Me and the Musician

Female Point of View Memoir

By Jenelle Watson

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sexual story, me and the musician

I work for a famous musician. If you know anything about music, you know who he is. I won’t blow his cover but you can probably guess.

I plan to be a singer. A great singer. I have the skill, the love of music, and I’ve already composed a tune or two, or a few dozen. [She laughs.]

But being skilled in music, and successful are two different things. So, in my spare time, I am reading about publicity and advertising of all things. While the occasional musician has made it by luck, or being in the right place in time, I know that knowing about business is going to give me a big advantage.

My mom also added her own sage advice for another advantage: Get next to the people who are already successful in the industry.

When I heard this guy, let’s call him George, was looking for a PA – personal assistant, I applied. To my amazement, I actually got the job. The only thing that was a bit troubling is that George warned me before I took the job that I’d be around a lot of sex. “Crazy sex” he called it. Frankly, I didn’t really understand what that might mean, and I probably should have run from George immediately. But I was terribly excited by the idea.

George is well-known for being a single playboy. So, I figured maybe I’d stumble in on him while fucking the occasional groupie or something. It occurred to me he might be interested in me in a sexual way. Oddly, I didn’t hate the idea.

My first week was at his home and office. I thought he might want to come on to me. To want sex with me right away. Part of me knew how wrong that would be. Part of me rather liked the idea, naughty though it would be.

What’s weird is that he didn’t come on to me at all. He just treated me like one of the guys. I supposed it was because he could have as much sex as he wanted with all his groupies. But I also started to build a complex. Why wasn’t he interested in me? Was I ugly? What was going on?

He and the band are frequently traveling. He has quite a few people coming and going in his life. All kinds of managers, service people, relatives, and a non-stop bunch of groupies always trying to get next to him. That’s part of my job, keeping them away. I felt kind of privileged, I’m kind of a George groupie myself, and I know all about him, now. I had inside information.

So, the first thing is he’s not shy. What successful musician is? But it comes out in weird ways. I have indeed stumbled in on him while he’s fucking someone. In fact, sometimes I’m invited. Oh, not to have sex, but to bring them breakfast, or adjust something in the room, or discuss travel plans. Sometimes it freaks his women out, to be naked, sometimes even in the throes of sex, and have me come into the room, but they deal with it.

I was delighted the first time to see him fucking a long-haired blond girl on a tour. I don’t know if she was a friend, groupie, or just what. We left town in the morning, and I haven’t seen her since.

However, I was shocked when I saw him in bed with Jerome, another member of the band. They were giving each other handjobs. I didn’t see that coming. To be fair, there’s nothing wrong with that, but still…

But on most evenings, he’s alone, other than me. He’ll have me do silly things, like draw a bath – like he couldn’t do that himself. Oh well, I guess it makes him happy to be waited on, hand and foot. He pays me well, so I’m not going to complain.

As to music, he’s heard me sing. He was very complimentary. At one point, I was able to explain to him that one reason I took the job was to get as close as I could to the music industry, and to be noticed by the people who could potentially make my career. He was fine with that. He has offered to help me in any way he can, but nothing specific has come from that, yet.

So, back to the part you want to hear about. It started a couple of weeks in. We were on tour, which is no small thing. He has three big buses for him, the band, and all the support personnel. It must cost him a fortune. On top of that, mostly, his people don’t even sleep in the buses. They stay in hotels. Nice, expensive hotels. I know, I’m the one who books them.

We were in a hotel, and I drew him a bath. As he was soaking he yelled for me to come in the bathroom. He wanted to talk about some detail. I forget, something about the lighting at the next day’s venue. I came in, and sat on the closed toilet while we talked. The thing was, he had an erection, and he was stroking it as if I wasn’t even there!

He didn’t cum while we talked, but I was just flabbergasted that he would do that. In fact, even though he’s an older guy, I masturbated myself to sleep that night just basking in the notion of his boldness. I wish I could just rub my pussy in front of people like that. Wouldn’t it be something?

Things evolved. Seeing him in his solo sexual joy became more common. He’d walk around a hotel or the house, or sometimes his tour bus with an unabashed erection. I’d pick up his wadded up, cum filled Kleenexes all the time. Sometimes, I’d see him cum right there in front of me.

One day, I asked whether I was part of his masturbatory fantasy. I don’t know what came over me, I just asked and was immediately embarrassed for saying that.

He said, “Yes, and no.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. He said, he’s imagined me naked and wondered what my nipples look like, but he doesn’t want to fuck me or anything like that.

That was all it took. I immediately pulled my T-shirt and bra off, and showed him what my tits look like. He just reached out, and ever so gently touched my right nipple. He kept just lightly moving his fingertips against my hardening nipple.

I knew I had entered insane territory when I backed away to remove the rest of my clothing.

“You shave,” he said in a sort of hoarse whisper.

“Yes, I started doing it after seeing you hairless down there. I find it somehow liberating.”

“I know what you mean,” he laughed.

Now, my pussy was so wet that a drip of girl juice was working its way down one leg.

“Come here” he beckoned, and we walked to a back bedroom where he has a massage table set up.

I thought he’d want me to give him a blowjob or something, but it was the opposite. He wanted to give me one. He bent down and started licking my clit with his tongue. I orgasmed all too soon. I asked whether he wanted me to do him. He said, “Some other time.” Then he said “Goodnight” and walked out of the room with his unattended erection waving in front of him.

Since that time, he and I have done much more. I never realized that being anally fucked by a hard, pulsing penis could be so incredible. A month ago, one of those trashy magazines came out with a picture of me and George on the cover, with the headline, “George’s New Squeeze?” I’m not sure how I feel about that, but when my dad saw it and asked, I said, “Oh, yes, George and I.”

Here’s the weird thing, of which I’m just bursting with joy, A couple of days ago, George said three little words that have me imagining a great future. “You’re the one.”

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