A Pitch in Munich


At the beginning of the day there was me on flute, Mac on fiddle, Jerrykins on lead guitar, and Big Junk rocking out with his foghorn voice, rhythm guitar and drum on his back.

It's really important to get to the pitch in Munich at the right time in the morning to reserve your spot, ya snooze - ya lose. So after the first pitch or so, Jerrykins and Big Junk decided either me or Mac had to stop cluttering the arrangement. Since Mac was no good as a bottler, and couldn't speak German, it was me that got the axe.

So I took my flute and (only) pretended that I was going to throw it away, but the end piece went flying clear across the square and landed right on somebody's table! Lucky that it didn't land on somebody's head.

We ran over there right away and started apologizing, and Big Junk almost split a gut laughing. At first I didn't think it was funny at all because I was afraid that I might have ruined the flute for good. But there was no real damage to speak of and the people at the table were cool, so what the hell.

Big Junk was what you might have called a super-busker. His voice was so powerful he could be heard clear down the street, and he could blow anybody off. His voice and style was kind of like Bob Seeger or Joe Cocker, and man could he rock!

Since I wasn't playing anymore, I was designated bottler and gofer. From Junk I learned a new bottling technique: Bottle the edge from behind. You see, if you bottle them from in front it's like a fire hose on dead leaves - if you start at one side of the crowd, everybody will disappear before you get to the other side. Bottling from the back means that everybody is watching the show and you catch them before they have a chance to get away.

The other thing is to "know" your crowd. You watch the people and sort of keep track of how long they've been standing there watching, then when they've hung around long enough Bang! you go and get 'em. The ones that used to burn me up were these guys taking videos. They spend all this money on their equipment, take lots of footage of the street musicians for their entertainment and then try to walk off before coughing up. Jeez!

They had just finished playing and the crowd of two hundred-odd people was beginning to break up. There sitting on the ground was this cute young French girl (that's the one advantage to bottling - you get first shot at the ladies). She was dying for one of us to pick her up. Big Junk wasn't what you'd call a smooth mover, and those other chumps couldn't speak any French, so yours truly came to the rescue.

Her name was Isabelle and she was there studying German and living with some family. She stuck around for a couple of more pitches, and when I wasn't making the rounds I was chatting to her. I knew she really wanted me, but since we were all crashing in Junk's van and she was at these people's place, there was no chance.

Later at this Chinese restaurant (where it seemed like we ate breakfast, lunch and dinner every day) those guys were all giving me a hard time saying "You'll never get that chick" and "She's just a cock teaser", etc. I didn't know whether I would or not, but I was sure going to give it a try.

Then Big Junk said we ought to go to this place near the "Dead Head Sea" or something like that, so I invited this girl to come along with us. I knew that if I didn't get her out of Munich, then I would really never get into her.

We got to this bar, and it was fantastic. The woman who ran the place remembered Junk, and we all had a free drink in front of us even before playing. The place was throbbing, the customers loved the music and the coins were flying in. The only thing was that there were so many people there, there was no place to cool out once they'd finished playing. So me and Isabelle stuck around for one more free bevvy, and then headed off to a little hotel around the corner.

Everything went hunky-dory in the hotel at first, but then she gave me that "I just want to talk" routine. Well, it wasn't the first time some girlie had tried to blow that smokescreen my direction, besides we had to get into bed sooner or later. Once we did get in the sack and she had most of her clothes off, I could see just how foxy she really was, oooo mama! We were kissing and cuddling, and she let me do everything except take her panties off. I would finger her clitty till she was about to explode, and then try to get her knickers off, but still no go. And then I tried it again, but I still couldn't slip her undies off. Well, after playing that game three or four times, I climbed on top of her and "when she wasn't looking" I moved her panties to one side and slid my hard-on straight up her sopping wet slit.

To my surprise, she gave me the biggest and most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I guess that's what she wanted all along - to be fucked with her panties on. You figure it out!

Then we got it on and yes, yes, yes, it was VERY nice. After a few minutes of that she finally decided to take them off, and we were off and running. The second time we screwed that night, she had no objections whatsoever.

We had another quickie in the morning before we had to meet up with the rest of the guys. Then we drove her to the train station so that she could catch the next train back to Munich. We got to the station about five minutes before the train was about to leave. We gave the nazi bastard who sold the tickets some rolls of coins to pay for her ticket and he insisted on counting every single one as slowly as possible. He wasn't going to give her the ticket until he had counted the last coin, and he was purposely being an asshole so that she would miss her train.

When I caught on to this, I started to get pissed off, so I reached through the window and scattered a roll-full of coins all over his office, handed him some bills, and screamed at him in German "There's a tip for you motherfucker, now give her the goddam ticket!"

She had to run to catch the train, and I had to stand at the ticket window waiting for this moron to give me back the correct change, so I didn't even get a chance to kiss her goodbye.

She wrote me a few times a year for about five years after that. The last I heard, she was getting married to some guy from Czecoslovakia.


copyright 2005 Jeff Brent

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