Me and Bobbie McGee
Copyright© 2025 by JRyter
Chapter 2
Young Adult Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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
“Are you the boy they call Beau Billy. The harmonica player?”
“Yeah, that’s me. How’n the heck did you know that?”
“Hell Kid, all the truckers at Winchester 96 Truck Stop are talking about a kid called Beau Billy, who blows a mean-ass blues harp. Hot Damn, and I got you right here in my truck. You headed down to make it big in Nashville, I reckon?”
“Well, I’ve met with Mr. Belancamp and he gave me some money and told me to look him up down there, in a week or so. I hope I can make some money playing my old harmonica.”
The girl was sitting with me in the passenger seat. Her skinny butt is hiked over to the middle and mine’s hiked over next to the door so we’ll have enough room. She’s wearing a dirty white tee shirt and some jeans that are even more faded, worn, and ragged than mine. She don’t look like she’ll weigh much over a hundred pounds. Her hair is long, dirty and stringy. She is kinda cute in the face though.
“What about you, Miss Eighteen Year old, Not a Kid Anymore? You got a name or not?”
Damn if she didn’t laugh at him when he said that. The first smile I’ve seen on her face.
“I’m Bobbie Sue McGee. I’m headed to Nashville to meet Mr. Belancamp too...
“My Pa was supposed to take me, but that fuckin woman of his’n was bitchin’ cause I told her she couldn’t be my agent, if I ever did make some money down there. I left home and hitched a ride over here to Winchester. They caught up to me somehow and wanted to talk. That fat bitch wanted to be a part of my music makin and I told her to go fuck herself. That’s when she reached across the table, and slapped my face, knocking my ass right out of that seat onto the fuckin floor.
“You know the rest, and I want thank you both for what you did.”
“Well, I’ll be damned! We got a girl in here named Bobbie McGee, and Beau Billy the harmonica player. I think we need to have a concert right here, headed across Kentucky on I-64. What do y’all think?”
He looked over at me with a big grin.
“I’ll sure play some for you, but I don’t know how we’re gonna have a concert in this big-truck.”
“You let me figure that out.
“Bobbie McGee, are you gonna sing, if Beau Billy plays the Blues?”
Damned if she didn’t smile again. Then she grinned at me as I pulled my old red bandanna out of my pocket with my harmonica wrapped in it.
“If you can play that thing, I’ll sing.”
“Wait just a minute, I need to get this set up first, just hold the music,” the driver said, as he reached for his CB mic that was hanging from a small bungee cord.
“Listen up all you Gear Jammers, Road Runners, and Good Buddies out there. If you want to hear a good concert live on the CB while we’re ridin’ around, just stop all the chatter and give me a clear channel, over on number 30. I happen to have Beau Billy and Bobbie McGee in here with me and they’re gonna play for us.”
There wasn’t even a peep from the CB when he took his hand off...
Then, someone finally said “Geddit-onnnn-driiiiver! Lets hear what you’ve got.”
Then again there was silence.
“Here Bobbie McGee, you key this mic, and hold it about two inches from your mouth.
“Beau, you lean in real close to her face and blow hell out of that harpoon. I want to hear, Me and Bobby McGee, and it better be good or you’ll never make it in Nashville.”
Bobbie looked at me as she reached up to pull the mic down. She put her right arm around my neck and pulled me down close to her face. She keyed the mic and glanced at me.
“Play it Beau Billy!”
I grinned big, just before I cut down on Me and Bobby McGee.
I did a good lead in and bumped her with my left shoulder. Damn, if she didn’t lean real close to my face and pick up my cue.
When she started singing, I turned my head to glance at her, still blowing the blues through my harp.
Damn, what a voice!
‘Me And Bobbie McGee’ ©Kris Kristofferson - 1969
Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train Feeling nearly faded as my jeans Bobby 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 Bobby sang the blues Windshield wipers slapping time Holding Bobby’s hand in mine We sang up every song that driver knew
Bobbie let the mic go back up toward the ceiling of the cab and smiled at me, then looked at the driver.
The CB blasted into nothing but static, as every trucker on the road tried to talk at once.
“You want more?” our driver asked into the mic.
“Hell Yeah,” was all that came back.
“Play it Beau Billy...
“Bobbie, they want you, Girl. Give’em Bobbie McGee like they’ve never heard it before.”
I started playing again and Bobbie came in right on cue. I don’t know where she’s sung before, but she’s sure right on key with my harmonica, like she’s done this more than once.
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 Bobby sang the blues Feeling good was good enough for me Good enough for me and Bobby McGee
From the coal mines of Kentucky to the California sun Bobby shared the secrets of my soul Standing right beside me Lord in everything I’ve done Bobby’s body kept me from the cold Somewhere near Salinas, Lord I let him slip away Looking for that home I hope he’ll find I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday Holding Bobby’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 Bobby sang the blues Feeling good was good enough for me Good enough for me and Bobby McGee La la la la la lala, la la lala Lala la la la, Me and Bobby McGee Lala la la la lala la, la la lala la la Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Me and Bobby McGee.
She stopped singing and held the mic up next to my harmonica. I blew into that old harmonica as if my very last breath was coming out.
Bobbie pulled me close with her right arm, touching the mic to my harmonica, as I trailed it off, into silence.
I don’t know where this girl gets that deep voice to sing, but when she finished, she sounds just like Janis Joplin’s recording of Kris Kristofferson’s song. I actually got goose bumps as I sat next to her and listened to her sing.
The driver told her.
“You’re good Bobbie!
“Beau Billy, you can play anywhere in the world. The two of you have this whole country waiting for you out there...
“I’m not in the music business, but I’ve listened to that song being sung by everyone from Kris Kristofferson, to Janis, to Pink, to Roger Miller, Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis. None of them have ever nailed a song like you just nailed that one, Bobbie McGee.”
“You ARE good Bobbie. Can you sing any song that good, or just one or two?” I asked.
“I sing the way I feel, and I could feel you playing that song kinda bluesy and I sang it that way, it felt good that way. I like singing with just your harmonica.”
The CB is blaring and static is so bad our driver turned the volume down.
“Play something else Beau Billy, we got to hear some more of Bobbie’s songs.”
“What’s your name driver? You never did tell us,” I said as I leaned past Bobbie and looked at him.
“They call me Hillbilly on the CB. My name’s James, but I go my Jim.”
“Well Jim, we appreciate you helping Bobbie, and thanks for letting us ride with you. What would you like to hear?”
“Do you know another one of Kristofferson’s songs ... For the Good Times?” he asked.
Bobbie smiled and I nodded. I had a feeling this girl knew just about every Country song that’s ever been played on the radio.
Just like me.
She grabbed the mic and pulled it down, with her right arm around my neck again, my face so close, her cheek is against mine.
I played this song just like I’d played it for Mr. Belancamp on his bus that day. I made my harmonica cry real tears, then when Bobbie started singing after I nudged her, she nearly made me cry with her voice.
I could hear Jim saying, damn, damn, damn! As he looked over at us.
I know for a fact now, Bobbie really is good.
I was playing low and slow, and she put her words right there on my music, as if she’d practiced all day with me playing for her.
Jim reached up to where his CB was recessed above the windshield and twisted a couple of knobs. The music came from the internal speakers and reverberated through the cab as we made music together.
When the song was over, Jim was smiling.
He grabbed the mic as soon as Bobbie released it, and almost yelled into it, “How was that for a free concert from two artists who we’ll all be listening to on the radio real soon?”
Of course, the noise was so bad, we couldn’t hear what was said, until one voice cut in over the others.
“You kids need to get some records cut, you’re way too good to be ridin’ ‘round with old Hillbilly.” We heard him say, just as an air horn blasted right beside us on the four-lane. We looked over and the driver was waving and shaking his mic at us as he passed.
The three of us waved as he roared past, his tall chrome pipes smoking up the road behind him.
“Play some more. I love the music you two make,” Jim said.
“You play some Beau, I want to hear you play that harmonica,” Bobbie said, her arm was still around my neck and she was so close I could feel her breath on my lips.
She needs to brush her teeth and I do too, if we’re going to do this very much!
I started playing Dixie and Jim grabbed the mic.
“Hold this for him Bobbie, we gotta get this’n out there.”
He keyed the mic, announcing over the radio that Dixie was coming up.
“Just get your asses ready for this’n, Boys! The South’s Sure as Hell Gonna Rise Again!”
Jim passed the mic to Bobbie and she held it right against my harmonica as I started again. I put all I had into it, making my blues harmonica talk a language all its own as I closed my eyes and breathed life into it. I played my long slow version of Dixie, like I’d played for Mr. Belancamp. I knew he liked it. I was hoping the others that hear it today will like it too.
They did. As soon as I ended it with a long slow whine that faded off into the distance, the CB was blaring again.
“MORE, MORE.”
I felt good and Bobbie was grinning.
“Give it to ‘em Beau, they like you,” she said, her lips almost touching mine as she spoke.