In The Green Room 1

Here's a sweet and nasty memory of my time living up in Vancouver, British Columbia.

Talking Heads played a sold-out show at the Pacific Coliseum on December 3, 1983. I was there, and I want to tell you about the filthy way I got there.

I was a big Talking Heads fan, and they were really riding high with the Speaking in Tongues album that year. Every day you’d hear “Burning Down The House” on CFOX and LG73.

Unfortunately, I fucked up the ticket on-sale date. I had written down that it was September 9, but it was actually September 8. It was a really busy time right after Labor Day. When my friend Denise and I showed up early that Saturday morning to line up at the Ticketmaster outlet at the Royal Centre underground mall, we were shocked to find no one else there, and then pissed off when we realized why.

The Town Pump was brand-new that year. About a month later, Denise and I went to see a band called Alpha Avenue there. You might not remember them. They played some shows locally with 54-40 and the Payolas. They won a contest with this one catchy New Wave song called “Behind the Curtain.” The singer was an older guy – at least to us, like probably in his mid-30’s – named Steve Berenger.

It was a pretty good show, although Denise and I only paid attention for about half of it. She knew the bartender and he was slipping us free Manhattans. (I was dressed to thrill, with faux-leather boots, a naughty plaid skirt, a sheer rayon blouse, and a maroon bra underneath showcasing my voluptuous tits. I was always a show-off in the clubs.)

As well, Denise’s older sister Annabel showed up.

Annabel was a cop. I’d met her maybe twice before, briefly, at Denise’s parents’ house in Marpole. She was at the Town Pump with the liquor inspector to check things out, check their license. She had this very crisp blonde haircut that reminded me of Annie Lennox – I guess the Eurythmics were getting big that year too?

She had to be 27 or 28. Denise and her weren’t super-close. I guess we were both a little bit frightened of her. I was attracted to her too.

You could see when she came into this crowded club that people made way for her, and she filled out her uniform. She also had these very intense light blue eyes.

With all that, the rumor was that Annabel was dirty. That she took bribes for favors. The year before, she bought Denise’s parents a brand-new Cadillac for their birthday. How the fuck do you afford a Caddy on a police lieutenant’s salary?

I also once heard one of Denise’s brothers friend call Annabel a “fucking dyke.” Not to her face, of course.

I wasn’t sure what to believe. But I did notice Annabel’s liquor inspection didn’t take very long. Maybe five minutes, tops. Then she got a Coke and came over to talk to us. The inspector was finishing up some paperwork next to the stage, talking to the club manager.

She sat right down next to me and pressed her uniformed thigh up against mine. An involuntary tremor of excitement warmed my body.

“You seen Alpha Avenue before?” Annabel asked me. She sipped her Coke.

“No, I only heard their song last week,” I said.

Denise jumped in and started telling Annabel about how disappointed we were to be missing the Talking Heads concert in December.

Annabel laughed. “Well, I’ve got news for you girls. Alpha Avenue is opening for them.”

I stared. “You’re kidding, right?”

Annabel nodded toward the stage, where the band was wrapping up its final number. “No, I know Steve Berenger. He told me about it last week. They go on first. Then the Motels, and then Talking Heads.”

“Oh my God, that’s so crazy!” Denise exclaimed. “I’m going to go check out their merch table right now. Watch my drink.”

As Denise jostled her way through the crowd, Annabel leaned into me. “I could get us all into the show. Four tickets, third row. You interested?”

I gaped. “Really? Of course!”

Annabel put her lips next to my ear and her hand on my thigh. “I’m going to need your help with something in that case. If you’re like-minded, we can definitely make this happen.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but her proximity was making my pussy wet. My heart pounded as I wondered if the rumors were true.

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ll phone you tomorrow night with the details,” Annabel said. “Tell Denise I had to run.”

On December 8, Annabel swung by to pick me up at 4:30. It was gray and rainy. I was wearing a black Duran Duran T-shirt I’d gotten for my birthday and jeans. Nothing flashy, but I carried a big black leather bag from Eaton’s that was stuffed.

When I got into her Volkswagen, I was stunned by the transformation. She was wearing a white leather fringed jacket, a black-and-white striped spaghetti strap dress, and hooker boots.

The contrast with her usual police attire really turned me on. I could feel my nipples hardening.

Annabel leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth. “It’s my day off.”

Mmmmmmm. So the rumors were true. I felt my body heating up.

As we pulled away from the curb, I said: “Just wait till you see what I wear on my day off.”

We parked at the McDonald’s at Hastings and Victoria Drive. Annabel waited outside while I marched into the women’s washroom and changed in a stall.

The customers stared in shocked appreciation when I came back out, strutting in black pumps, a matching micro-mini with fishnets, and a cleavage-heavy red V-neck silk blouse. I’d also teased my hair messily with a touch of mousse and put on some electric-blue eyeshadow. Like what I did on a night of clubbing, but extra-indulgent.

I was even more nervous than when I’d bought my gear the week before at Kingsgate Mall, but the thrill of indulging my exhibitionistic tendencies in front of strangers was well worth it.

“Hell yeah!” someone said behind me as I exited McDonald’s.

Annabel’s ice-queen facade totally melted as she gave me the once-over. “You look fucking amazing!”

We kissed with heightened passion, her hands roaming hungrily over my full breasts.

“You’re going to mess up my lipstick,” I said teasingly. “Now drive.”

We got to the Coliseum just before 5. The parking lot wasn’t that full, although the tour trucks were sitting there outside the south entrance.

“So sound check just finished,” Annabel said. “Steve said to go to Gate 12 and someone will let us in.”

I was still nervous someone I knew would see me dressed like this. But the security – a middle-aged guy with a greying mustache – just whistled under his breath and said: “Welcome! We got a lot of stars here tonight.”

“Thanks,” Annabel said.

The security guy looked at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places?”

I smiled. “Why, yes, actually.”

Annabel had told me on the phone that Steve Berenger was really into that movie. And into girls that looked like her. And especially like me.

The security guy pointed down the floor level corridor. “Straight that way. You’ll see the sign for the Alpha Avenue green room on the left.”

The clacking of our heels echoed as roadies watched us with intense interest.

“It’s not the whole band, right?” I asked.

“Just Steve,” Annabel said. She had done this sort of thing before.

Steve answered on the second knock and welcomed us in, shutting the door. He had to be discreet because he was married. He looked kind of like the guy from Glass Tiger. I remember he was wearing his stage clothes. Hard to describe, but kind of a military uniform look, blue jacket with green stripes.

“You both look absolutely magnificent,” he said, looking directly at me. My confidence was surging. I just smiled and slowly turned to the side, giving him a nice view of my full young tits and beautifully curved ass.

The room was bare-bones and slightly sleazy. A chalkboard, a mirror, Steve’s guitar and amp, some folding chairs, a catering table with cold cuts and potato chips, a light cot with a green blanket in the corner.

Now, Alpha Avenue’s schtick was that they had a lot of synthesizer-based songs, a bit like Depeche Mode, that also wove in some Southern-style blues rock guitar lines, like Lynyrd Skynyrd or the Allman Brothers. Apparently Steve grew up in Tennessee before moving to Vancouver.

So that’s why we did a few shots of Wild Turkey together beforehand. I felt the warmth flooding through me, my cheeks pinkening, my heart pounding, my wet cunt suffused with need.

“I can’t thank you ladies enough for coming out today,” Steve said.

Annabel put her arm around my waist. “You can thank us by sitting your ass down and enjoying the show.”

Without inhibition, she turned to me and we began to kiss openly and without inhibition.

I can’t even begin to describe the feelings of pleasure and satisfaction that consumed me in that moment. So nasty, so warm, so raw and bi. My cunt got wetter and wetter. Our tongues intertwined as I tasted her saliva and she swallowed mine. She had been the aggressor at first, but now my hands roamed without hesitation to her ass cheeks, squeezing her hard and lustfully through that dress.

I heard Steve unzipping his pants, which added to my pleasure. I’ve never been shy about having a guy jack off to me in person.

Imagine if those fuckers at McDonald’s could have seen me now. For a moment, I pictured the expression of shock on Denise’s face if she could have seen me tongue-kissing her older sister. The taboo nature of that image turned me on even more.

It excited me to turn the tables on Annabel. I reached down and pulled the cot away from the wall, closer to Steve so he could get a better view. Then I pushed Annabel down on the cot and lay on top of her, grinding my body against hers, reaching down between her thighs and realizing to my delight that she was just as soaked as me.

I had masturbated multiple times to this moment, never really knowing how it would look or feel until I did it.

I turned my head toward Steve. His cock, slightly curved, stood near-vertical as he jacked it watching us. His brow was furrowed and a drop of pre-cum glistened on his cockhead.

“Take off your clothes,” I told Annabel.

She stood up and complied, revealing her pale white skin, apple-sized, brown-nippled tits, and a fat, ragged cunt with a thick thatch of light brown pubic hair.

Disinhibited, I didn’t undress completely. Instead, I made eye contact with Steve as I pulled my tits out of my bra. I walked over to him and pushed them against his face.

He tried to suck me but I slapped him lightly. “Ah, ah, ah! Naughty boy.”

I then strutted over to Annabel, who took my left tit in her mouth. Fuck yes.

“Mmmm, such a good girl,” I told her.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Again, I pushed Annabel down on the cot. I kicked off my pumps and hitched up my micro-mini into the back of my fishnets, revealing they were crotchless. With my engorged cunt lips and asshole on display for Steve, I got on top of Annabel in a crude 69 position. My back was arched, like an animal ready to get fucked.

I had never done anything like this before but was hungrily following my instincts.

“You like how that smells?” I asked Annabel. “Why don’t you taste it?”

Without awaiting her response, I pushed my cunt down on her face and began to grind. She responded by licking me hungrily, crudely, pushing her tongue up my soaked slit. Steve was moaning and jacking his cock, beating it noisily against his palm. Fuck yes.

I wanted the focus completely on me, but I wanted both Annabel and Steve to lust after me as hard as they could.

As she ate me, I leaned forward and stuck out my tongue, running it slow and wet down over her swollen clit and ragged lips. She convulsed with a shock of pleasure when I flicked her hood. It was real easy to eat a nasty cunt like Annabel’s.

Again, I turned toward Steve and showed him my tongue with Annabel’s cunt juices glistening on it.

I was so close to climaxing. I told Annabel: “Stick your tongue inside me.”

She did as she was told. I loved the nasty wet sound of her thrusting her tongue up my soaked fuckhole. I reached down between my thighs and began to furiously rub my clit, with my ass pressing down on Annabel’s face.

I could hear people walking by in the corridor outside, trolleys and voices and footsteps. Knowing they could hear me brought me over the edge. I let out a guttural scream and creamed on Annabel. Again and again.

My rawness brought Steve off too. “Fuck! Fuck, I’m coming! Fuck, I’m coming!”

I lay on top of Annabel for a few minutes, before finally rousing myself to see Steve’s cum splattered across the floor of the green room.

The Talking Heads show was incredible. (The Motels weren’t bad either. I was a little distracted during Alpha Avenue as images flashed back into my mind.) Third row. Wow. David Byrne and I made eye contact at least twice.

Denise was intensely curious to find out how Annabel had lined up these tickets for us – including a fourth school friend – but Annabel and I decided to keep that our secret.

Annabel and I got together once more after that, but she got offered a new job with the Abbotsford police and moved out to the Fraser Valley in 1984. Even though we lost touch, I still frig myself to the memories of that Coliseum green room.