Me and Bobbie McGee
Copyright© 2025 by JRyter
Chapter 1
Young Adult Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young man, aspiring to be a Country Music performer, happens to run into a young girl his age, who is also hoping to make it big in Country Music. After a scuffle in a Truck Stop, he helps her escape her father and step mother. They manage to hitch a ride with a trucker going to Nashville. Once there they lease a room together, and begin to explore Music Row. Their first big break comes when they are allowed to perform on a WSM Radio Sidewalk Broadcast.
Caution: This Young Adult Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft
Me And Bobby McGee:
Kris Kristofferson ©1969
Lyrics: Kristofferson/Foster
music: Kristofferson/Foster
Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train
Feeling nearly faded as my jeans
Bobbie flagged a diesel down just before it rained
Took us all the way to New Orleans
Well I took my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna
Blowin’ sad while Bobbie sang the blues
Windshield wipers slapping time
Holding Bobbie’s hand in mine
We sang up every song that driver knew
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose
Freedom ain’t worth nothing but it’s free
Feeling good was easy Lord when Bobbie sang the blues
Feeling good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobbie McGee
From the coal mines of Kentucky to the California sun
Bobbie shared the secrets of my soul
Standing right beside me Lord in everything I’ve done
Bobbie’s body kept me from the cold
Somewhere near Salinas, Lord I let her slip her away
Looking for that home I hope she’ll find
I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday
Holding Bobbie’s body close to mine
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose
Freedom ain’t worth nothing but it’s free
Feeling good was easy Lord when Bobbie sang the blues
Feeling good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobbie McGee
... It’s been a week ago today, right here in this truck stop, that I met Mr. Charles Belancamp, the man who owns a recording studio down in Nashville.
I never would have met him though, if it wasn’t for Ol’ Joe and Ruby, the little waitress who’s sweet on Old Joe.
... This is my last day on the job. I’ve already given my two week notice on the first of this month, but I was staying on to help the boss and Old Joe train the two greenhorns who started ten days ago.
Hell, it’s not like it’s a skill job, fixing big-truck flats. Though some people just don’t have a knack for handling a sledge hammer and tire irons.
I’ve been here a little over a year and a half, and I learned the hard way. I can beat a truck tire off the rim and either repair it or replace it with a new one, in just a matter of minutes. I’ve watched Old Joe Decker whup hell out of a tire, as he calls it, until I can handle the hammer, wedge and tire irons as well as he does.
After I’d caught on to the tire business in the shop, Old Joe told Mr. Hardeker that I can handle the shop by myself. Joe went back to running the road-service truck full time, night and day. Mr. Hardeker is installing all new pneumatic truck tire repair equipment, now that I’m leaving.
“Beau, I shore am gonna miss y’all ‘round here, y’all made a helluva good hand and you damn well do a job right, just like I showed you.” Old Joe told me as we closed the shop for the day.
“Thanks Joe, I’ll miss you and your tall tales about all the jobs you’ve had and places you’ve been. I needed a job in the worst way, when I stopped here, but I was just passing through, trying to make enough money to last when I get to Nashville ... But you know all about that, I’ve done told you at least a hundred times.”
I walked out to his service truck with him. His service truck is loaded with the air compressor, air hoses, tire tools and new truck tires placed neatly inside the rails.
“I’ve got a good feelin about you, Beau Billy. I know I’m gonna hear you on the radio one day. I just know it,” he told me, smiling as he shook my hand.
His hands will make two of mine, and his arms are as big as my legs.
“Thanks Joe, you just keep remembering and thinking about me, and maybe it will happen. My Momma told me I was as good as she’s ever heard on the radio, before she passed away. Before my Daddy died in the coal mine, he told me the same thing many times. I’ve got to go give it a try. I’ve got enough money stuck back to last until I can find work, that’ll keep me going until the last man in Nashville tells me I ain’t no good.”
“Beau, I done heard you blow that thang, so many times. You make me wish I was still a boy, back home with my own Mammy. Damn it all boy, you can make that thang cry like a baby and sing like an angel. You and that Ol’ harmonica can touch a man’s heart and rattle his soul. You’ll make it down there, I just know you will,” he told me as he stuck his head out the truck window, then waved as he headed off the parking lot.
I’ve got one last meal ticket left from my job. Mr. Hardeker gave me one meal ticket a day, and paid me good while I was here. I fished the ticket out of my grimy old, faded out jeans and headed inside to wash up. I put my Army Surplus bag behind the service counter, and the clerk smiled at me and waved, as she waits on a customer.
“Beau, y’all headin’ out soon, I reckon?”
“Yes’sum, I reckon it’s about time for me to put up or shut up. I’ve got to go try or I’ll never rest another day.”
“Good luck to y’all Beau. I know y’all gonna make it big down there. Y’all can blow that thing so sad, it just makes my eyes water,” she said and turned back to wait on another trucker.
I went to the restroom and washed my hands and arms. I’ll take a shower before I leave, but right now, I need a good meal before I hit the road.
I came out of the men’s room and had just turned the corner going to the restaurant when I was knocked backwards, flat on my butt.
“Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going?” The young girl screamed at me so loud, everyone close by, turned to look at me sitting flat on my butt.
“Scuse me Miss, I guess you’re in some kind of hurry. You just go right ahead though, I’ll be alright when my butt stops hurtin.”
Wonder what in the hell she’s so upset about? I was thinking, as I grabbed a plate and started filling it to running over, from the buffet.
... I’ll say one thing for the cooks here at the Winchester 96 Truck Stop, they sure know how to cook up a mess of country food. I’m going to miss this part of working here in Kentucky.
... It’s been a week ago today, right here in this dining room that I’d met Mr. Charles Belancamp, the man from the recording studio down in Nashville.
I never would have met him though, if it wasn’t for Old Joe and Ruby, the young waitress who’s sweet on Old Joe.
Joe and I were sitting at a table near the back side of the dining room that day, eating some peach cobbler, after we’d just about singlehandly wiped out the buffet food bar. Ruby came running back to see Joe, waving a piece of paper. She said there was a famous music-man up front signing autographs and she got one.
“Who is this music-man Ruby?” Joe asked.
“Why, he’s Mr. Charles Belancamp from down in Nashville, Tennessee, and New Orleans, Louisiana, that’s who he is. Don’t you ever listen to some Blues?”
“I listen to Beau Billy, blowin’ some mean-ass Blues through his old harpoon. I reckon that’s about as bluesy as a man can get, way up here in Kentucky.”
Joe smiled at her, as he kicked my boot under the table.
“Beau, y’all ought to go up there and play for that man. He said he was going over’n the coal mining town of Harlan, to meet with a young girl who won that state fair talent contest last fall,” Ruby told me.
“I’d hate to rush upon a man like him all at once, Ruby. Do you think he’ll even look at me, let alone listen to me play?”
I wanted to hear her say that again, knowing full well I was never going to get a chance to audition for a music-man, at a truck stop in Kentucky.
“He’ll listen to you Beau, or he’ll leave here a cripple,” Old Joe told me, as he pushed back, and strode toward the front, like he was stomping out a fire.
“Ruby, you might oughta go head him off. Old Joe will take that man apart if he smarts-off to him,” I told her as she stood wringing her hands on her apron, watching Ol’ Joe walk away.
“You’re right Beau. But, you come with me. Joe will listen to you, he thinks I’m just a young girl who loves giving him a hot piece of ass now and then,” she said as she grabbed my hand.
I’ve never heard Ruby say anything like that, and I had to look down at her ass as she hurried along in front of me. She does have a nice one, not that I’ve ever seen it for real, or had any thoughts of gettin any.
I saw Old Joe talking to a well man dressed in a dark suit and I knew right away Joe has the man cornered. Joe Decker is a big man, black as the Ace of Spades, and stout as a Bull OX. People always notice Joe, no matter where he goes.
This music man was noticing Joe real good too. Joe picked him up and sat him on the counter. He was giving that man what for, and the man was still smiling.
Joe told me, “Beau Billy, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Mr. Charles Belancamp.
“Mr. Belancamp, I want you to meet another good friend of mine, Beau William Carter. And I want you to listen to him blow some sad blues out of his old harpoon. I’m telling you, he’s a good’un,” Joe said as he grinned at me, then Mr. Belancamp.
“Beau, I’d love to hear you play. Joe tells me you work with him. He and I met back a few years back, when he came out to put a new tire on my tour bus. If Joe says you’re good, you’ve got to be pretty damned good.”
“Joe can be a little bit forceful at times, Mr. Belancamp.”
I stuck my hand out to shake with him. We were still shaking when he told me, “Come out to my bus and let me hear you through the amps. Joe’s already told me three times, that you play a mean blues harmonica.”
I almost asked him what he said. I wanted to hear him say that again.
“Well, I’ve been blowing it since I was nine. When Momma was alive, she said I was good. That was good enough for me at the time, I reckon.”
I couldn’t help but stand here, grinning at him.
Joe marched Mr. Belancamp and me right out to where the man’s bus is parked, on the parking lot beside all the big-trucks. This is some fancy rig he’s got. I bet he makes a lot of money to own something like this.
His driver opened the door when we came to the side, and Mr. Belancamp motioned for me to go in first, like I was royalty, then Joe was next, and he followed us.
“Step on back to the rear of the bus and we’ll get a mic set up so you can play that harp. There’s nothing as melancholy as blues played through a harmonica.”
“You just wait Mr. Belancamp, Beau Billy can blow some mean-ass blues through his Ol’ harpoon,” Ol’ Joe said.
He just won’t let up, but I had to grin.
“Is that what you go by, when you play? Beau Billy? I like that, step over here Beau Billy and play for me.” He was still smiling when he had the mic and the amps set up like he wanted them.
“I’ve never played in a band before. Uh, My name’s Beau William Carter. Joe made up that name, and now everyone around here calls me Beau Billy, all the time.”
I’ve only played my harmonica through a mic once before. A friend over near home had an electric guitar with a big amp and a microphone that he’d got out of a pawnshop. He let me blow some blues on it once, and even he told me I was damn good.
“What can you play for me Beau Billy?” he asked.
“I can play Dixie pretty good.”
Joe cut in again, “Pretty good, hell! Mr. Belancamp, this boy can make your eyes water when he plays Dixie.”
I had to smile at my friend, he just don’t give up for nothing.
“Play me some Dixie Blues, Beau Billy. I’m going to record this, is that alright?”
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