(A story for Barb)
The house lights went down, the stage lights went up, and the crowd roared. The band filed back onto stage for the encore and picked up their instruments. The crowd continued to cheer while the lead singer looked around with a feigned expression of surprise. The final encore had happened like this every night for the past two months.
The crowd surged toward the stage, packing everyone even tighter than they were before. It was a warm night, and the concert had been magnificent. It was a fitting farewell tour for a band that had excited fans for nearly three decades.
About forty feet back from the stage, standing in the crowd, was a woman in her early thirties. She was far enough back to be out of the stage lights, but close enough to see every facial expression the musicians made. She wore a loose-fitting peasantâs blouse, a denim skirt that came to about mid-thigh, and sandals. Her black hair glistened in the darkness.
She had lost track of her friends earlier in the evening, figuring she would meet up with them again at the car. She hadnât been lonely, though, wandering from group to group and being welcomed wherever she went. Everyone was partying, and she had joined right in. After several glasses of wine, a few tokes of a joint, and a couple of lines of good coke, she was higher than she remembered being in a long time. She also was having more fun than she had had in a long time.
Several guys had tried out their lines on her, but she wasnât interested in any of them. Men were too hard, it seemed to her. The guys she had dated all needed too much attention. Lately she had started thinking that maybe she should try girls, instead. She figured that they
had
to be easier than the men she had seen recently.
The crowd grew quiet, and the band started playing their signature song. It began softly, with some low cymbal work. The bass player slowly laid down the rhythm. The song was from the psychedelic era of the late 60âs and early 70âs. The crowd started to sway to the music, and soon everyone was rocking back and forth in unison.
As the organ and the guitars joined in, the volume and speed of the music was gathering, building slowly. The woman was swaying with the crowd, her eyes closed and her face turned upward. The music was taking her back in time, to a more carefree era when she was younger and hadnât experienced the disappointments of the last few years. Back then, it had still seemed like everyone was good and anything was possible.
At first she didnât notice the hands on her hips, the crowd being packed so closely together. She slowly realized that someone behind her was resting their hands on her hips, holding her as she moved back and forth to the music. They were large, and felt like a manâs hands. Far from upsetting her, it made her feel warm and secure. It fit perfectly with the mood created by the music, the crowd, and the drug-induced buzz she had.
As the music increased in intensity, they danced in place together. He had pulled her closer, so she could feel his warm body against her back. She decided she wouldnât look around, letting this be an anonymous encounter on a wonderful night. She tried to envision his body from what she felt. He was slim and muscular. She thought he was wearing a tanktop. She glided her hands over his arms. They were lean and strong. The skin on his hands was slightly rough, but not unpleasantly so.
Without breaking the dance, he slowly moved his hands under the hem of her blouse. His fingers sill held her hips, touching the denim of her skirt. She felt his thumbs rub against the bare skin on the top of her hips. She began to move her hips more, swinging them back and forth in time to the music. His hold on her tightened so that his hands wouldnât slip off. All the time she kept her eyes closed.