"You're beautiful, Gelsenkirchen", James shouts and the crowd in front of the stage cheers.
I have to laugh out loud, for this city is a lot of things but beautiful it's not. Which is one of the reasons I left as soon as I'd finished school and never looked back.
Until tonight. Until I got the chance to not only see Metallica live, but to actually get on stage with them. Me and 99 other fanclub members that is. We're standing at the back of the stage and that means that the guys have turned their backs to us most of the time. But James, Kirk and Rob make a point of including us into the show and every now and then one of them will come over, shake hands or even pose for a quick cellphone-snapshot.
They are in brilliant form tonight and even though the stadium isn't sold out, I think this is one of the best shows they've ever played.
Clearly, James thinks so, too. They're playing Master of Puppets and he's come over again, his eyes ablaze with energy and pure, fierce joy. Our eyes meet, but I'm not sure he actually sees me, he's that high on adrenaline. I've got to admit his look makes my stomach tighten. I can't help it, he's just oozing sex appeal. No man more than fifteen years my senior should have that effect on me.
Then he's gone again and I shake my head and chuckle at myself.
The band plays for more than two hours and when the lights come back on, I get the feeling, they are as reluctant to leave as the fans are.
Two of the roadies usher us off the stage and into a large room with a bar and buffet. Even if the show had been crap, the catering alone would have been worth the extra money the "Onstage"-ticket had cost.
It's almost midnight when Metallica enter the room for the promised meet and greet. Lars immediately mingles with the crowd and I can hear his excited chatter wavering over the heads. Rob resolutely pushes his way to the buffet and Kirk longingly stares at the food, too, but is too polite to just ignore the fans wanting to talk to him.
James is the last to appear and he only takes one step into the room, seemingly scanning the people. He's now wearing a plain white long-sleeve and of course one of his skin tight black jeans. I wonder if he's got a huge pile stacked away somewhere to last him through the next bootcut-revival.
I can see him bending down to whisper something to Lars, who looks up with a grin and a shrug. Again James looks around and our eyes meet. I feel my heart pounding in my throat as he starts walking towards me.
He asks my name and I tell him. He shakes my hand. "Hi. I'm James", he says. Of course he knows I know his name, but I appreciate the gesture.
We talk about the show and I ask him if they were disappointed by they comparatively small crowd. After all, 30.000 is hardly what they must be used to by now. James grins and shakes his head. "Nah, it doesn't matter if it's eighteen people or 80.000 as long as the mood is right. And the crowd was fun, don't you think?"
We discuss the short but already quite volatile history of this new festival. It's interesting how our respective backgrounds and perspectives add up to a bigger picture of what was going on before "Rock im Revier" actually became reality tonight. The whole time I'm aware of the way his eyes keep travelling to my mouth or my neck and occasionally lower. I can feel a blush creeping up my face. First I think I'm imagining things, but after a while it becomes apparent that James' mind is wandering from polite chitchat with a fan to something else entirely. I interrupt myself mid-sentence and just watch as he again seems to be lost in probably dirty thoughts. It takes a few seconds for him to notice my silence. His eyes snap up and he actually blushes slightly, like a schoolboy being caught wool-gathering.
I cock my head and give him a little knowing smile. James returns my smile.
His fingertips brush over the back of my hand and I feel myself nod in answer to his unspoken question. I've never pictured myself as a groupie but it seems my mind has no say in this decision, my body has already taken over.
James places his hand on the small of my back and manoeuvers us through the crowd. I'm glad we're already close to the door, but nevertheless I can feel heads turn and eyes pierce into my back. Lars arches an eyebrow and grins as we push past him. I would have preferred a more discreet exit, but I guess this is as discreet as it gets when dealing with one of the closed fist.
As we walk along the corridor, I can feel James' fingers hot through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.
He opens a door and we step into a green room. There's a couch, a coffee-table, a large TV and two massage tables and I can't suppress a grin. It's easy to imagine who has to wait their turn for massages.
James seems to read my thoughts. He smirks. "We actually draw straws, you know", he says and it's hard to tell if he's joking or not.
He closes and locks the door behind us and runs his right hand through his hair.
We stand facing each other for an endless moment. He lifts his hand as if to touch me and stops short a breath away of my cheek. I can't believe he really turns shy on me now.
Swiftly, I make a decision. I'm usually not that straight forward with a guy, but I figure if I don't take on the initiative, we'll be dancing around each other the whole night. And I know this one night is all we've got.
I take a small step forward, invading his personal space. I reach out my hand and knot my fingers into his shirt.
It's all the invitation he needs and his lips crash onto mine, his tongue instantly demanding access to my mouth. I moan softly and yield. James tastes of ice-tea and peppermint. His tongue brushes over mine and I feel my toes curl, while my fingers dig deeper into his long-sleeve.
As we come up for breath, James rubs his thumb over my already swollen lower lip. "I've been wanting to do that since I saw you on stage", he murmurs and kisses me again, gentler this time but no less hungrily.
His hands are on my waist now, crawling up underneath my T-Shirt. He's got big hands with long, strong fingers. It almost feels as if he could reach around my waist, but of course that's me imagining things again. Slender I might be, anorexic I'm not. He pushes my shirt up and over my head, then ghosts his finger over the swell of my breasts. James bows his head and I can feel his warm breath on my cool skin. I shiver, feeling goose bumps erupting all over my body. Then his lips caress my skin, surprisingly soft and incredible erotic.
"Jesus", I sigh.
"James", he corrects mildly, but with a smile so smug it makes me laugh.
He brushes the straps of my bra from off my shoulders and reaches round to unclasp it. The lacy garment drops to the floor. James follows my ribcage from my back to the front of my body, where he delicately strokes the outline of my breasts. His callused fingertips feel rough against my sensitive skin.
I start pulling his long-sleeve up, but James gets hold of my wrists.
"Hold that thought", he murmurs.
Opening a door I haven't noticed before, he disappears into an adjoining dressing room, where I can hear him rummaging through bags and drawers.
"Ha! I knew he'd have some."
James comes back to me, dropping a pack of condoms onto the coffee table.
"Now", he says, cupping my face with both hands, "where were we?"
I'm almost as tall as he is, so he only has to slightly incline his head to devour my mouth again.
As much as I enjoy being thoroughly kissed by James, after a few moments I press my palms against his chest, pushing him back.
