tagCelebrities & Fan FictionNo Place For A Child

No Place For A Child


He was leaning against the same fence, several feet to my right. I caught several quick glimpses of his tall, lanky frame as he spoke endlessly into a cellphone that appeared to be surgically attached to his ear. His body was thin, but muscular. There was something oddly endearing and erotic about the way his khaki pants seemed to slide off his ass everytime he pushed off the fence and stepped forward. He would then blush, give a precursory tug, and return to his former position.

Cute, I thought. He was very cute.

I passed my time watching his slow movements, analyzing his attire from the black of his Adio sneakers, to the khaki of his Dickies, to the greying fabric of his MxPx hoodie. He had a knack for brands, I observed, and in several cases (*cough* Dickies), I shared his enthusiasm. Bored and with only this stranger in the near vicinity, I was left to gawk and imagine what pitiful guilt-trip he had received from a younger sibling; what torturous plea had lead him to this concert, on this night.

"Hello there," came a softly accentuated voice snapping me from my nagging thoughts.

I gazed up to meet the eyes of the stranger. "Hi."

"I saw you standing here and I thought I'd...say hello?" he began to laugh as he neared completion of his sentence. "I'm sorry, that's so corny."

I shrugged it off and laughed with him. "It's cool."

"So," he smiled, placing a foot against the fencing. "What band are you here for?"

I laughed at this and shook my head slowly. "None."

"None?" he inquired, truly amused.

"This shit," I began, motioning towards the large arena and the throngs of thirteen-year olds. "This is lame."

He nodded, though his brilliant smile of earlier seemed to dampen.

"Sorry," I shrugged, realizing perhaps he was a fan afterall. "I'm just not a fan."

He smiled again, his eyes sparkling brilliantly in the fading sun. "That's cool. What are you a fan of?"

"You?" I smirked and we both erupted into laughter. "No, seriously," I chuckled. "I'm more of a Smiths kind of girl."

"The Smiths, huh?" he smirked.

"Sure," I smiled.

He shrugged and allowed his hands to slap against his strong hips. "That's cool, that's cool. I'm Chris, by the way."

"Christine," I smiled. "Or Chris."

Our eyes met as he began to chuckle. "Well, now we have two things in common."

"What's the second thing?" I inquired, perplexed but amused.

"You're Chris," he grinned, pointing to me. "And I'm Chris. And we're both leaning against this fence bored out of our minds."

I shrugged. "Could be worse."

"You're right!" he smiled and began to fidget inside his pocket. "You could be a dude!"

As I laughed for the umpteenth time since meeting this attractive stranger, I realized that I was totally, entirely twitterpated. This was not good.

* * *

"I'm sorry?" I offered, raising my eyebrows questioningly.

He shook his head and continued to lead me through the backstage maze. "Don't be! You were honest, I like that."

"I just came here cause my sister needed a ride," I babbled to no one in particular. He turned and smiled at me, though he continued to guide us down a long corridor at a steady pace. "A man on a mission," I snickered.

"You could say that," he smiled and motioned toward a large red door. "This is us."

I stepped inside the small but cozy room. Another man sat on a large, overstuffed sofa, strumming his electric bass quietly and humming to himself. I paused once inside, and felt Chris' hand on my back nudging me forward.

"Oh," the other male smiled. "Hello."

"Paul, this is Chris. Chris, this is Paul," Chris grinned. "Isn't that priceless?"

Paul snorted and leaned his bass against a nearby table. "You've found a female version of yourself!"

"Well," Chris blushed. "Not quite. She's the new and improved model."

I watched the two men converse, processing their words slowly, as though they existed in some faroff parallel universe and I was merely an onlooker.

"Chris?" Paul asked slowly, staring at me intently. "Would you like a beer?"

I nodded and blushed. "Sorry, I zoned."

"It happens," Chris smiled, handing me an ice cold Corona. "It happens to Paul a lot."

"Fuck off!" Paul called as he searched through a large blue cooler. "Ah fuck!"

"What?" Chris inquired, motioning for me to take a seat on the sofa.

"I lost my shit, man!" Paul grumbled staring curiously at the floor.

"That's a serious problem, Paul," Chris mocked, snickering as he turned to me. "You should see a doctor about that!"

Paul stood and stared at Chris, scratching his head and then beginning to nod slowly. "You're fucked up, Christopher!"

"I know!" Chris laughed and I nearly spewed beer onto my lap.

"I lost my weed, bro," Paul continued to look baffled. "Where on earth could it have gone?"

"Did it grow legs again?" Chris inquired, faking a serious tone.

"Dude!" Paul snorted and began to laugh. "You are fuckin..."

Chris' eyes went wide. "Am not! I'm sitting here, clothed."

Paul's smile contorted into a curious pout. "What?"

"Bad joke!" Chris grinned.

"You two," I interrupted, placing my beer onto the table near Paul's bass. "You two are like a neverending comedy duo."

Paul nodded. "Isn't is beautiful?"

"We're in love," Chris grinned and jumped up to grab Paul into a bear hug.

"Okay, fags!" a skinny, hyperactive male with a mohawk yelled as he pranced into the room. "I'm here, let the gay Olympics begin!"

Paul jumped away from Chris and glared at the male. "Tony, fuck off!"

The mohawked-boy, who I presumed to be Tony, shot daggers across the room with his eyes. "Be nice, Paulie!"

Paul's expression softened and he chuckled. "Tone, you're fucked up!"

Tony nodded. "I am, and man, that weed of your's was brilliant!"

"WHAT?" Paul scowled.

Chris and I erupted into laughter.

Tony advanced into the room, then turned to ogle me slowly. "Oh. Hi."

I offered him my most tauntingly pathetic pageant wave.

"You're so Benji!" he giggled and outstretched his hand. "I'm Tony."

"Who's Benji?" I asked, totally confused.

"He's in our band," Chris laughed. "He does the same wave."

"Ah," I rolled my eyes.

"She's hot," Tony winked as he began to hand a bag of marijuana to Paul. "I'd totally bang her."

"Excuse me?" I stammered, glaring at the obnoxious man. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

Tony paused and smirked. "I'm Tony Lovato."

* * *

"Please forgive him," Chris smiled as he chased the exhuberant male out the door and locked it. "He doesn't know any better than to act like a retard."

"A fucktard," Paul corrected. I nearly spit my drink.

Our laughter came to a soft end and Chris fidgeted nervously in his seat. Paul sighed and puffed out his cheeks. "Well, kids, I'm going to be leaving you now."

I gave him my best pageant wave as he exited the room, and Chris again locked the door. "He's a good guy," he smiled as he spoke of his friend.

"Yeah," I smiled back. "He's nice."

Chris nodded his head. "Yeah."

"So," I started, unsure where to take the conversation. The silence was deafening, and I felt my heartracing with each empty sound wave that passed between us.

"I love your shirt," Chris smiled warmly, blushing.

"Thanks," I shrugged. "It's just an old school favorite."

"You really do like The Smiths?" he asked, a calm tone permeating each of his soft words.

I nodded. "Is there something wrong with The Smiths?"

Chris shook his head slowly. "Not a thing. You like the Foo Fighters?"

"Not at all!" I winced.

Chris smiled brilliantly and at that moment, I realized he had removed his hoodie. He was clothed in a baggy black t-shirt, emblazoned with a white Foo Fighters logo.

"I meant," I stuttered and grinned.

Chris laughed. "No biggie. Like I said, I like your honesty."

I felt my body relax noticeably, realization that I could say literally anything to this man hitting me and seeping throughout the hemispheres of my mind. "I'm an honest girl," I admitted.

"I like that about you," Chris winked and inched closer on the sofa. His warm breath ignited my nerve-endings as he whispered, "What do you think about me?"

I knew I was blushing when I turned to gaze deeply into his pale brown irises. "I think I like you," I smiled.

"I think I like you too," he smiled back. "A lot."

"We just met," I cooed as his lips travelled dangerously close to my own. His breath was so warm on my skin, so perfectly moist with lust. He spoke not another word as his ridiculously plump lips collided with mine and our bodies seemed to meld together into a sensual embrace. Before long, we were entangled in one another, emblazoned by the sheer animalistic lust of being intimate with a stranger.

* * *

"Please?" I pleaded between desperate gasps for air. My chest heaved, my breasts were exposed.

"I have to find one," he smiled and crawled off the sofa and began to rummage for his Dickies. I watched as he kneeled on the carpeted floor, his naked backside so comically white.

"Nice ass," I laughed.

Chris blushed and smirked over his shoulder. "Stop or you'll totally kill it."

"Kill what?" I inquired with a naughty wiggle of my eyebrows.

He smirked and motioned toward his erection. "Mr. Happy."

I laughed, and he returned to his search.

"Found one!" he called, returning to the sofa with the small, blue package in his hand. "Help me out, wouldya?"

I tossed my hair about my head playfully and pouted. "Can't handle it all by yourself?"

Chris' grin widened.

"How about I get you ready first?" I taunted, leaning forward and taking his warm length into my hand. Before he could react, I had leaned forward to tease his pink tip with my tongue, working an inch of his impressive eight into my mouth. I wanted to taste him, feel his body spasm inside me. I wanted everything he had to offer me, and I wanted it inside me immediately. "Change of plans," I grinned.

He opened his eyes as I began to roll the condom down his length, raising an eyebrow at my activity.

"Fuck me!" I demanded. "Now."

Chris shook his head as he angled his body for entry, grinning as he whispered, "And I thought you were shy."

I winked as I grabbed his hips and forced him quickly inside my aching body. I begged for him to be rough, I pleaded for him to be animalistic and primal with his pistoning hips and luscious kisses. I wanted everything he could give and more. I screamed for that, too. I screamed so that Paul and Tony could hear us, wherever they might be.

Chris was reduced to grunts and groans. His voice dripped with lust as he plunged forward, then slowly withdrew, adding slight verbal offerings for emphasis. His stomach muscles seemed to tighten and clench, and before long, I knew he was headed toward a euphoric state of oblivion. In fact, as he passed out of the present world and into the next, he offered only a loud roar of release. I appreciated that, though he had reached his own peak, he continued to slowly circle my clit with his thumb, bringing me to a slow, orgasmic death just shortly after his own demise.

* * *

"I promise," I smiled as I spoke into the small cellular phone. "I will." My younger sister and her ridiculously made-up best friend stared at me with great interest as I tried to hasten the end of my conversation. "Thank you for tonight," I cooed.

I snapped the phone shut as my sister began to twirl her pigtails slowly in midair. "So?" she huffed.

"So what?" I smiled.

"Where did you get that pass?" she spat angrily, pointing at the small cloth pass affixed to my purse.

I rolled my eyes and began to fish through my purse for my car keys. "Does it matter?"

"I think it does," she continued to whine. "Because that was Chris that you walked out of the building with!"

"Yes, that was Chris," I mumbled, pushing tubes of lipstick away from my small keyring.

"THAT WAS CHRIS WILSON!" my sister's friend, the abominable Kerri shrieked.

I shrugged.

"From Good Charlotte?" my sister clarified. "He's the drummer."

"Ah," I mouthed and pulled the keys free of a tangle.

"How'd you get backstage?" the pair demanded.

I shrugged and motioned toward my silver Jetta. "Get in!"

Jessica, my spoiled sister, crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. "Why didn't you bring me?"

I shrugged again and searched for an excuse to put an end to their griping. "Because," I started, unsure of where my statement was going but remaining firm. "Backstage is no place for a child!"

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