By the time the show was done, I was harder than a motherfucking pole. Paul had played the hell out of every song; the suggestive movement of the axe between his legs and the thrust of his hips had me ready to blow by the time the band had exited the stage.
I’d never seen so many panties and jockstraps on the floor before. The musicians were hot, talented, and sexy as hell, especially the lead guitarist, who definitely had my number. Even dripping with sweat—or especially then—Paul Fontana aroused me like never before, and I would do whatever he wanted, just to get a taste of him.
Another half hour passed after the band had left the stage, and I was propositioned a few times by some of the patrons. None of them, however, could hold a candle to Paul. He was my mark for the night. As I sat
