The trails of tears dripping down my face formed small, frozen streams of sadness. I strode through Central Park, pissed at the world in general. It was cold and the wind was whipping through the open grounds with a tunnel-like effect from the nearby tall buildings.

I turned around and yelled "Screw you, world!" at the top of my lungs, my heart beating fast, and then simply collapsed in a small heap on the ground, bawling like a baby instead of a young woman. I didn't notice the stretch limo coming to a stop near me, nor did I hear the voice of the man in the back calling out to me, apparently several times. It was only when I saw two legs standing in front of me did I look up.

He wasn't handsome in a classical way, but more like a rogue, with his long, tousled hair and impish smile. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a sport jacket, I wondered briefly why he was riding in a limousine.

"What's wrong, luv?" he asked with a prominent British accent.

I simply burst into more tears, then tried talking through them, to no avail. I sounded much like the idiot I'd know I'd become.

He crouched down and just sat there on his haunches, looking into my eyes, then reaching out gently with his thumbs, tried drying the fruits of my weeping.

"What do you want?" I asked.

He replied without hesitation.

"I want to touch the world in a way that it has never been touched before."

I was stunned. I sat up and looked at him.

"How?"

"Music, luv? Through my music."

And then he smiled. Oh, that devastating smile. If you've seen his smile, you know what I mean. It's that smile that reaches deep into your very soul and pulls a smile out of you and slaps it on your face, happy or not.

"And look," he said, "that's a start," referring to my smile. He slowly extended a hand, and I met him half-way. When he started rising, I rose with him.

"I'm not sure what's wrong, luv, but if you'd like to go for a ride and get out of this cold weather, you can come hear me and the boys sing."

As a 20 year old black woman, I wasn't accustomed to having young, skinny white British guys riding in limousines offering me rides.

"Who are you?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"My name is Michael," he said, leading me over to the half-block long vehicle, "but my friends call me Mick," he continued, opening the door, "and these blokes are Brian, Ian, Bill, Charlie and the guy sleeping is Keith."

We climbed into the roomy back area and I introduced myself.

"My name is Merry."

"Well luv," said Mick, "do you like music?"

Now it was my turn to smile.

"Yes, Michae--er, Mick, I do. I'm a singer." At that pronouncement, two of the guys laughed.

"What?" I asked, wondering if they were making fun of me. I didn't need that tonight of all nights. A good friend of mine had overdosed a week ago and I just heard via phone tonight.

"No offense, luv," said Mick, "it's just that we were having a discussion today and our producer said we needed a female vocalist for a new song, and here you pop up." Mick was smiling again, and while my tastes were soul and gospel, I thought these guys looked somewhat familiar.

"What's the name of your band, Mick?" I didn't know a lot of local bands here in New York, but thought perhaps I might have heard of them.

You would have thought Ed Sullivan slipped on a banana peel on live television. All of them broke out into laughter like I hadn't heard in a long, long time. Few of 'em had tears they were laughing so hard.

"Sorry, luv," coughed out Mick, "it's just that we thought we were a little more well-known here in the States."

Then it hit me.

"Mick...? As in Mick Jagger?"

His smile got a little broader and I'm not sure he could see me blush, but it was there.

Someone passed me a joint and someone else cranked up some Hendrix and for the next half-hour the driver worked his way through traffic and down into Greenwich Village. We piled out of the car and went inside what turned out to be a recording studio. Mick and the band were working on a new song and had booked some studio time.

The new song they were working on was entitled Gimme Shelter and it featured some haunting lyrics, sorta' apocalyptic end-of-the-world stuff. I enjoyed listening to the banter back and forth between the takes, and of course it was awesome listening to them record. But something was definitely missing.

Me.

I spoke up when they were taking a break.

"Mick, can I give it a shot?"

"Give what a shot, luv?"

"The song, Mick."

It's safe to say that there might have been a healthy dose of skepticism inside of him, being Mick Jagger and frontman for one of the most popular rock groups in existence, but he never showed it.

"Sure, luv," and with that, he went and spoke to the sound crew and got them ready. Then he led me into the studio, got me comfortable, and then left and sat with the rest of the band outside the room.

Soon the music started and I closed my eyes...listening, swaying a bit, and patiently waiting for my time.

There are defining moments in life when you either step up and seize them, or they pass by.

I killed it. I absolutely killed it dead. My voice was exactly what the song needed and they all recognized it about 10 seconds into the vocal riff. When I finished the door burst in and all of them came rushing in and were all smiles and hugging me and wow, what a natural high.

In fact, they were so high on my voice for this song that they started talking about re-recording the whole thing and including me throughout the song.

And so it happened. The rest, as they say, is history.

* * * * *

Apartments on the East Side have always been really expensive and out of my reach, but leave it to Mick and Company with their connections to have snagged one with an awesome view of Central Park. As the moon started settling in for the upcoming day, and the sun asking for space to once again breathe light and life into our world, I looked over my shoulder into the bedroom and saw him sprawled across the wrecked bed, a hint of innocence and youth betraying his bravado performance of just hours ago.

The cold chill of the wind coming down Park Avenue once again sent my satin covered nipples into a salute, though this time Mother Nature was the instigator and not the brash bloke whose random stop to help out a chick like me changed my life. I knew that this would be a once and done opportunity, that we simply came from two different worlds and never the twain shall meet, but it was just too cool to contemplate alone.

Walking back into the spacious retreat, I let the robe fall to the floor, aware of my nakedness and reveling in the moment. Mick Jagger. How many chicks would love to trade places with me this night, I thought as my knees hit the bed, the warm water beneath the silky sheets providing just enough movement, like the woodwinds in a soulful gospel song, an accompaniment without distraction.

His sleepy eyes opened, his body stiffened slightly, matching the stiffness that was enclosed inside my mouth, then looking down his torso at me, the eyes once again unfocused in primal lust.

"Oh, luv...that feels just marvelous," and he lay back against the bed as I blew him, not to be thankful, though I was, not because he was Mick Jagger, though he was, but because on this morning, I felt the earth move and was letting the sun shine in.

Seconds later his hands were in my hair, gently but firmly holding my head and then guiding my movements, much like a frontman guiding the band from one destination to the next. I could feel the gentle roll of his hips as he controlled each thrust, the shaft passing through my clenched lips and deeper into my mouth, then the retreat, slick and purposeful, measured so as not to leave emptiness. Repeat, repeat, repeat...with me as the instrument being finely played by this master of movement.

I could tell by the increase in pressure against my head by his fingers that he was getting closer. The slight escalation in hip motion confirmed the impending eruption. I swirled my tongue faster and moaned, urging him on, wanting this as the new dawn's light invaded the room.

Mick came with all the rush and power I expected, his seed filling my mouth as I struggled to stay connected during his forceful thrusts, not willing to part with even a drop of his essence. As his body's spasms ceased, I rolled the liquid around my mouth a bit, then swallowed, and burned this moment, this entire night, deep into my memory. The soulful meeting of our bodies earlier, the rhythmic slapping of his lower body against mine, the release deep inside of me; these were images that would last me a lifetime.

* * * * *

I saw Mick just once in person after that night. It was in October of 2009. He was involved in a special event, the 25th anniversary of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. So many stars were performing that night, it was magical. I managed to get a ticket and a good friend of mine, to remain unnamed, arranged for me to move to the front row during Mick's time on stage. Bono was on-stage calling out names, Will.I.Am, Fergie, others and then then started playing it. I got chills like never before. Gimme Shelter, a song that defined a generation, and then there was Mick, strutting out on stage like he owned it. The crowd went bonkers, as expected, and I realized that they had Fergie there to sing my part. I couldn't think of a better woman to do so. And she nailed it, just as I had done in that studio so many years earlier.

The best part of the evening? About two minutes into the song, while others were singing, Mick took a look around and then his eyes jerked back, laser focused on me. He smiled, blew me a kiss, and then went back to strutting and singing, showing off his Jagger moves.

It was plenty for me. I've been smiling ever since.

 

The good: A very good tale of a single night that changed a life. This will be high up on my short list.

The bad: The flow seemed a bit jerky at times with to much happening to fast. The story could have used another three or four thousand words.

The ugly: Mick Jagger? That is about as ugly as a man can get.

 

Have to agree with Broot... Mick is one god awful ugly man!

This is the kind of story that inspired my re-writing history theme. I love thinking about the what if's, and the maybe it happened like this scenarios.

Thank you for getting Merry right! Had you thrown in an incorrect name in place of Merry Clayton it would have ruined it for me. Great job! Another name added to my re-read list!

Questions: Why was she so upset at the beginning? Why was she so sure it was a one and done thing? Wish there was a little bit more story here.

Good luck!

 

This does seem like an entry for the previous CAW, unless we really have Merry or Mick writing for us.

I had to look this up, I wasn't familiar with this before.

I liked the story.

I agree it would be good to know what's happening at the beginning.

I'm also not convinced by Keith sleeping.

 

Mick Jagger is quite ugly as Brootforce stated, but I think many girls in Merry's situation would have a serious case of celebrity worship and would have blown the rocker anyway if her life had been changed for the better right after she had sunk to the lowest point she could sink to. I appreciate the brevity of the story and don't think adding several more thousand words would make it better, especially if this is mostly a memoir of an incident or similar incident that really did happen in the author's life. However, as Stex and UncleB71 pointed out, it would be nice - maybe even proper - to know why Merry was angry with the world in the beginning. But that info may have been way too personal to include here . Good work, Anonymous Writer.

 

Another great story.After reading it a question came to mind. I wonder if this was the women behind the Stones "Brown Sugar"?

 

Hmmm...which of our female authors wrote this tale of lust? I wondered where it was going until the end, the Hall of Fame concert, which tied it nicely together. The imagery was very nice and the flow to the story was smooth. Another one to be added to my short list for the vote. Good job!

 

How many of us brought this song up on YouTube to listen to the female voice of Merry Clayton? Physically not the most attractive man in the world (wayyyyyy to skinny for me), but a lot of women are suckers for a British accent and a roguish smile, and perhaps may have fantasized about those lips. Another great submission by someone I think I guessed. Really good entertainment and a wonderful entry.

 

I can attest to this.

 

This story was just the right length to be a very entertaining and believable glimpse into a moment in music history. I have to disagree with some of the comments about Mick Jagger. While he is definitely not attractive in the conventional sense, some men and women have a talent, confidence or a unique style that gives them sex appeal that can be far more interesting and compelling than conventional good looks. Besides he had the moves like Jagger.

 

100% with you on that, Sweetcreekcowgirl.

 

I'm beginning to think it's a girl thing. British and bad boy - could we ask for anything more?

 

Where to start with this? There's some excellent writing here, and it extrapolates well on the presence of Merry Clayton at the recording of this famous era-defining song. I wasn't bothered by the mystery of what had happened prior to the beginning of the story, it wasn't necessary to the story, the tale flowed well, a real period piece. Although at the start it could have been set in almost any year during the Stones' career, the presence of Brian Jones in the car immediately set the tale in the late 1960's. I liked the way a chance meeting in the street led to the character appearing on the record, very 60's, and in my mind's eye I could see the recording studio containing the youthful Rolling Stones, an hotel room with a bakelite telephone and one of those big fat old TV's.

Taken for what it is, this is a great piece, a wonderful bit of pseudo-history. Like @stex I was also unconvinced at the idea of Keith sleeping - in his (highly entertaining) autobiography he states that he has only slept a few hours a week for almost all his adult life so I doubt he'd be kipping in the car on the way to a session, and a few other nitpicks surfaced in my mind - I was sure there was a sad story connected to Merry Clayton's appearance on the song, and a swift Google reminded me that sure enough, Merry returned home after the session and sadly had a miscarriage, possibly due to her exertions in the studio whilst singing that amazing vocal. Incidentally, that same Google search also revealed that Nicky Hopkins played keyboards on the session, not Ian Stewart, their usual studio pianist (although Stewart was their road manager, so might well have been in the limo with them).

That aside, this will be on my shortlist as it is a solid piece of work.

@Redbeard1031 apparently Merry Clayton wasn't the inspiration for Brown Sugar, that was Marsha Hunt, Mick's one-time girlfriend, or possibly singer Claudia Lennear, depending on who you listen to.

As for the idea that Sir Mick is attractive - of course he's not. Not in the usual sense, he's not a handsome faced man. However .... there's something about him, isn't there? He's (even now) physically fit, and the way he dances has a certain charm. You just know he'd be a cheeky charmer, he'd wine and dine you, tell you you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, anything to get you between the sheets, then the next day he'd disappear, never to be seen again. Yes, he's not conventionally a good looker but ... I would!

 

Ok, yes I said it! I won't take it back either. However, musicians and singers have been stealing women from us mere mortals since the first caveman grunted with a little bit of rhythm. So the fact that somebody, ( probably female, but I wouldn't say for sure! ) had the inspiration to write about Mick isn't surprising in the least. I get the attraction, really!

I love this type of story! I said it before, and probably will again! Is it true? Most likely not. Could it have happened like this? Of course! A glimpse of the "what might have been"! And brilliantly done at that!

One complaint I have, isn't even a valid one. I don't know how this stems from a personal experience. Maybe the author met the Stones once, maybe they were at the R&R Hall of fame awards and came up with it. Who knows...Maybe we have Merry herself here and it was 100% true! I would just like to know the inspiration to this tale after the reveal. (If it's not too personal to share.)

Great job, writing a superb story!

 

What a great read for an early Saturday morning. Yes, it was about Mick Jagger, but I'm dreaming about me and Adam Levine.

Really good writing makes for a very easy read. The story started cold, dark and bleak, but left me all warm and feeling good. I love this one!

 

Are you people nuts? Mick Jagger is a total hunk!

We both felt this story seemed like it had been edited too much. It's great to remove unneeded words and sentences when you edit a story, but here it feels like details were removed. Some of the things mentioned by other reviewers bothered us too.

This didn't make us like the story less. We just wanted more, since it was so good.

This one is on the short short list.

 

Unless I miss my guess, this entry was written by a man. He's not a youngun' either. He may have gone to Stones concerts before the guys drank Geritol before a performance. The overall quality of the work seems like that of a past champion. If this writer is not already a winner, he should be.

I procrastinated on comments and voted before I posted some. Below are my notes on this one:

Familiar style -- either a veteran or a very talented newb
Descriptions, story arc, "mood", and effect on the reader -- all good
Short list? -- Duh!​

 

@ahorsewithnoname ??? Really?!? My God! I give up guessing forever!

I guessed wrongly on his entry like 3 times! I'm an idiot!

I was absolutely positive that this was written by one of the veteran women here! What a great job! My hat is off to you Sir!

 

So it WAS horse! Aha! Excellent work. I remember girls going crazy over The Stones, The Beatles -- all the British invasion bands. Good work on channeling the star-struck female fan. The moves, indeed.