She is wild, this one. Pure.
We have the place to ourselves, the after-party is going on close to the local watering hole so no-one is likely to interrupt this private performance, even on the main stage with ten thousand empty seats pointing at us.
Both naked except for sweat and each other's limbs, both locked into the shared space of instinct and sensation, perhaps halfway through our own little set. The standby lighting casts us in reds and purples, deep shadows. Cool air drifts down to us like snow but there is a haze of sex and warm bodies holding it at bay.
Lust can be art and the twenty year old in my lap is something of a prodigy. This is the most casual I've been with sex for a couple of years, but she screws with the same intense focus that Hendrix played guitar, some things you just don't want to miss. So inside her zone, inside her head listening to a beat only she can hear. You can't experience something like that and not fall in love just a little bit.
In the red light her dark brown skin mixes with the shadows, her eyes two glinting points like mine. Californian, she's got a voice that's going to be famous but she's barely starting out. Her voice is like she is, open and warm and intimate and soulful, too good to be busking around with an old Spanish guitar pretending to be a backing vocalist.
Elle was meant for higher things and in my selfish way I'm glad she still has time to slum it with the beasts of burden. Banging a Roadie isn't something that happens on the watch of a good manager, something she's still looking for. I suppose we all have to prove ourselves to the world at the last.
Her right hand grips my shoulder to keep her balance, the other holds her left nipple in a twisting grip. Her tongue is in my mouth and my cock deeply inside her pussy.
She was an acquaintance last night, clearly impulsive but then sometimes the best things happen at a moment's notice. A backing vocalist entirely wasted on the band, I'm glad she found a better way to enjoy herself on this stage. A look became a word became a touch became a kiss became...
I suck the sweet tongue she gives me, I keep my grip tight around her hips as we both push and pull at each other in a relentless, hard rhythm.
The stage is dark and, without us, would be quiet too. It's still warm from the fever heat of ten thousand bodies, our ears still echo from industrial decibels, the stage hasn't been still for an entire day of thumping feet and beating hearts. Apart from us it's still, almost everything shut off for the night.
I break the kiss to suck in harder breaths as she begins to squeeze me with every muscle, her fingertips digging at my shoulder and her thighs clamping about my waist, her beautiful pussy gripping me like a thirsty mouth around a cold bottle.
I lick her neck to taste her sweat, to turn her on, to ask for another of those low rumbling groans she gives when we find the right spot, the perfect moment.
She kisses my cheek, nips and sucks my earlobe. I feel the edge of her voice in the vibration of her jaw, she leans into me and I put one hand flat on the stage behind us for grip as she freewheels for a long moment, her half-closed eyes glinting as she moves.
I'm lost in her, enraptured by the glimmer that shines from that lustful, inspired place behind her eyes.
The red lights pick out the edge of the stage and enough of the glow reaches us to make her a scarlet whirl of passion as she drops back in for the chorus. I had a second's fleeting thought of eyes on our writhing bodies and of what we must look like to the absent audience, cast as we were in stygian mood-lighting.
Her passion did not burn entirely for me, I'm humble enough to admit, but for sex and sensuality itself; for the things that leave you like a virtuoso shredding a guitar in the hissing silence of a hundred thousand bated breaths, like Janis Joplin winding up for a scream that will rattle God's eardrums.
It's a rare woman that can fuck you so perfectly, so powerfully that you will do anything for her, just to feel those lips on you again, just to see her smile.
Elle is a girl I would very much like to know better, short for Eloise, but even one syllable becomes extravagant when you are doing this sort of fevered duet.
"Hnnh..." I say into her chest as I take her smallish, pert, entirely perfect breast into my mouth. I'm not much of a musician myself but I can keep a beat, pick out a melody.
I feel like a boy-scout with a bugle trying to jam with Louis Armstrong, but I'm confident she will get something out of me.
