Chapter 1
Sausalito, California 1976

Michael met her in the middle of a smoky bar. He saw her sitting at a table with another girl, who got up and left her alone. He was smoking a cigarette, which he only did when he was drinking. He went out alone when he did go, and if he brought someone with him, it was one friend. He was never one to go out in a huge crowd.  He got up from his position at the bar, taking his drink with him, and sat down at her table.

“Hi,”

“Hi,”  she ignored his advance.

“My name is Michael.”

“Stevie.”

“Stevie?”

“Yup. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, no. I’ve just never heard that name.”

“It’s short for Stephanie.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you here to talk to me, or make fun of my name?”

He smiled.  “Oh, no Stevie. Quite the opposite. The girl that left you alone, where did she go?”

“That’s Christine.”

“A friend?”

“We’re in the same band.”

He looked at her face again. “You’re Stevie Nicks.”

“Yes. And You’re a Monkee.”

“Yes. But those days are gone now.”

“Where have they gone?”

“Are we going to get into a philosophical conversation?”

She smiled now, almost chuckling to herself.  “Only if the mood calls for it.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

He ordered her champagne, and she sipped it happily. “So, what’s it like to be in Fleetwood Mac?”

“It’s about as wonderful as pulling your eyelashes out with a crowbar.”

“Whoa,”

“And what’s it like to be a Monkee?”

“About the same. Only the crowbar is a bomb.”

“Ouch.”

From there, a conversation that neither of them had ever had, flowed through them. Frustrations were let out of the flood gate, and they laughed off their problems, and Stevie was beautiful to him.

“Would you like to get out of here?”

“Hell yes. There’s no way I can stay here anymore.”

“What brought you here anyway?”

“We’re here recording an album. It’s been just horrific.”

He opened the bar door for her, and she stepped out in front of him, a flowing shaw following after her in the night air. She stood at his shoulders in her platform suede boots. She’d gotten them to stay at Mick Fleetwood’s level, but there’s no way anyone could match that man’s height. Especially someone who was five-foot-two, and five eight in her boots.

“How do women walk in those sort of shoes?”

“We manage. If it makes our butts and legs look good, or makes us a little taller, we just think of it as a sacrifice.”

He laughed. He was wearing his cowboy boots, and it added maybe an inch to his height. He was still taller, and could see right down the front of her purple chiffon dress. Her breasts were just beautiful, but he didn't’t know if they were real or what; women these days tended to trick you.

She looked a little distraught, and when they were at the condo that she and Christine shared, making out in the doorway, he felt her tears warm on his cheeks. He pulled away to look at her angelic face, the sadness apparent.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

“Everything. Just make it go away. God, just make it go away,”

And she grabbed him by the shirt, kissing him deeply, and then opening the door. She pulled him, and slammed the door. She turned to him again, the shawl on her shoulders spinning around her like it did on stage. He took her into his arms when she did that, and kissed her deeper than she had been ready for.

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” She whispered near his lips.

“Okay.”

She took his hand in hers, and he noticed how slender and beautiful they were. He felt like he was in a dream. They weren’t Michael Nesmith and Stevie Nicks, they were lost in the moment. He felt as if he’d been waiting for this. Maybe she needed this.

She shut the door behind her, and he sat on her bed. The room was a scarfy whirlwind, an homage to lace and paper flowers, crystal balls and tambourines. A table sat by her window, draped in one of her shawls. A vase of roses sat in the middle, soaking up the water she’d no doubt put in there that day.

She’d disappeared just a for a moment, and came back in the room, face washed, body draped in silk.
“Sorry, I had to clean up a little bit.”

“It’s okay,” the word barely came out of his mouth.

She smiled, her smile was elegant. His was crooked and boyish. Her face exuded innocence, and her body a virginal glow. She straddled his lap, the silk wrap falling from her shoulders, revealing her breasts. He kissed her neck, and she closed her eyes.

“You can make love to me,” She whispered.

He wanted to call her a dumb blonde, but she was a woman, and women can be so dramatic with sex, but she did seem the type.

He kissed her again, and swept her under him, and she lay on her back, watching him strip. She always thought it was so adorable how men got naked. They were awkward, silent, and hard. Lindsey was just like that. But Lindsey could kiss her ass at that moment. She wanted to loose herself in whatever was going to happen. He lay between her legs and kissed her again, and she could feel his cock rubbing against her. It made her wet, it made her squeeze her muscles harder than she had been.

He couldn’t get over how soft her skin was, and how beautiful her moans were. A true singing voice emerged from that throat. Goosebumps formed on both their bodies, and he ran his hands over her frozen nipples. She was cold. He caressed her fully and put himself inside her, and she gasped.
“Jesus Christ, were’d you get that thing?”

He laughed.  “Let me show you.”  And he pumped himself into her slowly, and she cried out ever so slightly. She wrapped her skinny legs around him, pulling him deeper inside her. She worked her hips against his, and felt the heat tingle in her muscles.

“Harder, please....”

He nodded and pushed into her full force. He sat up on his knees, holding her hips in his hands, pumping into her as hard as he could. She felt him get harder, and she held on to the pillows above her head, writhing. He looked down, seeing that he was all the way inside her, and his eyes rolled back into his head. She was tight, she was wet, she was screaming for him to fuck her as hard as he could. He wanted to come, but she was enjoying it too much. He pulled out of her and quickly put his mouth on her cunt, sucking on her clit. She screamed out his name, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them.

He rubbed her hips and squeezed her ass, licking and biting at her pussy. He put his tongue inside her and she felt her juices drip down her ass. He came up, wiping her wetness from his beard. His cock was swollen once more, and she crawled to the edge of the bed and took his cock in her mouth. He moaned loudly, and she deep throated him, bringing her lips back up to the head and licking it, squeezing his balls in her hand. Her long nails dug into them very slightly and he cried out in pleasure.

“Jesus, Stevie, you can suck a dick.”

He pulled her mouth off of him and kissed her, and he grabbed her breasts, pulling away from the kiss and licking her nipples. She breathed quickly, and begged him to fuck her again. He smiled, throwing her onto her back and bringing her legs to his chest. He rammed himself back inside of her, and she wallered her satisfaction. He fucked her harder and faster as she cried out for more, feeling her pussy burn with orgasmic anticipation, she reached down and played her clit, and he watched her fingers rubbing and prodding her little rosebud. Her fingertips were wet with her cum, and he fucked her harder and harder as she squeezed him.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and her fingers were touching his cock, and the sensation of her nails and his cock inside of her made her even hotter. She worked against him and finally felt the burning explode! He fucked her again, and again, and she felt like she’d die from the sensation.

“Oh God, please, stop!”

“I can’t, I can’t, oh, God, oh, God....JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

And he fell onto her body, his limp cock falling out of her. She smiled, and he crawled up next to her, kissing her gently.

“Stay the night, Michael,” she wrapped her willowy arms around him. “Please.”

“Okay,” he smiled at her.

And he kissed her. She turned out the light and they climbed under the covers, falling asleep in each
other’s arms.

* * *

In the morning, Michael awoke to find Stevie wearing a kimono, lighting incense and putting fresh roses in her vase.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said, smiling.

“Good morning. You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, just a little. I went outside, got some fresh flowers, I had made breakfast before that, but you were sound asleep.”

He smiled. “There was food and you didn’t wake me?”

She sat down on the bed, reaching to touch his face as tenderly as she could.

“You were too peaceful.”

He saw things getting heavy.  “Listen, Stevie,”

“Was last night it?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, I really don’t. I want it to be something. But only because of Lindsey.”

“Lindsey?”

“My ex-boyfriend.”

Michael sat up and rubbed his face. He scratched at his beard, taking a look at the frail little doe in front of him. Her eyes were huge brown saucers, staring into him, looking for some sort of connection.  “Now would be a good time to tell you, Stevie, that I have four children. Three boys, and one girl.”

“So?”

“Just so you know.”

“If we get involved that much further, I’ll keep that in mind.” He saw the nonchalant look on her face. She saw he looked confused. “What do you want me to say, oh shit, you have kids, so fucking each other is out of the question?”

“No.”

“Then, please, stop acting like it’s going to repel me, Michael.”  She stood up from where she was, smiled, and left the room. She was just as much a vixen as any woman he’d slept with.

“Why did I think you were different?!” he called after her.

“Because you think with your penis!” she called back, and giggled just a little.

He smiled, and got out of bed, dressing, and kissing her goodbye.

“Stevie, I had a lovely time.”

“Same here.”

She watched him leave, and she saw why she’d done what she’d done. It was all too obvious how he resembled Lindsey. Christine tapped her shoulder.

“He looks just like him, Stevie.”

“Give me a bloody break, will you!” Stevie yelled, throwing up her arms and going back into her room.

* * *

Lindsey sat, tuning his guitar, and Stevie was many feet away, just staring off into space.

“Steph, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

And so the haunting lyrical music that was “Gold Dust Woman” began to float in the air. Stevie looked up, closed her eyes, and unleashed her poetry:  ‘Rock on gold dust woman, take your silver spoon and dig your grave....’  Stevie opened her eyes to see Michael, watching her sing this song and stopped concentrating.  “Oh, shit, can we just do it again?”

Everyone seemed to groan, and Stevie slid off her stool to go and say hello.  She walked through the door, and met Michael on the other side with sweetness.  “What’re you doing here?” She asked, and glancing at Lindsey, wrapped her skinny arms around his neck.

“Saying hello, you didn’t have to stop on account of me, it sounded just beautiful,”

“Yeah,” she glanced back again. “It was beautiful,”  and she kissed him, sweetly, softly, and as she kissed him, she slid her slender digits down his zipper and rubbed his balls.  “Wanna go somewhere?” She asked.

“Sur-sure, we can,”

She nodded, and taking him by the hand, pissed off her band mates (including her former lover) and left the main studio, to find some other hidden room.

Michael noticed how dark the studio was, all wooden doors and walls, this band was likely to go mad in here, but here they were. He thought about all the time that he and Micky, Davy, and Peter spent in well lit studio, maybe too well lit, where they would loose all track of time, just trying to find that certain sound, that way to make people see that the Monkees were capable of being a band.

But as soon as Stevie pulled him into another room, his thoughts stopped. She sat him down on some big chair, and began to unbutton her small denim tank top, revealing her tan skin, her flat tummy, and cute little taut breasts. She played with the waist of her skirt, unclasping the scarfy piece of clothing, and watching his eyes deepening with lust as it fell to the floor.

There she stood, no bra, white cotton panties, suede platform boots.  “Shit, I’ve gotta take these off,”

He held out a hand in the hair when she reached for the zipper on her boot.

“No, no, leave ‘em on, it’s okay.”

She nodded, bit her bottom lip, and smiled.  “I know what you want,” she said in a sing-song manner.

“What?”

“A lap dance, right?”

He saw this little bit of a naked thing, and thought ‘why the hell not?’.  “Yes Stevie, that’s what I want.”

She swayed from side to side, wrapping her arms around herself, twisting and snaking her body down as far as she could. He watched her, and she saw him, rubbing his crotch in anticipation. This made her grin, and she ran her hands down her torso, slowly, making sure to slide her palms almost lovingly over her breasts, making her nipples erect.

He reached down, unbuttoning his jeans, pushing the zipper down as he reached to rub his now swelling member. Stevie smiled fully, and gently, she slid her long nails and fingertips into the front of her panties, pulling them down just enough for Michael to see a little of her bush, and she took her hand away, knowing he was aching for it.

“Am I doing a good job?” she asked.

“I got a good job for you, baby,”

She sat on his lap, watching his hand leave his jeans and find it’s way into her panties. He felt her, hot on the outside, and sliding two fingers in, found that she was wetter than expected. She gasped, then rocked her hips a little, feeling his fingers slide in and out, gently and softly.

“Ooh....” she moaned. He smiled and sucked on her breast, and chills ran up her spine. He gently tipped her back, kissing her stomach, and feeling her lift herself up again, reaching into his jeans and pulling out his rock hard manhood, which was becoming slick with precum. She squeezed it, watched him close his eyes, and his fingers fell out of her, and she was in control, rubbing his phallus, rocking her pussy’s mound against it.

“Now, can we do it now?” she asked, licking and biting his ear.

“FUCK YEAH!” he growled, and maneuvering her panties off, he put it inside of her, and felt her fucking him, watching her grab her breasts and squeezing her nipples, moaning and yelling for him to come inside of her! She rode him and rode him, and he slapped her firm ass, and she went faster, holding onto him for leverage, feeling him slipping into her and out of her, the heat was astounding, and the tingling and burning made her cry out into the air of the still room,

“OH GOD YOU FUCK ME BETTER THAN LINDSEY!”

And just like that, her body gave in, shaking and jumping as she felt Michael’s hot liquids fill her still quivering cunt. He pushed her onto the ground and gave her three good and hard fucks, and she cried out in an incoherent scream!

“He does, does he?”  Lindsey stood at the door, arms folded.

“What the fuck are you doin’ in here man, get the fuck out!” Michael yelled.

“You get the fuck off of her!”

Stevie squirmed out from under Michael, grabbing her skirt and holding it over her nakedness.  “Get the fuck out.”

“Stevie,”

“GET-THE-FUCK-OUT, LINDSEY!!!!”

“FINE YOU SLUT!”  And he slammed the large wooden door.

Stevie fell to her knees, sobbing.

* * *

Lindsey Buckingham was a really good guitar player. Michael watched as he played his six string, no pick, making the tips of fingers bleed.  Michael would have never picked up his twelve string without a pick.

Stevie sat close to Michael, holding his hand, gently caressing it, and then gently whispering,  “Lindsey taught me to play an acoustic.”

“You can play?” He asked her, almost surprised.

“What’d you think? That I just banged that fuckin’ tambourine around all day?”

“Well, Davy did.”

She smacked him.

“He taught me how in school. I’ve never seen anyone as good or better than Lindsey.”

“You seem to be in love with him, what the hell....”

“It’s complicated, Mike.”

And it ended there. He decided questions about she and Lindsey’s relationship were strictly off balance.
Lindsey’s small jam session with Mick Fleetwood and John McVie, ended on a good note, and the three men seemed to give Stevie a look; all of them knew the power she had. Christine McVie, well, she knew what idiots (especially John) they really were.

Lindsey seemed to grab his balls and walk over to Michael and Stevie. She silently got up and left Michael sitting there.

“You play, huh?” Lindsey asked, wiping a bit of sweat from his lip, then wiping the back of his hand on his jeans.

“Yeah. I play.”

“What?”

“A Gretsch twelve string,”

Lindsey nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“Don’t have it.”

Lindsey laughed a little. He then took his pride and joy from his shoulder, and handed it to Michael.  “Let’s hear it.”

“Pick?” He asked.

Lindsey chuckled. “The hell do you need a pick for?”

“So I don’t fuck up my fingers, Lindsey. It is Lindsey?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Just figures that a guy with a chicks name would be a little bitch.”  Stevie smiled. Michael had hit Lindsey where it hurt.

“Just fucking play, you stupid hick.”

“I will, and then, right after, I’ll take that ex-girlfriend of yours and make her scream my name.”

Lindsey angrily stomped his way to the amp, and switched it on for Michael.

“Put your fucking money were your mouth is, motherfucker.” Lindsey said.

“Gladly.”

Michael put the guitar on, adjusted the strap, and began to tune Lindsey’s axe to his way of thinking. Lindsey stood next to Christine, who could barely conceal her laughter seen boiling up her green eyes.
Michael then proceeded to play one of his songs, no mistakes, and didn’t even move a muscle. He just played beautifully and Stevie clapped when he was done. The pissing contest was over, and Michael had pissed in Lindsey’s cornflakes.

Stevie happily left on Michael’s arm.  The two of them, not really in any serious relationship, walked into the main room of the studio, where Michael pinned Stevie on a near by wall. He picked up her legs, and wrapped them around his waist.

“Did you mean what you said in there?” She asked.

“Yeah, I meant it.”

She smiled, and kissing him, noticed another woman standing in the doorway. Stevie patted Michael’s shoulder to let her down, and then walked up to the girl.  “Can I help you?”

“You’re Stevie Nicks! Right on!”

“Yeah, and you are?”

“Sula, I’m looking for Lindsey.”

“Lindsey, Buckingham?”

“Yeah, is he here?”

Michael saw that Stevie was slightly jealous.

“Well, Sula, he’s in the back room, would you....”

“Thanks, no, I know where it’s at, I just needed to know if he was here.”

Stevie nodded, and watched the girl, who smiled, waved, and disappeared into the back studio.

“Do I detect a small green eyed monster?”

“Fuck off. I’ll see you later," and taking a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, she walked away.

* * *

Lindsey acted like he was John Lennon, and Sula was Yoko. Stevie, well, she hadn’t seen Michael that week, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him again.

“So, Sula, how long have you been seeing Lindsey?”

She scratched her chin. “Oh, three weeks.”

“Only three weeks?”

“Yeah, but we connect.”

“Oh.”

Sula detected Stevie’s disdain.

“How come you don’t like me?” she asked the blonde.

“Sula...”

“Hey, I have no problem with you. Whatever issues you and Lindsey have, you should work them out....it can’t be healthy for your band.”  Sula stood up, and left Stevie there, jaw agape. She really wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t just some girl Lindsey picked up. Who knew, maybe she’d be the one to marry Lindsey. Stevie almost vomited. Why had she and Lindsey gone so sour?

She shook her head, sucked it up, and found herself with her mouth around Michael, sucking up something else.  He was pushing her head down in his crotch, and she wasn’t enjoying it. Michael wasn’t either. Maybe their little romp was over.

“Is this it?” She asked.

They sat on a hotel room balcony, she in a silk robe, and he in a towel. They both watched the sun, rising before them, signaling an end.

“I think so.”

She was almost sad.

“Michael, what do you think I should do?”

He scratched his chin, ran a finger through his thick, wavy hair, and looked in her eyes.  “Fix things with Lindsey.”

She nodded, and they said goodbye.

Stevie watched her days come and go, and she never quite made up with Lindsey, never quite got back together with him. More and more got in the way, including Don Henley, who showered the woman with tons of gifts.

She wanted marriage, kids, she wanted that very much. She also wanted to be a star. She wanted to travel everywhere and see nothing. She wanted to write, and love her writing. Depending on her music like a husband would become her forte. Michael sank further into the back of her conscience, and she never gave it another thought. Never even thought something could have come from it.  Men came and went, she battled life.

And then, in 1999, she saw him again.  He’d grown old, but she had too, and she approached him.  “Hi Mike.” Her voice as coarse, but still lovely.

“Stevie! How are you?”

“I’m just great, and you?”

“Wonderful! Oh, I want you to meet my daughter, she loves you.”

Stevie nodded, and watched Michael lead her to his kids: three handsome young men, and one very beautiful young woman.

“Stevie, this is Jessica, Jason, Jonathan, and Christian, guys, this is Stevie.”

“I know this is Stevie Nicks, daddy!” Jessica exclaimed.

Stevie was amazed. He had what she sometimes longed for, until she held her niece in her arms.

“My niece, her name is Jessica James,” Stevie said to Jessica.

“That’s cute, my middle name is Buffler.”

They all had a laugh, and Michael led Stevie somewhere quiet.

“No kids, huh?” he asked.

“I could have either been a half-assed mother, or a half-assed singer. I had to pick one.”

“Sometimes, for some, that’s the best thing to do.”

And then they kissed, and felt something, and it went away, and Stevie looked at him again.

“Good-bye, Mike, have a wonderful life.”

“You do the same, Stevie.”

And he watched her go out of sight.