Rock-A-Beatin' Boogie [FICTOID]

Rudy Pompilli hid inside the lower west wing’s jan itor closet and unzipped his trousers.

They were scheduled to play for the princess’ 13th birthday and everything went smoothly…

…until he saw the princess.

Rudy generally disliked their 12-to-14 year old fans regardless of gender.  The music fired them up, igniting hormones they didn’t even know they had, prompting hem to do all sorts of silly / outrageous / dangerous things in their mad desire to meet their idols.

They were children in about-to-be-adult bodies and as such, Rudy found them annoying.

Not that older fans couldn’t generate their own agita, but once they hit 15 most of them developed enough self-control not to try scaling hotel balconies to meet the band.

Of course, 18 and up presented a whole new slate of problems, but at least then one needn’t fear being arrested or worse, turned into a pariah like Jerry Lee Lewis.

By and large Rudy avoided fans except I  the most controlled or public appearances.  He preferred dating women in their mid-twenties, with a little bit of experience behind them.  They might like the band’s music, but weren’t fanatical about it, and as a result made good dinner and dating companions.

But the princess…

She’d been raised from birth to be a princess, to be demure yet stately, refined and elegant.  Tonight she wore a pink dress that would fit in perfectly at any high school prom back in the states, but the way she carried herself, the way she talked and interacted with the band when introduced to them ignited something in Rudy he never felt before.

The first wave of emotion was desire, and that was fortunate.  Lust was problematic, l;ust overrode the brain and got the body to do things it shouldn’t, but desire…

…desire only pointed the body in that direction, the brain still possessed the ability to say, “Whoa, there!”

And Rudy’s brain clearly saw the whoa…and woe.

Rudy’s problem now lay below his belt.  The brain would prevent the body from doing anything inappropriate, illewgal, or capable of triggering a war between the U.S. and their host country.

But Rudy’s rod refused to back down.  On stage he might be able to hide his condition by hunching over and keeping the bell of his sax in front of his sex, but they would be expected to interact with the princess afterwards and in that instance his groin would be acting like a bird dog.

Wouldn’t matter if Rudy kept it on a leash, it would still be pointing.

He couldn’t feign illness and bow out.  That might work if a similar situation occurred in the states, but here it would lead to an international incident.  No, the only thing he could do would be to take matters in his own hand and hope that bought him enough time to make a graceful exit after the show before little Rudy felt ready for round two.

Now that Rudy possessed a plan of action, he needed something to focus on to bring it to a successful conclusion. 

Wisely avoiding anything to do with the princess – her hair, her clothes, but especially her age – Rudy focused on older, more age appropriate females.

Like most men, Rudy possessed a mental filing cabinet filled with a variety of characters and scenarios for those times on the road when he felt lonely but not in dire need of real human companionship.

He flipped through his mental files, rejecting overly elaborate scenarios that would take too much time to fulfill.

He settled on an old standby:  The Horny Librarian.

He quickly imagined activities not found in the Dewey decimal system and discharged his duty, cleaning himself with a washrag draped over the janitor’s sink.

He just zipped himself up when Bill Haley opened the closet door.  “What the hell are you doing in here?” he said.  “We’ve got a show to do!”

“Just collecting my thoughts,” Rudy said in relief, following Bill to the bandstand.

Much later, long after the show ended and the princess and her entourage retired for the evening, the palace janitor looked at his washrag and said, “What the hell…?”

© Buzz Dixon