Original: "Sheet Music," Lana Kent (Radiation Canary)
I knew I'd write a Radiation Canary story for MMOM! I just wasn't sure who the culprit would be. ;D I don't know if this is an official Bonus Track (ie, going in the book) or if I'll write other "Sheet Music" installments with the other ladies. But for now, here is Lana Kent's contribution to this month. If you've read the novel, this is set around 2007. If you haven't read the book... it's still set around 2007. You just won't know why that's significant. ::g:: Oh! And this counts as MMoM Day 3.
Summary: Lana never could sleep in a moving vehicle. (1,961 words)
Sheet Music
by Geonn Cannon
http://www.geonncannon.com
Copyright © 2013 Geonn Cannon
They each had a bunk in the center of the tour bus, two on each side of the aisle. There was a curtain for privacy, but sounds still tended to travel. Codie snored, and Nessa seemed to only sleep in two or three hour bursts before she had to get up and wander around a bit. Karen seemed to be the only one comfortable curling up in the little coffin, dozing so silently underneath Lana's berth that it was almost like she wasn't even there. But she'd seen the puff of curly blonde hair on the pillow when she came back from the bathroom, carefully and quietly using the step to haul herself up into her little box for the night.
It was like those science-fiction movies Alia used to watch. The band shows up, the band rehearses. The band plays for a crowd of screaming fans, signs autographs, and then they climb back into their little pods and await their arrival at the next stop. She folded her hands on her stomach and stared up at the blank space over her head. She could hear other cars passing them on the highway and wondered where they were going. The outside of the bus wasn't marked with the band name, so did people wonder if it was someone famous? Were there any fans on their way to the concert with no idea they were traveling through the night alongside the band?
She envied people who could sleep on moving vehicles. She could barely persuade herself to change out of her street clothes for boxers and a tank top. She closed her eyes and tried to fool her brain into thinking her body was asleep. It didn't work, but at least she could focus on her thoughts on more distracting images than the walls of the bus. She thought back to the last show, sweat in her eyes as Nessa played the intro of The Importance of Your Radio. She still credited the song with being their stepping stone, getting them within reach of the lofty heights of fame.
The song began with just her voice and Nessa's piano, and then Karen's gentle violin wove into it during the second verse. It was a... what did Karen call it? A benediction, a soft and gentle prayer, and then the bridge exploded with sound and fury. Lana attacked her guitar as she sang the last word of the second verse, building the music to a fever pitch before Codie came in with the drums. It made her skin feel electrified when the entire band went from a sigh to a shout, and when she returned to the microphone, their voices joined hers for a triumphant chorus.
Lana smiled as her body rocked with the motion of the bus. All those afternoons in her bedroom with a guitar, standing in front of the mirror and imagining herself as Bowie or Jagger. Dancing in her underwear as she posed for the photographers who, at that point, only existed in her mind. It had just been a fantasy until she discovered the key. She would never have made it alone; she needed her girls to prop her up. She needed their music, and Karen's words, for people to pay attention when she sang or played guitar.
Across the aisle, she heard a soft exhalation from Nessa's bunk. It was almost dreamlike, as if she'd discovered the answer to something she'd been thinking on for a while. Lana recognized it for what it was, and chuckled quietly behind her curtain. Traveling across the country on a bus, sleeping in tighter quarters than a hotel room, they were bound to overhear the odd... late-night sigh from their friends. The more Lana thought about it, the more she realized that it could be just the thing she needed to get some rest.
She lifted her hips and pushed her boxer shorts down with her thumbs, bending her knees with the elastic stretching around her thighs. She put two fingers in her mouth, her other hand still resting on her stomach, and flexed her toes in the sheets as she thought about what fantasy she would use to get off. The groupie fantasy? No, she'd ruined that one for herself. The sexy schoolteacher? Ms. Varney? There were possibilities there, but no.
Lana stroked her thighs as she flipped through her mental file cabinet of go-to fantasies. It was bad enough she couldn't sleep, but now she couldn't even figure out what to use to get off? She wasn't in the mood for a celebrity fantasy, and she didn't want to take the time to set up a story for herself ("I'm alone in the diner, and the waitress is desperate for conversation. So I invite her to sit across from me..."). She just wanted to sleep, and she knew that an orgasm would be a big step to making that happen.
Her mind drifted to Karen, and she immediately made it carom the other direction. Friends were off-limits. She'd never masturbated to the thought of a friend... well... she wasn't going to do it with this friend. No matter how beautiful she was, or how confident Lana felt knowing Karen was right behind her when she was onstage. No matter how she'd occasionally caught Karen looking at her with an expression of adoration that bordered on lust, or how strangely erotic it was when she looked back and saw Karen straddling her cello. Legs parted, the slits that ran up either side of her skirt showing off her thighs as she manipulated the instrument. Lana wet her lips and moved her hand from her own thigh, touching herself with her middle finger. It was just to get things going, she lied to herself, just a quick--
"Oh, fuck it," she murmured.
She touched herself then, and she gasped at the pressure of her own fingers. It was as if a stranger had reached out to grope her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the image of a stranger out of her mind. She'd surrendered to the idea that she was being touched by Karen, and she was going to get the full mileage out of her eventual guilt. Karen, so sweet and innocent, so uncomfortable in the spotlight but willing to bear it when necessary. Karen with her flowing dresses and her boots, the blonde hair that framed a cherub's face and a wide, open smile that people couldn't help but return.
Lana focused her thoughts on their first tour, riding in the back of the bus so she could watch the highway unfold behind them. Karen had sat with her, first to discuss lyrics and then just to talk, and Lana had gotten her to take her shoes off again. She smiled and shook her head against the pillow. She didn't know what her deal was with feet, but she loved them. Kissing them, massaging them, just seeing them was enough to get her motor revving. She had gotten Karen to take her boots off for their second television appearance, focusing her attention on the music and not the way Karen lifted her heel when she sang the chorus.
But on the bus, Karen hadn't protested when Lana picked up her foot and started to massage. She had, in fact, closed her eyes and gone to sleep. There was a moment when Lana thought she should stop. It had gone from a friendly massage between band mates to a creep taking advantage of her friend while she slept. She decided to keep going but she watched Karen's face for signs she was being disturbed in her slumber. Eventually she had finished the massage, and she shamefully used the memory to get herself off later.
Months later, in the swaying bed of the bus, Lana rubbed herself with the heel of her hand as she shamed herself for once again using Karen as a masturbatory fantasy. She was both proud and ashamed of the part she'd played in getting Karen to be barefoot on stage. Whenever she took center stage in just her stockings, Lana felt a bizarre mixture of shame, arousal, and guilt. But goddamn it, Karen had sexy feet. Attached to a pair of very attractive legs... a fantastic ass.
Lana kicked, her feet pushed the blankets and sheets toward the far end of the bunk, whimpering as quietly as she could. Suddenly she began to roll and her free hand shot out to brace herself against the wall. The bus driver had decided to change lanes, and Lana felt oddly weightless as the large machine moved around her. She dropped back to her pillow with a grunt, curling two fingers and pressing them hard against herself, biting her bottom lip as she became determined to get herself off as quickly as possible.
She tried to track back her fetish as far back as she could, focusing on her earliest memory of being distracted by a woman's feet. Her memory landed, as she should have expected, on a high school teacher named Ms. Varney. Lana couldn't remember her first name at the moment, not that it mattered. Even in the fantasies where they ended up having sex, Lana still called her Ms. Varney.
Ms. Varney had worn hounds-tooth skirts and nude- or tan-colored pantyhose. Often she would sit on the edge of her desk with her legs crossed, one foot bouncing as the shoe hung precariously from the toe. Lana remembered how distracted she had been by that bouncing shoe, how she'd longed to see what was hiding under the opaque nylon...
Who knew if that was where the fetish was born, but it was definitely where it had become something sexual. She thought of Karen lying underneath her, fast asleep and oblivious, maybe with one bare foot dangling out into the aisle... Lana exhaled sharply through her teeth at the thought. Innocent Karen, displaying her foot like that, so wantonly... Lana wet her lips and rubbed herself faster, pressing harder. Finally she rolled onto her stomach and gathered the sheets between her legs. She pressed down against it, gripping the pillow, exhaling sharply as she thrust her hips forward.
She pressed her face into the pillow even though she was able to bite off the cry of release, trembling as her legs tightened around the sheet and then relaxed. She remained in position for a long moment, then hitched her boxers back into place and gently rolled onto her back. She pushed her hair out of her face, blew out a lungful of air, and fanned her face.
The clapping started on the other side of the aisle, in Codie's bunk, and Lana blushed as Nessa joined in. Seconds later, as if reluctant to join in the good-natured ribbing, Karen began to clap, too. She figured they had been jarred awake by the bus changing lanes and then... well, she hadn't exactly been focused on keeping quiet. Lana was grateful they couldn't see how red she'd gotten through the curtain.
"If I'd known I was performing it wouldn't have taken so long."
"Brava, brava," Codie said.
"Shut up and go to sleep, little drummer girl."
"Aw, no encores? I thought you had stamina."
"Go to sleep before we make you perform for us."
Codie chuckled but soon fell silent. Lana wanted to splash some water on her face, but she didn't dare venture out of the bunk to make the long trek to the bathroom. The thought of running into Karen or, well, anyone was too humiliating at the moment. She closed her eyes, feeling looser and more relaxed than she had since leaving the stage, and within minutes she'd succeeded in falling into a restful slumber.
Summary: Lana never could sleep in a moving vehicle. (1,961 words)
Sheet Music
by Geonn Cannon
http://www.geonncannon.com
Copyright © 2013 Geonn Cannon
They each had a bunk in the center of the tour bus, two on each side of the aisle. There was a curtain for privacy, but sounds still tended to travel. Codie snored, and Nessa seemed to only sleep in two or three hour bursts before she had to get up and wander around a bit. Karen seemed to be the only one comfortable curling up in the little coffin, dozing so silently underneath Lana's berth that it was almost like she wasn't even there. But she'd seen the puff of curly blonde hair on the pillow when she came back from the bathroom, carefully and quietly using the step to haul herself up into her little box for the night.
It was like those science-fiction movies Alia used to watch. The band shows up, the band rehearses. The band plays for a crowd of screaming fans, signs autographs, and then they climb back into their little pods and await their arrival at the next stop. She folded her hands on her stomach and stared up at the blank space over her head. She could hear other cars passing them on the highway and wondered where they were going. The outside of the bus wasn't marked with the band name, so did people wonder if it was someone famous? Were there any fans on their way to the concert with no idea they were traveling through the night alongside the band?
She envied people who could sleep on moving vehicles. She could barely persuade herself to change out of her street clothes for boxers and a tank top. She closed her eyes and tried to fool her brain into thinking her body was asleep. It didn't work, but at least she could focus on her thoughts on more distracting images than the walls of the bus. She thought back to the last show, sweat in her eyes as Nessa played the intro of The Importance of Your Radio. She still credited the song with being their stepping stone, getting them within reach of the lofty heights of fame.
The song began with just her voice and Nessa's piano, and then Karen's gentle violin wove into it during the second verse. It was a... what did Karen call it? A benediction, a soft and gentle prayer, and then the bridge exploded with sound and fury. Lana attacked her guitar as she sang the last word of the second verse, building the music to a fever pitch before Codie came in with the drums. It made her skin feel electrified when the entire band went from a sigh to a shout, and when she returned to the microphone, their voices joined hers for a triumphant chorus.
Lana smiled as her body rocked with the motion of the bus. All those afternoons in her bedroom with a guitar, standing in front of the mirror and imagining herself as Bowie or Jagger. Dancing in her underwear as she posed for the photographers who, at that point, only existed in her mind. It had just been a fantasy until she discovered the key. She would never have made it alone; she needed her girls to prop her up. She needed their music, and Karen's words, for people to pay attention when she sang or played guitar.
Across the aisle, she heard a soft exhalation from Nessa's bunk. It was almost dreamlike, as if she'd discovered the answer to something she'd been thinking on for a while. Lana recognized it for what it was, and chuckled quietly behind her curtain. Traveling across the country on a bus, sleeping in tighter quarters than a hotel room, they were bound to overhear the odd... late-night sigh from their friends. The more Lana thought about it, the more she realized that it could be just the thing she needed to get some rest.
She lifted her hips and pushed her boxer shorts down with her thumbs, bending her knees with the elastic stretching around her thighs. She put two fingers in her mouth, her other hand still resting on her stomach, and flexed her toes in the sheets as she thought about what fantasy she would use to get off. The groupie fantasy? No, she'd ruined that one for herself. The sexy schoolteacher? Ms. Varney? There were possibilities there, but no.
Lana stroked her thighs as she flipped through her mental file cabinet of go-to fantasies. It was bad enough she couldn't sleep, but now she couldn't even figure out what to use to get off? She wasn't in the mood for a celebrity fantasy, and she didn't want to take the time to set up a story for herself ("I'm alone in the diner, and the waitress is desperate for conversation. So I invite her to sit across from me..."). She just wanted to sleep, and she knew that an orgasm would be a big step to making that happen.
Her mind drifted to Karen, and she immediately made it carom the other direction. Friends were off-limits. She'd never masturbated to the thought of a friend... well... she wasn't going to do it with this friend. No matter how beautiful she was, or how confident Lana felt knowing Karen was right behind her when she was onstage. No matter how she'd occasionally caught Karen looking at her with an expression of adoration that bordered on lust, or how strangely erotic it was when she looked back and saw Karen straddling her cello. Legs parted, the slits that ran up either side of her skirt showing off her thighs as she manipulated the instrument. Lana wet her lips and moved her hand from her own thigh, touching herself with her middle finger. It was just to get things going, she lied to herself, just a quick--
"Oh, fuck it," she murmured.
She touched herself then, and she gasped at the pressure of her own fingers. It was as if a stranger had reached out to grope her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the image of a stranger out of her mind. She'd surrendered to the idea that she was being touched by Karen, and she was going to get the full mileage out of her eventual guilt. Karen, so sweet and innocent, so uncomfortable in the spotlight but willing to bear it when necessary. Karen with her flowing dresses and her boots, the blonde hair that framed a cherub's face and a wide, open smile that people couldn't help but return.
Lana focused her thoughts on their first tour, riding in the back of the bus so she could watch the highway unfold behind them. Karen had sat with her, first to discuss lyrics and then just to talk, and Lana had gotten her to take her shoes off again. She smiled and shook her head against the pillow. She didn't know what her deal was with feet, but she loved them. Kissing them, massaging them, just seeing them was enough to get her motor revving. She had gotten Karen to take her boots off for their second television appearance, focusing her attention on the music and not the way Karen lifted her heel when she sang the chorus.
But on the bus, Karen hadn't protested when Lana picked up her foot and started to massage. She had, in fact, closed her eyes and gone to sleep. There was a moment when Lana thought she should stop. It had gone from a friendly massage between band mates to a creep taking advantage of her friend while she slept. She decided to keep going but she watched Karen's face for signs she was being disturbed in her slumber. Eventually she had finished the massage, and she shamefully used the memory to get herself off later.
Months later, in the swaying bed of the bus, Lana rubbed herself with the heel of her hand as she shamed herself for once again using Karen as a masturbatory fantasy. She was both proud and ashamed of the part she'd played in getting Karen to be barefoot on stage. Whenever she took center stage in just her stockings, Lana felt a bizarre mixture of shame, arousal, and guilt. But goddamn it, Karen had sexy feet. Attached to a pair of very attractive legs... a fantastic ass.
Lana kicked, her feet pushed the blankets and sheets toward the far end of the bunk, whimpering as quietly as she could. Suddenly she began to roll and her free hand shot out to brace herself against the wall. The bus driver had decided to change lanes, and Lana felt oddly weightless as the large machine moved around her. She dropped back to her pillow with a grunt, curling two fingers and pressing them hard against herself, biting her bottom lip as she became determined to get herself off as quickly as possible.
She tried to track back her fetish as far back as she could, focusing on her earliest memory of being distracted by a woman's feet. Her memory landed, as she should have expected, on a high school teacher named Ms. Varney. Lana couldn't remember her first name at the moment, not that it mattered. Even in the fantasies where they ended up having sex, Lana still called her Ms. Varney.
Ms. Varney had worn hounds-tooth skirts and nude- or tan-colored pantyhose. Often she would sit on the edge of her desk with her legs crossed, one foot bouncing as the shoe hung precariously from the toe. Lana remembered how distracted she had been by that bouncing shoe, how she'd longed to see what was hiding under the opaque nylon...
Who knew if that was where the fetish was born, but it was definitely where it had become something sexual. She thought of Karen lying underneath her, fast asleep and oblivious, maybe with one bare foot dangling out into the aisle... Lana exhaled sharply through her teeth at the thought. Innocent Karen, displaying her foot like that, so wantonly... Lana wet her lips and rubbed herself faster, pressing harder. Finally she rolled onto her stomach and gathered the sheets between her legs. She pressed down against it, gripping the pillow, exhaling sharply as she thrust her hips forward.
She pressed her face into the pillow even though she was able to bite off the cry of release, trembling as her legs tightened around the sheet and then relaxed. She remained in position for a long moment, then hitched her boxers back into place and gently rolled onto her back. She pushed her hair out of her face, blew out a lungful of air, and fanned her face.
The clapping started on the other side of the aisle, in Codie's bunk, and Lana blushed as Nessa joined in. Seconds later, as if reluctant to join in the good-natured ribbing, Karen began to clap, too. She figured they had been jarred awake by the bus changing lanes and then... well, she hadn't exactly been focused on keeping quiet. Lana was grateful they couldn't see how red she'd gotten through the curtain.
"If I'd known I was performing it wouldn't have taken so long."
"Brava, brava," Codie said.
"Shut up and go to sleep, little drummer girl."
"Aw, no encores? I thought you had stamina."
"Go to sleep before we make you perform for us."
Codie chuckled but soon fell silent. Lana wanted to splash some water on her face, but she didn't dare venture out of the bunk to make the long trek to the bathroom. The thought of running into Karen or, well, anyone was too humiliating at the moment. She closed her eyes, feeling looser and more relaxed than she had since leaving the stage, and within minutes she'd succeeded in falling into a restful slumber.