Me and Bobbie McGee
Copyright© 2025 by JRyter
Chapter 4
Young Adult Sex Story: Chapter 4 - 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
That was the last thing I remember until the first light came in through the east window. The only window we have in our room.
I was up and making breakfast when I heard Bobbie flush the commode. I didn’t even hear her get out of bed. She’s so skinny though, she doesn’t make a lot of noise when she walks.
I made enough biscuit dough for four biscuits, then made gravy. I put Bobbie two hot biscuits on a plate and got me a plate. I put the small bowl of gravy on the table, and by the time I got ready to eat, she was just about finished.
“You cook good biscuits and gravy, Beau. You need to show me how and I’ll cook sometimes.”
“Sure. Do you like those biscuits? I’ll make more tomorrow, if you do.”
“That was the best biscuits and gravy I’ve ever had. You really are a good cook.”
I looked up at her, across the table from me. I could see her small tits under her shirt, where it’s pressed against her.
She’s just little all over, I reckon.
“Then I’ll make one more apiece for us tomorrow...
“Bobbie, I’ve been thinking about us walking downtown to Music Row and looking the place over this morning. What do you think?”
“YES! I’d love to walk down there. Maybe we can get Millie to draw us another map, so we can find our way around.”
“Yeah, we’ll ask her if she will. I doubt we’ll get to see any famous musicians this morning, but maybe we’ll get a look at the places where they all hang out and kinda get used to finding our way around. Maybe we can even find one of those cafes where they let amateurs get up and sing. I’ve read about them in the papers and magazines, and I’d kinda like to see what it feels for us to play and sing on stage, in front of a lot of people, wouldn’t you?”
“YES! I would love to stand on a stage like I did at the State Fair back in Kentucky, and sing into that microphone again. I got goose bumps on my arms and neck, when folks started clapping hands, and waving at me, yelling and even hollering my name.”
“Well at least, you’ve done it before. I’ve only played in front of a few folks in the truck-stop, when Old Joe would tell me to get up on a chair and play. I felt good though, like you said. When I would get through playing a song, they’d be yelling out song titles for me to play even more. I loved that feeling, and I could’ve played all day.”
“You’re the best I’ve ever heard on that harmonica Beau, and I mean that. I used to listen to the radio and hear a man play his harmonica. I’d nearly cry at times, it was so sad and lonesome.”
“Yeah, I feel that way myself, sometimes when I’m playing. I get to thinking about my Ma and my Pa and all they went through in their lives. It makes me want to do good, and make something of myself. I know they’d be proud of me if I ever did get to play my harmonica on somebody’s record, and it happened to be played on the radio.”
“You said Mr. Belancamp told you that you’ll be playing for all the singers at his recording studio. I’m sure he was right. When they hear you play that thing, they’ll all ask him to get you to play on their records with them.”
“Thanks, I hope you’re right. It’s the only talent I have and I’ve got to give it my best. I know you’ll be singing on the radio one day and I hope if you ever make a record, you’ll let me play my harmonica as a backup for you. That would mean that we’ve both finally made it ... Wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, and we will too. I know everyone says it takes a long time to get on the radio. But like you told Jim, we’ve got time.”
“Lets get dressed and go see Millie. I’m getting excited, and I’m ready to go become famous, aren’t you?”
“YES! Uh, you dress first, then go see Millie. I need to use the bathroom and I don’t want you to hear me.”
She looked at me, and almost grinned.
“Look, we’re a team now. We make music together, we room together, and we sleep together. There’s bound to be times when we hear each other in the bathroom. But for now, I’ll go first. Then I’ll go see Millie, so you can make all the noise you want.”
She laughed, but her face is red.
I went down the stairs to the back porch, then all the way through a long hallway to the front porch. I knocked on the front door that we went in yesterday when we first got here, and Millie came to the door.
“Beau, what’re you doing out on the front porch? Did you lock yourself out?”
“No, this is the only way I know how to come see you, and we need another map, if you’ll draw us one.”
“Where’s Bobbie?”
“She’s getting dressed ... and taking care of some other stuff, before she comes down. I wanted to come see if you’ll draw us a map of downtown, where Music Row is. We want to walk down there and look it over this morning, to kinda get a feel for where we’re at.”
“Sure, come over here to the table and I’ll draw you a map. Did y’all find the Dollar Store alright?”
“We sure did and we got a lot of stuff, cheap too. Thanks Millie.”
“Good, now look. Here’s the way to get there the quickest, without going through a lot of streets with traffic on them.”
Millie was showing me where to go, and where not to go. She told me to always look for Broadway, if we get lost, then we can find our way back here, or on over to the Roundabout she called it. She said that’s like the center of town, where all the streets meet downtown, near Music Row.
“Be sure to go see Tootsies Orchid Lounge, that’s where all the old Country Music performers used to go, and some still do. There’s pictures and autographs of them, all over the place and you’ll feel like you’re a part of it, when you’n Bobbie go in there.”
Bobbie came to the front door like I did, and Millie let her in. She took time to show her all she’d told me about the map, and we were really excited.
“Beau, you’ve got that harmonica with you, don’t you?” Millie asked.
“I sure do. I carry it everywhere. Why?”
“Don’t be afraid to pull it out and play it, no matter where you are. You’ll see others doing the same thing with fiddles and guitar’s, but none of them’s got even one dang thang on you, and that old harmonica ... Play it and let the world hear you. They’ll take notice, just you wait and see.”
We left for Music Row, full of hope and expectations, yet both of us are scared and nervous.
“I’m shaking all over, Beau! Is it because we’re about to see what it’s all about, or you reckon it’s just me being scared in this big town?”
“I’m nervous too Bobbie. I’m nervous and excited at the same time, but I’m a little bit scared too. Scared that after all we’ve been through to get here and find a place to live, I’m not good enough.”
“You’re good enough, Beau! I’m the one who needs to be scared. I can only do one thing and that’s sing the songs that other girls write and sing. You can play any, and all the songs on that harmonica and make goose bumps all over folks’ arms. You’ll be playing in a recording studio real soon. That’s what you said Mr. Belancamp told you. I’ll have to sing good enough to have somebody want to send me a song that’s never been sung before. Either that or sing songs that are already out there.”
“You will too. There’ll be people sending you songs from everywhere. Have you ever thought about writing a song yourself? I have, but never really got serious enough to try.”
“I’ve made up some songs before and sung them. They sound kinda good to me, but I’ve never had any music to sing by.”
“We need to sit down one day so you can tell me the words. I’ll write them out and we’ll try to see what we can do about putting some music to them.”
“Really? You’ll do that for me?”
“Sure. You never know, you just might have a song or two, that will be top ten hits.”
“Beau you make it all sound so good. I hope just some of the things you say comes true.”
We were walking, pointing, and looking at our map, when we came to a small city park, where we heard music playing.
I looked at Bobbie and we both grinned.
We walked up behind the small crowd of people who were standing close, listening to a boy playing a guitar, and a girl playing a fiddle.
I thought they sound pretty good at first, and we moved around so we can see them, and hear better.
They played two more songs, and when they started playing the third, all the crowd walked off.
I heard the girl tell the boy that her fiddle is out of tune and it sounds terrible.
It really does.
“I told you to get Daddy to tune it for you last night. All the crowd’s done left now, except those two over there.”
He pointed to Bobbie and me.
Bobbie stepped right up to the girl and held out her hands.
“I know some about tuning fiddles. I can make it sound good, if you’ll let me play a song on it when I get through.”
“I don’t even know you! I can’t be letting just anyone mess with this fiddle. It belongs to our Daddy.”
“I won’t mess it up, you’ll see. Besides, it sure as heck don’t sound good the way it is.”
“What do you think Darrel?” she turned to the boy and asked.
“I don’t reckon we got anything to lose. We’ll have to go home if that fiddle ain’t tuned right.”
When the girl finally gave the fiddle to Bobbie, she reached out to take the bow. She swiped the bow across a string or two and started twisting the knobs. She swiped some more, and twisted some more. Then Bobbie put it up to her chin and started playing a little tune.
She stopped and made some more twists, then played some more. Then she picked a string or two with her finger and did some more tuning.
Finally, she put it up to her chin and started playing.
“Wow, that sounds great. Play a song with it and let me hear all of it,” the girl told her.
When I looked around, there were two men and two women standing on the sidewalk watching. Bobbie looked at me and told me to get my harmonica out and play with her.
“Come on Beau Billy, let’s show’em how you and I do it, here in Nashville, Tennessee.”
She started playing ‘City of New Orleans’
Man, I love playing this song on my harmonica. Still, I was wondering if Bobbie and I can even stay together.
It didn’t take long for us to get it together. She’s grinning at me, with her chin pressed on the fiddle, and her foot tapping as she plays like she’s done it all her life.
Bobbie has the fiddle singing the words and I had my harmonica driving that loud smoking engine down the tracks. She dropped the fiddle down to her waist and hollered...
“Blow it Beau Billy!”
I really let ‘er rip then. Like I said, I love this one as much as any song I’ve ever played on my harmonica. When she stopped, I put my Bluesy touch to the tune and looked up to see more and more people walking up. I looked at Bobbie and she’s grinning bigger all the time. I glanced at the boy and girl and they were smiling, and clapping hands.
By the time Bobbie put her fiddle up to play again, there was a whole lot more people crowded in close, listening and singing along with the music.
“Let her have the fiddle, and you sing it Bobbie,” I yelled above her fiddle.
Bobbie looked at me wide eyed, but she gave the fiddle to the girl, who picked right up where Bobbie left off. Her brother started playing his guitar and I was blowing the blues through my harmonica, right along with them.
When Bobbie came in, we were at the chorus and she sang like she’s in front of a microphone. Her voice is loud and twangy, like Willie Nelson’s version, and she was really belting it out.
I looked up at the crowd, and there were at least twenty people standing around, and more walking by, before turning to come back.
We played it all the way through the second time, then stopped.
“PLAY SOME MORE,” someone yelled and it sounds like all of them were shouting, “HELL YEAH.”
I leaned over and asked the boy if they know ‘Me and Bobbie McGee’
He grinned and nodded yes. He told his sister, and she nodded as she put the fiddle up to her chin.
The girl pointed to me and I led us into it with my harmonica. Then the girl came in with her fiddle, and her brother joined us with his guitar.
I pointed to Bobbie with my harmonica.
“Bobbie McGee, sing it girl,” I yelled and she started with the same Bluesy version we had played on our CB concert, in Jim’s truck.
I still don’t know how she does it, getting her voice to reach down deep, and grind out the words like she does.
It looks like the whole crowd is singing along and clapping hands in time with the words of the song.
A man walked up, and reached over to her with a cordless mic, then pointed to his amp on his shoulder strap.
Bobbie looked at me with her eyes wide, and I nodded for her to go ahead.
When we came back around this time, she’s really belting out the song, on that mic, and there must have been at least forty folks here in front of us by now.
As the song was ending, Bobbie pointed to me and held the mic up to my harmonica. I poured the Blues out of that old harpoon like never before in my life as I slowed that old train down.
“PLAY SOME MORE,” someone yelled again.