Goddess of the Freas

Someone handed the naked woman a herringbone jacket as she stepped off the stage on legs wobbly from adrenaline and vodka. She blushed again as she clutched it to her bare, floppy breasts and the thunderous applause briefly rose in volume.

"See?" I said to George, "Things are getting interesting."

George rolled his eyes as he finished his expansive yawn. "Oh whoopee... I got to see a drunk thirty-something woman with big tits take her clothes off. I could have got the same from you back at our room without having to spend two hours in this shit-hole bar."

I sighed. "I meant, things are

starting

to get interesting. You'll see."

"Jeeesus," groaned George. "It's after one in the morning. I'd fall asleep right here if these chairs weren't so damned uncomfortable."

I was running out of patience with George's attitude and I struggled to remain positive. "Just give it a little more time... I've heard things get really wild once all the squares clear out."

"Fuck, Carol, I teach science to dead eyed middle schoolers and you're a paralegal at a realty company.

We're

the squares here. Let's just go."

"Just a little while longer..."

"Christ almighty!"

I remained quiet as we waited for the next act to come forward from the crowd of hipsters and weirdoes that packed Gronkie's Pub, home of what was rumored to be the wildest open mic night of Claire Beach City's annual "Alternative Lifestyle Festival" (or "Freak-Fest", as it was usually called on the tee-shirts, banners and etc.). Not for the first time this weekend, I was wishing I had broken up with George before this trip. But, like the chronically optimistic fool I am, I had hoped that being around crowds of genuinely interesting people would spark something exciting in my admittedly bland boyfriend of the past few months. Plus my ex had the kids this weekend and I wanted to get away from the suburbs and see some of the 'wild' side of life (while also getting some beach time and working on my tan, 'natch). Fat chance with a guy like George; it was like taking your grandmother to see a hip-hop concert.

So, silently, in my mind, right then and there, I broke up with him. I'd let him know when we got back home. No reason to make the drive back more unpleasant than it needed to be.

I turned to him and smiled in relief at having made up my mind. He pretended not to notice me looking his way. That made it even easier. Thanks George, you turd.

"Ladies, Gentlemen... and

Otherrrr

," began the mustachioed, baritone-voiced MC in his usual way. "Our next act is Derrick Coleman, and tonight he's going to read a selection of his

poetrrrry

..."

The crowd erupted in boos as a chubby, hirsute young man made his drunken way to the front while clutching an iPad that was showing an awful lot of heavily indented text.

George turned to me. "That's does it. I'm leaving."

"OK," I said, relieved. "See you later."

George stared at me in disbelief. "You're going to walk back to the room from here? By yourself?!"

"It's two blocks. I'll manage."

"Wearing

that

!?"

I looked down at myself. True, my blue party dress was quite tight and showed off a scandalous amount of cleavage and thigh, but I'd been wearing it all evening without getting hassled or groped. Although the crowds at the Freak-Fest were a generally odd-looking bunch the vibe was definitely live and let live.

"I'll manage." I repeated.

"Well...whatever," he said. "Enjoy getting gang-raped." And with that he stood and pushed his way into the crowd. He should have thanked that crowd as he moved to the door. If they weren't in the way I would have thrown my gin and tonic right at the back of his head. Hard.

I seethed a bit as the bearded kid on stage tried to read his poem in a timid, slurry voice over the catcalls and jeers from the drunk, impatient crowd. Not only was I angry at George, I was beginning to wonder if I'd been lied to about the crazy shenanigans that allegedly took place around there. And, beyond that, even if the crazy shenanigans were forthcoming, what was the point if I was all by myself?

And to think, I'd actually entertained fantasies that George would take this opportunity to emerge from his stodgy cocoon, maybe even exhibit some interest in getting up on stage to show these tattooed and oddly coifed weirdoes that suburban squares can get freaky too. Not to brag but we were a good looking couple; wasn't it conceivable he could be tempted into showing off a little... or maybe a lot?

As I said before, I can be such an optimistic fool.

My mood grew sour. I slumped in my seat. Errant locks of my long dark hair fell across my face. I let them droop there. I was no longer in the mood to flash my blue eyes at attractive strangers or purse my lips suggestively as I sipped my drink. I only wanted to hide the ugly self pity I felt dancing across my face.

"GET OFFA THE STAGE YOU FAT FUCK!" Shouted a cherubic hipster girl beside me with green pigtails and a face full of piercings. I was tempted to join in. I was also tempted to slap the bitch. I realized I was not having fun.

Time passed like this. The guy on stage curtailed his reading and returned sheepishly to the crowd. Some skinny joker with a bunch of neck tattoos took the stage and started doing a strip-tease to the same song the woman had just stripped to ('Night Train', if you must know). He got a lot of laughs but I wasn't in the mood for his shtick. I started wondering if maybe I should just leave; maybe George was right; maybe I was the uncool one here and I should just get used to it.

"Hey," came a voice -- a male voice -- over my shoulder. "Would you, um, mind some company?"

I turned and found myself face to face with a young guy of obviously bi-racial parentage. His skin was pale like badly over-milked coffee and speckled with tan freckles, his facial features were almost classically beautiful but for his thickish lips and flattish nose. His eyes were a beautiful light hazel and his hair a nappy frizz of medium reddish brown curls that he wore in a short, droopy afro. He wore a sleeveless shirt so his lithe, muscular arms and wide shoulders were on full display. He had tattoos, the usual generic tribal stuff but he hadn't overdone it.

"Please!" I answered.

He smiled a smile that melted me more than a little as he plopped down into George's spot.

"Malcolm," he said, extending his hand.

"Carol," I said, taking his hand.

He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it. It was a pretty cheesy move... but I'll be damned if it didn't melt me a little bit more.

"My, my - aren't you a forward one," I said with a irrepressible giggle.

"Well... I saw your date leave and I thought..." he trailed off.

"Don't worry about him. We just broke up, although he doesn't know it yet."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Usually it's the women who storm out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Things get crazy up on stage. A guy who's had a few too many suggests something wild to his girl. She slaps his face and leaves."

"Oh really? Is that what happened with your date?"

Malcolm laughed. "Not exactly. She didn't bother to slap me."

I laughed. "What on Earth did you suggest?"

"I hate to say... we've only just met."

"Ooo, that

does

sounds interesting. Now you have to tell me!"

"Well... you know what happens up on stage here when it starts to get late, right?"

I laughed again. It was one-thirty in the morning and apparently it had yet to "start to get late" in his estimation. Holy crap this Malcolm guy was young.

"I've heard stories, but I was starting to think they weren't true," I said.

"This is my third year coming here. Trust me. They're true," he said with a significant nod in my direction. "But anyway, I suggested to my girl that we get up on stage and... you know...

perform

."

"And she wasn't into it."

"Not at all. And I'd thought she was so cool."

"But not cool enough, apparently."

"Yeah, apparently," he said with a crooked frown. "So what happened over here to make you break up with your guy without telling him?"

"Not so fast, mister... I'm still curious.

Specifically

, what did you suggest to your girl?"

Malcolm looked a little flustered. It was adorable. "Well, I suggested that we get up on stage together and, you know...

do it

."

I drained off the last half of my gin and tonic as I thought about that. I looked the kid over. No doubt about it: he was a fine looking boy. He also had surprisingly large hands. I wondered if that meant other parts of him were disproportionately thick too. Hmmm.

"Gosh," I said.

"Yeah."

There was a pause. "So tell me honestly Malcolm, did you come over here because you're trying to recruit me as some kind of substitute for your not-as-cool-as-you'd-hoped girlfriend?"

He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Well...I

was

also getting tired of standing and you had an empty seat... but, yeah, pretty much."

"Wow."

He edged back in his chair, like he was waiting to be slapped.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Humor me."

"I'm twenty two."

"Holy shit Malcolm, I was already getting periods when you were born."

"Ummm, sexy," he said wryly. I laughed.

"I've never done anything like that before..." I said.

"Me neither. The girls I hope will be into it always chicken out."

I turned to look the crowd over. They were all looking towards the stage and laughing uproariously as the now-naked tattooed guy swung his thin, uncircumcised dick back and forth in time to the music. They looked like a forgiving bunch, as long as you didn't try to

read

to them.

"Well...OK," I said. My voice cracked a little as my heart rate jumped and my stomach began to flutter uncomfortably. "Let's do it."

"...Really?"

"What the hell. Go ahead and sign us up."

Malcolm smiled a big toothy grin at me. "Awesome. I'll be right back, Carrie."

"It's

Carol

!" I shouted after him.

***

"Ladies, Gentlemen... and

Otherrrrr

," began the MC in his usual way. "Our next act is Malcolm and the lovely Carol. They want to be the first here tonight to prove... their...

looooove

!"

The crowd went crazy. They were jumping up and down, whistling, clapping. Malcolm went to the mike and signaled for them to calm down.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello!" answered the crowd as one.

"I just want to say, me and Carol came here with other people who chickened out on us... we've never, well, you know..."

"What?" shouted someone from the crowd.

"We've never

met

before just now. So be nice to us. This is our first time."

"Awwwww," cried the crowd like a bunch of kids finding a litter of kittens.

"Well, um, thanks," Malcolm finished before turning to me with a wide eyed look of 'Now What' on his face. That made me feel better. I was feeling quite overwhelmed myself. Terrified, really.

"Should we kiss maybe?" he asked. His voice dripping with stage fright.

"Not yet," I said, thinking of the crowd. We needed to do something visual or they might start treating us like that poetry guy. "Why don't you start by taking off my clothes."

"Wow. OK. Awesome," he said eagerly as his eyes went from nervous to excited in the space of a blink.

He reached for me. I brushed his hands away. "No," I said, turning to face the crowd. "Get behind me and do it."

"Woo!" said the crowd as a hundred impatient eyes looked up and scanned the contours of my body through the tight fabric of my slutty little blue dress. I swallowed my fear and gave them a lurid wink as I felt Malcolm step behind me and place his hands on my shoulders. His fingers pulled back my long cascade of thick, dark-chestnut hair and his lips touched the back of my neck with a tender pressure. He gave my neck a long, tonguey/bitey kiss that raised a ripe crop of goosebumps up and down my skin. I squirmed in delight.

I pushed back into his body. His chest was solid, his abdomen tight. I could feel his cock beginning to grow as I pushed my ass against his pelvis. I writhed suggestively as his hands moved down over my breasts. I reached up to lace my fingers together behind his neck as I turned my face to him. Our lips met in a wet but tender soul kiss. He tasted of cigarettes and cheap beer but I didn't care. He was a fantastic kisser.

His hands moved down off my breasts, over my abdomen, to my hips, which he gripped firmly as he ground his increasingly impressive erection against my ass. I moaned and the now-quiet crowd reacted with several approving whistles at my obvious arousal.

Malcolm's brought his hands to my shoulders again. He brushed away the straps of my dress. "Is this OK?" He whispered to me around a kiss.

"Better than OK," I said.

He found the zipper and pulled it down. Slowly, he began to peel off my dress. Gradually the fancy, sparkly bra I'd put on oh-so-optimistically was revealed to the crowd, then my abdomen, then my fancy, sparkly panties. Finally, my dress was a blue puddle at my feet. I kicked it away to the side of the stage. My three inch heeled black pumps I kept on.

"Daaaaamn," said someone in the crowd, eliciting a patter of sympathetic mumbling. I was never so glad that I'd gotten so heavily into yoga after Frank and I got divorced.

"Bra's next," whispered Malcolm.

"Shhhh," I said. "Just do it."

I brought my hands to the cups of my bra as Malcolm struggled briefly with the clasp in back. As he unhooked it and slipped the straps from my shoulders I let it fall to the floor while keeping my fingers to where they just barely covered my erect nipples. I turned around and kissed Malcolm again, pushing my breasts against his chest and teasing the raptly attentive crowd by swirling my barely covered ass before them in a sultry motion.

"My turn," I said.

We continued to kiss. As we kissed I reached down to unbutton the fly of Malcolm's cargo shorts. As they dropped to the floor I reached into his boxer briefs to finally feel the heft of his cock in my hand.

"Holy shit Malcolm," I said.

"Thanks," he said as his hands slid down my bare back, into my panties to massage my butt and tickle up and down along the crack of my ass.

"Take your shirt off," I told him. In a fluid movement he pulled it up over his head and whipped it into the crowd. There were cheers. His chest was covered in a light fuzz of soft curly hair. I began kissing down his muscular torso as I sank to my knees. With a sharp tug I pulled his underwear down to his ankles and his fat cock swung out to tap me on the face. I giggled and gave it a chaste kiss.

"I wanna see that cock!" shouted some young lady in the crowd. Realizing my head was blocking the show, I turned us ninety degrees to give our fans a lovely profile view as I took his shaft in hand and began bestowing long, wet licks against the dusky, tightly stretched skin of his proud manhood.

"Suck that monster!" someone yelled - a guy this time - and I eagerly complied. It wasn't easy, no more than half of that thing would fit in my mouth and there was just no way it was going to fit down my throat. I made up for it by grasping the base in both hands as I bobbed my face up and down along his cock. Occasionally I'd pause to lovingly tongue his balls as I jerked his shaft with one hand and stroked his taint with the other.

By this point I felt like I had enough of his milky precum smeared on my face for it to serve as foundation. I was pretty well glazed and he hadn't even come yet. I looked up at him. His eyes were disbelieving, enraptured, horny as hell.

"Enough of this... let's fuck," I said to him.

"Not yet..." he said. "Stand up."

I stood to face the crowd and he dropped to his knees. As I tweaked and tugged at my oh-so-sensitive nipples he tore my panties away (a bummer because they weren't cheap and they matched the bra; not that I minded at the time), draped my left leg over his right shoulder and began licking and sucking at my lips and clit. It felt good, of course, but, God dammit, I wanted to get fucked. Oh God, I wanted to get fucked in front of all these horny strangers so fucking badly.

I pushed his head away, untangled my leg from his shoulder and stepped back. He looked up at me like a frustrated puppy. I smiled, turned and strutted over to the side of the stage, swaggering in my three-inch fuck-me heels so my tits bounced with each step. I grabbed the folding metal chair I'd noticed leaning up against the wall, strutted back, unfolded it and turned my profile to the crowd. With my legs cast wide I bent over at the waist with my hands on the seat and my ass in the air. I looked back over my shoulder at Malcolm, flashing him a hot 'come-hither' stare.

Malcolm misunderstood. His face was soon between my cheeks and he began to eat out my ass like a man famished. Now

that

was a new one for me... and I liked it! Soon I was grunting like mad as he sent crazy shocks of pleasure through my body. His hands joined the action, stoking my pussy and probing inside me. My skin was coursing with thick flows of hot pleasure sweat. But good as that felt, it wasn't what I really wanted.

"Ohhh... just fuck me... please... FUCK ME MALCOLM!" I pleaded. I wanted that wonderful cock inside me so bad. I wanted it stretching the weeping walls of my straining vag, pounding away at my quivering body and stirring up my gooey insides with deep thrusts of unhinged feral intensity.

"FUCK HER! FUCK HER!..." Chanted the crowd. Gosh it was nice to hear they were on my side.

Looking back between my legs I saw Malcolm pull himself up from the floor, his hard, fat member bobbing before him. I felt his hands take my hips and his firm head brush up along the furrow of my puss. I bit my lip in anticipation as he lined it up to enter me.

The crowd was completely silent again. I felt the pressure from the wide girth of his cock prying at my hole. I shuddered in anticipation - and maybe a little in fear - as I felt him press forward. I was incredibly wet but still I felt a bite of pain as he spread me wide. He went slow - thank God - entering me a millimeter as a time as my body strained to accept him. Finally I felt his abdomen come to rest against my ass. He was in, balls deep. I quivered. Holy shit that felt good.

Malcolm paused to gyrate his hips with his shaft fully buried inside me: stirring me up, driving me crazy with lust. Finally he began to pull his rod from my deepest depths. I shuddered at the sensation of uneasy pressure being relieved even as I yearned for its immediate return. He began pumping me, slowly at first, not touching my clit but grinding against my g-spot deep inside. My skin danced and twitched as my body began to flood with the coiling build-up of ultimate pleasure. Sweat was running down into my eyes and dripping from my tits now. My grunting and moaning melted into sharp barks and cries as he began slamming into me hard; each impact making a sharp slap that echoed wetly in the crowded but quiet room.

It was great, but not great enough. Bent over like this my long hair was blocking my view of the crowd, of those hundred horny eyes all drinking me in. I wanted to see them see me. I wanted to read the lust, the disbelief and the envy in their upturned faces as Malcolm slammed his fat cock deep inside me. I turned my head and signaled Malcolm to pause.

"What's... wrong?" he asked around his ragged breaths.

I stood and let his cock drop from me. I pointed at the seat. "Sit."

Like an obedient dog he moved to obey without a second thought. But I stopped him briefly to move the chair closer to the edge of the stage, four feet or so back. I pointed at the seat again and Malcolm sat. We were just about within touching distance of the crowd packing the dance floor. My heart fluttered as I looked down at their upturned faces staring at my body, every muscle standing out with sweat-glazed definition, my breasts rising and falling with my heaving breath.