Eejit

As she floated on her back in almost complete darkness, hearing the cheers of the crowd under the last echoing notes, passed from hand to hand above her worshipping fans, she started to realise her mistake. This wasn't the gentle floating experience of a goddess on waves of love from her fans.

This was open day on her body.

A hand reached around her chest and grasped hold of her right tit, squeezing it hard. She yelled out in indignation, and then in pain as the hand kept hold of the firm hillock while her body was passed on along the crowd, making it feel like it was being ripped from her body. Then there were more hands at her breasts, and yet more reaching up her skirt. Her panties -- the thick black ones she wore when she knew the front rows would be staring up her short skirt and hoping to see morning dew -- could not prevent the onslaught. A hand slipped inside and onto her pussy, wrenching on her pubic bush as she was shifted beyond the reach of the intruder. She screamed and tried to fight, but the wave was relentless.

Both tits were being mauled and mashed now, another hand was inside her panties and then a thick finger or thumb was inside her, forcing its way into her dry passage with an agonising thrust. With her face twisted in pain and real panic now, she saw in the flashes of the strobe light a man lift his thumb to his nose and then nod in appreciation of her most private scent.

And still she was carried along. She had dived over the heads of the security people guarding the stage, and they had been left far behind, unable to make any real progress through the packed throng of happy fans.

I had seen it happen before to other girls. That's why very few female stars ever crowd surf, apart from a rare few who actually enjoyed some rough, anonymous groping. I reached the stage and in the reflected flicker of the strobe saw her surfing the very back of the crowd. Usually the fans would carry their star around for a while and then return them to the stage, but it didn't look as if that was going to happen this time. Really worried now, I set off again, running full-tilt up the private corridor that the artistes used to travel from the lobby to their dressing rooms. At the end of that, just before the door leading out into the richly carpeted foyer which was plastered with pictures of her and the band, I took a right into the passage used by the ushers, yanked open the door and burst out onto the aisle that ran along the back of the stalls.

The theatre lights were now on, but Raven was nowhere to be seen, and the crowd was starting to drift out. Soon a mass of humanity would be pressing through the exits and I would have no idea where Raven had gone -- or been taken.

However, there were a few curious glances from the rearmost ranks of the crowd -- not at me, but towards the gents' bathroom, and my heart plummeted. I had never really met Raven apart from that one passing moment in the corridor -- wildly popular lead singers of chart-topping heavy metal bands were never taken around and introduced to the lowest ranks of employees -- but I had seen how beautiful, how mystical she was, and heard her sweet voice range from pure and innocent to raw and raunchy during rehearsals. I didn't want this to happen to anyone, but especially not to her.

I ran over and tried to push open the door. It opened a fraction and then closed again. Someone was leaning against it, obviously to discourage those leaving from going in for a piss before heading home.

Remember me? Tall and rangy? But also tall with good, strong legs from running marathons and cross-country, and other pursuits.

Without thinking, I leaned my shoulders back against the door, walked my feet up the opposite wall and, while turning the door handle, straightened up as quickly as I could. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and whoever was holding the door closed went flying. I dropped to the floor, rose back up and readied myself.

Raven, beautiful sweet Raven, was on her back on the cold stone floor at the far end of the room, one man crouched between her knees, fingering her shaved cunt hard, while another was at her head, his knees spread wide to hold her arms down. His zip was undone and his boner waggled over her face while her head twisted from side to side, trying to avoid it at all costs. Both his hands were down her blouse, wobbling her unfettered tits from side to side and braying like a donkey as he did so. The third man was seated at her side with one leg hooked over her left thigh, spreading it wide, while rubbing his cock through his trousers and weirdly, patting her stomach with his free hand as if comforting a crying child.

She was crying, although I think it was more from anger than fear, her face twisted and ugly from sheer outrage. Her panties had vanished, buttons were popping off her blouse at regular intervals revealing more and more of her incredible breasts, and even the cheapest knock-off fortune cookie would have foretold a nasty gang-rape in her immediate future.

The fourth man, the one who had held the door closed, was on his knees, having been launched forward by my forced entrance into the corner of the nearest stall, poking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. If his hooter wasn't broken, I was a monkey's uncle, as there was enough blood gushing to start a Friday 13^th revival. The first three hadn't yet had time to react to door-blocker taking a sudden dive, if they had noticed it at all.

All four men were bald, their heads shaven to reveal weird tattoos. I like heavy metal, but so do head-bangers, and these four were determined to bang their little heads into Raven's cunt before the evening was over.

I crossed the room in three quick steps and launched a kick up between the legs of the man fingering Raven. Unfortunately, there wasn't quite enough room between his thighs for a good strike and although he squealed like a piglet and toppled forward, I knew he wasn't out for the count.

The man kneeling at her head had seen me coming, and by the time his co-rapist splashed his sore nuts down on top of Raven, he was up on his feet, leaping over the prone pair and charging at me, his cock deflating rapidly and waggling like the finishing flag at a grand prix. I swung at his face, but he tucked his head down and rammed into me with a rugby-like tackle, smashing me back against a sink. The back of my head hit the mirror above the sink hard, shattering the glass, and I felt a sharp stab in my side as part of the soap dispenser broke away and fell into the sink.

I lashed out with a foot but he was too close. He rammed his shoulder into my stomach and the remains of the dispenser dug deeper, cutting deep through my shirt and skin. Agony flared through my stomach, but I tried the kick again, and as he repeated the sidestep I turned it into a knee strike, hitting him hard over the kidney. He groaned and lashed out with a fist, hitting me just over the ear. I suppose I have a hard head because that made him dance around holding his hand. Unfortunately, I was dancing with him at the time, holding my ear.

We grappled and it turned into a brawling, sprawling catfight rather than a gentlemanly feat of arms as he trapped me against the wall; both of us punching, kicking, scratching, pulling hair. I stumbled, reached back for balance and found myself with a handful of bloodied liquid soap from the destroyed dispenser. Without thinking, I slammed it across his eyes and he immediately clutched at them and reeled away trying to paw away the stinging gunk.

With his back to me, I kicked him behind the knee and he collapsed to the floor. I went to punch his ear in revenge and as I bent, received a powerful kick to the stomach from the man who had been playing with himself and patting Raven's belly. The force of it drove the air from my lungs and I too dropped to the floor, luckily falling with a knee on titty-player's head, cracking it hard against the tiles. Damn -- the fixtures and fittings were getting to do all the good knock-outs in this fight.

On the floor, I curled into a ball to try and protect my head, belly and other bits I liked, while the thug-life, would-be-rapist danced around kicking me a whole lot more with his metal-tipped footwear, and trying to find some nice, wide-open, delicate places to really stick the boot in. Strangely, although I was wheezing and trying to gulp air back into my lungs, and my arms felt like two bars of lead had been welded to my shoulders, I still felt fairly strong -- especially in my legs. So, when he danced around in front of me again, I was able to sweep one leg around and take both his feet out from beneath him. He was beyond the horizontal when he hit the floor, the back of his bald head striking first with a very satisfying sound.

I wasn't able to enjoy my sneaky victory over stomach-patting-man for long however, as an enormous fist suddenly appeared in front of me, getting larger and larger very rapidly. It collided with my nose and I both felt and heard the bone crack. The guy I had kicked in the nuts had evidently got over his discomfort from my surprise attack, and now wanted to demonstrate his displeasure. The fist drew back and pounded in again and again and again, and I dazedly lay there simply waiting for it to mash my face even flatter. With him bent over me, his face twisted into a sweating rictus and all too close to mine, drops of perspiration rolled down his forehead, paused at the edge of an unidentifiable tattoo, and then weirdly rolled all the way around it before proceeding down to his cheek. My stunned mind was fixed on these tiny droplets and I only saw the change in his expression in my peripheral vision.

His mouth and eyes opened really wide, his grinning sneer turned upside down, and his fist halted its assault on my features and clutched at his crotch instead. He sagged forward and this time I heard the noise of a second kick going up into his fork. I saw five cute little toes, painted a silvery-pink colour, suddenly appear beneath his groin-clutching hand as Raven's instep launched him a couple of inches into the air.

The man actually squeaked -- a real, mouse-like squeak -- as his whole face scrunched into a tight little fist of pain and he fell across me, his legs finishing up across my chest. Weakly I pushed at them -- having confusedly decided I didn't want his nasty rapist knees anywhere near me.

The cute foot appeared again and did me the favour of kicking the errant knees off me, and then her arms were trying to lift me.

"Quickly!" she ordered in a loud whisper, and I somehow managed to get to my feet, manfully masking my pain with a series of drawn-out groans and gasps, and a few tears. She immediately tucked her shoulder into my armpit and held me around the waist -- front and back -- to keep me from immediately toppling over again. My shirt was a deep crimson from all the blood I had spilled when my nose was broken, but she blithely ignored it. "Before they get up and try that shit again."

Somehow, with her supporting me almost completely, we lurched out of the bathroom to the astonished stares of a few stragglers and, following my confused directions, she slipped us into the corridor I had used before the ruckus got started. There was an internal phone there, and I lifted the handset and called security.

Raven could only hear my side of the conversation as I stumbled to explain in a thick, nasal, oh-fuck-my-nose-is-broken voice. "It's Michael... there was an attempted assault -- a rape -- a gang rape I suppose... No. I'm not fucking around... No, listen... Wait!"

Raven snatched the phone from my hands, her Irish accent now very broad. "Listen! This is Raven Quinn. Four fuckheads just tried to rape me in the toilets, while your security people were off somewhere with their thumbs up their arseholes... Well, they may have been searching for me but they most assuredly didn't find me... If it wasn't for Michael charging straight in to the rescue, one against four... Oh he works for the theatre? He's on your staff? Well he's my hero first, and he needs an ambulance, and so do the fuckheads. Then call the police and make sure they get here before those cunts wake up... How the fuck do I know which bathroom?"

"Centre -- back of the stalls," I groaned out.

She passed that on and then finished with such a severe dressing down of the security manager and all his 'piss-poor-pussies' security staff that even I winced at her language.

I started to shiver, my mind not clear enough to realise I was going into shock. Her arms immediately drew me tighter, one hand rubbing up and down my back, smearing the blood from the deep cut I had collected from the broken soap dispenser. She placed her head against my bloodied chest, ignoring the blood streaking her cheek. "Hang in there, sweetie. Help will be here soon."

Her tone was so soft and smooth and sweet it felt like I was in the arms of an angel. Nice - they should use that line in song lyrics. They already did? Fucking plagiarists!

Still hanging on to me tightly, she cracked the door open and peeped out. Security was just arriving as the bathroom door swung back and soapy-eyes stumbled out, zip still down and his now-shrivelled cock dangling. Raven slammed our door open wide and yelled, "That's one of the fucking bastards who tried to rape me!"

The security people were actually nowhere near as bad as Raven had made them out to be, and soon had all four men in handcuffs -- even snapping them onto stomach-patting-man who was still unconscious -- while she told the erstwhile gangbangers their fortunes in no uncertain terms. I had to admire the way she worked the word cunt into one sentence five times. That admiration grew when I realised that she had actually used the good old British word fuck in seven different forms of speech -- in five different tenses -- in another! I really don't think my mind was working very clearly at that moment, in deciding that an analysis of her speech was the important thing to do at that moment. I discovered later how intelligent she was, but it was clear from the start that when she was worked up she had a mouth on her like an irate dock-worker.

The paramedics turned up and, after peering into the bathroom and emitting a few phrases about slaughterhouses, were soon tending to all six of us, Raven making it difficult by refusing point-blank to let go of my hand, simply transferring her hold to my arm when they insisted they needed to check my knuckles.

The police apparently arrived at that point, but with the help of a little gas and air mix through a mask, I was fast asleep and didn't bother to get up and greet them.

Okay, yes. That was a long description of something that happened way in the past, but if you are ever to understand how someone as ordinary and average as me bagged Raven the Rock Star as my wife, then it takes some explaining. So hang in there, things will get spicy! Relax!

PART 3

I awoke to peace and calm, enjoying the feel of fresh, clean sheets and what felt like a dozen pillows wrapping me up in a man-cave. I felt fresh as a daisy -- if that daisy had been growing in a freshly mown lawn. Every part of me was throbbing with pain; nose, ear, stomach and back -- and those just topped a long list of aches.

I tried to lift my hand to my nose only to find that it was being tightly clutched -- my hand, not my nose.

"You're awake!"

I felt movement, heard the rustle of clothing and opened my eye. The room was small, decorated in pastel colours, obviously part of a computer game with flashing lights and beeping noises. There was something blocking my vision; my left eye was held closed, and there was something blocking off half the vision in the right one. I tried to lift my hand again, and again it was held.

"Don't touch your nose!" The lilting Irish accented voice was soft but commanding.

Woozy and frustrated, I brought my other hand up to try and remove whatever it was that was blocking my vision.

"Ahh!" I moaned as the pain in my nose doubled.

The exploring hand was captured. "Ah, ye feckin' eejit! I told you not to touch it."

I turned to see Raven standing next to the bed holding both my hands. Blinking owlishly to try and understand what was happening, I realised I was still asleep.

"Raven! Oh, I like this one. Best... dream... ever," I muttered with emphasis. I found myself smiling hugely at her. A voice came from the other side of me, "There, that should help with the pain."

My vision narrowed to a little dark circle, and then winked out.

When I came to again, I was sorry the dream had ended. The room was just a typical hospital room, rather than a computer game; four walls, a monitor that blinked next to me, the wheeled table across my feet, a drip that seemed to be plugged in to the back of my left hand, a television on the wall opposite, no Raven. I had been in hospital before and Ravens were not part of the decor.

Much more cautiously than before, I explored my face, finding what felt like a mile of bandage somehow stuck onto my nose and then lurching off to cover the left half of my face as well. I was a one-eyed Mike.

Both my hands were bandaged, and with even more cautious rolling to one side, I discovered a thick dressing on my back, covering a very painful area.

"Welcome back! How are you feeling, Mr Foster?" The voice was not Irish, but London all the way. "The pain any better?"

I turned my head slowly, discovering that the back of my skull also supported a dressing of some sort. A pleasant-faced nurse peered at me, and then shone a light in my eye, examining it closely. I stared back into the deep brown eyes that matched her skin almost perfectly. She told me where to look and waggled the penlight from side to side, and then grunted in a satisfied way. "Good, no problem that side."

"Nurse? How long have I been here?" I asked.

"You're on day three, honey. You took quite a pounding," she replied. "But we got you all fixed up. You'll be out of here in a few days -- just as soon as the doctors give you the all-clear."

"Oh." I had been asleep for three days?

Strangely, it was only then that I remembered what had happened: the attempted rape, the fighting, the punching and kicking I took. After that things seemed very blurred. "Nurse, is Raven okay -- Raven Quinn?" I asked urgently. "Is she hurt?"

"Oh don't worry about her, she's fine," said another voice. The nurse shifted to one side and I saw her entering the room. "You looked after her just fine."

I stared at Raven as she rounded the bed and sat in the visitor's chair, pulling it up close and taking my hand.

"Did you find the showers?" the nurse asked.

"Yes, thank you very much. I really needed that," Raven replied, clearing up my confusion as to the target of the nurse's question, but leaving me puzzled about why she would need a shower, as she looked as if she had just stepped out of a beauty salon.

"Raven, er... Miss Quinn!" I exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

"Just Raven, and I'm fine, thanks to you," she replied, smiling sweetly. I felt my heart make a leap and realised I was doomed. I had fallen in love with an impossible dream.

"Thank you for coming to visit me," I said, trying not sound like a complete tool.

The nurse gave a little barking laugh. "Visit! Hah, she hasn't left your side except when you were taken to theatre."

My good eye blinked rapidly, demonstrating my astonishment. "Really? Why?"

"Oh I don't really know. Passing the time, I guess," Raven said with a nervous-sounding giggle.

"Ah," I said, not really disappointed. You have to have hope in order to feel disappointment. There was never a hope that she and I could... But I was puzzled why she would pass the time with me. "Really?"

"Of course not, ye eejit! Where else would I be?" she demanded, her smile gone. "What were you thinking, charging in there all by yourself? When you saw what was happening you should gone for help."