Tam spots him on her way to the bar. He's reclining on a bench, supporting himself on one elbow and nursing a tall glass of beer in his free hand. His hands are big. He looks hard. He's tall and thoroughly muscled. His chiseled jaw tenses as he notices the way she's looking at him. Hungrily. Brazenly. She's dangerous. He laughs roguishly at the silent challenge and sits up to offer her his hand, "I'm Erik." Ignoring it, she places a hand on his shoulder and makes a show of straddling the bench before planting her arms firmly on the edges of the bench in front of her.
She takes her sweet time, knowing the effect. She leans forward with a toothy grin, putting her weight on her arms so that her exposed ass cheeks graze the cold surface of the bench. With his beer still in his hand he lazily reaches towards her. His beer and hand reach between two arms that are as steady as goalposts. He callously hooks his finger through the width of denim between her legs, the little scrap of cloth that makes her shorts 'shorts,' and not 'skirt.' She feels two strokes of his rough knuckle rubbing against her and she shudders as he pulls her toward him by that strip of denim, making her skid squeakily along the bench. To stop him, she leans forward and pushes her pelvis outwards and away from him, a move that traps his finger right where it is. Simulating a slow heavy pendulum, her hips oscillate side to side so that her labia are rubbing against a now slick metacarpal and the sweating beer glass. Hot and cold. Cold and hot...the alternations are numbing. She's got the itch and by gods this finger is going to do some scratching.
With his other hand he reaches for her chin, and draws her even closer. She resists his mouth so that her butt is more pronouncedly sticking out above the bench, her pulsing button pressing deeper onto the cold glass. Her stance is in true keeping with the image of a batty-rider. Stretching and straining on its seams, the naughty strip of denim digs deeper into her, eliciting a reluctant moan. He presses his mouth against hers just in time to steal that moan, taking for his own an unoffered kiss. He tugs at her hair, pulling her lips away from his. He tugs her hair again until she's looking at him unblinking, slightly apprehensive of the demon she's awoken. "I'm Tamara, why don't you get me a drink," she musters with a noncommittal smirk.
She watches Erik go, picking up on his haughty Nordic giant demeanor. He reminds her of a Norse mythic creature, or his vampire namesake from True Blood. Utter bloodlust fantasy. Nodding to the music, she has a mental flash of standing over him, telling him how she wants to be touched. She shakes off the thought. Her fantasies are meant only for Jad, she feels guilty, dirty, and unworthy. She's convinced herself that she'd be dedicated to Jad, never letting other men into her head even while they did to her things Jad would never again do. She recalls that one time with Jad after a concert. She groaned his full name then, because it hurt so badly when he eased himself down and into her. It was her first time, and his first time, and his name was like a prayer for mercy... They were just kids. Sixteen and it was sobering, painful, fumbling sex. She loved him, she trusted him and worshipped his body—honey-voiced Jad—all the right ingredients for romance but still a disastrous encounter.
Feeling the sorrow and anxiety from earlier that evening swoop back in she reaches for her phone. No messages. Drunk with bitterness, she composes a video-text of herself mouthing: Fuck you, Jad. This time she presses send before she can think twice. She's going to practice for Jad, with Erik.
Erik's still at the bar, stretching out his long legs as a biker girl ogles his pert butt. With a dismissive nod he heads back with a whiskey sour and another cold beer. Eyeing the cold beer, Tam smiles and cocks her head to the side. Because she's enjoying the easy company, she reluctantly provokes him, "I think I liked you better when you were set on ravaging me." Realizing how antagonistic that sounds she quickly chastens, chiding herself for not being normal. Why can't I just ask him what he does for a living, or where he's from? Why do I always put on the act? She starts hating herself for it but he interrupts her self-flagellation, roaring with laughter at her taunt. You can see his large teeth. Tam has a thing for teeth. And his are certainly noticeable. She likes them regular and white but with some personality. "I hope you're legal, Tam," Erik tells her earnestly. It's not a question. There's no beating around the bush with this guy, she almost feels comfortable in her skin. "Well isn't that a little presumptuous of you?" she quips back. He laughs again and slaps her on the back. "You're a keeper!" And just like that she starts to feel like a 'bro.' That's what she hates about her bantering, spite-fire personality and open sexuality, it makes men treat her like she can handle their raw, unbridled dude-ness. What's a girl got to do to get her own and still be treated like a lady? She's tough and rough around the edges but she's still looking for someone who'll recognize the softness in her, though she doubts there's any left.
Erik stands up abruptly and finishes his beer in a long gulp. It's too loud for conversation so he grabs her arm and guides her up and away from the bench. She feels wanted, and soaks in the male attention. She's been swept away to some fairytale land where the heroines are raunchy and sassy but still pastel-pink princesses. The music is calling to them. It's got some electronic undertones that make her muscles twitch in pleasure. Erik twirls her around and soon his enthusiasm engulfs her, enshrouding her from all the worry and doubt and anxiety. He's got a magic touch. She wanders just what exactly that touch could do for her. Getting excited by the thought, she pulls him close, and twists around, slippery and sly like a cat. He's now behind her. He squeezes her a little too tightly, and she can feel his exhaled breath on her neck. She snuggles closer, putting her hand on the back of his neck. Stepping backwards she presses even closer into him. The cuffs of her little shorts make patterns on his thighs as she rolls her hips to the beat. Still holding his neck, she twists back around to face him and gives him a kiss. She's sucking at his lower lip, and he's rubbing the small of her back. She pulls away momentarily to take a swig at her drink, which is still in hand. He groans, finding the separation intolerable, and slips his hand from her shoulder down into the back pocket of her shorts. He squeezes and kneads until she leans back in for another kiss. She hasn't even had time to swallow so he laps up the whiskey for himself, drinking hungrily from her mouth. Hot and cold again, it reminds her of the scene with the beer. Oh boy, I'm ready, she thinks feeling the tingling wetness at the apex of her jeans. This time he pulls away groaning again, like a caged animal. "I can smell you, Tam...divine!"
Tam takes the moment to look around; all around them is a sea of bobbing heads, gyrating hips, and tangled limbs. Couples kiss, displaying various stages of arousal, all sense of decorum and decency strummed away by the electric guitarist's fingers. His skills with the guitar are titillating. She can feel the bass pulsating through the floor sending tingling sparks up and down her. She can see the effect it has on the crowd, he could drive them to anything. Squinting, Tam takes a closer look at him. He's staring right at her. His face contorts, but she can't quite read it. She guiltily drops her hands from the male body they are gripping, but she's otherwise paralyzed. Just at that moment, Luce prances over, excitedly throwing her arm around Tam's shoulders. "Hey Tam!" She's holding on to Danny's belt with the other hand. A drunken Danny: who is thrashing about in her bra and waving her top like a flag of surrender. Luce continues, "Why didn't you tell me Jad was in a new band? His drummer is so yummy!" Tam winces at the presumed intimacy with Jad. It makes her bitter to think they used to be that close.
She stares on, drinking in his rockstar aura. He's grown out his hair and it's now a curly mass on his collar: dizzy unruly waves that make you want to grab and pull and stroke. His skin is sun-kissed and his lean body is lissome, far from the pale dorky mental image she's been crushing on. He's turned into a god. He leans back, teetering across the stage as he winds his hips in time with his own strumming. He's driving the ladies crazy with his showmanship. Her eyes follow him as he moves from one end of the stage to the other. He grabs the microphone and his sweetly melodious tenor rings out. It's as clear and piercing as ever. The same as it was when he was a choirboy in their private middle school. Nothing has changed, she reassures herself, closing her eyes to stop the tears. His tenor weighs heavy on her chest as it always has. He's singing about holding "her" and kissing "her" and undressing "her..." and Tam gets mad at the thought of every girl in the bar imagining themselves as this hypothetical "her." This is her song, goddammit! She wants to be up there, rubbing her body all over him in a sultry feline dance.
She pushes a particularly enthusiastic girl out of her way, a reasonable compromise for what she really wants to do: rip the groupie's hair out. Erik grabs her then, amused by the unwarranted aggression. Tam hugs him tightly, her eyes never leaving Jad, hoping the musician will notice and signal that it bothers him she's with someone else. Just a little signal to reaffirm that she should indeed be holding on to her fanciful dream of what they could be together. His eyes are locked on her but nothing seems to faze him. Her eyes are glued to the stage as she traces her tongue along Erik's lip, refusing to let Jad win. Encouraged, Erik hoists her into the air, lifting her until her knees are hugging his hips. She throws her head back and laughs, a shrill warrior-princess call to battle that is delirious with rage and an all-consuming desire to make Jad suffer. But his voice haunts her. She closes her eyes, afraid of the intensity of the emotions at bay...
She brings her arms down to Erik's shoulder, fingers whisking over his flexing muscles, to unzip his pants. With one move she frees his shaft. It's panting after her; in fact, she can feel its hot breath through the skin of her jeans. Her whole back is getting slick from the exertion and excitement, and Erik, squeezes and pinches and grabs to keep his hold on her now slippery back. When did she lose her shirt and bra? Buttery like a fish fresh out of water, she slides out of his hands, her feet hitting the ground with a pulsating sting.
Suddenly she's against the wall: a bumpy and scratchy surface grating against her bare skin. Erik is pushes her further in and the wall is opening up to swallow her. It's like being caught in a choppy sea, and she's getting dizzy. Disoriented by the walls swelling and rolling, she places both hands around his cock. It's breathing, it's looking at her. It's a focal point towards which everything--the walls, the floor, her hips--are surging. It's looking at her, menacing... it's going to gobble her up, lacerate her body and she's shivering from fear, aching from anticipation. Then, in one last rebellious moment she starts to laugh again. No, there's nothing to be afraid of. She's going to eat him, engorge on him.
Raising one leg and hooking it around Erik's hips, she guides his cock into her. She imagines herself a black hole, willing her moist tingling folds to devour every part of Erik, sucking him up and deep into themselves. "Woosh!" She inhales, making the sucking sound of a vacuum, imagining that's what she's doing to Erik. Her nails are digging into his ass cheeks. He wants to pull out but she's unrelenting. He changes tactics: whirling his dick around inside her and going along with the centrifugal force her hunger has created. It's like he's stirring her up from the inside out, hitting against her edges and swirling and swirling until she's gone senseless. He starts to twitch, short hard stabs at her pelvis that have his balls beating against her. Soft, heavy globes, they rise and fall, teasing her. Ahh, she moans and throws her head back again. Somehow Erik has regained control, he's thrusting and thrusting, and now she's rubbing up and down the scratchy wall, her back chafing as her hips try to accommodate his tormenting torture.
Glup glup glup the spaces between the small of her back and the gritty wall make a squishy sound at each bounce. Now Erik is pounding as if to an alternated staccato beat, in time to Jad's song. Erik would make a good musician too...Ahh, her train of thoughts of being stretched and warped, morphing into a trail of smoke as her mind evaporates, and surrendering to the hedonist, bestial pleasure. Soon she's evaporating too, the stickiness of her back, the sloshing sound from between their legs push her closer and closer to a shuddering eruption. And suddenly it happens, like a stone drop it sends ripples across her body, then her mind. That last stroke sends off soft velvety waves of colored lights that shimmer as they reach for and tickle the unexplored caverns of her mind...Her mind's eye is flooded with light. Blinded, she stops. She labors to catch her breath. She's gone limb. She can't feel anything. Its all lit up, the opposite of frozen—numbed by a hot flash of white light. Slowly, she opens her eyes.
