For Our First Song: The Prologue (Revolving Record) Read online

  For Our First Song

  A Lesbian Rock Star Romance

  Nicolette Dane

  Revolving Record / Prologue

  Contents

  Copyright

  About the Author

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  1. For Our First Song

  This Was Just The Prologue!

  Thank You!

  Get A Free Story!

  An Excerpt: Rise From Rock City

  Restless On A Road Trip

  Full Bodied In The Vineyard

  Hotel Hollywood

  Freestyle Flirting

  Chef Cutegirl

  Sweetheart Starlet

  Salacious Stand Up

  Dormitory Dearest

  Copyright © 2016 Nicolette Dane

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  About the Author

  Nicolette Dane landed in Chicago after studying writing in New York City. Flitting in and out of various jobs without finding her place, Nico decided to choose herself and commit to writing full-time. Her stories are contemporary scenarios of blossoming lesbian romance and voyeuristic tales meant to give you a peep show into the lives of sensual and complicated women. If you're a fan of uplifting and steamy lesbian passion, you've found your new favorite author.

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  For Our First Song

  Standing outside of my car in the parking lot of the diner, I pulled a cigarette from my pack and lit it up. The sun was shining brightly, the air was warm, summer was upon us. I wore a ripped pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt, my white canvas shoes, the left one actually, had a hole near the toe. I inhaled deeply on my smoke, leaned back against my car, and then exhaled.

  Not too long after I arrived, a familiar car pulled up and fitted itself into a parking spot a few down from where I was. It was an old beat up Subaru and without much flourish, the driver side door swung open and James stepped out. He was tall, kind of lanky but still had some definition, wearing a baseball cap over his short, messed up hair.

  Coming around back of his car and toward me, James grinned and made a gun with his fingers, teasingly shooting me. I acted out being shot, cigarette dangling from my lips, my hands moving toward my belly to hold my implied wound.

  “You got me!” I said.

  “You’ve been got!” he said.

  As he stepped up to me, James raised his palm out and I smacked it with mine. He was about a foot taller than me, so it wasn’t so much a highfive as it was a middle five.

  “So you’re done,” he said, crossing his arms and smiling at me. “You are a college graduate.”

  “I am,” I said. “I’m a real adult.”

  “That’s debatable,” he said. “You’re more of a woman-child.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “You still live at home with your parents,” he said. “You don’t even pay for your own car insurance.” James lifted his eye brows and motioned toward my car.

  “By that logic,” I said. “You, too, would be a man-child.”

  “Guilty,” he said, shrugging and smirking.

  “Hey,” I countered. “I spend a lot of time at Kelly’s apartment. It’s almost like it’s my apartment, too. I’m not totally at my parents’ house all the time.”

  “Just because you sleep over your girlfriend’s house a lot,” said James. “That doesn’t make you any less dependent on your parents.”

  “Stop trying to ruin this moment for me,” I said. “I finished college. Maybe one day you’ll be able to say the same thing.”

  “Nah,” said James. “I’m about done with this community college thing.”

  “Let’s just go inside,” I said, dropping my smoke to the ground and stepping on it. I exhaled a plume and gave James a teasing look.

  Inside the diner, James and I sat opposite one another in a booth. I had a coffee and James had a pint glass of lemonade with two straws. After taking a long sip from his drink, James leaned back in his booth, took off his baseball cap to adjust it, and then put it back on.

  “Your hair is really scary right now,” I said. “Good thing you’ve got that hat.”

  “I’m growing it out,” he said. “I’m gonna let it get real long and stringy.”

  “So scary times ten.”

  “Chicks will dig it,” he said. “When a dude has long hair, you know he’s totally chill and hip. Believe me.”

  “You’re funny,” I said, shaking my head at him. I loved James. He was one of my closest friends, somebody I’d known forever. We went way back. He was one of the first people I told about being a lesbian, back in early high school, and his response had been a very teasing, ‘well, duh!’ kind of thing. And he was always there to protect me when some of the other kids took it upon themselves to give me shit.

  I had always been a bit of an outcast, a punk. My hair changed colors often. My face was pierced — my nose, my labret, a few in my ears — I dressed in black a lot. I guess I didn’t always make it easy on myself, but I was just being who I felt like I was. My outside reflected my inside. I struggled a lot with anxiety, with worry, and I didn’t always get along with people. Not because I was a bitch, or I hated people, or anything like that. I just felt this strange fear for the unfamiliar.

  “So Layla,” said James, messing around with his straws. “What’s the plan now?” He asked it like he had some ulterior motive. Like he was fishing for something, but also like he had something else in mind.

  “I suppose I don’t really know,” I said. “Things are going all right with Kelly, now I’ve got this degree.” I lifted my coffee to my lips and took a plaintive sip. “I guess I should get a job.”

  “A job?” said James, making a face. “Like, a real job?”

  “A real job,” I repeated with a short, skeptical laugh. “Yeah, I think that’s probably what I need to do. Even if being in an office of people scares the shit out of me.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Copywriting,” I said. “That is what I studied at CCS.”

  “It sounds so boring,” said James.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “My parents wanted me to do something marketable. I wanted to go to art school for writing, and they said I could as long as it leaned somehow toward a job.”

  “So, like, advertising?” said James. “That’s so not you.”

  “It’s not,” I lamented with a sigh.

  “I’ve got a different idea,” he said conspiratorially. James leaned in, grinned, his voice lowered. “We should start a band.”

  “Yeah?” I said with a half-laugh. “You think that’s how I’m going to pay my bills? A band?”

  “What bills?” James smirked.

  “Stop,” I said, giving him a fake serious look. “I will have my own bills one day.”

  “I’m just saying,” he continued on. “We’re young, we’ve got our 20s ahead of us, and the Detroit music scene is really looking good right now.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess we are kind of staples at the Mystic right now. The door guy doesn’t even check our IDs anymore.”

  “I’ve just been itching to rock,” said James. “You know my band Bush Hunter fizzled
out.”

  “Stupid name,” I said.

  “It’s a good name.”

  “Bush Hunter?” I repeated. “Really?”

  “Really,” said James. His face was serious. “I don’t have a band anymore. I’m just playing all by myself in my bedroom.”

  “As usual,” I teased. “Well, anyway, what do you want from me?”

  “You play piano,” he said. “You can sing.”

  “I barely play piano,” I said. “But the only piano I have is the upright at my parents’ house.”

  “I have a keyboard,” he said. “But I mean, we could write some songs together and see how it goes. I know you write poetry.”

  “James,” I said, running my hands over my warm mug as I thought about it. “You know I’m not good with most people. I mean, me on stage? C’mon. And you’re expecting me to sing?”

  “I think it could be cool, Layla,” he affirmed. “I’ve got a lot of good ideas for songs. Real rock shit.”

  “How long have you been thinking about this?” I said. “And you’re just asking me now?”

  “I’ve always thought you’d be a sweet front woman for a band,” he said. “You’re a weird, unique chick. And you do have a really good voice.”

  “I don’t know, “ I sighed. “I’m getting anxious just thinking about it. Is it just us in the band? I mean, who else would play?”

  “Well, I was thinking about that,” he said. “That girl Renee who lives with Kara downtown, she plays drums.”

  “Okay,” I said, slowly nodding. “I know her. She’s cool.”

  “And then, I was thinking about asking Paul who plays with The Pinched,” said James. “He plays bass in a couple of bands.”

  “Isn’t he kind of… odd?” I said with trepidation.

  “Definitely,” said James. “But he’s a good guy, and a good bassist.”

  “I just don’t know,” I said again, putting my face in my hands as I thought about it. “I’ll probably have a freak out on stage or something.”

  “You won’t,” James said reassuringly. “Just think about it, okay? I think we could really rock out and have a good time.”

  “But I still need to find a job,” I said.

  “Right,” said James with a grin and a sparkle in his eye.

  As the sun came in through the window next to me, I stretched out in the bed, tangled in a sheet, wearing nothing but a blue pair of panties. It was late morning, and I had slept over at Kelly’s house again. I had met Kelly at school through a friend, and after a long night of drinking and smoking cigarettes at the Mystic, we ended up in bed together. That had been about 8 months ago, and although we saw each other often, it sometimes felt more casual than I would have liked.

  After a few quiet moments, Kelly walked into the room wearing just a loose white t-shirt. She was naked below the shirt, her bush trimmed but not shaved. In her hands, Kelly had a glass pipe and a lighter. She grinned at me, put the pipe to her lips, lit it, and inhaled.

  “Want some?” she asked, still holding her breath in. Then she let it out, a large white plume of smoke escaping her.

  “No,” I said, smiling at her.

  Stepping over closer to the bed, Kelly put the pipe and lighter on the nightstand and then plopped down next to me. I slung an arm over her and dropped it down to her rear, giving her cheek a light squeeze and snuggling up against her. She lowered her head to my shoulder and nuzzled into me.

  Kelly was the kind of girl who liked to do most things stoned. But it didn’t seem to affect her like it did others, like it did me. I didn’t smoke too often anymore as it had a bad reaction with my anxiety. Not like I did in high school, when I smoked all the time. Kelly, on the other hand, being stoned was like her baseline. And she loved to get high before messing around in bed. She said it enhanced her orgasms.

  Soon we were kissing, hands coursing all over each other, the heat between us growing. And with Kelly’s guidance, her hand moving my hand between her legs, I began caressing her pussy back and forth, firmly petting her. She sighed happily as I touched her, and I could feel her wet happiness on my palm.

  “Finger me,” Kelly whispered, rubbing her nose against my cheek, then lightly kissing my ear.

  “Okay,” I whispered back. With two fingers pressed together, I rocked my wrist, those fingers slipping through Kelly’s slit with ease, gliding back and forth through her wetness. Then I was penetrating her, slowly and steadily, my palm pressed against her as I fingered her.

  “That’s good,” she groaned, holding tightly against me.

  My and Kelly’s relationship was pretty much predicated on sex. I can admit that. She was a pretty chick, and fun to be around, easy-going, but she wasn’t always available in an emotional kind of way. Kelly didn’t take things too seriously. And while that can be a lot of fun if your goal is just sexual pleasure, it’s not always that rewarding if you’re in search of something more.

  “Like that,” said Kelly, gripping to my wrist and grinding her hips back and forth as I pressed into her. “Mm hmm.”

  I could feel her pussy pulsing, squeezing onto my fingers, as Kelly’s breath quickened and her chest heaved. She held me, her head leaning into my shoulder, while I adoringly kissed the side of her head, her cheek, her ear. I focused on my thrusting fingers and taking her to the place she wanted to go.

  “Oh God!” barked Kelly. Her pussy tightened on my fingers, her thighs clamped, and her body started to convulse. We gripped to one another as she came. I left my fingers inside of her, my damp palm pressed against her, my own breath quickened and a subtle wetness between my legs, my panties humid against my skin.

  Kelly sighed out a moan, a big grin on her face, and she pulled away from me, rolling onto her back. She opened her eyes and we smiled at each other.

  “You’ve got magic fingers, Layla,” she said with a dopey smile. Kelly dropped her hand and ran it absentmindedly over her bush.

  “And you taste nice,” I said, bringing my fingers up to my lips and sucking Kelly’s wetness off of them.

  “Hey!” she said with a laugh, grabbing at my hand like she was protesting my action. But she didn’t really do anything to stop me.

  We looked at each other for a quiet beat, smiling, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “C’mere,” said Kelly, and I obeyed. I collapsed down into her, her arm around me, and we cuddled.

  “I can’t stay too much longer,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet James at noon for band practice.”

  “Band practice?” replied Kelly with surprise. “You’re in a band?”

  “I guess I am now,” I said.

  “That’s pretty hot,” she said in a stoned post-coital slur. “What are you going to do?”

  “Sing,” I said.

  “You sing?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “When I was young, I sung a lot. I was in choir, I took lessons. All that. Once I got to college, though, I sort of just stopped doing music stuff.”

  “Wow,” mused Kelly. “Cool.”

  “I mean, I don’t know if it’s going to work out,” I said. “We could play a couple of times together and realize that it’s not good.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” she said.

  “But James convinced me to give it a try,” I said. “The thought of being on stage sometimes, it scares the shit out of me.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said Kelly with a smile.

  “You know I’ve got anxiety,” I said. “I feel like I’ll get up on stage and immediately piss myself.”

  “_Right_!” said Kelly through a laugh. “Maybe you could smoke a little weed before you perform.”

  “That definitely will not help,” I said. “Cigarettes, sure. Weed… no way.”

  “Well, whatever,” said Kelly. “I think it’ll be cool.”

  “Yeah,” I said absently. There was always something missing in the conversations Kelly and I had. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It felt like, maybe, she wasn’t exactly hearing what I said
. Like she was hearing her own thing. I really did like Kelly a lot, but I couldn’t help but feel a little guarded around her. I didn’t feel like I could share the inner most recesses of my brain with her.

  “Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous,” said Kelly with a snicker, almost like she was making fun of me. I couldn’t quite place her intention.

  “I won’t,” I said, offering a weak smile. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  Kelly quickly kissed me on the forehead, and then slid up in bed, back against the wall, and reached for her pipe. I tossed the twisted sheet off me, and slithered out of bed, searching the floor for the rest of my clothes.

  “All right, we’re all here,” said James with satisfaction in his voice as he looked around the garage. James had invited us all, four including him, over to his parents’ house for our first practice, as he basically had all the equipment we needed to play. “Does everybody know everybody else?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen all you guys around Detroit,” said Renee. She was just about one of the coolest chicks I’d ever seen. Renee was a petite black girl with a teased out afro, wearing ripped jeans and a tight white t-shirt. She had a pair of drumsticks, one in each hand, absentmindedly spinning one of them around.

  “I know Kara,” I said softly. “I knew her in high school, though we didn’t go to the same school together or anything.”

  “You were at that party at our house,” said Renee, pointing a stick at me. “Shit, yeah, I remember that. You came with James.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “And this is Paul,” said James, motioning toward Paul. He was a pretty nondescript guy, short messy hair, a patchy beard. Paul looked like he lived in his head a lot. “He’s played bass in a ton of bands around town.”

  “Hey,” said Paul, offering us a short wave.

  “I’ve seen you before but we’ve never met,” I said to him. “I’m Layla.” Paul and I shook hands.