why would she give him a blowjob? Why would
any self-respecting individual? Well, it wasn’t my
business. I asked her a couple questions on her new
album, of which I knew nothing except that it existed.
She was very outgoing and energetic throughout until I
asked her about her love life.
“Andy and I just broke up. He was sleeping around.” She
opened her mouth to say more, but she just trailed off.
I meanwhile, was kicking myself for asking that. I
hadn’t even been planning on asking about love lives
and boyfriends and yet I did. Why? I looked up to meet
her gaze, see if I should continue or get out while I
still supposedly had a choice, when I noticed she was
no longer sitting on the couch.
While I was busy mentally kicking my own ass, Mandy had
moved from the plush leather couch to the plush chair
next to the one I was seated in. I wasn’t sure if this
was good or bad. The silence that fell over the room
was thick and frightening. Each of us was waiting for
the other to say or do something, anything. I just
stared at my feet for a while, then at my hands. I went
through that for a while, and I saw out of the corner
of my eye that Mandy was doing the same. Then, she put
her arm around my shoulder.
This startled me, although right at that moment
carpeting might very well have startled me. I raised my
head to look her in the eye, and it just happened. We
kissed. I can’t tell you if I went in first or she did.
We might have gone in at the same time. Whatever
catalyzed it, it happened. We kissed. It was one of the
best kisses I’ve ever had. Her mouth was warm, not hot.
The whole moment, the whole idea of who I was with,
what I was doing, felt too good to be true. I subtly
pinched myself to make absolutely sure I hadn’t passed
out back on the pavement with Lurch. I wasn’t. Before I
could react, our hands were roaming each other’s
bodies. As with the kissing, there was no signal for
this to begin, it just occurred as if we were on a
At first I kept my hands away from her breasts, instead
rubbing her taut stomach and back, but it was not long
before I became bolder and moved up to the under side
of her well developed bust. I was cautious at first,
not wanting to be ruin the moment and, even worse,
become branded as a sexual predator, but I threw
caution to the wind and began groping her supple bosom
and firm ass. Mandy then broke the kiss and stood up in
front of me, giving me a seductive smile, her short
hair matted and sweaty (mirroring mine, I’m sure). Her
tight black top, a shiny fabric that clung to her every
curve, was no more than a small pile on the couch
behind. Her bra soon followed.
Going by some internal music only she could hear, she
began grinding her ass and hips towards me, swinging
her belt around her back before tossing it carelessly
to her left. Her jeans were next, their slow crawl down
Mandy’s long legs making the throbbing erection in my
slacks all the more apparent. Her panties were a
surprise; not a thong or granny panties, but something
in between, pink with lace at the top and bottom. Once
those were gone and her well-manicured pubes and tan
skin were on display for all, she collapsed onto the
couch, sweaty but maintaining her regal seating
position. She motioned for me to rise. Knowing what
this meant, I began to warn her.
“Are you sure you want me dancing? I have horrible
rhythm, I can’t keep step ” She interrupted. “I danced
for you, fair is fair.” She had a point. Didn’t change
the fact I can’t dance, but a point nonetheless. She
sat upright with a smile on her face, not a taunting
one but one of expectation. One that lit her already
glowing face lit up like a Christmas tree.
I resigned myself to the fate of embarrassment and
began tom grind and twist as best I could, flinging my
clothing left and right. I heard a couple giggles out
of Mandy, but nothing like the hoots and howls I had
expected. She even slipped a dollar into the waistband
of my boxers, which I found amusing given the quality
of my dancing.
When we were both stark naked, she took me by the wrist
and led me back into a bedroom of sorts, a room that
held in contrast a beautifully made bed with red silken
sheets and pillows shaped like hearts against the
horrendous paneling that pervaded every bus in America.
Still, once we got into the room, the docor was not at
the forefront of my mind. Mandy sat on the edge of the
bed and left me standing in front of her.
She looked up at me; her large brown eyes locked on
mine while her smooth, manicured hand glided up down
the bumpy eight-inch length of my cock. Without losing
my gaze for an instant, she wrapped her thick lips
around the purple-pink head of my cock and began one
the most exquisite blow jobs I have ever had the
pleasure of experiencing. She flicked her tongue
against the head, licked the underside of my shaft, but
it was when she circled her tongue around my cock as
quick as she could that sent me over the top.
I wanted to hold for a long time, I did, but between
her doe eyes and wet, warm mouth, it wasn’t five
minutes before I began to cum into her mouth. She
swallowed every drop, not letting a bit escape the
tight seal she had created with her lips.
Once I had finished and my erection was beginning to
subside, Mandy, still at the edge of the bed, opened
her legs as wide as she could. My cock was hard again
in an instant, but I knew what she wanted. I moved my
head between her legs. I slid two fingers into her
pussy and began pistoning them slowly backwards and
forwards in her damp cunt.
I located her erect clit and began twisting and
flicking it with my tongue, the combination of this and
my fingers bringing Mandy to wailing orgasm within ten
minutes. Her cries of ecstasy began to shake the
windows and I worried that someone would hear us. After
a couple of minutes of listening to her passionate
cries, however, I didn’t give two shits who heard. They
could watch for all I cared.
I ate her out for a while, her orgasmic shouts and
moans a symphony filling the entire tour bus. She kept
a hand behind my head, almost attempting to force it
deeper into her sweet juices. Once she removed her
hand, however, I quickly arose and pushed my now hard
cock into her sopping cunt.
Her screams didn’t subside one bit until I forced my
lips onto hers in a sloppy but passionate kiss. She
pulled away quick, however, and began to bite my neck,
leaving purple blotches down each side and on my chest.
I did the same to her, her short staccato screams
informing she was enjoying it whole-heartedly. Her cunt
was just as enjoyable.
She wasn’t a virgin, but she also hadn’t had sex very
much, because her cunt was so tight it was tough to
push through. With her legs wrapped around my back,
bite marks on us both, and the loud screams we were
both letting loose, we were the picture of wild sexual
abandonment. As we lost more of ourselves to the primal
nature, I could feel a large orgasm building itself at
the base of my member. I whispered to her I was going
to cum soon.
“I’m on the pill. Go ahead, empty yourself into me.
Andy was never man enough to do it.” She went on,
whispering horribly dirty things to get me riled up. It
was working. I pumped harder than I ever have in my
life, and just as I felt the first of my jizz begin to
shoot out of my dick, her body tensed and she dug her
nails deep into my back, breaking the skin. Her shouts
were loud enough to break glass, her screams of my name
echoing throughout the cabin. My orgasm ebbed, as did
We stayed locked in that position for sometime. I’m not
sure if it was passion we felt or we just didn’t have
any energy to get up, or both, but it was a good ten or
twenty minutes before we wandered out into the living
room area and began to dress. Fully dressed, I gathered
up my notebook and began to exit when Mandy, still
naked, tossed her panties at me.
“My numbers inside. Give me a call sometime.” She
winked. If you ignored the fact she was covered in
sweat and was naked, you would never have guessed she
had just done the dirty things she had. Her face, again
lit up with a smile, conveyed not a post orgasmic glow
but a glow of a girl who had just won a marathon. It
was deceptive, but a bit breath taking.
We kissed again before I left, coming close to
repeating our earlier actions right there in the
entrance, but I had to go, so resigned myself to a kiss
and left, leaving my number written on her breast. I
doubted she’d ever call me, but I still thought it was
a cool thing to do.
After a few minutes of wandering, I found my way out to
the parking lot and hopped into my car. The first thing
I wanted was to smoke a cigarette, but then I
remembered I was out, so I flipped on the radio and
piloted my car out onto the highway. I could have sung
I was so happy at that moment, even without a
Not only had I landed my dream job, I slept with a
famous singer on the job! I couldn’t imagine it ever
happening again, but I wasn’t about to complain. Most
people don’t even get the first chance. The Strokes’
“Under Control” began playing in the car as my
headlights made trails along the pavement.