3. Pinkpop

Pumping, pumping, pumping.

Two months later. I was in my minivan on my way to Landgraaf. Big Rock festival. Pinkpop. I was alone because Robert was there already, together with the sound technician Arnold.

Pumping, pumping, pumping.

I had lost 3 kilos of weight those months. Because I was in love. Well, love, I was craving for that little gorgeous crazy elf. That lead singer. They had been busy. Lots, lots of gigs. They were famous now.
And I was alone, and horny.

I liked driving my little Renault minivan. It was not only a van, but also a shed. I kept my bike in it some nights. I could move things. It was full of stuff, clothes, shopping bags, food, pillows, crates. Things. And my car had a really good CD/radio player. Only, I did not play much music on it. That debut album. Only that. Oh well, a bit of other music too. RHCP. I'm a bit autistic when it comes to music. I can listen to one album for months and never get bored. That's why I almost never listen to the radio. Makes me nervous.

Pumping, pumping, pumping.

The pumping in my head. Well. It was a fantasy. The little tease had woken something in me. And I was on fire. All the time. I was glad it was raining. At least my head was cool.

The venue was big. And they played the main stage. National Television was there. All colleagues. And we agreed to use each other's footage when needed. Arnold, Robert and I were used to working together so they knew what I wanted and so we kind of split up. I could do some research, while they were rolling.

I was wet, very wet with rain when the first notes of the opening song blasted through the speakers. Because I had a press card and a backstage pass I could walk anywhere and I was right in front, almost with my nose against the stage when I saw him climbing in the scaffolds. Intense, wild look on his face. Focused.

One moment I thought he saw me. Our eyes locked. Only for a while. As if the world stopped turning. But the show went on and he and the band gave the best they had. As they had done for the last months. And the audience went mad. Best show ever! And all the while it was raining and it was cold. And he was steaming. He was hot and steaming. Even though I had work to do I could only look up, with my mouth open. He was a roaring lion. He was even more powerful than I could remember in those small clubs.

And then. "Thanks very much. We will never forget this." And of he went. Of the stage. With his pink towel he was standing there. With his head hanging low. Leaning against the railing. Exhausted.
I almost ran towards him. Grabbed him by the arm and supported him away. Away from the mass, away from all those people that wanted him. I leaded him away, almost carrying as if he were a ragdoll. And dazed, he came with me.

To my car, my purple minivan.

I opened the back doors, threw some stuff out. Took some pillows. Arranged them. And laid some towels over them. Climbed in. Took his hand and pulled him in also.

He was surprised and empty. A half dazed smile on his face.

As I leaned forward I took his face in my hands, held him by his big beautiful shaped ears and pulled him towards me. I kissed him softly, tender, lovingly. And when he kissed me back I shoved my tongue in his mouth and started to explore. Our kiss became deeper and wilder. And we began to breathe harder, louder, the breathing became moaning. I tried to pull of his shirt and mine too. Oh, our skins touching.

I pushed him at his back and began fumbling at his shorts. Almost ribbed them off. Banged my head while doing so. He laughed. A husky sound.

Then quiet. I saw him. On his back. Shorts halfway on his knees. Shirtless. Wet.

He was so beautiful. I was floating. His erect penis. It was huge. Smooth. And I was hungry. Hungry with lust.

I crawled on him. Kissed his balls, licked them, and gulped one softly up with my tongue, inside my mouth.  His respiration a hissing sound.

Then I moved the back of my tongue over his shaft, from the root to the top, and filled my mouth with his shiny big cock. I intended to suck him dry. Moved my mouth over his rod, slow, soft, wild, hard, soft. And he was meowing like a lion cub. Even roaring. His fingers clawing in my hair.

Then he suddenly said, "enough."

And drew me up and kissed my face, my mouth. Long and deep. Undid my jeans, my bra, cupped my breasts and nipped my nipples. Softly. Teasingly.

He then positioned my hips above his so he could move his top along my mount and stimulate my clit while doing so. I moved his hands away from me. Above his head, I held them. And with one hand firmly around his club I glided over it.* He was almost too much for me. I inhaled sharply. Then I started moving. Moving. And so did he. The moving became so wild, it was pumping. Pumping. Pumping. Oh, we were desperate it seemed.

Sometimes I pride myself on being the inspiration for the intermezzo in Blood, because that is the sound we made.

And then I turned into earth, into clay, my blood started singing and my breathing became deep and soaring. I know how my vulva must have been tightening because he stopped breathing and making noises. He became rigid and the white of his eyes was showing. And with a thunderous cry we both came.

Silence.

And we started laughing. And crying. I don't know why we cried. But we did. We held each other and sobbed. We sobbed smiling. I was in his lap. He caressed my face. I snuggled against him. Much later I took a towel and tried to dry him. Clean him up a bit. Clean myself up a bit. Tried to straighten my hair. Pull a normal face. Open the door of the van. Step into the world.

No words were spoken. Only our eyes and hearts spoke. One last kiss, a regretful smile and then he walked away.

*Even in fantasy a condom is used.

2. Rotterdam

Two days later. Back in the car together with my cameraman. On our way to Rotterdam, a small club, where the band we were following would play. Had to get some quotes from the singer, my producer insisted. Robert, the cameraman, smirked and gave me a meaningful wink. I coughed and looked at my nails. "Is there a problem?" she asked. "No," Robert said. "She'll get some...quotes." And then he laughed. The producer looked questioning and said; " You'd better..."

Robert played the debut album of the band, in the car. I pulled open the window. "Is it hot in here or what?" Rotterdam, never liked that city. Made me feel uncomfortable. Did not know my way. City of workers, bombed in WOII, rebuild, unpretentious, harbor and hookers.
When we arrived at the club, we unloaded the equipment, asked the management where we could go and where not, and inquired if the band was there already.

They were. We were told they were in some room down the hallway, only had to knock. They knew we were coming.
Robert and I unpacked, prepared the camera, checked the sound. Went on our way. Idea was just to barge in. No knocking. Surprise them. Camera ready. Get some dynamic shots, maybe. Sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, as my producer said.

We heard some music, talking. I opened the door, shaking, pounding hart.

"What the fuck..."
"Get the hell out of here..."

"Who the fuck..."

"We are rehearsing, no media!"

We were pushed out by the little singing fucker and the door was slammed in our face.

"That went rather well," I said to Robert.

"Maybe you should talk to him first, work him a bit. Guess the barging in didn't appeal to them." Robert said while shoving me into the direction of the door again.

Knock-knock on the door and my hart pound-pounding in my throat. The singer opened, pulled me inside and kind of flung me on a couch next to the drummer who grinned at me in a friendly, stoned manner. Room smelled excessively like pot anyway. Pot and boys. Intimidating for a girl who had not smoked in...well...5 years.

So I grinned back at the drummer and then the singer jumped between us, grossed his arms and smiled an irresistible smile. "Hi again" he said.

I introduced myself, explained we were in Tivoli 2 days ago and asked if we could film again and maybe interview him. He nodded, kept smiling, plucked his lower lip and said in his exhilarating low voice there was no need to be so shy, that he remembered me well and I could go ahead and do with him what I wanted.

Yes, that is what he said.

And that is what I did.

Well, what I did was explain to him what I wanted to ask. What the best moment and location might be to interview him on camera and if we could film the band backstage and on stage during the show.

After I called Robert inside, we started rolling and I did the interview. On the couch. And all the while the small, energetic, incredibly cute, irresistible and also very philosophical front man sat next to me. His body against mine.  His scent in my nose as he moved. His warmth. Touching his lower lip one moment and the next throwing his head between his knees and kneading his long beautiful hair. His intense gaze made it almost impossible for me to ask relevant questions. He would frown, then laugh, ponder and tell stories anyway. Great interview.

And I was enchanted. And oh how I craved him.

Then the show started. This city is so filthy. Like my mind in ways. Oh boy, if only you knew.

Robert and I were on the right side of the stage, the side of the lead guitar. We were really enjoying the show. The little hot bug was moving like a madman again. He had put a spell on me, unknowingly and unintentional.

Sometimes he sang, and fumbled with his shirt, clinging on his belly with sweat, lifting it a bit and I would almost drop to my knees because my legs could not hold me anymore. I new I gasped a lot, because Robert would look up from his viewfinder with raised brows and shake his head at me, smiling. So I thought I would go in the pit for a while. To dance and jump with the others.

During Porch he stayed on stage, much to my disappointment I can say, but the guitar solo made up a lot. The rhythm section was also hot as hell. And the frog turned prince fucked the air on his back and I can't say what more because I almost came from just watching the performance. Then, when the song and the jamming was almost at its end he pointed at me. At me. In the crowd.

So what could I do. What would you do with the permittance to go everywhere you want in that club.  Right. I raced backstage.

A lot of people backstage.  But I didn't see that fucking hot elf anywhere.

So I kind of stood there, lost, when suddenly someone kissed me in my neck from behind. Arms around me. One hand pulling my chin towards him and kissing me. In that awkward position. I felt his sex pushing against my butt. I pushed back. I moaned as his hand wandered along my belly towards my crotch cloaked in jeans. But I felt it. I felt his fingers touching me. Rubbing me between my legs. Oh, sweat on my skin.

Then someone called his name and it was as if on the Arctic that moment. Without him.

I saw him walk away. In that typical pace. Without his shirt. His lean torso shining with sweat. Those two minutes seemed like a lifetime and seconds at the same time. I hated an encore suddenly.

Strangest thing is that the lead guitarist appeared totally naked on stage after the break. Acting as if it was it was the normal thing in the world. That sure was entertaining. And, oh well, I had to work anyway. A distraction from my lust. So I went looking for Robert. Who was in the back somewhere filming the audience. Individual shots of young enthusiastic people. We had some fine footage and as a grown responsible adult I called it a wrap and we went home.

Next call was Pinkpop. The big venue.

1. Tivoli

This is what happened. At least, this is what I think happened, because it all seems like a dream to me. A dream. At least parts of it are not a dream. I have the footage to prove it.

I was almost thirty, still a bit of time left to enjoy my youth. But I did not. I had to work.

Did not have time to do research. Had to debrief my cameraman, Robert, in the car, on our way to Utrecht.  Producer told me on the telephone I had to make a short documentary for channel 3 about a young American band going from small clubs to the bigger venues, even festivals like Pinkpop. Never heard of the band. "Punkrock from Seatle," she said.

"Get some quotes, go backstage. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Make it snappy. These guys are going to be great soon, "she said.

"So, Utrecht, here we come," I sigh. My cameraman shrugged and put the music on the car radio a bit louder. Massive Attack. British.

Utrecht. Tivoli. Parking at the Oude Gracht.  Always difficult to find a space. But we did. Had to walk a bit. Carried the camera equipment to the club. But I'm strong. Robert is strong too. He is small for a Dutch guy. But strong. We had some friendly help at the backstage entry of the club. Small American skater guy took the heavy tripod and cases from us. Charming. Backward cap, brown jacket, piercing blue eyes. Doc Martens. Small butterfly in my stomach when he took over the case I was holding. Fingers touching. Electricity. Thanked him. Asked for the manager of the club. Horrible accent. Low voice. Flirtatious smile. Robert gave me a look. I coughed. Back to work.

"Hallo, I'm Marco", the manager said. "Pleased to meet you. You can put your things over there. If you want anything I'll be here. You can go everywhere. The guys of the band know you are here, and why. They don't mind. Nice guys. Not really into interviews and stuff, though. But you can try."

Rock concert started. Complete darkness. Robert and I found a nice spot on a balcony. Dissatisfied because of the lighting. Music started, guitar. Cymbal. And guess what. The little American skater from earlier stepped into the small spotlight. And. OMG. The voice went directly towards my G-spot. Never knew I had one. But the voice found it. Spot on. Aaaaaaa - aaaaaaa - I see the world...
Backward cap, hands in pockets, looking left, looking right. Singing like a Buddhist monk.

Robert looked at me from his viewfinder, winked and gave me a thumbs up. I was mesmerized.

The energy, the songs, the bassist being protective about his instruments when people splashed with water bottles, the drummer, wicked. The jamming was awesome.  The guitars. And the voice, oh that voice. It talked too. Low. What a deep voice for such a small guy. Didn't see much of him, though. A bit too dark. But the moves.  The hair, all that hair he had hidden under that cap. He was crazy. Watering the crowd with a water bottle, like a priest.  Constantly moving his weight from the left foot to the right foot as if a fighter. And he was sweating like an otter, as we Dutch say. Moving like a maniac. Moving in circles. Moving.  And so did we. My cameraman and I went backstage to shoot some footage from there.
The crowd was stage diving all the time. Shots from dancing and diving people from every angle. During some serious jamming we had lost the lead singer from our view. Where was he?

I took some steps back while Robert was still rolling. Drank some mineral water. It was warm. From behind a black curtain I saw the singer approaching. Wicked little smile on his face. Huge boner in his shorts. He asked if I was enjoying myself, did I like the show. I nodded. Could not speak. That look in his eyes. Possessed. I handed him my water bottle. Held it in front of me as if in defense. He took it. Drank. Water dripping from his mouth, into his neck, on his shirt as he gulped the fluid. And while he drank he kept looking at me. I could only stare. He gave back the bottle. Then suddenly grabbed me. Pulled me against him. Rough. Moved his hips against me.  Needy somehow. Then kissed me. Hard. Long. I opened my mouth. How could I not? His tongue was curved, his teeth smooth, his taste sweet, fresh, a bit salty. His sent, sea, wild. I felt his hard lusty rod pressing against me. His arms around me. He moaned.

I had no idea what was happening. This strange sudden hunger. I felt it too. Pulled his shirt up. My hands over his back. His slick sweaty back. I drank him. Dizzy. I gasped. This guy. He was smaller than any man I ever kissed before. His long wet hair fell over my face. I clamped his shirt with one hand and strayed with the other over his tight belly. He kissed my neck, bit my shoulder. Made a breathy whispering sound in my ear, send shivers down my spine. Everything felt just perfect. Except. Why? I pushed him away. He looked at me a bit bashful, shy smile, regretful and then he ran away. Up the stage. Climbed some speakers, jumped. Wild thing. Walked in circles. Grabbed the microphone. Started singing. Left me all shaking and flabbergasted. What just happened? And all the while the band was jamming...

Then I saw Robert. Confused. Behind his camera. He had filmed it all. Embarrassed.

We stayed the rest of the show, did an interview with the lead guitar player and the drummer. No sign of the singer that evening.

Back in the car Robert tried to hear my story, but I had no idea what had passed.

In two days...next club, Rotterdam. Felt nervous about that.


***disclamer; no animals were hurt in the making of this fanfiction, and the writer never ever met the man, would like too yes, but never did.***