My Rock’n’Roll Sex Story by Leah Holbrook Sackett

It was not like the movies. I was supposed to be passed out from all the drugs, drinking, and sex. It was supposed to be a dimly lit morning victory. I didn’t feel like a victory, something closer to nausea. I hadn’t done any drugs. I had drunk something fumey, but not much. I don’t know why people rave about liquor. It burns, and it doesn’t even taste good. Whatever I had tasted like medicinal flowers. I’d rather have a smoothie. Anyhow, I thought it would be like in the movies. But it wasn’t, I’d only dozed lightly and tossed and turned in the Egyptian Cotton sheets. Weren’t they supposed to be silk or satin? Something I could slide on? I wanted to go home, but I didn’t want to be rude. To be honest, I wasn’t ready to leave because I still hadn’t achieved. Ya know, orgasm. I mean, how can you have a Rock’n’Roll sex story without an orgasm? But I was beginning to wonder how many authentic rock sex stories were there, really. I had been lying in the dark with the blackout shades for so long I could make out the barest trace of light among the edges of the drapes. I lay on my stomach with my face punched deep into a pillow and one eye open. I probably looked dead. That was a Rock’n’Roll story I was not interested in.
He lay beside me, snoring, stripped. When I had made it backstage, I was appalled at how old the band was. I never considered the age difference, the distance of row N seating, the lighting, the half-melted makeup with yet perfect eyeliner. How did he do that? The fact that the band poster on my bedroom wall was a picture from two decades ago had completely surpassed reality and solidified my fantasy. Needless to say, I was disenchanted and wondered if this was worth my virginity. Most of the girls backstage looked like they could be a school mate study buddy of mine. I was 16 but could pass for 18. I had the right tits. The night before, the band members and roadies were like vampires preying on the self-sacrificing youth. Is this how they rocked with such intensity at their age on stage? Sucking up youth? Upon entering the din, I wrapped my arms around my chest and dropped my gaze to the floor.
Then someone stood before me. “Pouting?” He said.
It was almost a fatherly tone, like your best friend’s father, if your best friend’s father was a rock god. I lifted my head, and my attention was immediately snagged in the hairy chest before me like a sexy Muppet. I started to reach out to pet him, but I was suddenly unsure if I had said any of that out loud. He had a knowing look, not a knowledge of Muppets look either. His was a world of influence and intercourse. He handed me a drink. That’s how it began.
I pretended to be under the influence, but I wasn’t. I didn’t want to miss this in a drunken stupor. I wanted to remember my first time, remember him. This luxury suite was loud and vulgar, but still, it was better than losing my virginity to Jimmy Saunders in the backseat of his mom’s Volvo with my long blonde hair getting caught in the slack seatbelts. Rock’n’Roll man pulled out a condom after a few hungry kisses. At least Jimmy put the work in when he was trying to score. I wasn’t wet with anticipation, but I was sweaty between my thighs. It was sweltering in here like a sauna. The one window that had somehow gone unshuttered at the time revealed beads of condensation and fog. But I would not be deterred. Luckily, Rock’n’Roll God wanted privacy. We moved to the pitch-black room. He turned on the lamp, because he wanted to watch. So did I. He was sinewy and covered in thick black hair. This time I ran my fingers through it. When he mounted me and pinned my breasts under his fur. It felt kind of like a stuffed animal riding me. I wanted him to do it again. It had been so fast, I wasn’t sure I’d actually lost my virginity. I felt a bit sore, but I wanted to be sure. I wondered at his age if he’d be able to give a repeat performance in the early morning light. And I was afraid he just might kick me out. I’d have nowhere to go. I told my mom that I was spending the night at Jenny’s and would be home by noon. Shit. I tried curling up to him to either wake him or, let the heaven’s be thanked, fall asleep myself, but his pits were the worst. I rolled back to my edge of the bed, and this time I took the lion’s share of the blankets.

Leah Holbrook Sackett’s published books include Swimming Middle River and White Knight Escort Service. Additionally, she has a third short story collection, Catawampus in Sweetgum County, scheduled for publication in spring 2022. Leah was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and over 60 of Leah’s stories have appeared in literary journals. She is an adjunct lecturer in both English and the Communication & Media departments at the University of Missouri – St. Louis, where she earned her M.F.A. Leah’s stories explore journeys toward autonomy and the boundaries placed on the individual by society, family, and self. Learn about her published fiction at