Destiny Delayed

by Don Lockwood

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, School, .

Desc: Sex Story: The inner workings of a rock and roll band--and the two songwriters in it


The band was the most important thing in my life. And, here I sat, one week before one of our biggest gigs, watching it disintegrating. And, it was all my fault.

My name is Sara. Sara Keeling. I'm the keyboard player, and the lyricist. We call ourselves One Night Stand, a fitting name for a band, especially one that has three guys and three girls in it. We're all sophomores here at the University of Massachusetts, and the band got together right at the beginning of freshman year.

We started with five people. My best friend Amanda Wilson, she's the bass player. We had played in bands all through high school. There was another set of best friends who had played in bands in high school--Patrick Bowen, our lead guitarist, and Dave Schmidt, the drummer. And last, but certainly not least, there was Greg.

Greg Zelinsky. He played second guitar, and occasionally second keyboards. He also became one of our lead singers, along with Amanda. And, he's our chief composer. I had always written songs, but knew that my lyrics were better than my music. When I met Greg, he started putting my words to his own music. It wasn't until then that my lyrics started to truly sing. He's one of the most staggeringly gifted composers you'll ever meet. I know my words are good--I know that a lot of people identify with and can relate to what I'm trying to say--but they wouldn't be half as good without his music. Plus, he's a terrific singer.

We started rolling, back there a year and a half ago, and started getting good, and started getting gigs. We'd play whatever we felt like--our own stuff, old Beatles tunes, modern rock, whatever. It was an eclectic mix, and it was a lot of fun to do.

However, when we came back from Christmas break, Amanda let us all know that she wasn't happy with the situation. Specifically, she wasn't happy with doing so much of the singing. It was too much of a strain. We thought about carrying on with just Greg as the singer, but there really were a lot of songs in our repertoire that needed a female voice. Greg approached me--I can sing--but that would have put a lot of strain on me, too. Singing with some of the keyboard parts I had to play is hard.

So, this series of events is how Donna came to join us.

Donna Bellini. Blond, blue-eyed, big tits, a Barbie doll come to life, and she knew it. You know the type. The teasing blonde bombshell--that was Donna, to a T. And she could sing. I was wary about bringing her in, but I was outvoted.

If I had known then what I know now, I probably would have threatened to leave. At that point, it might have made a difference.


Sound-wise, it tightened us up in some ways. Freed from the demand of singing, Amanda proved what I had always known--that she was a genius with the bass guitar. Donna's bold, brassy voice got us some attention. Sometimes, it conflicted with the song--especially our own, as both Greg and I can get very subtle in our writing--but it was OK. Until I wrote "Destiny Delayed."

Greg came up with a wonderful, light, airy piece of music for it, and it seemed, instantly, to be the best song we ever wrote together. But it was light, subtle. I wanted Amanda to sing it. I approached her, and she agreed--one song would be fine. Greg thought it was a great idea.

Until Donna protested. Who was the female singer around here, anyway, she asked? Patrick backed her up. Then, to my utter shock, Greg backed her up, too.

That's when I saw it. Greg had the hots for Donna.

Patrick had from the start, I knew that. Dave didn't, because he had the hots for Amanda, who had the hots for Patrick. Yeah, it was tangled. Greg, before Donna joined and he became enmeshed in the whole thing himself, used to joke that we should call ourselves Fleetwood Mac Two. Now, he was involved himself.

Of course, he had been involved all along, he just didn't know it--because I think I fell in love with him almost right away. He never saw it. Of course, now he never was going to see it, because he was Blinded by Donna. And, since I'm shy when it comes to guys, I never could tell him. I'm not generally shy, it's the whole fear of rejection thing--in fact, Greg would not call me shy at all, we've had enough give and take over writing that he knows I can hold my own. However, when it comes to those little phrases: "I like you, Greg" or "Greg, will you go out with me?" then I suddenly become a shrinking violet. I've had one boyfriend in my life, who I gave my virginity to, but that was it. I never learned to talk to guys I liked-my Senior-year boyfriend took all the initiative.

Like I said, my songwriting can be subtle. Too subtle. "Destiny Delayed" was about Greg, and nobody but me knew it. The lyrics I wrote talk about waiting, and trying, and the frustration you feel knowing that all the waiting and trying might not ever be enough. It's a song about delayed gratification, and wishes that never come true, and fear. Everyone who heard it thought it was a wonderful song about the trials and tribulations of playing in an up-and-coming rock and roll band. Which, I suppose, is one way you could take it--but that's not what I meant when I wrote it. It was all about Greg.

Greg never knew it. Actually, I hope he never knew it. I'd hate to think he intentionally farmed out my most personal, heartfelt song to a singer who regarded subtlety and poignancy as foreign languages.

If it was just about a rock band, who cared, right? I couldn't speak up, so I lost the argument. Donna sang the song. I just put my heart and soul into my piano part and tried to ignore what Donna was doing to my lyrics. It instantly became our most loved song. We closed every show with it. I suppose I should have felt gratified.


I don't know if my problem with Donna's singing was exacerbated by my problem with her personality. I really don't. However, as we came back from summer break and started our sophomore years in college, I realized I really had a problem with her voice.

Not all the time. If we were doing something brassy and bold, she was fine. Anything that required a lighter touch, she was brutal. And the percentage of songs she was singing got higher and higher, even at the expense of Greg. It was ridiculous. Greg was the best singer in this band. Somehow, she had convinced him that she should sing more, because that's what she did, since she didn't play an instrument. And, if the song required any kind of anything other than balls-to-the-wall, the music suffered. I really did try to be objective about it.

It's true, her repulsive personality didn't help; neither did the strain she was putting the band through. I still don't know what got into Greg. Greg was smart, sensitive, witty, sweet--this is why I had been carrying a torch for him for a year. When Donna was around, he acted like a horny 14-year-old. When we were together, writing, he was the Greg I fell for. I didn't get it. Amanda didn't get it either, because Patrick was the same way. And Patrick and Greg had gone from the best of friends to eyeing each other warily as each tried to get the attention of this overboobed little cocktease.

Oh YEAH I was jealous. My plain face, plain brown hair, average body--that couldn't compete with the Blonde Bombshell, and I knew it. What was worse, she knew it. It became increasingly grating to hear that little bitch singing my words, while making goo-goo eyes at the love of my life that she had absolutely no intention of following up on.

Anyhow, the band kept getting more and more attention. This was good, and bad. Bad, because Donna was under the impression that the reason for the increased attention was... Donna. I never thought it was. I finally got some ammunition in early November.

We had a gig at a frat house for a party. Donna was unavailable. She was incensed that we had even taken a gig when she wasn't going to be around but, for once, Greg held his ground. The guy that had hired him was a good friend. We played the gig without Donna.

And we were great, and went over really well. A couple weeks before, we had kind of stumbled upon Shawn Colvin's "Get Out Of This House" at a rehearsal, and Amanda and I sang it because Donna didn't know the words. When Donna insisted on singing it if we ever did it--which would have ruined the song--we shelved it. At this gig, without Donna, we opened with it. It was great.

Greg sang more than he had in a long while. Amanda sang. I sang "Destiny Delayed" for the first time, and loved it. The gang at the party did, too. Maybe Greg and Patrick would figure out that we didn't *need* Donna.

Of course, for that to happen, they had to stop being in lust with her--and I didn't know if that was ever going to happen.


It all came to a head, a few weeks later. We had been hired to play at the school's Christmas formal--a huge, prestigious, and well-paying gig. About a week and a half before it, Greg and I were having a writing session.

We had polished up a couple of half-finished pieces, and he had brought the music for one of my lyrics, and we finished that. Then, he said, "I've got another one. You have to move over, though, because I wrote it on piano."

He sat down at my piano and started playing a riff. It was soft, and gentle, and quite beautiful. We ran through it a couple of times. On about the fourth run-through, the words poured out of me, all at once. Not my usual style of writing. We were very glad we had a tape recorder running.

Catch my fall, if I should trip

Mend my heart, if it should rip

Tell me that you love me when there's no one else around

And if I should run, hold me down

Hold my hands, if they should shake

Stitch my wounds, if I should break

Take and keep my feet on solid ground

And if I should run, hold me down

I don't wanna know, what your life was like before me

And I don't want to tell you about mine

All I want to do, is lean back in your shadow

And capture this moment in time

Point the way, if I go blind

Soothe my nerves, if I lose my mind

Show me all the treasures that you have found

And if I should run, hold me down

I don't wanna know, what your life was like before me

And I don't want to tell you about mine

All I want to do, is lean back in your shadow

And capture this moment in time

Watch over me, while I sleep

Wipe my tears, if I should weep

Hold me in your arms and don't make a sound

And if I should run, hold me down

I got done, amazed at what had poured out of me. Greg said something that I didn't quite catch--and then he just said, "Wow." It's the best set of lyrics that I had ever written. The title was obvious: "Hold Me Down." It was about him. Weren't they all, lately? Of course, he had no clue. But, he agreed, it was a gorgeous song. The lyrics fit the music like a glove.


Under no circumstances did I want Donna singing it.

"Why?" Greg asked me.

"Well, first of all, it's too low for her. And transposing it or going up an octave, it will lose that hushed quality."


"Plus, that's a very personal set of lyrics."

"Really?" He grinned at me. "Who's it about?"

If only you knew, I thought. What I said was, "Nobody in particular. But the thoughts and emotions are very personal to me."

"Ok. But if it's personal, what does it matter if Donna or I sing it?"

"No, Greg, I want to sing it."

"Donna won't like that."

Who gives a fuck what Donna likes, I wanted to scream. What I said was, "It's my song. It's a personal song. It's not fit for Donna's voice. I should sing it."

"OK. You're right."

"Please, Greg, please stick to your guns with Donna on this one."

"I will."

Which is how we ended up in practice, a week before the big gig, with the band hanging in the balance. Because I threatened to quit.

We had run through "Hold Me Down." Everyone loved it. Donna requested a copy of the lyrics, so she could learn them. Greg informed her that she didn't need them, as she wouldn't be singing. I guess she thought Greg was going to sing it--she must have gotten a surprise when we practiced it with me singing. Everyone in the band loved it. Except for Donna, of course. She exploded.

"Wait a minute, I thought I was the female singer in this band!"

"Not on this song, Donna." Greg, God bless him, was standing his ground, at least so far. "It's a personal song for Sara, and it's too low for you."

"So shift it higher!"

"It loses something when we do that."

"Well, then, we don't do the song. We shouldn't have anyone singing except you and I, Greg. If you have a song that I can't sing, we shouldn't do it. Write some stuff for me to sing." And she batted her baby blues at him.

This is when I, after a year of swallowing my tongue, finally exploded.

"Why don't you go write you own fucking songs, you bitch? Write stuff for you to sing, my ass. You don't do anything. You don't play an instrument. You don't even sing particularly well. You don't write songs. The only asset you bring to this band is your tits, and that don't impress me much."

"Looks like Plain Jane over there is jealous," Donna said with a sneer, tossing her blond hair behind her back.

"Riiiiiight." I turned back to the rest of the band. "The bottom line is this--that song goes into the permanent repertoire. With me singing. Or I'm out of the band."

"WHAT?" Greg yelled.

"You heard me. I'm sick of the blonde bimbo over there dictating everything that happens in this band. I'm sick of being shy, and meek, and swallowing my tongue. Blonde bimbo singers that can't sing very well are a dime a dozen. Keyboardists as good as I am are rare. Not to mention lyricists as good as I am. You want to replace me? Good luck." I couldn't believe those words had come out of my mouth.

"I just can't believe that you would even consider leaving the band, even as a threat." Greg said. "I mean, you wrote the greatest song about being in a rock band I have ever heard."

"What are you talking about?"

"'Destiny Delayed', of course."

"Dammit, that is not what that song is about!" Every member of the band stared at me. Shit, what had I just said?

"It's not?" Greg asked, amazed.


"Then what's it about?" I didn't say anything. "What is that song about, Sara?"

I lost it. "Goddammit, Greg, it's about you! You are my destiny, not some stupid band! "Hold Me Down" is about you, too. Every fucking song I've written in the past year has been about you! YOU IDIOT!!"

And with that, crying, I ran out the door, away from the rehearsal space, away from the bimbo, away from that Goddamned band, away from him, and away from my admissions.


I lived in the dorm, in a suite. There were two small bedrooms on either side, with a bathroom, and a large living room/kitchenette between. I shared my "side" with Amanda. I was in my bedroom, still crying, when Amanda knocked.

"You OK?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"I have to say, when you let it all out, you let it all out."

"Tell me about it. I don't think I've ever done anything like that in my life."

"How did it feel?"

"Good to get it out, but absolutely terrifying." I sighed. "Well, I always wanted to have the courage to tell Greg how I felt. I didn't particularly want to do it like that, though."

"He surely knows, now." Amanda giggled. "He spent the rest of the time we were there sitting on a chair and staring into space like he was in shock. Until Donna started with her shit."

"What did he do?"

"He glared at her, and said 'I vote that we kick Donna out of the band. Who's with me?'"


"Yeah. And everyone agreed. Even Patrick. Donna is out. I thought you'd like to know. That means you don't have to quit. And Greg says, even if we get another singer, he wants you to sing 'Destiny Delayed' and 'Hold Me Down' every gig."

"Wow. Maybe he does care."

"I think he does."

I half-hoped that he would come knock on my door that night, but he didn't. I stayed in, thinking, did a little studying, noodled on my keyboard. Amanda went out and, when she came in, told me she had run into Greg and he was very drunk, which was extremely uncharacteristic.


The next day was a Saturday. The big gig was the following Saturday. Amanda woke me up at the ungodly hour of 8 am.

"Hey. Greg and Dave have called a major, big deal practice."

I hauled my ass out of bed. Amanda and I grabbed some breakfast and a much-needed gallon or so of coffee, and headed to our rehearsal space. Greg was bleary eyed. "Hangover, Greg?" Amanda teased him. He just sort of grinned ruefully at her. I think he was trying to avoid looking at me. I'm not a hundred percent sure, because I was definitely trying to avoid looking at him.

Suddenly, I noticed a cute redhead standing next to Dave.

"Yo, guys, this is Christine Bellows. She sings, she plays sax, she plays keys. I've known her for a while. She spent last night with me listening to some of our repertoire, so I thought we'd give her a tryout."

We all talked for a bit, and she seemed cool. So, we decided to see what she could do. First, she launched into one of Donna's specialties, Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love." It was great--better than Donna. And, then, she proved some versatility. She asked to sing "Get Out Of My House." She said she didn't want to step on anyone's toes, but she was a huge Shawn Colvin fan. She nailed it.

Greg then said, "And guess what? She knows the organ part to 'Racing in the Street'." The Bruce Springsteen tune had long been a favorite of Greg's, but we had never been able to do it properly, because he had to play organ and sing, or I had to play organ and piano. I let Christine use my Hammond B-3, and we sailed through the song.

A few more songs, and we took a vote. She was in. We practiced all day, incorporating her into our setlists. She worked up a fantastic sax solo to one of Greg's and my masterpieces, "Around All Day." It was great. And, at least on first glance, she seemed like a great girl. I hoped I was right about that.


Monday, after class, Greg called me.

"Are you free tonight? I need to write."

"OK." His roommate was around, so he came up to my place. We usually wrote in one of our rooms.

"First of all," he said, "I came up with some music for that set of lyrics you gave me the other day."

"Great. Show me." It was called "The Gleam In Your Eyes." The music he came up with was great. It was a rocker. I hadn't quite seen it like that, but it worked. That's why he wrote the music.

I can't escape

The gleam in your eye

It follows me as your eyes do

I can't hide

From the gleam in your eye

When you look at me

It's all I can see

I give in...

"Like it?"

"Yeah. It's great."

Then, he said the first words he had said about my outburst three days before. "So, is that one about me, too?" He grinned when he said it.

I couldn't help but grin back. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Well..." I took a deep breath. "I wrote it as you. It's the words I had always hoped you would say to me."

"So, you want me to sing it, then?" He still had that grin on his face.

"Yeah, I want you to sing it," I laughed.

"Good." He stopped grinning, and looked down. "When you got done with the words to 'Hold Me Down' the other day, did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah. You said, 'wow'."

"That was the second thing I said."

"It was?"

"Yeah. The first thing I said was, 'gladly'."


"Yeah. Think about the words to the song, Sara. I didn't even know, at the time, that you were singing to me, and I answered you anyway. Catch your fall? Wipe your tears? Watch over you? Hold you in my arms? Gladly."

I sat down, hard, on my piano stool. "Oh my God."

"Sara, I've felt that way about you for a long time. You seemed completely disinterested."

"I did? I've been in love with you for a year!"

"You don't act it."

"I have trouble with that. I'm shy with guys I like. Plus, you've been throwing yourself at Donna!"

"Defense mechanism. She's safe--she wouldn't have me in a million years even if I was truly interested, which I never was. So I flirted with her, because she was harmless."

"Oh Jesus. What a mess." I couldn't help but laugh. "So, you wanted me, and I wanted you. But I thought you wanted Donna, and you thought..."

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Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Safe Sex / Oral Sex / School /