Reset Password
Reset Link Sent
| Blogs > Cuningulus7 > My Blog |
something that happened a long time ago :)
|
something that happened a long time ago :) The nun, the photographer and the agent We are in the year of our lord 1987. U2 brought out the 'Joshua Tree' album, which would rocket them into stardom, everybody discovered 'La Bamba' (which we call the kissing dance) and Los Lobos ; Whitney Houston wanted to dance with somebody that loved her, and Goth ruled the alternative scene. I was in my last year of studying applied communication and had no clue where to take my life after my studies. I was fond of music and fond of women, but as I did not really have a talent either way, I did not see myself making a professional career out of either interest. I understood music however (unlike women), and really had my finger on the pulse of alternative music. Writing my thesis on British Independents had gotten me into contact with the Belgian music scene, and I had started helping out a concert promoter. I loved the work. I truly did. So unfortunate that he started suspecting me of fucking his wife. But I am getting ahead of myself and into a completely different story. This guy, let's call him Kris, did a lot of medium sized gigs in Belgium, and some festivals as well. One of those was an alt rock festival called Futurama. I had the privilege (really) of (almost) having had carte blanche in picking the names of that year's edition. I was proud, I was cocky, I had compiled a great bill. I was ready to conquer the world. Now let's zoom in a bit. Remember : this is the Goth über age where guys wear make up, have their hair done up in weird bird's nests and wear their father's long trench coats. While the sex pistols' 'No future' already lies a bit in the past, there is still no real future in the present nor ahead of us. The overall mood is gloomy. The weather is not helping either. About half an hour before the festival begins it starts raining, and before noon, it is really pouring. One of the acts we put about halfway up the bill were 'The Leather Nun'. They were Swedes, singing in a very accented English, mostly dirty songs. I liked the guys. I had heard them first in a club in our neighborhood through my best friend who was really into them. "Prime Mover" was the song that convinced me. So I asked the DJ to see the sleeve (yes, we still had vinyl in those days). It sported a half naked nun. What could be better at the tender age of 20? Musically, it was love at first sight. So I really wanted to see these guys. Being part of the organizing committee, I had secured a spot front stage. I was there in the middle of a bunch of journalists, some other artists and their entourage, all laughing, talking, drinking, smoking (you could!) and generally having a good time. Two girls stood out in that zone. I was pretty sure I could not handle both. I had neither the savoir faire, nor the talent, nor the skill and definitely not the mathematical insight (the hand-eye coordination it requires to keep two girls occupied gave me a lot of cold sweat later in my life) One of both was clearly a photographer. Ergo the camera. So I guessed she would be pretty busy later on, and would have no time to discuss with an overtestosteroned . Which left me the other one : she was tall, blond, light brown eyes, a lovely figure with nice breasts, neither too big nor too small (yes, I tend to notice those things), clad in tight leathers. I gathered all my courage, drank two beers, dropped my courage, picked it up again, drank some more beer, and finally started talking to her. She was an agent from The Leather Nun's record company, it appeared, responsible for God knows what (I forgot, and really, even at that time, I was not really interested in her job), and she was on tour with the group. After a while, the group started playing, and there was really no way we could keep the conversation going, so we enjoyed the show. The band had started playing, but looked a bit bored. In all honesty, it was a bit of a let down at the beginning. And then the singer noticed the photographer in the front row. So he got on his knees, and started addressing a song to her! What happened then was something out of a movie. Too good to be true. Even now, writing this down, I still get a smile on my face remembering. In the beginning, she remained very professional, and continued snapping pictures. (I am not interested at all! I am a pro!). So the singer is a bit hurt in his pride, and bruised in his ego (he really has a big one - an ego I mean) but he accepts the challenge and the band goes into one of their more raunchy songs. A really ridiculous one, full of innuendo (I am the king of lizards, I got the reptile to satisfy you...) And he really puts his heart into it. He goes all out. Sweat is oozing from his face as he charms the stars down to earth. And slowly, oh so slowly, she is succumbing. The camera shutter clicks more haltingly. Then it stops. She lowers the camera. A small, uncertain smile creeps around her lips. She is a bit embarrassed and looks away. But there is no escaping him. He draws her eyes back to him. And he sings. Outside, it is pouring. Lightning is flashing, but he doesn't care. She will be his. He really goes for the finale, and gives it all. She knows by now that all is lost. She cannot look away anymore and lets go of the camera. She steps closer to the stage. And after the last note has died away, he grabs her, and French kisses her in front of the whole theater. The room goes WILD! Absolutely smacking bonkers. All those new wave -I-am-too-cool-for-this-world-guys and girls start clapping and cat calling and shouting and whistling. She has nowhere to go. So she smiles, and bows, and runs off to the back stage area. I have to admit it : Looking at it, and seeing it happen in front of my eyes made me incredibly horny. I had wild fantasies of running after her and doing stuff.... And I was not the only one. I guess half of the theater(the male half) had exactly the same idea. At least, that is what I thought : that only the male half was impacted. And then my cute blonde Swede, temporarily forgotten in the mass hysteria, turns around and looks me straight in the eye. And she has that little smile twitching of which I do not have any idea what it means (and my mind is a mess, filled with the afterimages of the singer kissing) and she is all sweet/Swede and sugar and asks me-almost purring: "You know what I like most"? I stand there, and look at her. All the world stops moving and in that single moment, by God I swear, I do not have a clue what to say. Probably I say something along the lines of a very intelligent 'Huh?' But it doesn't matter, because she answers her own question : 'Fucking in the rain'. And with that little smile of hers, she takes my hand, and leads me outside, backstage, and out of the back door, where it is pouring. Within seconds we are soaking wet, with lips and tongues exploring hungrily. When I come up for air, I notice she already has the top of her pants open. She takes my hand and guides it inside. And she is truly wet all over : outside and inside. And still smiling. We start kissing again. One of her hands is undoing my trousers and drops them to my knees.(I'm finally starting to get a grip on the situation, but I still cannot believe what is happening. I have one hand in an impossible position exploring that sweet wetness inside her pants). She leans back on the trunk of a car. Beneath the leather vest she is wearing a T shirt that by now clings to her body. I start removing the vest, but she shakes her head : 'No time honey. Do me right here. Hard.' She wriggles a cute butt out of the trousers drops it to her ankles and turns around. 'Now'. (yes, no condoms in those days) In my memory, we fucked long and hard. The long is probably a bit exaggerated. I remember clearly sliding into that exquisite warm wetness, while being wet all over. It was one of my more memorable sexual experiences. I might have screamed out loud when coming. But honestly? I don't remember. A bit later I had to start working again. (PIL had cancelled, and we were setting up The Cassandra Complex as replacement headliner). I never saw her again. To this day, I regret never having asked her name or phone number. She remains a noble, very sexy, stranger to me. That's all (for now). Hope you liked it. |
Become a member to create a blog
