Blossom wanted to be a star. She had no idea what she’d have to do.
Getting a song published is a challenge. But, it can be done if you are a hotwife.
Hello, my name is Blossom! That’s the way people have heard me introduce myself all over the world so many times you can’t count. Daddy named me Blossom because that’s the first thing he saw out the window of that little two-bedroom, one-bath post-war bungalow in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. The pink heart-shaped flower called ‘bleeding heart’ and smell of sweet jasmine caught Daddy’s attention that morning. Bleeding heart sure is a more dramatic name than Dicentra Eximia. It’s a pretty flower that looks innocent enough in bloom and covers the hills in the late spring in our part of Tennessee. However, those damn cute little things are toxic, both when eaten and when touched. Put one in your mouth and the next thing you know is you’ll be throwing up and running to the toilet. Could be a foretelling of the toughness needed to be me. You can find that dangerous little bud all around Oak Ridge. You may have heard about Oak Ridge as the place that back in World War Two was a production site for the Manhattan Project. Yeah, that project that gave us the bomb to kick Japan’s ass. After the war, the plants were converted to civilian occupations for the blue-collar working class. My Daddy, Erskine, went to work and did his best at being a father. Now, that was a challenge since I blossomed early; if you know what I mean. So, the kids at school nicknamed me Bosom. Date night at the drive-in always ended up in a wrestling match to keep the local boys from feeling me up. Rumors got around school from the frequently rejected boys, and the good girls loved to chat those stories up to give me a bad reputation; even though nothing of the sort never happened such as the things they wrote on bathroom walls.
Little did they know they were giving me a toughness that would pay off big time. Being in the music business takes a thick skin. Later in life the rumors would continue to circulate but not slow me down. It took a while to rise above and shine, just as it took a while to learn how to play and write music. Daddy finished the upstairs attic into an additional room to expand the footprint of the two-bedroom bungalow. That’s where hours and hours and a lot of calluses on my fingertips gave me a pretty good guitar style. That’s when it started; writing poetry fashioned into songs.
Back at school, one boy finally caught my eye and treated me respectfully. Beau was a fine young man and never tried to push himself down my blouse. However, as luck would have it, his selective service number was not a lucky number and he got drafted. Beau came to family dinner on a Friday that fell on the calendar marking a day I would never forget. He announced his future in the Army to Daddy and Mama, “Sir, Ma’am, and Blossom, I have some news. I have been drafted.”
The news earned a salute and toast from Daddy who had also served during the war in the Pacific as an artillery specialist, “Well, Beaufort, that is some news. Hope they give you a one-oh-five like they did me.”
Beau then asked, “One-oh-five, sir?”
“Howitzer. Howitzer one-oh-five. Big ass shell, one hundred and five calibers. Best cannon God ever created.”
The news did not elicit the admiration from either Mama or me. We sat silent. The first guy that could really be the one was about to travel halfway around the world and maybe never come back. The thought and the fear choked me up good. Something welled up and I wanted to yell, “Hell no don’t go. I love you.”
But there was no way at that moment to blurt out something no one expected that night. Truth is, I never recognized the feeling until he was about to be ripped away for some war in a jungle no one gave a shit about. Once the evening was over and the porch light off, crickets and katydids sang outside my window. There was a warm breeze and the smell of fresh flowers, and something new. As I slipped my hand under the sheets to touch myself, my mind was made up that Beau would have to be my first. Maybe if all worked out and he’d get back home and be my last as well. Sure enough, over the weekend in the back seat of a fifty-seven chevy Beau broke me in. He had whispered, “Are you sure? You know once we do this there ain’t no going back.”
Boy was he right. That night, Beau lit a fire between my thighs that would never go out. We wore out that back seat, and his mother’s sofa when his parents were out over the next few weeks. We tried a lot of stuff and learned things those good girls at school would go crazy over with envy. Then, the day came. That day Beau waved good-by it was damn hard to hold back tears. I whispered to myself, “Now don’t you go being some bleeding heart.”
Alone at home over the weekend those words stayed on my mind and in about twenty minutes the song just happened that would take me around the world. But that trip would require some rocky starting points. Getting any kind of big-time star from the Grand Ole Opry to listen to an unknown was unheard of. Many a day at the Dairy Queen hustling shakes and saving tips were spent to put together enough money to pack off to Memphis and meet the man at Sun Records who first recorded Elvis. He’d record anyone with the money for a session. Then, it was up to the singer to hit the road and get radio stations to play the record. Sounds innocent enough until you realize what a bunch of creeps disc jockeys can be as they routinely competed to be known as the best ‘swordsman’ around. We’re not talking fencing lessons either. The good old boys that could rack up the most blow jobs or fuck a few married ladies that listened to the station gained recognition among their peers. Late night callers from lonely wives married to night shifters always took precedence. Horny women and the risky business of doing something illicit seemed to me the only things those guys that played records for a living could think about. Well, none of that ever entered my mind as the only thing that really mattered was hearing my song on the radio. Just once. Just to get it out there.
When I got back home from Memphis there was a letter from Beau. The great Goddess of war had stationed Beau in Berlin working in the mess hall. Pots and pans were better than Daddy’s big ole one-oh-five for sure. But there was another danger not suspected. Beau had met some young German Fraulein. Her big blue eyes and blonde pigtails must have lit a spark and good ole beau knocked her up. So, my one and only was several thousand miles away and may as well have been on another planet.
There is something about heartbreak. It either makes you bitter, or in some cases better in some sort of way. I chose the latter and became tougher and to me that was a lot better. Daddy bought me an old knock around car for a graduation present, so I loaded up the trunk with the five hundred copies of the record Sam had sold me and decided to hit the road. One out of five hundred radio stations was all I needed; so, I thought.
The closest station was up in Knoxville and being a bigger city would mean something, so I called, “Who is in charge of adding new records to play on the air?”
“You mean get on the playlist?” Was the curt response.
“If you say so,” I said. “Would that be Big John on the morning show?”
“No, he’s just an announcer, you need the program director or music director. What company are you with?”
“I’m with myself.”
“We only play hits from major labels, good luck.”
Hang-up number one down. So, I had to keep going.
Then I figured calling wasn’t going to get it. I just showed up at the next radio station. The receptionist did not know what to say when I walked in and said, “Tell Bill I’m here.”
You see, I found out ahead of time who the program director was, so I was not about to take any shit from some minimum wage gate keeper, “Don’t you fret sweetie I know the way.”
There was no real way to know where his office was, but that would be no problem when I walked down the hall, “Hey, yawl.” I’d greet any passers in the hall and there was this good looking thin athletic kind of guy with a beard, “Bill?”
“No. He’s in there,” the guy instructed and led me into the break room where a short fat bald guy stood at the coffee machine
“Bill,” he said, “I believe your appointment is here.”
The guy shook the Coffeemate powder in his cup and looked up. Sure, he caught my eye contact but did not take long to size up my tits in my low cut, “Hello, my name is Blossom, and I have right here in this briefcase the next number one song that is about to make you famous.”
“Oh, yeah. What label are you with?”
“That is to come shortly, and you will be the one man in a million to discover this new song.”
“So, no label?”
The silence that follows scared the shit out of me. Then, he said, “tell you what. I am an open-minded kind of guy. What if I get the jocks here to listen to the song, get their feedback, and see who just might play it on the radio?”
“Sounds like a deal to me.”
“Good, our next jock meeting is seven o’clock this evening in the main production room. Only room big enough here to hold a meeting.”
The time concerned me, “Seven o’clock.”
“Yeah. Meeting then to have the drive time guys present, seven to midnight guy doesn’t drive the ratings.”
“Of course,” said I.
The sun was just about to go down and the red flashing tower lights above the station had just come on. There was no receptionist or office staff at the front door when Bill unlocked it to let me in, “Come on with me.”
The hall was on the opposite side of the building from my earlier visit and what a tour unfolded. There were walls two feet thick with double glass windows opening into a large studio, “Older building,” Bill explained. “Back in the old days they used to do live programs like a drama or live band. Those days are gone. The room now makes a good conference room.”
“Why such thick walls?”
He opened the heavy door and led me in. There in the room were four others, the good-looking guy with the beard, some mousy chick, a hyper-active short guy with long bushy hair and a mustache and a laugh that made him bounce up and down. Finally, skinny black guy with bushy hair and a goatee. Scraggly ass group if you ever saw one. This was the drive time team from morning drive to afternoon drive. None of them looked like they sounded on the air. But then, I looked a lot better than the way my record sounded.
“This here is Blossom,” said Bill. He then introduced me to the group and pointed to the next room on the other side of a different window and waved, that is Howard the seven to midnight guy in the control room on the air.”
Howard was a nice clean cut younger guy with a collegiate haircut and button-down short sleeve shirt waved. Bill then motioned, “Where’s this record you have for us?”
Well, I made a presentation out of revealing the record from the briefcase and handed it to the bearded good-looking guy who put the forty-five RPM disc on a turntable. He threw a switch on a control board and placed the arm on the edge of the record. It scratched its way up to the first notes and there I was. My song, Bleeding Heart was getting its debut to the people who could make it popular. The group listened and responded in a way that I thought was positive all except for the mousy girl. She had no emotion.
Once it was over, Bill the PD got up walked over and removed the arm from the turntable, “Very nice,” he said.
That filled my heart with anticipation. Then, “We’ll have to mull it over and see if any of our team will play it.”
That slowed down my expectations. Then, he said, “Actually, it’s a good song, I think we should toast it and celebrate what may be a new find.”
Bill opened a file cabinet drawer and displayed a shinny new bottle of Jack Daniels. “I don’t drink,” I said.
That’s when the mousey chick rolled her eyes, “Please, give it a break. All the guys want is a blow job to play your record on the air.”
That took me a step or two back. “You think I’m a whore?”
“No, no, no,” said Bill. “This is just about becoming better friends. You don’t have to do anything.”
“Believe that shit?” said the girl. “You can’t believe how many times I have had to give head around here to get my on-air job. You ever hear any other female disc jockeys?”
The room was quiet. The big thick two-foot walls began to close in, and I knew there may be no way out. At that time, I did not expect that I would be forced, but something inside me said I had to play along. Cooperate. My song was more important than having some strange guy’s cock in my mouth. It’s not like I never gave Beau a blow job. He taught me. The truth is I enjoyed it. A lot. A good blow job is being on control of a guy. Guy’s will do anything to get sucked off. My rationale was running out. It took me a few minutes to muster up the nerve to sound confident, “Who is first?”
Bill said, “We’ll, I am the program director.”
With that, he unzipped and took out a penis that deserved a laugh. Oh, he was hard, but could not have been more that five inches and very thin. The black guy teased, “That’s what you take care of your wife with?”
“It was just fine for your wife,” Bill quipped back, and the black guy just laughed. The group got a chuckle.
“You want me to stand by your chair, Blossom, or do you prefer to get on your knees?”
“Just come here,” I said. My mind was made up that this little pecker would not take long so as he approached my chair, I reached for him and had no trouble taking him deep throat. I looked up, “Bet your wife doesn’t do this.”
With that, I used my tongue to flick his little cock under the soft side of his head, then up and down fast. I wanted him to cum fast and be done with it. The trouble was, he did not cum. With my eyes closed there were distinct noises around me. Heavy breathing. Belt buckles. Zippers. At that time, I knew they would be taking turns. Bill’s tiny dick stayed or got harder. His hand was on the back of my head. “Damn that feels good,” he said.
I moved faster.
“She can really suck,” I heard him say and looked up to see him smiling at the group. As I looked around, the other two guys, the beard and the mustache were stroking their exposed cocks. The black guy just sat there smiling. I wanted the guy with the beard to get closer. His cock was nicer. When I motioned to him, he stood by me so I could exchange Bill’s cock for his. The scene was too much for the mustache as he could not hold back and came early just watching. The bearded guy felt good in my mouth. He was long, thick, circumcised, and I could feel his heartbeat as his cock throbbed between my lips. Then, Bill said, “Here, quick.”
He pulled me away from the beard and forced is full five inched in my mouth and I knew he was about to cum as the tenseness grew. There was no way I wanted him to cum in my mouth, so at just the right moment I pulled him out and shot his load over the front of his pants, “How the hell will I explain this at home?” he asked.
My job is done, I smiled and went back to the luscious cock that belonged to the beard. His precum tasted salty and sweet. A load of his might not be so bad I thought. Then he stopped.
“I think there may be more on the agenda.” said the mousy chick.
With that the black guy stood up and slowly walked over, He was still dressed.
“Blossom, you are one lucky lady,” said the woman. “Trust me in this. There is nothing better on this planet that having a cock in your mouth and another in your pussy at the same time. I highly recommend that every woman should be so lucky.”
The idea scared me. It also excited me. If the bearded guy’s cock was that nice, the black guys would most likely be a strong contender. The woman led me to lay on the floor. On the way I made eye contact with the clean-cut guy on the air who looked away quickly as if not to witness me. He had seen me blowing them, but now distanced himself from what was about to inevitably happen.
Once on the floor, the chick pushed my skirt up and slipped my panties off noticing I was already wet, “Looks tasty,” she said.
As the bearded guy kneeled over my face, I could feel her lick my clit. Her action really frightened me, but she did not keep doing it. Instead, she said, “Look up at me. It’s just a tongue. Calm down.”
She starred at me for a second then turned to move my attention to the black guy. He smiled and as he stepped close. As he moved toward me, his hand moved to unzip. A choking sensation gripped my chest. Just then, a scratchy intercom speaker clicked on and the guy in the booth, Howard, said, “Hey, the boss just pulled up into the driveway.”
“Damn it,” said Bill, “Get up. Get dressed. You,” he looked at me. “Go through the booth and out the back door.”
He did not have to tell me twice, I felt saved and rushed through the thick soundproof door into the control room, “Thank you Howard! You saved my life.”
“Hurry through that back door,” he pointed in the direction. “The driveway wraps around the building. It’s lit. You should get to your car ok. I’ll watch to be sure through the window.”
Once safe in my car and headed out the driveway I thought about the compromising it takes to before getting over the horizon to be a star. Compromise is one thing, but, damn, sucking off guys? That’s a lot. Then, I thought about that line. Compromise, compromise, what rhymes with… that could be a song.
Over the next few days, that radio station was on nonstop and not one of those guys played my record. Boy. I felt screwed. Then one evening while sitting alone in my room Daddy had made, I was just strumming my guitar and dreaming. Then, Howard on the radio announced, “Here’s a brand-new song from a young lady that just might be headed for the big time…” and with that, magic. The first notes of my song rang out. Don’t look at me for no bleeding heart, I’m doing fine now that we’re apart…”
My heart rushed. “Daddy,” I yelled out, “Daddy, I’m on the radio!”
We did a victory dance and after a short while I called the station, “Howard, that is the second time you saved my life.”
“I was feeling pretty low and depressed, and you said such nice things and played my song!”
“Well, it’s a good song.”
He sounded so modest. So kind. Howard made me feel comfortable the way Beau once did, “Howard,” I asked. “Want to meet for lunch some time?”
We agreed to meet at a popular hamburger joint and over the fries and root beer we talked. Howard explained he was not like the others and was glad when the general manager at the station showed up to give him a reason to interrupt what would have been an unwanted gang bang.
“Didn’t you watch?” I asked.
“I saw enough.”
“You didn’t want to join them?”
“No, actually, anytime that I feel like having relations it has to be just that. A relationship. Sex means something more to me.”
“You mean something like love?”
“Well, love and desire are two different things. Love doesn’t have to be a part of it. We can have different feelings for different people. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
Howard came across to me as a guy that had never had very much sex. At that time, it appealed to me that he was a nice guy. Showed some respect. Even though he had most likely witnessed two different cocks in my mouth, he treated me like a good girl. He must have watched. Well, so what. It was unavoidable. Howard and I became an item. We used to call it steady girl and boy friends. After a couple of dates, I had enough movies and bowling to last a while and I was getting horny. That night, some time in early July it was hot. We were parked by the lake overlooking those rolling East Tennessee hills. The feeling of tiny glistening beads of perspiration were on my lips and chest. “Want to skinny dip?” I asked.
“Thought you’d never say so,” and Howard and I were of running to the lake, stripping, and nearly falling our way down the slope. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” I teased and knew it would be easy to be naked and in the water before him. You can not believe how cold lake water can be. It damn near took my breath away. Once in and turned to see Howard, something else took my breath away. Just enough moonlight to get my first glimpse of his cock, and what a cock it was. First uncircumcised one ever. The thing hung like a sock with rocks in it and that puffy little turtleneck made me stare. Once the lake water cooled us off, “Getting chilly,” I said. “Let’s go back to the car.”
He opened the door for me like a gentleman and made the round to get in the driver’s seat. There we sat naked. Finally, he leaned over and kissed me. “That took you long enough,” I said. Then, we got serious. Howard was a tall guy. His fingers alone must have been seven or eight inches and they were well manicured so when I got him to finger my clit as we passionately French kissed it was magic the way he used that middle finger on my clit, slide it in my pussy, and moved in slowly pushing in and out and rubbing up and down my clit in a perfect rhythm. In a deep breathless request, I said, “Lean back.”
Once he was positioned my move began down his body first licking his left nipple while holding his cock and feeling him harden and swell. That little turtleneck pulled back and forth over a rather large head. The precum started glistening in the moonlight. My kisses were now at his navel and the length of his dick touched the head against my check. Howard’s breathing was deep. Slow, and audible. His shaft was now hard. My tongue teased his head. My lips parted and the soft velvet cock fit nicely in my mouth. I had to open wide. His hand placed gently on the back of my head gave me direction to go up and down, “You really do that so good.”
The words made me squeeze my thighs tighter against my pussy. “Put your finger in me.”
“You must really like doing this.”
“Did the guys in the production room feel good in your mouth when you blew them?”
I stopped sucking and leaned up to ask, “I thought you said you did not watch?”
“Well, I could not avoid seeing some. It looked good. Have you done that to many guys?”
“Oh,” said I, “You want details?”
As I asked, I felt him get harder and start moving his hips slow up and down. He squeezed my fingers around his cock and took deep breaths. It was obvious at that moment, Howard got off watching and hearing details. So, I helped, “Guys like it when I do this.”
My tongue flicked under the head of his cock as I pulled the foreskin back, “They like this more,” and I took him in my mouth.
Howard’s stare penetrated me as he watched my lips in a perfect oh going down on his dick. He took a deep breath as he watched me get as much of his shaft as I could in my mouth. My lips made a puckering small slap sound when it pulled out and I asked, “You like this?”
He nodded, “Seeing you do it is amazing.”
“What do you like best; seeing me do it, or feeling me do it to you?”
Howard did not answer. He just closed his eyes and humped his cock against my hand. His pelvis rose. His muscles drew tighter, harder, then he held his breath. As he let the air explode in his exhale, he dumped his large white load all over his stomach.
“I think you like that. A lot,” I said.
Several months passed and my song began to get airplay. Howard and I became closer. Very close. Enough so that he quit his job as the seven to midnight jock to drive me all over the Southeast to visit radio stations. He had connections and always said there were not many people in radio; they all just moved around a lot.
We got to Atlanta and that was a big deal. He had a friend at a very popular station. The trouble was the guy worked the all-night midnight to six shift. You would not call that prime time except for the fact that this station had a lot of power. The max for AM stations, Howard said fifty thousand watts, whatever that means, and people all over the country tuned in. I don’t know but he explained AM signals bounce all over the place at night, so it was worth it to get the guy to play my song. In addition, he said his buddy would interview me live. That would be new.
One thing about Howard. He was a very understanding friend and if by chance some guy asked for a blow job, he did not care. He said like the song Save The Last Dance for Me, go ahead suck all you want but save the fucking for me. We had a deal. We got to the station about two AM and the guy welcomed both of us into the control room. He was a good-looking Italian guy. Dark completion, thin mustache on his upper lip, straight coal black hair. He was kind of stocky, not fat, just a big guy about five eleven and he had a devilish laugh and wink with his smile. Anyone could tell this guy was a player and would take anything he could get. He and Howard joked about their past, but the guy kept his eye on me. For some reason, I always have had a habit to open my mouth in a big smile when joking around. As I made eye contact with the guy, he said something funny, and my mouth opened with my smile and he said, “You keep doing that and you might not regret it.”
“I might not,” I laughed back, and the guy and I made that suggestive comment right in front of Howard and he did not react.
The guy explained that we would get to the live interview right after the news at half-past, and then said, “Howard, you mind running down to the convenience store and picking up a six-pack and another pack of Marlboro’s?”
Well, Howard obliged and said he’d be right back. Of course, the jock let me know when the door closed behind Howard that the convenience store trip would take forty-five minutes. “So, how close are you and Howard?”
“Very. We really care for each other.”
“But he’s not jealous leaving you here?”
“He doesn’t get jealous.”
“Damn, that’s too bad. It would be great if we could do something to make him jealous.”
I smiled back and there must have been a twinkle in my eye as I could feel a rush of blood to my face, “I meant to explain that he is not the jealous type. There are things we could do, and he would not be jealous.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt,” the guy smiled.
“Oh, we have no secrets, that’s just how close we really are.”
The newscast at half-hour started. The guy leaned back in his studio chair. The bulge in his tight jeans showed the outline, like a sculpture, of a nice, thick, cut cock.
“You have something you want to show me?” I asked.
As he smiled staring at me, he unzipped his pants, “Help me out here,” he said.
That was enough teasing. I lowered to my knees and pulled his jeans down to his knees. Then slipped the tight white briefs down that made his hard cock pop out. He held the shaft in his hand and with a that ‘I can get away with anything smile’, he pulled my head to him to get my lips around his cock. I sucked him in and out during the newscast. As the news ended, he reached over to the control board to start the turntable and my song started playing. I was going up and down on his dick as he maneuvered the equipment without missing a beat of fucking my face. The song was half over when he came in my mouth and held me with both hands to be sure I swallowed all his cum. The song was about to end as he stood, pulled his pants up, opened the microphone and introduced me as my very first live interview began. We chatted about my life and inspiration for the song for about ten minutes. Once done and he was playing another record, Howard walked in.
In the car, we headed south on I 85 toward Florida. There were only a few other late-night travelers and some trickers, but other than that we were on our own, “Did you hear the interview?” I asked.
“You did great. I am positive that will be the first of many.”
His confidence made me feel warm and as I looked out the passenger window at the night lights, Howard got up the nerve to ask, “Did you blow him?”
I turned to him to see him staring at the road in front of us. The white lane lines reflecting. A big eighteen-wheeler whizzing by. He was quiet. Waiting for an answer.
“Truth always?” I asked.
“Yes,” Howard said.
We were quiet, “Well, yes I did.”
With that, we were quiet again. I checked and could see Howard was getting a bulge in his pants, “Was it good?”
“In what way do mean?”
Howard’s fingers now rubbed across his bulge, but not in a large and noticeable way, “You know, was he big. Uncut?”
“You want details?”
“You know I like that.”
“I don’t mind telling you as long as you don’t wreck the car.”
We both chuckled. “I think I can stand it,” he said.
With that I told him about the way the jock and I teased and how he had me pull his pants down.
“What was his cock like?” Howard asked.
“Let me see,” I said. “I need a comparison. Unzip.”
Howard did. Then I managed to help him slide his pants down to his knees as he drove, “That is the second guy I have had to undress tonight.”
That comment excited Howard and his hard on was standing straight up next to the bottom arch of the steering wheel. I held him in my hands, “So let’s see. Yours is nice, firm and long. It feels good to play with as you drive.”
Then I added, “His was shorter, but much thicker. Mostly like I could not get it in me.”
“But it fit in your mouth?”
“Just the head was all I could get in with enough of his shaft to jack him as I sucked it.”
“That is so hot,” Howard said.
As he said that, my head buried out of sight from other driver’s view as I began to give Howard his blowjob. My head went up and down, then I added as I took his cock out, I smiled taking my time to tell him, “Your friend, the guy on the air really liked this when I licked under the head of his thick cock,” and one more tease when I softly said, “It was a nice one.”
As I whispered that looking up at Howard, I began again to start lightly, tenderly stroking his balls. That got Howard slowly humping up and down and feeling harder. Hearing me tell him details like that really got him going. The radio played on and then the jock on the air said, “This is worth another play. Her name is Blossom. And she is a hit.”
My song played. Thoughts ran wild. Just a few hours ago I had been on my knees sucking off the guy that just announced my name on the air. He could run the board and fuck my face at the same time. And, now another cock in my mouth as the guy I am sucking is driving a car. The words came clear, Don’t look at me for no bleeding heart, I’m doing fine now that we’re apart…”
Beau could go fuck himself. I had all the cock I want and a man that would enjoy me doing it. I may have been compromising, but that damn horizon was just over the next hill.