I never decided that I wanted to be a groupie. I've just always wanted to be me. My name is Brian. I'm nineteen years old and really thin. Because I don't frequent tanning beds or the outdoor world, I am very pale. If you hold a piece of white paper up to me, it would probably blend in. My parents always told me that I should eat more and go outside because I looked frail. I never did, and I still retain that look. I'm not the strongest person, but I never strived to be. While some guys were chasing women and bulking up, I was crushing on rock stars and dressing up in girl's clothes. Yeah, that's right, I'm a bisexual cross-dressing fruit... get over it!
I like the gothic look best. It fits me well because of my build and skin type. And while on the outside I may look like a real party person, I love nothing better than reading or writing. I may look outrageous but I'm really quite quiet and shy. When my best friend Atlas got tickets to my favorite band, Marilyn Manson, however, I was thrilled. I wasn't spending that night at home reading.
I had my outfit picked out weeks ahead of time. I was going to go dressed to the nines. I bought a new thigh-cut ruffle skirt to go with my sleeved red and black striped shirt. It was quite cute, even Atlas agreed. I borrowed a pair of Atlas' clunky combat boots to go along with it. They went up to my knee. When the day came for the concert, I spiked up my black hair and used colored gel to tip the ends with red. I put on a lovely bright red lipstick and painted my eyelids a trio of vibrant colors. I'm naturally smooth, so I didn't have to worry about shaving.
As I expected, the crowd at the Manson concert was full of "freaks" and I wasn't singled out. I love being able to dress up like this without being called names. We had a pair of expensive V.I.P. tickets, so we got to jump up to the front of the line. When we got into the auditorium, our spots were close enough for me to nearly touch the stage. I was SO excited that I nearly fainted. Atlas grabbed me just as I toppled.
When the lights went out, signaling the concert's beginning, I had to grab hold of him for support. Then the stage lights started up, almost dancing around the stage. The roar of the crowd as Manson appeared was deafening. I hardly noticed the other band members take their places, because my eyes were fixed on him. The music seemed to throw itself at us, and before we knew it, we had been sucked into his world. His voice seemed to tease and caress me. I could feel the sound on my skin. I tried to focus on the songs, but kept zeroing in on the man himself. I felt time stand still, and the crowd fall away. My ears heard nothing, only my sight was in play. It was all in my imagination, I'm sure, but I felt as if he were staring at me the entire time. Having been on a stage or two in my days, I knew he probably couldn't even see the crowd due to the spotlights. I couldn't help but hope though.
The show ended way too soon for me, but we decided to stay after and try to get autographs. Our V.I.P. tickets afforded us backstage passes, and we waited patiently for him to rest a little and freshen up. I'm glad he did, as I absolutely hate sweat and body odor! It took him a long time to come out of his dressing room. So long in fact, that most of the other back-stage visitors had given up and gone home. Atlas kept asking me when we would leave, but I couldn't give up hope. I just HAD to meet him. I finally told Atlas that he could go home. Normally he would have stayed with me, but I think the concert really drained his energy. I gave him a hug and he left after telling me to call him for a ride home. I told him that I would simply get a taxi. He shrugged and went off.
Feeling uncharacteristically brave, I decided to do what nobody else had gathered the courage to do: knock on the dressing room door. I gulped as my knuckles rappt against the wood. "Come in." certainly wasn't the response I had expected, but it was the one I received.
I slowly opened the door, stepped cautiously inside, and shut it gently behind me. There was my hero, in the flesh, right before me! I saw his eyes travel over my body with interest. Then he looked into my eyes.
"Yeah?" he questioned.
I felt myself tense up and I tried to will it away. It worked, but only mildly so.
"Um... hi... uh, my name is Brian... uh, and I was wondering if I could have your autograph?"
A moment passed before he answered, "Yeah, sure. Like your name," he winked, "but not enough to keep it." I smiled politely and tip-toed over to him.
"Where would you like me to sign?" he asked, and I realized that I hadn't brought a pen or anything for him to write on. He seemed to pick up on it though, and showed me that he had a marker with him.
"Pick a body part." he told me.
I responded quickly, automatically and without thinking. "I like every one of yours." Then I heard what I said and nearly cried out in embarrassment. He looked a little shocked too, but merely smiled. I tried to make up for it by yelling out, "Arm!", but that only made me seem even more stupid. He grinned and grabbed my hand. I felt electricity go through me where he touched. He quickly scribbled on me and then did a little bow and left the room. I gathered my composure and left the building, hailing a taxi to make my way home.
In the back of the cab, I finally looked down at my arm. I expected to see a quickly jotted signature, but instead found written, "Deadwood hotel, room 27." I nearly peed myself. I anxiously redirected the cab driver and then sat back nervously.
When we arrived, I paid hurriedly, and nearly sprinted into the lobby. I found the room quite easily. I knocked and the door cracked open. Stepping inside, I smelled incense and flowers.
"Hello?" I called out.
"In here." I heard a voice say from the bedroom.
