Second Chance at 15 Min of Fame

The following story can best be classified as "Creative Non-Fiction." The events the story are based upon ones that took place, but the names (where included), locations and descriptions have all been changed to protect the innocent (as they used to say on "Dragnet").

This is part 2 of a 4 part series, the first part being 'First Chance at Fifteen Minutes of Fame.'

All characters in the story are at least 18 years old.

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Second Chance at Fifteen Minutes of Fame

I am working the alley between the front of the stage and the crowd, tasked at keeping fans off the stage or getting too close to the performers. Tonight, the venue is packed with a General Admission show featuring three bands, including two up and coming acts and the headliner who made it big with their first album going platinum and this it the tour supporting that record.

With General Admission, the floor seating has been forgone and the press of bodies against the barrier has been threatening to collapse the fence and allow the audience access to the edge of the stage instead of keeping them six feet back. Rabid fans that close to the artists is a security nightmare and most of the staff is on the front line as the third act starts.

This is the sixth concert I have worked this week and with so many bands playing the venue, I have grown complacent about who is on stage and concentrate on the crowd. There are always hotties on the other side of the barrier who I can stare at and flirt with between songs, girls who are willing to do anything to get backstage and will tease you with stories of what they want to do to me.

That is when I hear her.

I am mesmerized by the voice of the lead singer of the band. I have copies of their debut album, both on vinyl and cassette tape, and I play it almost everyday. I know I should not look, but I am so close to the voice I feel in love with and had to have the album to listen to her crooning.

She is right above me when I turn. She is stunning, so much more beautiful than the photographs with the album. She belts out the lyrics as I stare, unable to take my eyes from her, taking in her five foot two inch frame, her long, curly, deep brown hair teased so high it adds another four inches to her stature. Her minimal makeup is perfect since it is the first song, her brown eyes wide and expressive, lined heavily with mascara. The little black dress she has on is the same one as in all the photographs and would become her trademark wardrobe choice and is so short I can see up it right to the apex of her legs where tiny black silk and lace panties cover her core.

She looks down at the end of the song and sees me staring. She gives me a stern look and wags her finger from side to side, but then gives me a smile when I don't look away. If she didn't want people to stare at her lithe body, she shouldn't show it off. She backs up to start the second number and I turn towards the audience to get back to work. A group of guys on the front row are staring at me and one says, "She was flirting with you." I disregard the comment initially, but keep thinking about it through the rest of the show. Even the girls in the audience wearing similar little black dresses fail to garner my attention.

After the concert is over ant the venue is empty, I stop by the Green Room to grab a beer before the ride home along the canyon road over the hills between where I am and my apartment closer to my primary day job which pays the bills. The Green Room is packed, a rare occurrence this long after the show. I see members from all the bands, so I don't plan to stick around after retrieving the beer. I cannot find one, only coming across a bowl of punch and a stack of cups. I am not sure if I want to try the punch, but without a beer in sight, I take a chance. I can always take the other route home, the boring one with fewer curves if the punch is too strong.

I am retreating to a corner to be out of the way to enjoy my drink before leaving when I see her. She looks up at the same moment from the group of band mates she is with and our eyes meet. Again, I cannot take my eyes from her and keep looking until another group of people wander into the line of sight. When they pass, she is gone.

"You were staring again," a soft voice intones behind me.

I turn towards the voice and the first thing I see is the top of her hair. I am nearly a foot taller she is and I look down at a face even prettier than from across the room. I gulp a mouthful of punch, liquid courage to face her.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," I croak. I only get the one choice of statements and I have to tell her the truth. She blushes and looks down. "I'm sorry if I-"

"No," she interrupts. "A girl always likes to receive a compliment." She takes a sip of the punch and I can discern no reaction to the high alcohol content. "But, I'm a mess," she continues."

"A beautiful mess," I reply. She blushes again. I notice her cup is empty and mine is nearly there. "Do you want another?" I ask, holding up my cup. She nods and I step away to get refills, having to get two for me because I need all the courage I can muster. If this girl wasn't famous, I would have no problem talking with her, but she is a headliner.

She is still in the place I left her when I return. I stop a few feet away and look her over again, still not believing I am talking with her, or would be is if I steeped up.

"You are staring again," she says, closing the distance I was so reluctant to cover.

"I'm-"

"Don't worry," she interrupts me. I hand her the cup. She takes a big drink and so do I. She raises a hand and points at my black, Harley Davidson tee shirt I have changed into after the show. "Do you have a bike?" she inquires. I notice her fingernails are cut very short and the bright red polish is chipped on the ends, probably from playing her guitar all evening long.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding to break my gaze at her hands.

"Take me for a ride," she states. Not a question if I would do it or even if it is here. More of a command, as if this girls is used to taking charge of the situation. That is probably a major contributor to her fame, more so than talent because there are a lot of talented musicians who are not famous.

"What about...this?" I spread my arms, indicating the party, the band, everything.

"They'll wait," she replies. "Besides, the next venue is less than a hundred miles from here." I look down at her feet and spot tennis shoes, a surprise when she is still in her little black dress and had not been wearing shoes on stage.

"Okay," I say and take her hand, surprising myself at the bold action, and lead her outside through the empty employee entrance. I dig through my saddlebags and pull out a denim jacket for her plus my leather coat.

I straddle my bike, kick start it and help her climb on. She is all ladylike as she settles on the seat, tucking the back of her dress under her bum in the process. I start to roll and she grabs me, wrapping her arms around my waist and leans her head on my back. She orients herself to the area and starts suggesting roads to go down until I take her through town and along a closed road. I stop atop a bluff, overlooking the Bay and the River Delta. The lights glimmering in the water at three in the morning are something to look at, a very romantic spot I had discovered a few months previously.

"I love this view," I say softly, taking in the quiet solitude of the night. I dismount the bike and sit sidesaddle so I can look at her.

She points across the bay. "I grew up over there." I try to follow her line of sight and from the best I can determine, she is pointing at the City.

I notice she is shivering, so I pull her across my lap and open my jacket to pull her tight against me. She sighs and leans into my chest. I take a chance and tilt her head up with a finger under her chin and kiss her. The first one is tentative and soft. Her arm slides up and around my neck as she starts kissing me back. I slip my arm around her waist beneath the jacket as our tongues meet. The kiss grows deeper and more passionate.

We alternate sessions of kissing with times of sitting together, silently, gazing at the lights and the stars, and commenting about an ocean going vessel moving silently down the River and into the Bay. With the sky brightening with the dawn, I look at her and say, "We'd better get back."

She looks at me through heavy lashes, the light glistening in her eyes. "Make love to me," she breathes out so quietly I can barely hear her. She kisses me again, the need readily apparent. Instead of answering, I place my hand on her thigh, feeling the goose flesh from the chill of the night and my touch, and run my hand slowly up underneath the hem of her dress.

She moans into the kiss as I reach the top of her legs and feel the damp heat emitting from within. She breaks the kiss as I run my fingers between her legs, across the moist panel of her panties, and moans. With the second pass, she wraps both arms around my neck and kisses me fiercely, her tongue invading my mouth with a frenzied passion.

As I tug at her panties, she rocks back and forth, allowing me to slip them off her and I stuff them into the pocket of my jacket. My fingers make their way beneath her dress again and I find her wet as I slip one within her tightness. I feel she has her pubic hair trimmed, which is unusual at this time, at least for most of the girls I have been with. My thumb finds her clit and she shudders with pleasure.

"I want you," she purrs and I slide my finger from her and pull open the button fly of my jeans. I move her onto the seat so I can straddle the bike facing her, then pull her forward to me, on me, closer until I am fully sheathed within her center of being. She lets out a load groan as I bottom out, perfectly matched for each other.

She is panting heavily as I stare into her eyes. She begins by rolling her hips and I grasp them and start sliding into her. She feels like Heaven of Earth, tight and wet, and squeezing me as I give her all I have.

All too soon, she cries out in ecstasy and pulls me over with her. I grunt and spurt and spurt and spurt. I seem to keep going without end, loosening my load within her for what I wish was hours but in reality is probably only seconds, maybe a minute at most.

"It's been too long," she gasps and I smile at the thought she doesn't do this every night. For some reason, this makes me as happy as being with her. I kiss her again, this one softer, with more tenderness, but still full of passion and need.

After a few minutes, I am still hard inside her. I look at her and whisper, "Again?"

She smiles, nods and says, "Yes," with a giddy attitude. I pick her up and climb off the bike, still joined, and then set her on the seat. I start pumping into her and she moans her approval as I take her, harder yet with less urgency now that we have broken through the barrier and done it.

I take her long and deep, sliding into her as she grunts and growls. She stills and screams as she climaxes, urging me on with her vocalizations of ecstasy. Harder, deeper, faster I go as she lets herself go, enjoying these few moments we have together, cumming three more times before I pour for into her. She clings to me as she returns to the here and now.

She finally allows me to withdraw and she looks down at me. I am still hard and pointing straight out at her, "Again?" she asks. I can hear the astonishment in her voice.

"If you're up to it," I reply. I know the answer from her smile but she nods enthusiastically. I have her stand and pierce her from behind. She has such a cute ass, I want to play with it while I plunge into her.

"Fuck," she screams as I thrust into her. "I like how big you are," she pants out, one work per breath as I pump her like she is the only girl in the world, managing only part of what she tries to say. The rest is unintelligible garble as she peaks and floods around me yet again. I continue going at her for almost thirty minutes before I explode into her. My exhaustion almost getting the better of me and I am finally sated. At least for now.

I wrap her into a hug and she kissed my chest and neck, only able to reach that far without me stooping down to give her access to my mouth because of our height difference.

"Take me home," she purrs into my ear as she climbs onto the back of my bike. I turn to look at her, not understanding her request. "Take me into the City," she says. "I want to see where I grew up." I not and take off. Twenty minutes of freeway riding later, I am crossing a bridge and we are in downtown. She instructs me where to go through town and it takes another half hour before we park across the street from her childhood house.

She is nearly in tears, from the joy of returning, as she tells me stories of events which happened here with such detail I feel like I am experiencing them too. Her ability with tales contributes to her songwriting and I relish the feel of her arms around me.

I hear a name called out. She reacts, turning towards an old lady. I realize it is a shortened version of her name, a nickname I would never have considered. "Is that you?" the lady continues, asking the question.

"Yes, Grandma Belle," she replies. I help her off the bike so she doesn't flash the neighborhood because her panties are still in my pocket. She hugs the old lady and then introduces me to Isabel, the adopted grandmother of the entire street. When I address her as Ma'am, she insists I call her Grandma Belle too.

"You and your boyfriend must have lunch with me," Grandma Belle says. The girl I am with gives me a look and doesn't correct her as she takes her arm. I follow a step behind into the immaculate row house. They talk and talk, the years apart evaporating as she asks Grandma Belle about the other kids form the neighborhood. No mention 9is made about her singing career and I am fascinated with the love she has for Grandma Belle.

The lunch offered could barely feed a parakeet. It is enough for the hostess, but lacking for either of us, especially after the night we had. It is a good thing the house smells like baby powder because I know we both smell like sex.

It is better on the waterfront. I take her there so we can enjoy a decent lunch and we blend in with the fishy smell. I believe she only orders something small because she doesn't have any money on her person. I order extra for myself and end up giving almost half to her on the premise my eyes are bigger than my stomach. We walk through the shops and I see some beach wear. I suggest we go wading in the ocean and ask if she know a good beach to go to.

She tells me she is not dressed for the beach and I offer to buy her what she needs. Reluctantly, she agrees but refuses to pay the prices at this tourist trap. She directs me to an apparel shop in one of the lower income residential areas on the fringes of the City where she chooses the least expensive bikini which fits her slender body. I would have complained about her frugality, but the suit she tried on is really sexy on her. I offer her a tee shirt from my saddlebag as a cover-up and she feels better about not having to buy one of those too.

The residential density has thinned perceptively when we arrive at the beach she recommended. The road to the parking lot off the Highway is rough, so I traverse it slowly to minimize the bouncing. She chides herself for changing back into her dress at the shop instead of remaining in the bikini she picked out. I am the gentleman and turn my back when she pulls on my tee, shucks the dress and ties up the top. The bottom would have been easier to pull on up under her dress, but she chooses to do it while only wearing my shirt which is not as long as her dress. She is not as courteous and watches as I remove my pants and don the pair of shorts I usually wear to sleep in when I am on the road.

I am glad the beach is only sparsely populated and no one pays attention to us as we frolic in the surf and then collapse on the sand. The sun is hot when compared to the chill of the water and it feels good to relax after being up for so long. It feels even better for her to lay on top of me as I lay on the small bath towel from my saddlebag.

I can tell this position is turning her on as much as it is turning me on. She starts kissing me and I am glad there are not many people around and the ones who are seem not to notice what we are doing. This emboldens her and she starts grinding her crotch into my erection, until neither of us care if anyone is watching. Thinking we are so smooth, she frees me and I pull her bikini bottoms aside and slide into her. She gasps as I fill her and then stills. Looking around to see if anyone noticed, she begins moving slowly. As her passion rises, so does the speed in which she is pumping her hips, forcing me in and out of her sodden core.

Her release signals a change in her attitude. She no longer cares if anyone sees what we are up to. She sits upright atop me, bounding frantically as she slides along my shaft, maximizing the stroke as she impales herself repeatedly, her orgasms increasing in frequency as are her moans of pleasure. I love the look of her as she rides me hard. She looks possessed as she thrashes her head about, the coiffured hair of last night windblown from the fide making her look like a wild woman.

I want to tear her bikini top off and finally see those perky b-cups, crested by large nipples which are poking through the thin fabric of her top. I refrain though, leaving her some modicum of decency in a situation which is far from innocent.

Just the sight of her has me growing bigger and harder, causing her eyes to grow in proportion to my increase in size. Her silent screams of pleasure are enough to pull me over the top and I start pumping my seed into her convulsing twat. She milks me dry and collapses on my chest. Her kisses of passion are anything but tender.

I suggest we depart before the authorities show up to investigate our behavior. She agrees, not wanting any notoriety during the tour. She does not believe the saying "any press is good press," and I don't blame her. The image she projects with the band is more chaste than overt sexuality, of love songs filled with tenderness and longing, not the erotic performance we provided to any observer.

I finally get a peek at her boobs when she changes into her dress in the parking lot. And it is worth the wait. They are high riding, perfectly shaped and crowned with dusky rose colored nipples. I want to caress them, suck on the tender peaks until she cries out in passion, but then they are covered by her dress. I pack everything in the saddlebags, save our jackets, and take off. Her hands are in my lap, gently stroking my manhood, making me want to pull over and take her again.

I start to turn towards the concert venue from last night, but she has me go the other way. She directs me to another town and the stadium there, signaling the end to our adventure. I want to go any other direction, take her to my apartment where we can be together. But, I know I cannot do that to her. She has a life so different from mine that there is not future, only the now. So I live in the now, being with her as long as I can.

The tour bus is not at the arena. The manager is. He yells at her for not being present during the sound checks this afternoon. Her hiding behind me softens his tone. He tells her where the hotel is and tells her she needs a bath. She squeezes my hand even tighter and I walk her out to the bike and fide to the hotel, a place I could never afford to stay.

I am about to say goodbye when she says, "Come in with me." The concierge gives us a disgusted look and the older guy at the check in counter refuses to tell her which room she is registered in. He doesn't believe her when she says she is staying here. She meekly asks if he can call someone else in her party to have them come down to identify her.