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My Mary Anne

My Mary Anne

Never Fuck The Fans
It's amazing what you can pick up in second-hand record stores. Especially in New York City. I'm fingering a copy of 'Sun Ships On Eighth Street' on the Bluenotes label when the kid taps me on the shoulder.

"Are you Danny Kelly? I'm sorry but I fucking love you.... 'Unrequited, Actually' is one of my favourite ever albums. I just love you. Shit, I can't believe I'm even talking to you....."

I look at the kid. She's about twenty years old. Cropped dark hair, ripped tights, short skirt and a nose piercing. (WHY do they do that?)

"That's cool of you to say, little lady," I mutter. "You seem a little young to remember that shit?"

"It was my mom's favourite album," she gushed, "I like, I grew up on that album...."

"Wait a minute," I say.

I move to the 'C' section of the 'indie' drawer of the store. (My old band was called 'Candyshop'). Sure enough, there's a copy of 'Unrequited, Actually' priced five dollars. I buy it and ask the guy behind the counter for a sharpie.

"What's your name, Beauty?" I ask.

"I'm Mary Anne," she says, offering her hand. I raise her hand and kiss it. And I sign the record sleeve. 'To Mary Anne, Say Hi To Your Mom, Love and Thanks, Danny Kelly."

The kid's eyes shine as I give her the LP.

"It was real nice meeting you," I say.

I exit the store, my long coat and long hair blowing on the wind. The kid follows.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" she says.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I'm nearly 22," she offers, wide eyed.

"In that case, you can buy me a drink," I suggest.


We're the only white people in the nearest bar. There's a hush as we walk in, me, a vampiric looking motherfucker and Mary Anne, who could be my daughter but ain't. I order the drinks. A beer with a scotch whiskey chaser for me and a diet coke for her. We take a booth. The juke box is playing 'Soothe Me' by Sam and Dave, but as we sit down a guy steps up to the box and inserts a quarter. 'Goodbye Louise', a song I wrote 15 years ago floods the room. It's a good song.

"This is YOU," shouts Mary Anne, grinning.

I shrug. It was me, once.

More drinks arrive at our table, unbidden. A black guy across the bar smiles and salutes me. I nod back. (Everybody thinks black people only listen to black music. Bullshit. Black people listen to David Bowie too. And me.)

And I talk to the girl. I tell her I'm in New York City to present a Grammy to Caesar Fromme, the guitarist in 'Candyshop'. He does soundtracks now, he did the latest Spielberg movie... The Oscar one. I ask her if she'd like to go. She would.


Mary Anne is really easy to buy for. She's skinny and cute. See, me, I can show up looking battered and fucked and that's kinda what they expect of me, but Mary Anne is a doll. So we have fun dressing her. A dress by Anna Sui, (I wanted the Stella McCartney but she insisted) shoes by Manolo and underwear by La Perla.... We go back to the hotel and she changes. It's funny to watch. Her mis-matched bra and pants exchanged for Italy's finest.... She parades for me like a model as she glories in how she looks. I appreciate her as I sip champagne. The dress was made for her. The heels present her perfectly. Just before we leave she says, 'Thank You for this......'


The ceremony goes off like it always does. Everyone kissing everyone else's ass. The Warner Music guy offers me a deal. Mary Anne is a hit. Even if she does keep having to explain that she's NOT Danny Kelly's daughter... There's a party later at one of the Scissor Sister's house. The gay singer guy. It's fun. Me and Caesar enjoy a moment. The bastard. Eventually it's time to go home.

The little one is coked, I know she is. As we climb into the limo she tells me she's been offered a recording deal by a guy from EMI and a modelling shoot by that rat-faced little shit that does American Vogue. I cuddle her. I tell the driver to wait.

When we get back to my hotel room I watch her pick up her clothes.

"Can I keep these?" she says as she undresses in front of me.

"Of course you can," I sigh.

"You're nice," she says, still wearing the underwear. Then she kisses me.

I kiss her back.

And I know I shouldn't have, but I threw her back upon the bed.

I buried my face between her legs and nibbled and bit upon her sweet mound......

"Oh, Baby, Baby...." she moaned...

I tugged her panties down and she lifted her bottom to allow me to uncover her. I pushed my shoulders between her thighs and moved between her legs. I placed my cock against her puss...

"Is this what you want, Girl?" I asked.

"Just fuck me, Darling. Just fuck me deep and hard......" she panted.....

And I did.

Her legs curled around me as I took her, her heels digging into my ass as I pounded her..... She came just before me, her busy fingers rubbing at her pussy as I fucked her.... She sobbed as she came. And then I flooded her.


I held her afterwards. We talked. In the way that lovers do. We drank mini-bar wine.

"You're older than my dad," she said....

"Hush," I said.

I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up there was a message from the limo service to say they'd dropped my date home. Mary Anne had left me a gift. Upon my pillow was a pair of tiny white panties. Anointed with a Lipstick Kiss......

As I was packing up to leave I noticed the autographed album peeking out from under the bed. I guess she forgot to take it. I left it for the maid.

A year later I saw her again. On the cover of 'Vogue'. She's called Merry now and she's dating the bass-player from The Source.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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