We’re in the motel, this nameless fucking anonymous place that could be anywhere. And I’m in bed with a girl, a girl whose name I don’t even know, just like I am every night.
It’s not like I have Alzheimer’s. Just that it’s a different one each night because that’s how it happens when you’re in a band, there’s this revolving whirlwind of groupies. And it’s not because she’s truly anonymous, but I don’t know her real name; just her groupie nickname. And we weren’t technically in bed, but out on the room’s balcony.
But my, and hopefully our, enjoyment of perversity is interrupted by shouting and sounds of destruction from the next room. Raised voices. Tez is having a good time. Or maybe not. It just doesn’t sound the same as the kind of destruction that takes place when he’s having a good time.
I leave my girl handcuffed to the balcony railing and put on a dressing gown to investigate what’s happening with Tez.
I don’t even need to bang on his door because the girl he’s with comes flying out, wailing, wide-eyed and manic, not wearing too many clothes. She disappears into my room, seeking – well, I don’t know. Sanctuary?
What I see as I walk into the room is a naked Tez. Tez, the vocalist, the front man, small in stature but fucking huge on stage, taking up all of it with his ego. And now he’s about the size of a pinhead, foetal position, naked, crying. He won’t look at me until I grab him by the hair and force his head up, the stage makeup melding his face into something roughly like the Munch painting, The Scream. And as empty.
It takes two fat spliffs and most of a bottle of liqueur before I can get any sense out of him.
‘You know how we rate the groupies?’ he sobs. ‘We give them one to five stars, take an average if we’ve all fucked them, make notes on what they’re prepared to do?’
Yes, of course. We used to keep the details in a notebook, but these days I have the database on my laptop. It’s a big file, with pics and everything.
‘It’s horrible,’ Tez moans. ‘Just horrible.’
‘You know the groupies are doing the same thing? Except they're posting details of our performance online?’ His quivering finger points to an iPad on the bed.
I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me. The internet is a great equaliser in such matters. And I read:
Tez. Selfish egomaniac. Lazy. Four-inch dick. Likes you to go down on him but he’s not even a mouthful. Difficult to make him cum, probably because of his drug habits. You best bet is to sixty-nine him and piss in his face while his cock is in your mouth. He won’t bring you off; more likely to expect you to bring yourself off while he watches. Rating 1/5.
Oh yeah – I’m on there too.
Quiet onstage. Kinky as fuck offstage. Always has handcuffs, rope, whips. Likes to take control, and whatever he does to you, you’ll get pain and pleasure and not know which you prefer. He’ll treat you like trash and make you love it. Likes threesomes. Rating 4.5/5.
‘I’ll sue them! Take their website down!’ He’s raving, in a self-pitying way.
‘That’ll work.' I'm being ironic. 'How many of them have taken pics of you on their cellphones? How many of those pics do you want on the web?’ And then, darkly: ‘If they’re not on the web already.’ And then, frowning: ‘I thought I knew you pretty well. How come you never mentioned the pissing thing?’
‘It’s not, like, every time.’
‘Yeah.’ Wearily. ‘Just, like, nine times out of ten? We’ll talk more in the morning.’
Because I’ve got, apparently, two groupies in my room now. And I reckon they’re both worth at least four out of five.
Afterwards I ask them what rating they’re going to give me on the website. Evidently I’ve got a reputation to maintain.
Yup, there really are groupie websites that discuss the aftershow performances of rock stars and the like (and, apparently, basketball players and others as well). One easy-to-find site is groupiedirt.com.
I'm not sure if there's as much groupiedom around these days as there was two or three decades ago, but it's a good basis for a story. Especially given the true stories from that period, and the way groupies were treated. Def Leppard, famously, gave groupies backstage passes labelled 'Dik Likker' (though some sources say these were also for backstage staff). These days you can buy them on Ebay as rock memorabilia for around $25.
Oh yeah - and if you look at groupiedirt, you'll see that some rock stars have signed on there and actually reply to their groupie comments - often defending their poor performance after the gig!