Monday, 6 July 2015

Excerpt: Test Your Metal

Once the shaggy looking roadies had finished setting up, the lights went down and the entire place took a deep breath. The drummer came out first and sat behind his kit in silence. Then the bassist and two guitarists did the same. All the while, we looked on in awe. Three crashes of the cymbal smashed the silence and the horde of bodies surged forwards. Dry ice ebbed from the stage that was not even a metre from us. The other members of the band joined in forming the backing to “In my Veins.” That’s when he walked out, blue beams highlighted his perfect body as he began to belt out the lyrics. I couldn’t believe how many people in the room loved these men as much as we did. Every word he sang was accompanied by a thousand or so other voices. I thought I was going to melt.
The sweat that dripped from his perfectly smooth brow and plastered his glossy black locks to his face only enhanced the visual sexuality of the man who was screaming into the microphone. He was even more beautiful in real life. His hazel eyes glittered like nuggets of gold in the beams of the LED lasers. The girls and I screamed when partway through the show Brad peeled his soaking wet T-shirt from his muscled torso and flung it carelessly into the mob. Within minutes, the garment had been shredded to bits by a million grabbing hands (unfortunately, I wasn’t near enough to swipe a piece) and the American just laughed at the sight, flashing his pearly teeth.
“Oh you like that, do you?” He taunted us. “What, you want a piece of this?” He slid a long slender hand over one of his distended powder pink nipples and down the glistening valley in the middle of his rock hard abdomen stopping with a black-nailed thumb hooked into his buckle.
Having come onto the stage bare footed, he now stood in just his patent leather trousers which left little to the imagination. Slug low, they revealed a tattoo of purple and black flames licking up towards his naval from beneath the impossibly tight waistband. The gyrating of his hips sent shivers down my spine and straight to my groin area. An ear splitting guitar solo filled the room from Nicole’s preferred guy and Brad used that time to vault down of the stage and over to us, the public. He high fived some fans jovially on his journey along the front row.
My heart beat wildly when he came towards me. Random hands, like claws, brushed past every part of me trying to grab at him. Those soulful brass eyes were looking directly at me. Suddenly, he hopped up onto the silvery railing so his body was now in line with mine; the cold hard steel was the only thing hiding my straining cock from the pretty boy I was now chest to chest with. It was quite possibly one of the most surreal moments of my life. It was like a dream only the elbows that were now jabbing furiously in my back were really quite painful.
He smelt of fresh perspiration and whisky. I watched astonished as he didn’t even flinch as fingers from all directions dug into his tight shoulders and bulging biceps, leaving scratches and bruises almost immediately. Without warning, his arm that wasn’t grasping the gate snaked around the back of my neck and he took a handful of my hair.
He pulled my face towards his and pressed his burning forehead against mine. The microphone was between our mouths and he was singing again, singing to me, the intensity of his stare nearly enough to cause me faint. The throng of mainly females around me became even more frenzied, shrieks piercing my ear drums. I almost whimpered when the front man let me loose with a light shove against my chest and hurdled back to join his band.

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