Second Chance at a Second Chance

The following story can best be classified as "Creative Non-Fiction." The events the story are based upon ones that took place, but the names (where included), locations and descriptions have all been changed to protect the innocent (as they used to say on "Dragnet").

This is part 3 of a 4 part series, the first part being 'First Chance at Fifteen Minutes of Fame,' the second part being 'Second Chance at Fifteen Minutes of Fame.'

All characters in the story are at least 18 years old.

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Second Chance at a Second Chance

I see an announcement for a band I really like and have multiple copies of all their recordings, both on vinyl and on cassette tape. That night, I have a recurring dream of meeting the lead singer, but everyone I have told about the events in the dream don't believe me and think I have made everything up.

A second night with the same dream and I am up early, waiting for the ticket office to open before I go to work. I refrain from speaking of the dream to anyone and it fades into the back of my memory where it belongs.

The show is on a Saturday night, just like in my dreams, but the venue is much smaller, only about four thousand people inside instead of the thirty thousand plus in the shows I have convinced myself are a figment of my imagination. It is General Admission again, but I don't remember the press of the fans as I watch the concert.

After the warm up band finishes their set and the intermission is underway, I spot my estranged wife there with her boyfriend. Even though I had been waiting in the beer line for ten minutes, I rush over to her. I pull some paperwork from my jacket pocket and thrust it in her face. I have been carrying the divorce papers around with me at all times for the past several months, ever since I saw her the last time and she agreed to grant me the divorce. I am surprised to run into her here. She hates this band because I like them so much.

She signs the documents because I am granting her everything she asked for just to get her out of my life. I consider skipping out of the concert to go get drunk in celebration of my freedom, but something keeps me here: The flashbacks from my dreams firing in rapid succession, to quick to make them out.

I work my way up to the front of the crowd, using my size to bully people out of the way. I see members of the band peeking out to guage the crowd size before disappearing again. I can hear someone tuning guitars backstage when a security guard taps me on the shoulder. Initially I think I have hurt someone's feelings or maybe their toes in my quest to gain a better spot and try to ignore him.

He is persistant and when he yells into my ear, required because the dun of the crowd is that loud, telling me someone wants to speak to me. He leads me sidestage and leaves me behind the security fencing when a blonde approaches.

"It's you, isn't it?" she asks and I recognize her as one of the members of the band.

I am about to deny everything when I recall a vision from my dreams of her wrapping an arm around a short brunette in a bus, tears streaking the mascara lining her expressive eyes. "Oh, God," I mumble. "It's true."

She looks at me questioningly. "You broke her heart," she scolds and everything floods back in a rush, overwhelming me.

The memory which hurts the most is my promise we would see each other again. I never thought it would be almost five years before it would happen. "Do you want me to go?" I ask.

"That's up to you," she replies. "But if you stay, I don't want her to see you before the show." I want to argue with the blonde. I want to see her now. I don't want to wait. But then I think about it. No matter the outcome of a reunion, she will have as much difficulty concentrating as I am.

I nod.

I wait backstage, enjoying the music and the scene more than I ever did when I was working at the concert venue. I truly listen to the music and to her vocalization. Her voice is more mature, more sensual, yet it still retains the innocence it has always portrayed. I fall in love with her all over and it scares me. I am not sure of anything that has happened in the interim. There are no paparazzi following each and every moment of anyone famous. The internet is still relatively new, where only nerds like me use it to tap remote computers to solve massive problems with programs written specifically for that purpose, or to access on-line porn, the driver of the push for faster internet speeds. Cameras are not in everybody's hands as they will be in a few years. Even cell phones are barely out of the analog age with the first generation digital ones available but not widely supported by the cell providers.

I have no way to know if she has a boyfriend, had gotten married like I did, and divorced tonight when the ex signed the paperwork earlier, nothing. I am truly frightened I cannot live up to her memories. She is nothing more than a dream to me; come alive.

I have crept closer to the edge of the limelight throughout the performance to get a glimpse of an angel in a little black dress. And now I am too close.

She is singing the encore and I know every word of every song she sings, singing along when she looks over. She stops in the middle of the bridge before the final words of the choral closing of the last song of the night. She stands there, staring. The blonde takes over the lead as the song ends.

She stands there until the spotlight dims, leaving only the back lighting.

The guitar tumbles from her body and the impact echos through the auditorium as the back lights fade. I feel something hit me so hard I am knocked to the ground. The house lights come up and she is atop me, kissing me, holding me. Tears of joy are streaming down her face as I wrap my arms around her and kiss her back.

"Hi," I manage when she stops and looks down.

"You asshole!" she screams and slaps me as hard as she can and then is kissing me again. I know I deserved that and I am glad it is out. She murmurs my name and smiles.

I wipe the tears from her eyes and say, "I've missed you too."

She looks at me and starts giggling. "Is that all you have to say?"

I adjust her position so I can sit up. She stays on my lap. "I've drempt of you, dream of you," I say. "So often, I cannot believe you are real. Except for the bruises I'm going to have in the morning, I would think this is another dream."

Right then, the blonde walks over. "Get up you two," she says. "These guys have a lot of work to do." Her statement draws my attention to the many eyes upon us as we are still on the floor at the edge of the stage. The blonde gives us a smile and walks away. I scramble to my feet and help her.

She tucks herself under my arm and fits so nicely there being almost a foot shorter than I am and she leads me towards the Green Room where everyone is clustered around the punch bowl. I grab us each a red plastic cup filled with the red punch from my dreams and find two chairs in the corner. She doesn't even ask and plants herself on my lap as if the intervening years have never existed and I wish they hadn't. I have questioned my decision many times, wondering what my life would have been like if I had made the other choice.

I don't prompt her to talk, relishing her closeness. But she starts telling me about her life on the road, living on the bus or in hotels, traveling constantly or spending time in the recording studio. I don't ask about the movie she did and how hard it was for me to watch her in another man's arms and she doesn't bring it up. She does admit to having had a few flings but no real relationships in the interum. The fact she has not had anyone in her life saddens me for some reason, probably because my life has been so full.

I tell her about my college experience which is still underway because I am in two different Master's programs which dovetail together. I tell her I had gotten married, more in love with the idea of being married than the person I was married to. She smiles when I tell her I got divorced tonight because I ran into the ex at the concert and she signed the paperwork.

I also tell her about how no one believed my story about knowing her, and all of them telling me I am crazy and had made it all up, finally convincing me I had.

She kisses me softly and says, "We know the truth." The kiss afterwards is so passionate, I am glad our glasses are empty because they hit the floor.

Her tongue is in my mouth, probing, as well as mine in her's when the blonde walks up. "You two should get a room," she teases and gives the girl on my lap a smile. The girl on my lap looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

"I've got a new bike," I state. "We can go for a ride over to my house."

She gives me a pout. "I liked your old bike."

"I still have it," I reply.

She giggles. "I bet you still have my panties." I just smile in reply. She slides off my lap and takes my hand. "Come on," she whispers and we sneak out of the party. I start to lead her to my bike, but she takes me to the tour bus because the parking lot is only half empty and she doesn't want to be recognized.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she says, turning towards me once we are inside the tour bus and I can look around. Except my eyes don't leave hers and she notices. She pushes the leather jacket off my shoulders and I toss it onto a swivel chair.

She bites her lip as my hands encircle her torso, finding the zipper on the back of her dress, exactly in the same position as it is in my dreams. It is so quiet in the bus, I can hear the nylon teeth grating as I lower the zipper.

I pull the straps off her shoulders and let go. She doesn't move as the dress flutters to the floor, leaving her clad only in skimpier panties than I remembered and her flats, not the tennis shoes I remember her wearing on the bike ride.

I gasp. It takes a moment before the words form. "You are so beautiful," I manage to say.

"If I remember right," she whispers. "That is what you first said to me."

I lick my lips to restore the moisture in my dry mouth. "It is as true today as it was back then," I state, my voice horse with need and desire. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"No," she says. I look at her questioningly. "That was the first thing you said to me."

She slips her hands into mine and starts backing up towards the rear of the bus. She glances down to a three foot tall door which slides along the wall to her right. Using her foot to open it, she says, "This is where I sleep. I got the bottom because I am so short." I notice there are two more doors stacked above hers.

It takes a moment before her comment sinks in and I figure out the reference deeper than the words. "Oh," I say and lean down to kiss her. I tug my shirt off with one hand and she is giddy. She kneels down to crawl into her cubby hole while I toe off my boots and my pants follow shortly.

She uses her foot to close the door and she clicks on the tiny light. The cubby is cramped and claustrophobic and definitely not made for anything other than sleeping. There is not even room to sit up, but all I care about is being here, right now, with her. The past doesn't exist. The future doesn't exist. She is the entire world to me and I am happy for the first time in years.

I lean on my elbows above her and stare into her eyes. I don't want to move, ruining the moment I want to remember for the rest of my life. She seem to understand and stares back.

"Love me," she whispers.

"I do," I reply and kiss her. She wraps her arms around my neck and deepens the kiss. I can taste her need and wants. I know I am as desperate for her as she is for me, yet I take it slow. I don't want to hurt her in my adoration and I want this night to be perfect because I know there is no future, no matter how much both of us wants there to be one.

There is enough light to see her body in all of it's perfection. I kiss my way down her throat, across her chest and up the slope of her pert b-cup breasts. She moans and grabs my head, twining her fingers in my hair as I suck on her dusky rose colored nipples, standing tall and hard atop her delicate mounds. I savor the taste of her skin, mildly salty from the sweat caused by her singing and playing guitar under the spotlights on stage. She whimpers when I continue south to tease her deep navel, plunging my tongue into it until she starts giggling.

I can smell her musk when I reach her panties. It turns me on and I tell her so. I want to be inside her but tonight is all about her. She lifts her hips as I peel the moist undies from her, kissing her legs all the way down, tasting the trace of her essence as the lingerie brushes over her skin. She is impatient for my mouth to travel back up her legs. When I get close, she raises her knees and spreads them wide for me. Her scent overwhelms me, giving me a high no drug can compete with.

She has shaved lips and a small patch of trimmed hair above her cleft now, not the longer trim all over she sported the last time I was here. Her lips are heavier, fuller than I remember, but this could be accounted for by her arousal. I can see the moisture gleaming from her tender folds, and I have to taste it. It has the same salty tanginess, only more intense. I cannot get enough and lick her from the bottom of her furrow all the way to her protruding clit. She cries out as my tongue brushes over it, her body trembling and convulsing as she climaxes much sooner than I expected. She tangles her hands in my hair again, pulling it free from the hair tie as I feast on her through at least half a dozen more orgasms before she yells for me to stop and take care of her.

I kiss her ravenous mouth for several minutes before I drag my manhood along her crease. She screams, "Fuck me," and I plunge into her depths and she screams again, this time is ecstasy. Her arms and legs wrap around me as she suffers through a massive orgasm, her whole body shaking as wave after wave courses through her.

I try to pump slowly into her to prolong our time together, but she is having nothing to do with it. She urges me on faster and harder until I am pounding her into the mattress. I would not be surprised if the entire bus is rocking with us since I am going at her so hard. One thing I have learned in the past five years is control. I can spurt off quickly if I am giving the ex a mercy fuck or I can last forever when I choose. Tonight, I choose the latter, still going at it after forty-five minutes of mind numbing sex. She had peaked so many times I have lost count.

My undoing is when she pleads, "Give it to me." I grunt and blow my top, eliciting a "yes, yes, yes," from her. Somehow, we manage to roll over in the cramped space so I can rest without crushing her. She lays her head on my chest and when her breathing and heart rates slow, she whispers, "I love you." I whisper the same phrase back immediately, without delay, meaning something entirely different than when I said it to my ex, even in the beginning.

She places her hands on both of my cheeks and kisses me tenderly. She moves down my body, her tongue tracing a path south until she reaches my lower abdomen, where she wraps a hand around my semi-flacid manhood. She licks the tip and I say, "You don't have to do that."

She looks up with serious eyes. "I want to." She swallows me whole and I start growing rapidly. All too soon, she can handle only about half my length. A large majority of the girls I have been with who have tried, cannot handle me orally, and I am glad she cannot either. The only ones who can either have the innate skills or have had lots of practice.

When I am standing tall, she crawls up my body and mounts me. There is no room for her to sit up, so she ends up on her hands and knees, sliding back and forth instead of up and down. I love the feeling of her hair tickling my skin and the sight of her boobs rubbing across my chest, only the nipples making contact. I reach down and run my fingers across her clit and she cums loudly. She cries out her pleasure and is panting afterwards.

I try to last as long as I did the first time, but the beauty of her pleasing me and herself has me erupting after only fifteen minutes. Even with the shortened time frame, she is exhausted and collapses on top of me.

I wrap her up in a hug and say, "I love the feel of you in my arms." She smiles at me and grips me hard. After kissing her for a long time, we roll over and I start in on her for a third time. She moans her approval and I go at it.

An hour later we are still going when I hear voices. She does too and tries to be quiet as I plunge into her. I try to ignore the voices and I am succeeding until about five minutes later, the engine roars to life. I debate whether to speed up to finish or stop. I have not decided yet when I feel the bus start moving.

"Shit," I mumble and pull the door open. I roll off of her and out into the aisle. I grab my pants as I stand, holding them in front of me. "Stop the bus," I shout and the vehicle pulls to the curb only seconds after leaving the parking lot. I pull on my pants and see the blonde staring at me, with a lacivious smile on her face.

That smile fades as the singer crawls out of the cubby after me as I am picking up my clothes and jacket. I am at the front of the bus, boots and shirt in my hands when I turn. "Wait," she pleads. My heart breaks because she is wearing my shirt from five years ago. It is faded and threadbare, but I know it is the one I let her wear as a cover up at the beach. I couldn't find it after I got home that morning. "Wait," she repeats her plea, the tears are back and are streaming down her cheeks.

I take a step towards her and she holds up a hand. "I can't leave right now," I say. I hear her sobbing. "I need some time to set thing in order."

"I love you," she says so softly I can barely hear her. "But, I cannot go through this again."

"I love you, too," I reply. "If I could, I would go with you right now. I need time to finish up the quarter at school and arrange for everything to be taken care of."

I can see some hope in her eyes, but the blonde exclaims, "Dammit!" Everyone turns to look at her. "You're doing it again."

I want to argue the point. "I need time," I say softly, full of reluctance.

"GO!" the blonde shouts, enfolding the short brunette in a hug as she is crying profusely. I start to say something but the blonde points. I can see the bus driver is getting anxious and I nod. He opens the door and I step onto the curb. The bus rolls off in a cloud of diesel smoke. I watch it until it is out of sight.

I pull my boots and shirt on and walk through the early morning drizzle to my bike. I shrug the jacket on and ride home. By the time I have parked the bike on the back patio, the house mouse, Mary, is standing in the door. My ex-wife had brought her home about the time I believe she was in the infancy of her affair with the guy I saw her with tonight, and Mary outlasted the ex and is still living with me. I turn to look at her and only see her bare butt receding inside.

I want to crawl into my bed fully clothed, but decide not to. Mary raises the covers and I slip in beside her naked body. "Did you do anything fun?" she asks. I shake my head, not wanting to tell her, or anyone, the story of tonight. She pulls the covers over her head and sucks me until I am hard. She mounts me and rides me until I finish an hour later. She curls up next to me and asks, "Is she my replacement?"

I sigh and shake my head. "No, I don't think so." She looks up at me. "My life is here. Hers is someplace else." The house mouse nuzzles into my side and I wrap an arm around her.

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

"No," I reply and close my eyes. I don't think any tears leak out even though I am falling apart inside.