The Jesus Freak

San Diego, CA

Summer 1973

Goddammit!

Randy hated going to Uncle Chris' fucking holy-roller church. Every damn week he lost three hours of his fucking life that he would never get back.

Goddammit!

"My house, my rules. You stay with us, you go to church," Chris would say if Randy protested.

Randy wondered if he had finally reached his breaking point. After all, he had recently turned nineteen and had enough money saved to live on his own so what was keeping him from moving out? 'Too much of a chicken shit, that's why,' he thought. Randy knew it wouldn't be too much longer before either he or his Uncle Chris would eventually get sick of it all and Randy would be out for good.

As the family entered the church's main hall and saw so many people there, Randy realized something was up.

"What's going on?" he asked his younger cousin, Danny.

"It's revival, stupid. Remember? We have church every night this week," Danny said.

Like hell they did! Randy wasn't going to church every night, he had too many things going on. For one, his band had practice and, for him, that was the holiest thing in his life.

As the family settled into a pew in the middle of the hall, Randy noticed the church stage was rearranged. The giant pinewood podium and church organ had been pushed to the back wall and the stage was filled with musical instruments...a five piece Ludwig drum set, a Yamaha keyboard, a couple of acoustic guitars, a Fender bass and, Randy gave a closer look at the lead guitar, a white 1965 Stratocaster. Six microphones, with brightly colored covers, were positioned around the stage and were flanked by two large Marshall Speakers.

Oh, god. Randy had a sinking feeling they were about to be 'ministered' to by Jesus freaks and their shitty Jesus music.

Once the congregation had settled, the church Pastor took the stage and announced the beginning of the revival for the week. He extended his hand to a group of six people dressed in identical powder blue suits and introduced them as The Persuaders.

They were some type of family band. The smiling father took the microphone and introduced his wife, on the keyboard, his eldest daughter, on bass, her husband and his son-in-law, on lead guitar and his twelve year old son, on the drums.

And then there was, holy shit, his youngest daughter, Amy, as lead vocalist. The father proudly announced Amy had just completed high school and was going to attend Oral Roberts University in the fall. She looked familiar. Why was that? He chuckled. Damn, she looked like Michelle Phillips. Seriously! She had that same long, straight, dishwater blonde hair and girl-next-door good looks.

The group launched into their first song. As expected, it was some type of Jesus freak music. Their musical style was basically the same as the Carpenters with some folk and blues thrown in. Danny leaned over to Randy.

"They're better than your band," he said.

Hardly. The Persuaders were playing pretty elementary stuff, simple chords and rhythms, but good enough to please a church crowd. Amy, however, was different!

Clearly the family band's star, the girl had some pipes! She swayed to the music, pulled on the microphone cord, and sang her soul into the yellow microphone cover. Shit, she had quite the range. One, two...three octaves! Impressive. The rest of the band was definitely riding her talent but what type of shit was she singing?

'I've got confidence, God's gonna see me throuuuugh.

No matter, what the case may be.

I know, he's gonna fix it for me.

I've got confidence, he's gonna fix it for meeeeeee.'

Randy shook his head. A girl that good looking, and with that much talent, should not be on the stage of some church singing Jesus songs. He was deeply impressed with Amy as he applauded, along with everyone else, once the song was over. He couldn't think of any other girl with that much singing skill and he had seen a lot.

When he wasn't admiring her vocal talent, he tried his best to check out her bod, but he was at least a dozen rows back and the blue suit she wore didn't flatter her any. Once, she bent over and picked up a tambourine out of a guitar case and her polyester pants stretched around a tight ass. Nice! He wished she would bend over and pick something else up but she never did.

He thought about the last time he had seen a girl's bare ass. It had been about four months ago, just before he broke up with his ex, Brook Anderson. He had fucked her doggie-style in the back of his band's Chevy van after one of their gigs at Charlie's Bar.

The thought made him start to get a hard-on and he twisted in the church pew as he wondered how experienced Amy was. She was hot and certainly would have had boyfriends over the years but, being a church girl, he imagined she was pretty tame. In the heat of the moment, she may have let a boyfriend touch her titties but then she probably repented to Jesus about it afterward and didn't let him touch them ever again. Poor bastard.

After a few more songs, a half hour sermon from the Pastor and the obligatory altar call, the congregation was released. Randy waited in the parking lot, next to the family car, wanting to light up a Winston but one of Uncle Chris' rules was, 'no smoking on church grounds'. He watched the crowd build outside of the church doors and slowly disperse.

Damn, he wished Chris and the family would hurry the fuck up. It was so damn hot, he swore he could smell the asphalt melting under his boots. It was times like these Randy wished he was allowed to take his Chevelle to church so he could leave but Chris insisted they all be together on Sunday mornings.

A group of admirers milled around The Persuaders as Randy tried to get another look at Amy but, with the crowd, he only caught glimpses of her. He resigned to himself that she would be one of those hot girls that came into, and left, his life without ever having the opportunity to know her. Their presence certainly was always appreciated and, at the least, it would give him something to beat off to before he went to bed. Aunt Sally came up to the car, digging in her purse. Danny was close behind but Uncle Chris was nowhere in sight.

"Let's go," Aunt Sally commanded.

Randy gave her a questioning look.

"We're having The Persuaders over for dinner," Danny announced.

Randy raised an eyebrow and thought to himself, Really now? Hmmm.

"Uncle Chris is going to ride with them," Aunt Sally said. "We're going to go and get everything ready. Come on now, they'll be over in an hour."

******

When they got home, the only thing Randy wanted was a cigarette but Aunt Sally insisted he help set the table while she started cooking.

"Aunt Sally, I'm not going to church every night this week," he said as he and Danny put in the table extension.

"Really? Not even to see Amy?" she said with a smile.

Danny snickered.

"I saw the way you were looking at her," Aunt Sally said.

Shit! Was it that obvious?

"I'm not going, Aunt Sally. I have things I need to do, one being band practice," Randy said.

"You can talk to your Uncle Chris about it."

If his Uncle Chris tried to make him go to church every night, that was it, Randy was out. Once the table was set, Randy went into the back yard, packed his Winstons, lit one up, closed his eyes and let the nicotine sooth him.

Uncle Chris and his family had been kind enough to take Randy in after his mother died of cancer in a few years back. It was his Aunt Sally he was related to by blood but it was Uncle Chris who ruled the roost, made, and enforced the rules.

Randy began to think Uncle Chris probably wouldn't make him go. After all, for the most part, Uncle Chris gave Randy his space. The main rules were Randy had to attend church once a week, graduate high school (he did, barely), have a job and pay forty dollars a month for rent. He was permitted to smoke as long as he did it out back.

What he did in his room was his business but any rock music had to be listened to with headphones and he had to keep his albums in his room because Danny wasn't allowed to listen to any of it. If alcohol or drugs were ever found, Uncle Chris promised Randy he'd put him in the street, immediately!! Pornography was strictly prohibited, too but Randy secretly kept his girly mags in a bag in the back of his closet.

Aunt Sally opened the sliding glass door.

"Randy, they're here."

The dining room was jammed with people. The Persuaders, still in their powder blue church suits, were taking up places around the table which was topped with steaming pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Amy sat across from Randy.

Since he was closer to her, he could see some of her imperfections, which made her less intimidating. Her front teeth were big, he figured her tits were small B-cups, if she was lucky, and she had a pimple on the side of her nose that she had attempted to cover with makeup. Still, she was one good looking girl and certainly completely fuckable.

He was a little irritated that she wasn't paying much attention to him, hell, she didn't even look in his direction. He wondered if she was stuck up. Most likely, she thought she understood his type and her holy-roller values didn't approve.

"Randy's a good guitar player, himself, and he has his own band," Uncle Chris told The Persuaders.

That got Amy's attention and, for the first time, she looked directly at him.

"What kind of music do you play?" the brother-in-law of the band asked.

Randy remembered he was the band's lead guitarist.

"Rock music," Randy said, knowing not to elaborate. He had better things to do than argue with Jesus freaks about what was considered appropriate music and what was not.

"I'd like to hear some of it some time," Amy said.

Well, well, well! Randy thumbed towards his room.

"How about now?"

She nodded.

"C'mon."

Uncle Chris took him by the arm as Randy walked by.

"Remember the rules, Randy."

Yes, he knew. Whatever. Girls could go into his room but the door had to stay open. Not that it mattered to him because if he ever got lucky enough to get a willing chick into his room, he'd fuck her with the door wide open, closed, in front of his family, her family, God, or Jesus.

"You're a really good singer," he told her as they made their way down the hall.

She pushed back her hair and gave a guarded smile.

"Thanks."

She stopped at the door of his room and stared at his walls that were covered with posters of Frank Zappa, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple. An acoustic guitar was near his bed and in the corner, next to four milk crates packed with albums, was his pride and joy, a Gibson Les Paul electric guitar with a honey burst finish.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look like Michelle Phillips?" he asked.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"You're a good looking girl."

"Thanks."

Randy wished she would take off that ugly jacket so he could check her out a little more, or at least bend over one more time for him. Instead she just stood at the door and stared at the walls as if the band members, portrayed on the posters, might come out and grab her. Finally, she made her way inside.

"You ever listen to them, the Mamas and the Papas?" he asked, sitting on the bed and picking up the acoustic.

"Some. I'm really not supposed to listen to that kind of music."

Randy wasn't surprised by her response. It was unfortunate because she'd increase her skill and knowledge if she studied outside of the Jesus music scene.

"What bands do you like?" he asked.

She shrugged again as she checked out his stereo system.

"Andrae Crouch. Larry Norman. Agape."

She looked back at his posters, as if expecting one of the bands she mentioned to emerge. Randy hadn't heard of any of them. Jesus bands he figured.

She walked over and fingered through his albums as he tuned the guitar. Her hand recoiled, as if she had touched something hot, when she came to his Black Sabbath album.

Randy knew that if he wanted to make a connection with her, his best bet was music but she was used to listening to the likes of Pat Boone so he'd have to dial it way back. She'd probably enjoy something his Aunt and Uncle liked. That left him with slim pickings. Wait a minute.

"Like Elvis?" he asked.

"Who doesn't?"

He struck the strings with three hard chords followed by two smacks on the guitar, the opening rift for 'Jailhouse Rock.'

'The warden threw a party in the county jail

The prison band was there and they began to wail'

She smiled as he finished the first verse then joined him for the chorus.

'Everybody in the whole cell block

Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!'

Thank God for Elvis. The king of Rock-n-Roll could make any woman hot, no matter the age or religion. Funny, about fifteen years ago, the same holy-roller community thought Elvis was the devil incarnate. Somewhere down the line he had become acceptable. Who knew, maybe in another fifteen years, young holy-roller girls would be singing Zeppelin. He made direct eye contact as he launched into the third verse.

'Number forty-seven said to number three

You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see

I sure would be delighted with your company

Come on and do the Jailhouse Rock with me! '

Her guard was coming down. She clapped her hands and swayed to the music as he strummed and slapped the guitar in time. She was so damn fuckable and, wow, he just couldn't get over her singing talent. She was using her head voice, which she hadn't used during the church service. In his opinion, that was where she really shined. Her falsetto was clean and full, absolutely beautiful. When the song was over she gave him a big grin.

"That was cool!"

Now that he had her attention, it was time to impress. Her eyes went wide as he launched into the William Tell Overture, flew through a pentatonic scale lick and ended with a hard bend from A to B flat.

"Oh my goodness! You're good! How did you learn to play like that?" she said.

"My mother was a classical music teacher. She taught me everything I know."

"Why doesn't she teach anymore?"

Randy adjusted one of the tuning pegs for his fifth string.

"She passed away a few years ago."

Amy blushed, her face a mask of horror at her inadvertence faux pas.

"Oh my goodness. I am so sorry!"

"Don't be. How about you? Where did you learn to sing?"

"My vocal teacher was a voice coach for Aretha Franklin."

"No shit?!"

It was Randy's turn to feel awkward while cursing in front of a hot church girl. He had probably turned her off. Dammit.

She pointed at his guitar and smiled.

"Let's do another."

Glad she hadn't been offended by his swearing, he began thinking about what to play next. The Beatles? Nah. Church goers hadn't been on good terms with John Lennon since he compared the band to Jesus. Best to stick with Elvis.

'Well, since my baby left me

Well, I found a new place to dwell

Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street

At Heartbreak Hotel'

"All right!" she laughed.

She sang along, really getting into it and he let her take over on vocals. Her lower range was not as strong as her middle but it had a nice husky texture to it. Good god it was sexy!

"Sing it, girl!" he called out to encourage her.

She was closer to him and he could smell that soft scent that all girls seemed to have. When he launched into the guitar solo, she grabbed his hairbrush off of the dresser and sneered into it like Elvis.

"Hey, 'cilla, go and make me a 'nanner sandwhich," she said, curling her lip.

They both laughed. By the time the song was over, they were both goofing around and laughing. Randy was wanting to wrap his hands in her long blonde hair and get a taste of those lips. The way things were going, it might be a possibility. She tapped him, playfully, on the shoulder with the hair brush.

"You're fun. Do you know the song-"

"Hey, you're pretty good. Mind if I join you?"

They both turned to see Amy's brother-in-law standing at the door. 'Aw man, you got to be kidding me!' Randy felt the sexual energy that had been building, sucked right out of the room.

Her brother-in-law came in and admired Randy's Les Paul. They plugged it into the practice amp and Randy watched him play mostly blues riffs. Randy didn't recognize any of the melodies, Jesus music he guessed. In truth, her brother-in-law was pretty good but, because he had interrupted Randy's chance of making out with Amy, Randy decided he must be destroyed.

Randy took back his Les Paul, rested it on his knee and threw down some Page and Leslie West. Her brother-in-law nodded, impressed. So was Amy but Randy was just getting warmed up. He ran his fingers down the neck, broke into a dive bomb, and then launched into Deep Purple's 'Flight of the Rat' performed by his favorite guitarist, Ritchie Blackmore. Amy's jaw dropped.

"Oh, wow!"

Her brother-in-law went bug eyed.

"The Lord has given you a tremendous gift."

Yeah, Randy thought. A gift that was earned after thousands of hours of practice.

"You know, you could do so much with that," her brother-in-law said.

And there it was, preaching the Jesus message to convert him.

It ain't gonna work pal, Randy thought. You have as much of a chance helping me find Jesus as I have the chance of finding my way into your sister-in-law's pants.

He monopolized Randy's time during the rest of their stay. Randy wondered if it was to keep him from hitting on Amy. Ass wipe. Soon it was time for them to go.

"Are you coming to the service tonight?" Amy asked Randy as she and her family stepped out onto the drive way.

"No, I wasn't planning on it."

She frowned.

"Tomorrow?"

"Church isn't really my thing," he said.

She frowned again.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that."

He was surprised to feel her pain. For a moment, he found himself tempted to go to church just to make her happy. More, he found he wanted to see her again. What was up with that? Did he like torturing himself with shitty Jesus music and being teased by a girl he'd never have a chance of even getting to second base with?

"We'd really like to see you there, Randy," her brother-in-law chimed in.

Yeah right, Randy thought. Fuck off, asshole.

Amy opened the car door to their turd-colored station wagon.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," she said.

"Yeah, you too!"

He spent the rest of the day, and evening, trying to pretend he had never seen her. He tried focusing on his guitar. Lately, he had been tinkering around with some ideas that would define his own playing style. He was becoming more and more interested in his classical upbringing and had been trying to combine it with rock but had been stuck in a rut, for the last few months, trying to compose a ballad.

But he couldn't get Amy out of his mind. Frustrated, he put down his guitar, slid off his pants, grabbed his already stiff cock and jacked off to the image of her between his legs while he played guitar over her bobbing head. He came in seconds.

As he lay there, his cock going limp in his hand, he realized he was still horny so he tried jacking off again but couldn't cum...he was so irritated, he didn't bother to clean up his mess. He finally fell asleep, having fitful dreams of blonde girls and Elvis.

******

Monday was filled giving guitar lessons. It was something Randy's mother had gotten him into years ago. He never would have thought teaching would add so much to his understanding of the guitar. More, with nearly forty students throughout the week, giving thirty minute lessons at five dollars a pop, he had a respectable income. Over the last few years it had allowed him to buy his guitars, most of his albums and his Chevelle.

He found himself thinking about Amy throughout the day. He kept remembering her singing into his hair brush. She was so goddamned talented, cute as hell and, goddammit, he wanted to pull down those ugly polyester pants and start licking. The thought of going to church to see her again crossed his mind, several times, but he reminded himself that was just stupid.