Above the Summer Moonlight

by Marsha Lockom

I love rock music. I love writing. With the promise of next summer’s concert season fast approaching, I am eagerly looking to discover which of my favorite groups will be touring and hoping for my luck that they will perform near me. As I anticipate the coming season I fondly look back upon last summer. I enjoyed several concerts, attending all as an excited fan, some as a dedicated reviewer and others as a nervous interviewer. While each was special, one in particular stood apart as a memory to treasure.

The festival was held on a sticky, hot Midwestern August day. Amidst the sea of bodies waiting for the gates of the pavilion to open the heat was even more oppressive. This time I knew I was there as a fan and as a reviewer. What I didn’t know was whatever else my connections could open up, allowing me to meet with a favorite band. Enjoying a spectacular show from a band you have loved and appreciated is truly incomparable, as every loyal music fan knows. Using my talent as a writer to create a review that promotes others to attend their shows is my ‘thank you’ to the group. But the chance of actually meeting with the members, speaking with them, getting a hug, handshake or photo with them, thanking them in person, getting a glimpse of their personalities is . . . well, just exhilarating. It is a euphoria requiring no intoxication or substance abuse. I had long ago learned that these meetings were chance happenings, no matter how many connections to tour managers, publicists or record company agents I had. So I expected no easy time, but did have hope and a lot of determination.

I had come dressed appropriately to garner attention from both the management and band members, should I be able to meet them. Doors do seem to open for a pretty girl in the male world of metal music. I wore short-shorts, four-inch ankle tie sandals and a top cut low enough that some white skin on the tops of my breasts became sunburned from first ever exposure. Most of the fans were teenage males who secretly cast glances my way, but were never bold enough to approach. Thank goodness it was clear I was not there for them.

In the late afternoon the band I had come to see began a meet and greet. I sought out my contact, the record company promotions tour manager. After I refreshed his memory about who I was and requested to join the band after their show he arranged for me to attend the musicians’ barbecue. I was thrilled, but knew well enough that plans after concerts can often go wrong at the last minute. So, I had to quell my enthusiasm and be patiently hopeful. That was not easily done; I am not known for my patience. From the length of the enormous line it looked like the meet and greet would last more than an hour. As the fans filed past the autographing table I stood behind the seated musicians, trying to look ‘official’ while chatting with various record company representatives. Some openly leered at me. Others, eager for a fresh face to talk with, droned on and on. I pretended to listen, able to focus only on the amazing men in the band I wanted so badly to know more about. However, I did enjoy the luxury of time to drink them in visually and delight in their foreign accents. The flashy guitar duo seemed to be the ladies’ favorites, getting to sign many breasts. I found the drummer and bass player a bit shy in comparison, but more charming and endearing. Their keyboard player proved too foreign to evaluate from my perspective.

And then at the end of the table you sat. I could not peel my eyes from you, your waist-length nearly black hair . . . hair that I envied as a female, falling from tightly crimped waves near your scalp to corkscrew spirals below. If I could only have only gotten my hands into that hair. My mind drifted while the management lady continued to ramble. I thought how delicious it would feel having those curls coiling around my fingers while your hands roamed all over me, exploring my body. Those long strands led my eyes to enjoy the toned muscles of your torso. I used my precious time wisely and took in every tempting inch I could see, even appreciating each silver or black leather bracelet. Spent this way, the time passed very quickly. The signing ended. Standing within a circle of protective officials you turned and looked directly at me. You surveyed me at length with an enticing, hungry gaze while twirling the tip of your tongue across a sucker, like such a bad little boy. The movement of your eyes across my body gave me the most delicious chills. Oh, how I wanted to taste that tongue. Managers too soon pulled you away from me and the next time I would see you was onstage.

The late afternoon skies clouded over and rain peppered down upon the crowd. That was welcomed by many fans weary from the heat and whose ears were blistered by nine death metal and alternative metal bands. But by the time the main pavilion was opened for the evening’s schedule most were eager for shelter. Between acts I found my seat in the third row of the small central section, a great position among an audience of fifteen thousand. Within minutes the intro music began and one-by-one each band member made a dramatic entrance. The drummer slammed down his signature blast beats and the extreme power metal magic began. The guitar duo assaulted with their lightning-paced twin attack. The crowd roared. The entire pavilion was electrified with anticipation.

At that very moment, as if on cue, the bright orange rays of the setting sun pierced the clouds. Colors far more vibrant than from any stage lighting streamed across the fans’ heads and lit the musicians. As in my perfect dream, that signaled the moment when the graceful strength of your high-pitched vocals began sailing over top of the musical onslaught. You confidently strode center stage. Dressed like a metal god in black leather pants you struck rock star poses, powerful wide stances, arms spread open to draw the world to you. The sunlit stage was on fire with the frenzy of ultrafast music. I was held mesmerized, awakened only when individual band members stepped directly in front of me, greeting me with waves and smiles. While my attention was fixed upon the guitarists blazing through lengthy dueling solos you slipped out into the crowd. The bass player passed the time standing no more than fifteen feet from me, making silly faces to delight in my laughter. Between his game and the dazzling solos I had no idea you were beside me at my aisle seat. I felt those lovely long curls tickle my bare arm. I turned and was quickly swept to another world as your lips briefly brushed mine before you took off in a run for the stage, mic in hand with your unearthly powerful vocals soaring across the entire pavilion. After that kiss my ears could only hear your voice. I was no longer breathing air, but instead the strength of your melodic vocals. The feeling was pure magic, which continued after the show ended.

I had to remind myself there was more fun promised for this evening. My mind and body were too blissfully numb to be nervous about meeting the band members. I don’t recall exactly how I left my seat and came to wait next to the tour buses as the manager had instructed me. Before the next act took the stage the last rays of the sunset were once again blocked by a cloudy sky, as though the sun had shone only for you. And that I could well understand. My body burned for you, to touch you and to feel your hands upon me, enjoying my curves.

After some immeasurable time the drummer and bass player appeared and escorted me to the musicians’ barbecue held in the now deserted secondary stage area. The two men were so very charming, wonderfully funny and attentive. Although I had hoped to find you I was at least grateful for their company. I certainly did not wish to become a snack for the various death metal musicians mingling about. Our conversations continued and still you were not present. My heart began to sink slightly. The music from the main stage drifted to my ears and I lost focus on the discussions happening around me.

The grounds suddenly became draped in the soft white glow of a full moon, revealed from behind a passing cloud. It commanded my attention and I looked up, enjoying its beauty. Once again I felt the gentle brush of hair against the bareness of my arm. I smiled and knew it was you before I lowered my eyes. My singer alone stood before me. There was no one else in the secured party area; they had vanished. You stepped closer toward me. Your freshly washed black curls gleamed in the moonlight. You returned my smile. I could not resist and reached out to finger a couple of beaded braids framing your face. You looked down into my eyes and pulled me close, bringing your lips to mine. The kiss was sweetly restrained, savoring the anticipation. I melted in your arms. Sensing that, you reveled in controlling my pleasures, thrusting your tongue deeply into my mouth to dance with mine.

I could still hear the music of the final act playing distantly. The sounds of the searing guitars moved through us, driving our passions. Your hands passed over me, removing my top, leaving a trail of tingling flesh. I delighted in exploring the definitions of your chest and shoulders. Again, I felt dizzy as though I was not breathing air, but was sustained by some other life force that your magic gave to me. My legs became weak and you guided me to lean against the top of a nearby picnic table. Holding my gaze spellbound you unfastened my shorts and let them fall, along with my panties, to the ground. You then stepped back to admire me standing naked in the moonlight, so consumed with you that I could already feel you inside me, your heart beating next to mine even though we were feet apart.

A wisp of cloud passed across the moon and I could no longer see you in the overcast darkness, although I still felt your presence. The heat of your breath was upon my neck and then your tongue traced lower. I longed to taste you, but was denied that pleasure while you enjoyed the curves of my femininity.

When the moonbeams once again shone brightly you were naked and upon me, entering my warm wetness. For those moments I was yours alone, our hearts beat to the same exact rhythm and my breath was sustained by your essence. You delighted in taking me even higher; a tremble coursed through my body.

Another cloud rolled across the edge of the moon. You supported me, holding us tightly together as tingling warmth spread down my legs, making them convulse and clamp harder around you. I felt the softness of your lips brushing against mine . . . just until the moment the moon’s face became totally darkened. I opened my eyes and my singer was gone.

The night air was crisp and I took a deep breath to steady myself. The last fans were leaving and the crew was cleaning the grounds. I ambled toward the parking lot and saw you standing by your tour bus. I stepped up to you. Staring deeply into my eyes you pulled me close into your arms and pressed your lips to mine. We said our goodbyes. As I walked away I turned around to see you watching me, longingly, from the door of the bus. The moon’s face smiled brightly down upon me.


Marsha Lockom is a writer who has recently moved from Ohio to sunny Tampa, Florida. She enjoys blending fantasy, erotica and romance themes in her work.

© 2009 by Marsha Lockom





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