Sunday, 24 October 2010

Sweet Young Thing

I seem to fantasise a lot at gigs, maybe it's all the standing around, the noise too loud to really talk to your friends, the anticipation, the smell of bodies pushed up against each other.  The music I like makes me horny too, sometimes it's because of the cold, headfucking lyrics, but most of the things I'm into at the moment are more visceral, sounds that fuck me on a more basic level.  This band were one of those: deep, and repetitive, lulling and dominating in equal measure.  I wanted someone to fuck me and own me as much as they did. Then I saw him.

He was young, probably a student, not someone I'd have paid much attention to normally, although he was pretty enough: long dark hair, cute indie/metal clothes.  What caught me was his stare, right at me, for a long time, like he knew me, like he knew all about me.  I looked away, nervously a few times, but when I looked back he was still staring, I couldn't read his expression, there wasn't anything about me to attract attention, I was dressed down, he didn't seem angry, or mocking, or flirting, he was just... looking.

I suppose he could have been someone I'd briefly met elsewhere and forgotten, maybe he'd seen me give a talk, was someone from a party, or perhaps I'd only ever seen him encased in rubber.  Still, I started imagining things after he'd drifted away, that perhaps we'd had some strange encounter and then he'd made me forget who he was, that maybe he'd come back round behind me and trigger me to follow him into the toilets, I'd suck his cock with blank eyes, and then have my memory wiped again.

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