Clarrie had spent years with the boys in the band. She’d had them all in her bed at some point or another— but for some reason she always came back to Hugo, the bassist. She simply couldn’t explain it to anyone.
Maybe it was the way Hugo was looked upon as being the rock of the band— both musically and in his ‘real-life’ persona. He was older than the other guys, more mature and worldly. He’d travelled far and seen many sights and sounds, as a result she thought him to be wiser and more dependable than the others.
Maybe it was because he was the key to the band’s music. His deft fingers running up and down the long fingerboard of his bass; stroking and caressing; pounding a rhythm like thunder at times, but on others tender and gentle like a soft caress. He knew how to tease the best out of his instrument with the slightest of touches.
Just like a woman… his woman. Just like he did with Clarrie.
For her, there was just nobody better at teasing her best notes out … Hugo the bassist was the absolute best.