F
Fountaine
Guest
The crowd cheering definitely got my heart to race - there was nothing nearly as exhilarating as having people there, waiting to listen to your music. This was my passion in life, as hard as it was. Sure, my parents were undoubtedly in the upper class, but I didn't want their handouts. I wanted to carve my way into the world under my terms. I didn't want to study at Harvard and become some hotshot banker, lawyer or doctor. I didn't want to just go through life, with a boring job and a boring life. I wanted excitement, adrenaline...
I was the singer for the punk rock group "The Misfit Dolls". It was me, Janet Jones, our guitarist Thomas Niles, our bassist Lucie Florida and our drummer, Peter Law. We didn't go by nicknames as we've believed that it was done to death. We were opening right now for a heavy metal band; one that is apparently very big around these parts. I didn't know much of the music. All I knew was I was doing what I loved right here in Los Angeles; the city were dreams are born and the place where dreams die. I was sure that it wasn't going to be the latter in my case. I knew it.
I was holding the microphone with my right hand, my studded bracelet dancing over my wrist. I was wearing my tight black shirt, though as per tradition ( I suppose you could call it that) I would end up taking it off and leaving my upper body bare. I was told that some of our male demographic were here just for that. My manager, Steven "Stone" Smith would constantly remind me of how hot I was. At times, I would find him a total creep - he was easily in his early fifties and I was just nineteen. I was quite endowed, thanks to my mom, with a huge bust and a perfect plump ass. My body would have helped me out if, say, I was a pop singer. But not here. Oh no, not in punk rock. That's maybe why I loved it so.
"And I want to be...Anarchy!" I yelled out with passion to the microphone as we were nearing the end of our first song. A tribute to the Sex Pistols, as we've always done at every show. As we were done with that, I already could feel some sweat running down my forehead. Smiling, I pulled my top off, revealing my huge tits in their pink top. I thought that my top really contrasted the mood of the show, maybe ironically so. But no one seemed to notice that, which was just fine.
"Let's get this show going!" I growled to the microphone. I just loved the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I wanted this.
I was the singer for the punk rock group "The Misfit Dolls". It was me, Janet Jones, our guitarist Thomas Niles, our bassist Lucie Florida and our drummer, Peter Law. We didn't go by nicknames as we've believed that it was done to death. We were opening right now for a heavy metal band; one that is apparently very big around these parts. I didn't know much of the music. All I knew was I was doing what I loved right here in Los Angeles; the city were dreams are born and the place where dreams die. I was sure that it wasn't going to be the latter in my case. I knew it.
I was holding the microphone with my right hand, my studded bracelet dancing over my wrist. I was wearing my tight black shirt, though as per tradition ( I suppose you could call it that) I would end up taking it off and leaving my upper body bare. I was told that some of our male demographic were here just for that. My manager, Steven "Stone" Smith would constantly remind me of how hot I was. At times, I would find him a total creep - he was easily in his early fifties and I was just nineteen. I was quite endowed, thanks to my mom, with a huge bust and a perfect plump ass. My body would have helped me out if, say, I was a pop singer. But not here. Oh no, not in punk rock. That's maybe why I loved it so.
"And I want to be...Anarchy!" I yelled out with passion to the microphone as we were nearing the end of our first song. A tribute to the Sex Pistols, as we've always done at every show. As we were done with that, I already could feel some sweat running down my forehead. Smiling, I pulled my top off, revealing my huge tits in their pink top. I thought that my top really contrasted the mood of the show, maybe ironically so. But no one seemed to notice that, which was just fine.
"Let's get this show going!" I growled to the microphone. I just loved the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
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