She Wasn’t Even a Fan

I only went because of Priya.

Priya was the kind of friend who knew someone everywhere. A bouncer at this club, a sound tech at that venue, a promoter who owed her a favour from three years ago. When she told me she’d scored backstage passes to one of the biggest outdoor shows of the summer, I didn’t ask how. I just said yes and borrowed a dress.

It was one of those July evenings where the heat hasn’t broken by sundown. The air was thick and still, the kind of warm that sits on your skin like a second layer. The park was packed. Thousands of people pressed together with phones in the air. The bass was so heavy, I could feel it in my teeth. I wasn’t a huge fan of the headliner. I’d come for the time unwind and the free drinks, but the energy was quite infectious. By the third song I was dancing like I’d bought the ticket, and the first round of shots myself.

After the set, Priya led me through a side gate with the confidence of someone who’d done this before. The backstage area was smaller than I’d imagined. Basically a roped off section behind the main stage. With a portable bar, a few couches, and crew members moving equipment in the half dark. It felt like a different world from the crowd we’d just left. Quieter. The music still thumped in the distance, but back here, you could actually hear people talk.

Priya disappeared almost immediately. She knew half the people there, and was already hugging someone by the time I found a real drink. I stood near the edge of things, watching, feeling pleasantly out of place.

That’s when I noticed him.

He was leaning against an equipment case with a beer, still slightly damp with sweat. Talking to a woman with a clipboard, who was clearly trying to get him somewhere he didn’t want to go. He’d been on stage twenty minutes ago. The guitarist from the opening act, though I hadn’t known that yet. Dark eyes and a jawline, that caught the light from the stage. Also, the kind of restless energy that performers carry for an hour after they come off. Like his body hadn’t figured out the show was over.

The clipboard woman gave up and walked away. He caught me looking and raised his beer in a lazy salute. I raised mine back.

He walked over. “You don’t look like you work here.”

“I don’t look like I belong here either.”

He laughed. “That makes two of us. I’m just the warm-up act.” He said it like a joke but I could tell he meant it. That strange mix of confidence and insecurity, that comes from playing your heart out for a crowd, that’s really waiting for someone else.

We talked. About the show and about how backstage areas always smells the same. Sweat, beer, electrical tape etc. About the fact that he’d driven six hours from Detroit, for a forty minute set, and would drive six hours back tomorrow. He had this way of talking with his whole body and hands. Moving, leaning in and pulling back. As if the conversation had its own rhythm section.

The first drops of rain hit the canopy above us, and neither of us flinched. Within minutes it was pouring. Heavy summer rain that turned the grass to mud, and sent people scrambling for cover. The backstage area emptied fast. Crew threw tarps over equipment. Someone yelled about checking loading the van.

We didn’t move.

We stood under the canvas awning, watching the rain come down in sheets. The park lights blurring through the water, the distant crowd scattering. The air cooled instantly and I shivered. He noticed and stepped closer, not touching me yet, just closing the distance.

“I should probably help them load out,” he said, not moving.

“Probably,” I said, not moving either.

The rain was so loud on the canvas above us, that when he kissed me, I couldn’t hear anything else. His mouth tasted like cheap beer and adrenaline. His hands, calloused from guitar strings. Were rough when he gripped my arms, and pulled me hard against him. I felt the solid press of his cock already half hard through his jeans, and the fast thud of his heartbeat under my palm. Still racing from the stage or from this, I couldn’t tell.

We found the equipment trailer that had already been loaded and locked. He had the key. Inside it was dark except for the glow of a safety light,. Smelling of flight cases, old carpet, and rain sneaking through a vent. The second the door shut he had me against the wall. Kissing me deeper with one hand running through my wet hair, while the other shoved my dress up. I was already soaked from the rain and wanted both. He groaned when his fingers found me bare under the thin fabric. Sliding through the slick heat between my thighs, two of them pushing inside me with no hesitation.

He lifted me onto a road case like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his hips, the wet dress bunched at my waist. He moved his open mouth down my throat and over my collarbone, then lower. Sucking hard at the soft skin between my breasts, while he worked my dress down just far enough to free them. His tongue was hot, his teeth careful but insistent. I arched into it, fingers tangled in his damp hair. Already rocking against the hard ridge of his cock, still trapped in his jeans.

He didn’t make me wait long. Belt undone and jeans shoved down just enough. He was thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip. He dragged the head through my wetness once, twice. Then thrust in deep with one continuous push, until he was deep inside me. I bit down on a sound that still came out half a moan. He went in deep again all at once, and it felt intensely arousing. He held still for a second, with forehead against mine. Breathing hard, then started to fuck me properly.

Not careful. Not slow. The road case rocked under us with every hard thrust. I locked my ankles at the small of his back and pulled him deeper. Heels digging in and one hand braced on cold metal, while the other clutched his shoulder. Rain hammered the metal roof like white noise. Outside the world had vanished. Inside there was only the wet sound of him driving into me. The slap of skin and the low broken noises he made against my neck, every time he thrust inside me.

He reached between us and rubbed my clit in tight, precise circles while he kept thrusting. I came hard with thighs shaking and vagina clenching around him, in waves I couldn’t control. He followed moments later. Burying himself as deep as he could, and coming with a low and wrecked groan against my chest. I felt him pulse inside me. Hot, thick and filling me. While his hands gripped my thighs hard enough to leave marks.

We stayed joined for a while. His thumb tracing a slow line along my knee. My dress still rucked up, his come already starting to slip out of me onto the case. The rain eased to a softer patter. Someone shouted his name from across the car park and he winced.

“That’s my ride back to Detroit,” he said.

“Six hours.”

“Six hours.” He kissed me once more. Slow, warm, tasting like rain and the last hour. Then carefully pulled out. I felt the sudden emptiness, and the slick heat of him running down my inner thigh. He helped me straighten my dress, eyes dark, still breathing hard. At the trailer door he turned back. “I play in New York again in October.”

“I might not be a fan by then,” I said.

He grinned. “You’re already a fan.”

I stayed under the awning until his van pulled out of the car park. Priya found me ten minutes later, soaked and grinning, asking where I’d been. I told her I’d waited out the rain.

Three months later, on a random Wednesday. I saw one of his videos on the internet. I pressed play, sat on my kitchen floor and listened to the whole thing twice. He was better than I remembered. Or maybe I was just listening differently now.

I never did text him. But every time it rains in the summer. I think about a canvas awning, a locked trailer, and the way some people play like they’re trying to tell you something. Even when the music has already stopped.

—

Ever been away from what you love, only to come back even stronger? Depending on what you’re looking for, two can play better than one. To read more erotic stories, click here.

Practicing alone can be more fun than you think. To learn more about how the Lovense Ferri can improve your mood, click here.