Miss AP's Diary

Memoirs Of A Groupie

Memoirs Of A Groupie

The life of a groupie is one of all-out, live-fast-die-young-pretty-corpse hedonism.

Who doesn’t love getting off on the intimate stories of these hard rock glamazons? Whole sections of libraries are dedicated to their escapades. Here are three interviews I found in the archives …

Petra (002)


“Being a rock fan in the late Sixties was like being part of a ferocious wave of raw, blatant sexpower. Sweaty, pulsating, beautiful young bodies, carried away with the music, the drugs and the passion. The guys on the stage were gods and we needed deep down in our cores to be near to them. My first ever time to see ____ I queued for hours in the dead of winter to get in and be up front by the stage. I was only 17 but I’d stolen my sister’s thigh high boots for the night and I wore it with the most minuscule cutoff denim miniskirt so you could see my knickers when I sat down. When the band came on I couldn’t believe my eyes. Prim and proper girls became wild eyed with desire, ripping off their cotton poplin shirts like hellcats, throwing bras at the stage, screaming til they nearly fainted. I went hell for leather alongside them. My girlfriend managed to climb onto the stage and just got close to the leg of ____ but was taken away by security. I decided not to be so rash. I waited til the crowds had dispersed and settled myself with a pack of cigarettes at the car park in the back. When what seemed like hours had passed and the fire in my belly had all but extinguished, the stage door swung open and ____ himself swaggered out, laughing with two guys I didn’t recognise. They saw me sitting alone, legs folded up, cigarettes all smoked. ‘Hey girlie, aren’t you cold out here?’ he said, ‘Wanna come and warm up a bit on the bus?’ And that’s where my headspinning career as a groupie began.”



“It’s a sunny late afternoon in Soho and I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had to call room service for more champagne but we’ve had to keep hydrated because we’ve been here since last night after all. We might try to sleep before the show tonight but then again we mightn’t. This is what it’s all about. This is why I left home leaving behind a strict mother who never said anything about sex except that it was dirty. Well guess what, nothing is wrong if it feels good. And this feels really, really good. I’m still wearing my stockings and suspenders from the night before and as the light begins to fade and the evening sun bounces off the rose gold zippers on my underwear, I glow just to think of the night’s beginning: a smoke filled green room, a bottle of Jack Daniels, the girls putting lipstick on in each other’s compact mirrors, the boys lazily rolling cigarettes. The music is what saturates us all in heat and desire. It pulses under our skin and makes our eyes flash at each other. We all know where we’re going to end up, inching closer and closer to one another, grazing our lips on the others’ ears as we try to be heard above the bass. And then not bothering to speak at all because we’re having too much of a good time and we’re warm and ready for anything.”


“It wasn’t always about the boys. Really the only reason I traipsed around to rock concert after rock concert with my hair erect with Elnett and my breasts standing to attention in plumping bras, was for Pamela. She was the reason God created woman. Tumbling waves of auburn hair and skin like panna cotta, with heavily fringed green eyes that glittered with secrets. She took me under her wing because I was sweet and optimistic about everything. Sometimes she would squeeze my hand when we were waiting expectantly at a stage door, and my skin would become alive with her touch, tingling with expectancy. When one night we got invited to the house of ________ for an after party, all I could think of on the car ride there was how happy she’d be to romp around the mansion discovering rooms, finding the drinks cabinet, being naughty. Needless to say we didn’t find just the cabinet; there was a cocktail bar, a disco ball, countless little dens to get up to no good in. And when ______ pulled Pamela into one of them, she pulled me with her. He – rock god, millionaire, internationally famous – became our accessory. And we shook him all night long.”

Posted Aug 19, 2016