Page 40 of Backstage

I can’t wait to follow the next dates of the tour (from my couch at home, unfortunately) because this will be one of the best in recent years.

Be kind and rock’n’roll,

Iris

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Rock News:

We had high expectations for the Jailbirds’ tour, and we were not disappointed. The band played their old songs and included four of their latest singles from the upcoming new album. The old hits perfectly complimented the tried-and-true sound you hear in their most recent work. By now, the Jailbirds are a guarantee, and no one could knock them off Mt. Olympus at this point. They’re unmatched by many of their contemporary competitors and can hold their own against past rock legends.

However, they’ll have to be very careful in taking on a band that promises a lot. The Red Velvet Curtains seem to be having a real Cinderella moment: coming from nowhere, practically unknown, they have proven themselves equal to the biggest band in the industry today. We’ve already enjoyed their musical skills on the Manhattan clubs tour, but we’re sure they’re off to a brilliant career start with their first concert of the arena tour. The only drawback was the out-of-context clothing of Lilly, the bass player. She can’t show up on that kind of stage with a shirt that’s two sizes too big and looks stolen from her father’s drawer. Let’s hope she makes peace with her closet soon.

Music Live:

What a show, folks! What a show! We were in the front row at the concert that kicked off the Jailbirds’ Tour, and we can assure you that if you haven’t bought tickets for the next dates yet, you need to make up for it now. The energy is the same as always, plus with the new big screens they’ve added, even those in the last rows can enjoy the show in detail. The band played their old hits mixed with four new songs off their soon-to-be-released new album. If those songs are a taste of what’s to come, get ready for even bigger hits than their previous ones. The energy is impressive and addictive, but their strength remains the front man, Damian Jones, who seems to be unleashed. I’ve never seen so much testosterone slammed into the faces of screaming girls—from the first to the last row—so sexily.

They won the contest with the band they decided to bring along for the concerts’ opening. We’ll be hearing a lot about the Red Velvet Curtains. In their first real concert in front of thousands of people, they transmit a powerful energy for such an unknown band. Too bad they didn’t warn the bassist that it wasn’t high school gym class. She was the only one wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked like the uniform of a school run by nuns.

People:

New photos of Damian Jones’ new flame, Lilly Jenkins, working out between gigs. Seen here, Jenkins is running in her customary oversized sweatshirts and looking a little bit worn out. Hard to imagine her having a career as an Instagram fitness celebrity, given her flushed face and that sweaty hair stuck to her head.

He kissed me. And it wasn’t a meaningless kiss. It was one that makes your toes curl and rips the earth out from under you. When I think about it, I still get wet at the memory of being pressed against that toned body. How I wanted to tie my legs around his hips, leaning them against that marble butt, and press my whole body against his erection.

I’m lying on the sofa we’ve turned into a bed in the back of the tour bus, my hands on my lips, remembering his taste, and smiling. If it weren’t for the fact that less than six feet away, my bandmates are sleeping, I would relieve the excitement between my legs.

However, I’m not a one-night-stand kind of person; I can’t separate sex from the emotions, and the excitement I feel towards Damian is due to the undeniable chemistry between us when we play. It’s like we were born to be on that stage together. I wouldn’t want to sleep with him and then see him every day of the tour with a different woman. I wouldn’t be able to stand it; it would fuck up my sanity during these months.

The bus stops. I look at the time on my phone and realize it’s a bit early—we shouldn’t be at the next location yet. We must be refueling, so I turn over and try to go back to sleep. My peace of mind doesn’t last more than a few seconds before the door of our bus opens and Thomas’s voice thunders through the walls of this small space.

“Are you guys really still in bed?” he asks, opening the curtains of the cubicles and looking into the small room where I sleep.

“Hey! I could have been naked!” I complain as I get out of bed and realize the other three Jailbirds are in our bus too.

“Well, I’d have had a pretty good show, wouldn’t I?” he jokes.

I glance over at Damian and see him staring at Thomas furiously. If he’s that upset, he could have come over and checked for himself if I was naked. I’m a bit annoyed by his reaction.

Luke, Martin, and Taylor swear audibly in their bunks. When we get back on the bus after the shows, we’re so excited that even if we’re dead tired we can’t get to sleep before midnight, which leaves us with very few hours left to sleep.

My bandmates drag themselves out of the cubicles, still asleep. They would have told Thomas to go fuck himself if it weren’t for their reverential fear of the Jailbirds.

“Why did you get us up so early?” I ask, my arms crossed over my chest, trying to cover the evident happiness of my nipples when I see Damian’s muscled arms wrapped in a black T-shirt and those strong legs tucked into a comfortable pair of gray tracksuit pants. His hair is tied up in a loose bun on his head, and he looks even sexier dressed like this than when he gets on stage.

“Near the arena where we’re playing tonight, there’s only one place we can go to eat, and it’s been stormed by fans waiting to get in. We decided to stop for a quick bite outside the city for a while, and then tonight have something brought in from the stands inside the venue,” Simon explains.

“So, shower and breakfast?” Luke asks, picking up the stuff from the drawer under his bed.

“Yes, hurry up, I’m hungry,” says Damian opening his mouth for the first time since he entered. Until now, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Sleeping in a tank top and a pair of very short men’s boxers makes me look practically naked. I put on a pair of cargo pants Martin left on the floor the other night. They stink.

With seven men sprawled around in our living room, there isn’t much space to sit down, and so, after turning on the coffee machine, I lean over the counter following their rambling speeches. In under ten seconds, Damian’s hand reaches out without looking at me, grabs me by the wrist, and makes me sit on his lap without saying a word. I’m so surprised by it that everyone notices when I get tense. The silence that falls on the bus is almost palpable. Damian, however, continues talking as if nothing abnormal happened, and, after a moment of hesitation, everyone starts talking again.

I relax a bit, sitting on his knees and leaning on his chest with one shoulder. But Damian puts his hand under my tank top, on my back, and caresses my skin in a relaxed and distracted way. I feel myself warming up, and really hope no one speaks to me because right now, I can only squeak or moan, given how excited I feel. He tortures me by poking his fingers under the elastic band of my pants and underwear from time to time, getting dangerously close to parts of my body I don’t allow anyone to explore. The shivers running down my back reach the base of my neck, and I’m forced to cross my arms so the whole table doesn’t see my nipples getting perky.

Damian notices and, with an almost distracted gesture, brings his hands around to the front, wandering from my navel to the curve of my breast with such a light touch it feels like he’s using a feather. I hate that I can’t control my breathing, which is getting more and more shallow, and I’m forced to squeeze my legs together for fear that everyone will notice I’m wet and ready to bend over on the table, letting this man own me.

How the hell can Damian be so passive? I don’t even finish thinking the question before his hard-on wakes up at the speed of light and presses on my butt through the thin layer of fabric. Okay, maybe he’s not as calm as he wants to pretend, although I envy his ability to keep the conversation stable when I can’t seem to control my hormones.

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