Taylor Made


I stop a potentially dangerous situation at a Taylor Swift concert and she invites me back stage to 'thank' me.

"Hey, I'll wave to you guys tonight." I laughed as we took off to our assigned ushering stations.

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in. For once you get a prime location, on the floor in front of the stage."

"Who's ass did you have to kiss to get that?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I have no idea how it happened. I've been up in the nosebleed zone with you guys for, what, five years? This was a surprise to me."

"I heard Tom Watson had a car wreck and will be out for a while. He's been manning that station since the arena opened."

I shook my head. "Yeah, I heard about that. But why did they reassign me there instead of one of you? You've all been here longer than I have."

"Maybe they heard you were a big Taylor Swift fan."

I laughed. "I'd rather be down there for a basketball or hockey game. These concerts can get kind of loud close to the stage. Good thing I carry earplugs."

I've been ushering at the arena for five years. It's interesting work. You get to meet a lot of people. It's a good gig to make a little, okay very little, extra money for the five or six times each of us works each month. Believe me we don't do it for the ten bucks an hour we make for a few hours a night. I like the upper deck sections for the sports events because if the game isn't a sellout I get a chance to actually watch some of the game. The high vantage point gives a good view of the court or the ice. If you're ever at my arena you can find the ushers by the red shirts we wear.

Downstairs was new to me, and was very busy. Occasionally I had to ask someone to leave if they had taken someone else's seat closer to the stage 'by mistake'. Yeah, right. Out you go.

Concertgoers continued to stream in during the opening act and part of my job was to hold them back until a set was over. There was an intermission between the acts and the few empty seats in front of the stage filled in with latecomers for Taylor.

In preparation for the concert I had listened to a bit of Taylor so I would have an idea what to expect - what songs were likely to get more enthusiastic response from the crowd and might require some crowd control.

Part of my job was to keep people away from the stage. There was a certain amount of movement allowed, but we were to discourage any unruly behavior. By and large the Taylor fans were, while loud and enthusiastic, well behaved. As I led people to their seats I was struck by the diversity of the crowd. Not only were there the expected teenage girls, but even their fathers and grandparents. There were young and old, all colors and ethnicities. I've done a number of pop and country concerts but her fan base seemed to be by far the broadest. She also did a great job of relating to them all. Her banter with the audience was lively and it seemed she genuinely cared that she gave her fans their money's worth. I could tell you about some other big names who looked like they were sleepwalking through their sets.

During the first few numbers I noticed a big guy on an aisle seat near the front on my side of the floor. He seemed to be acting a bit odd. I caught the eye of one of Taylor's yellow-shirted security detail and motioned toward him with my head. He caught my drift and nodded that he'd keep an eye on the guy as well.

About mid-way through the concert she even added some extra lyrics that mentioned the city where we were. The fans were on their feet - swaying, singing, clapping - really getting into it. Taylor worked the stage, prancing from one side to the other, her backup dancers swirling behind her.

She came all the way down to my end of the stage, right up to the front edge, and fans reached up toward her. All of a sudden the big guy lunged forward and made a beeline for the stage, with his eyes fixed on Taylor. As he did so he reached into his pocket and I saw him take out something black. I flew after him and launched myself to tackle him high while I chopped at his arm. He pitched forward onto the floor right in front of the stage at the feet of some other fans and the black object fell beside him. He grabbed for it but I swiped it away from him. He tried to get up, but my brother wrestled in high school and taught me some moves, so when he struggled to get up I put a move on him and face planted him on the floor. By then we were surrounded with yellow shirts. They pinned his arms behind him and propelled him away from the stage and out into the corridor. I picked up the black object before it was lost amongst the stomping feet of the crowd. It sort of looked like a small hand-held video camera, but there was something not quite right with it. It seemed that the 'camera' had no lens, and the whole thing didn't feel right.

Taylor kept right on singing as if nothing had happened, although she had to have seen the whole thing happening ten feet in front of her. Only a few audience members in the immediate area actually saw what transpired, since all eyes were fixed on the action on stage.

I took the 'camera' out to where a uniformed police officer was taking charge of the suspect. Another officer interviewed the security detail and me and took the suspect aside for questioning. The 'camera' was placed in a sealed plastic bag. Before long the suspect was loaded onto a patrol car and whisked away.

After the finale the happy crowd spilled out of the arena, and I started off to report to the usher supervisor before leaving. A nicely dressed young woman caught my arm and told me Taylor had requested that I come back stage and meet with her. After making my report I fought my way back through the crowds toward the stage. The young woman met me and led me through the various 'checkpoints' to Taylor's dressing room. She knocked and we were admitted, although the young woman immediately disappeared.

Inside I saw the two burly security guys who had helped subdue and secure the suspect until the police arrived, and several other people. Taylor was engrossed in a conversation with someone and one of the security guys came over to me.

"Thought I'd let you know that you were right. It wasn't a real camera. It had some sort of mechanism inside to spray a liquid or gas or something through the lens opening. The police are analyzing it now. Thanks for your quick reaction. We were thirty feet away and couldn't have gotten to him as fast as you did."

"There was something odd about him from the get-go. He wasn't paying attention to the concert but seemed to be studying Taylor. I thought he could be a stalker."

He shook his head. "Maybe he was. I guess we'll all be interviewed in more depth tomorrow as part of the investigation."

Taylor's phone rang and everyone seemed to think the call was expected and she'd want some privacy, as they all left the room. I started to follow them out but she motioned with her hand for me to sit on a couch situated along one wall. She stood over in an opposite corner and spoke softly into the phone, so I couldn't hear the conversation. I looked around at the vases of flowers, racks of clothes, makeup items and such. A star's concert dressing room is an interesting place.

She seemed real pleased with the call at first, but then her face darkened. She began to pace the room as she listened, getting angrier and angrier. Finally she shouted into the phone "I've got something to tell you, too. YOU CAN TAKE THAT TEN INCH DICK OF YOURS AND GO FUCK YOURELF!"

She tossed the phone onto the dressing table and it knocked a water bottle to the floor. Fortunately the cap was on.

She stormed around the room, muttering. I instinctively stood and wrapped my arms around her. When I felt her body stiffen I knew I'd made a mistake. I stepped back and held my hands up in front of me.

"Sorry, Ms. Swift. It was just instinct. I forgot for a moment where I was and who I was with. You just looked like you needed a hug."

She gave me a hard look that gradually softened and her eyes mosted. "Yeah, I guess I do."

She moved toward me and I wrapped my arms around her once again. She leaned her head down onto my shoulder. I had never considered just how tall she was until that moment. I'm five-eight and with her heels she had to be at least six-two. She reached under my arms and up behind me to grip my shoulders. We stood like that for a minute or two.

When she stepped back she took a deep breath and studied me.

"So I have you to thank for saving me from some sort of assault tonight."

"I just thought the guy looked suspicious, then I worried that he just wanted to take a picture and I had caused a commotion for nothing."

"Bullshit. I saw the whole thing. It was right in front of me. He was coming right at me. You jumped him and kept him from either coming up onto the stage or squirting me with something. Rob and Darryl told me all about the fake camera. They'd been watching him too, from the doorway. You were able to identify the threat and take swift action. I owe you thanks."

She motioned for me to sit on the couch again, and sat next to me with her arms crossed over her chest.

There was a knock on the door and a voice "You okay in there, Taylor?"

"I'm fine. I just want some time to myself."

"I'll make sure nobody bothers you. Don't forget the birthday party, though. Margot would be disappointed if you didn't show."

"Don't worry, I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

She turned to me. "Margot is one of my dancers. She's turning thirty and we're not going to let her forget she's the old lady in this show."

"Jeez. Thirty isn't old. I'm thirty two."

"It's old for this show."

She spent a moment studying me once more. "Tell me something, why did you hug me? I can be rather intimidating when I'm angry."

"It wasn't the anger. I thought you looked...hurt. I don't know what that call was about but I watched you go through a series of emotions. I had a girlfriend once who had something that caused her to act similarly. I didn't know what to do for her, so did nothing. Later she let me know in no uncertain terms that she could have used a hug."


"Uh, no to both."

"Why not? Are you gay? Not that there's anything wrong with that. We have quite a few involved with the show."

I'm not used to being interrogated about personal things, but answered as honestly as I could. "I seem to have come across two types of women lately. There are those who start looking for a ring after about the third date. That's a bit fast for me. The others who I might like to have a long term relationship with aren't interested in being tied down to any one man. Net result - I'm single."

"Very honest of you. I like honesty in men."

"Speaking of honesty, I couldn't hear much except the end of your call. Was that a boyfriend?"

"Former, as of tonight."

"Um, does he really have a...?"

"I don't know how big it is. Nine. Ten. Eleven. It doesn't matter. He can shove it up his own ass."


"I don't want to talk about him. I don't even want to mention his name."

"He who cannot be named, huh? Maybe you can invent another name to call him by."

"Like pimple head?"

I laughed. "How about pickle head."

"Or fuckface. Yeah. I like that one. From henceforth he shall be known as fuckface. He can fuck his own face, after all."

I thought that was sort of harsh, but I didn't know anything about the guy, so who am I to judge?

She leaned back on the couch with her head back and eyes closed. "Sometimes after a concert if he's around we'd fuck on the dressing room couch. It helps relieve tension. Later we'd spend most of the rest of the night fucking in my room."

I decided to take a big risk. "I could help you relieve your tension."

Her eyes popped open and she glared at me. "I want to thank you but I'm not interested in fucking you."

"Understood. But what if I could do it without fucking. With all my clothes on."

Her eyes narrowed. "And just how would you propose relieving my tension?"

"I, um, could help you relax and, um, get the feeling." I bit my lower lip. "I know it's presumptuous of me, but I have had some experience with it. In college I was able to give a girl a...an..."


"Yeah." I ran my fingers through my hair. "What the hell am I thinking? You're the big star and I'm a nobody. It's a stupid thought and I don't blame you for getting pissed at me. Forget I even said it."

"Well, it's been said and can't be unsaid. In a way I find you interesting. By your actions tonight you obviously are not afraid to take risks. If that was a gun the guy had you could have been shot. We don't know what he had in that fake camera and how he intended to use it. He could have used it on you."

"At least I would have kept him from shooting you, or whatever he was going to do."

She crossed her arms over her chest, cocked her head and looked me over. "Tell me, what do you know about me?"

"I know you're about the most well-known face on the planet. I know you make a lot of money. I know you protect your brand. I know there will never be a sex tape of Taylor Swift. I know you're generous to your people and your fans. I know you get what you want."

She leaned over closer to me. "I do generally get what I want. I invited you here because I wanted to thank you. Tell me something else...wait, I don't even know your name."

"Jeffrey. My friends call me Jeff."

"Okay. Tell me something else, Jeff. What do you think would be an appropriate way to thank you?"

"You already have."

She pondered a moment. "If you did what you said you could do a few minutes ago, would that satisfy you? As I said I'm not too keen on fucking you."

"You mean if I..."

"Gave me a big O, without fucking. If that would be satisfying to you I see it as win-win. We each get something."

"I'm speechless."

"It's settled, then. You may commence." She leaned back on the couch and watched me.

Needless to say I was scared shitless. Was she serious? "Hold on. I don't know what to do here. I mean, there's been nothing leading up to it. I can't just..."

She leaned over and kissed me. "Is that a good start? Let's do it some more. Maybe you'll get an idea or two of how to proceed."

Once more she leaned her head toward me and we kissed, a real kiss with tongue play.

"Mmm. You're a good kisser, Jeff. I'm beginning to forget fuckface."

For several minutes we embraced and kissed. I moved my kisses to her forehead, ears, neck and throat. The way she held me let me know I was headed in the right direction. I ran my hands over her arms, and my thumbs even brushed the sides of her breasts. She pulled my red shirt out of my pants and slid a hand up under it to my chest. I moved one hand to a leg and lightly brushed over the skin of her upper leg. When I made a move to her inner thigh she opened her legs. I traced around the leg band of the tight very short shorts she had worn for her final number on stage, and she pulled my head up to kiss again.

It dawned on me that she might actually be serious. My heart pounded as I tentatively cradled a breast.


She wore a blouse that was untucked and tied in the front to make it short and show a little skin. With her encouragement I tugged the tied ends loose and slowly unbuttoned the few buttons that were actually fastened. When the shirt opened I caressed her breasts through the fabric of her bra, still a bit damp with sweat from her exertions on stage. She shrugged the shirt off and reached around to unhook the strapless bra.

Her fine breasts tumbled free. I took a moment to admire them before giving them the attention they deserved. Her nipples, nestled within smallish dark areoles, were already erect. I bent to kiss them, pulling on the nipples with my lips. I glanced up and saw her head back, eyes closed.

I continued to knead the soft orbs and kiss/lick nipples. She pressed my head against her chest for a bit, and ran her fingers through my hair.

As I kissed my way down her chest and abdomen my fingers searched for the fastenings on her shorts. While I paused to tongue her navel she helped me out by reaching behind her and helpfully unfastening the shorts in the back.

At first I plunged a hand down into the loosened shorts and cupped her womanhood. I was rewarded with a slight up thrust of her hips. I figured sooner was better than later, and grasped the waistband of the shorts and, with her help by lifting her hips, slid them off. I kissed over the fabric of the very brief silky briefs and teased around the leg bands with my fingers. When I played over the fabric hiding her vulva she sighed. I found them damp, but with sweat or excitement I didn't know.

When I couldn't stand it anymore I yanked the briefs down. She tried to kick them and the shorts off but they tangled in her heels. I slipped the shoes off and the garments soon sailed across the room.

Her vulva was exquisite. The inner labia protruded just enough to be easily touchable and the clitoral hood was prominent. She had hair, but trimmed short and neat. The brown hair was softer than I expected -pubic hair on some women I knew could be described as having more the consistency of a steel wool pad rather than soft. I couldn't resist playing with it. It glistened with the moisture of sexual readiness.

I put a finger on each side of her labia and pressed down while sliding my hand up and down, squeezing the lips together. Soon a finger slid between. I briefly entered her with a finger and then withdrew to determine how she liked her clitoris to be touched. She liked some surprisingly rough treatment on the hood - pinches and tugs.

I kissed the lower lips and she moaned softly. I inserted my tongue between her labia and slid it up and down, tasting her.

She changed her position from sitting to reclining with one leg on the floor and one flexed on the seat of the couch. I sucked on each of the inner labia, massaging with my tongue, and she arched her back.

I changed position to access her from a more straight-on position between her legs, and spread her labia open with my fingers. My tongue repeatedly went from vagina to clit. Long, slow licks. Sometimes I thrust my tongue inside her. Sometimes I sucked on her clitoral hood and tongued the treasure beneath.

She began to squirm. I inserted two fingers into her and curled them, alternately on the upper surface and the sides of her vagina. Certain firm side strokes coupled with clit sucking almost brought her off the couch.

My free hand returned to a breast, massaging, tweaking a nipple, rubbing across the nipple with my thumb. She began to thrash about and suddenly pushed my head tight against her while she alternately tensed and relaxed. One leg whipped around me. Her vagina pulsed around my fingers and her entire body flushed bright red.

Her head laid against the upholstered arm of the couch such that I could see her face while I was still firmly attached below. I saw her biting her lip trying to not make a sound. At last she completely relaxed and I laid my head on her abdomen and stroked her hair.

When her breathing came under control she pulled me up for another kiss. I sat on the floor with my back against the couch and she played her fingers through my hair.

"Shit, Jeff. Old fuckface would never have done that."

"What do you mean?"

"He said the smell was repulsive and the whole idea was disgusting. Of course he had no qualms about trying to shove that thing of his down my throat."

"You're kidding."

"Honest. He was always anxious to get himself off and then believe that I enjoyed it as much as him. With some effort I could come, but I had to make the effort. He had no interest in pleasing me."

"He really said that about what we just did?"


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