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.***