I'm With the Band: Confessions of a Groupie

by Pamela Des Barres

Even though I dreamed about what was between Paul’s perfect milky-white thighs, I had not yet conjured up dimensions. I collected Beatle bubble-gum cards, and one of them was a shot of Paul playing his bass, sitting on a bed in a hotel with his legs apart. You could actually see the shape of his balls being crushed by the tightness of his trousers, and I carried that card around with me in a little gold box with cotton covering it like it was a precious jewel. I peeked into it reverently, once a day, and lifted the cotton gently, holding my breath as I stared between his legs at the eighth wonder of the world.

…ok

We wrote Beatle love stories for each other, and I could hardly wait to get to school to get my hands on the next installment of my continuing Paulsaga. I had six stories going at once, but my favorite was written by my old friend Iva. Ooooh, it was soooo titillating! She actually got us in the sack. Paul fell across you, pushing you into the soft bed. His tender lips kissed yours passionately. You felt so good, so right, to be this close to Paul. He whispered into your ear, pausing to kiss your cheek or your neck, “Luv, oh Pam, you know as well as I do what comes next. . . .” You drew his lips to yours, ending his sentence. You knew what he would say and you didn’t want to hear it. Nothing can go wrong . . . love is never bad. Paul’s hands swept over you, his lips touched your neck again and again. “Paul . . . Paul,” you whispered against his hair, his body was so close. As he held you, somehow he pulled back the sheets on the bed. They were a blue and red candy-stripe. He laid you gently down and bent to kiss you. “I’m sleeping in the den, luv . . .” he said shakily. Then he walked out and closed the door. (A few hours later . . .) Stumbling through the dark living room, to the bedroom, Paul quietly opened the door. There you lay. Your blonde hair tossed carelessly, but beauteously over the pillow, your pink lips still wearing the smile they had as you fell asleep. Paul thought he had never seen anything quite so luscious . . . or so tempting.

woah… y/n fanfic from 50 years before wattpad was a thing.

Listen to a Beatles record before sleep. No other sound could assault my eardrums after the sacred sound. If the dog barked, I had to climb out of bed and start over;

lol i get this

In addition to these rituals, I had to write HIS name down every time I farted, and I carried the list around with me until it reached well into the thousands before I became embarrassed and hid it underneath the clothes hamper.

what??