Work Out Curtain Up

Black, absolutely, oppressively black. I can't see anything, anything at all. Just an endless sea of black stretching out into the infinite void ahead of me. It hurts my eyes, stinging and biting, but I can't look away. Everywhere is black, as vast, as wide, as all-consuming as the crush of the heavens above.

I can't hear anything. The ringing in my ears won't stop, can't stop, blocking out anything else around me. And I feel a crowd, shoving, pushing, writhing like grass in a storm. So many, filling up the black, just as I am. I feel their heat, their pressure, their whirling auras whipping in the maelstrom of their own lives. They are all as blind and deaf as I am, completely lost in the abyss, no senses, no time, just black and silence and the odd calm that comes from the crowd. Someone screams, off in the distance. I can't tell exactly where from. My ears are still ringing. I can barely hear the sound of my own breath.

Weight crushes me from above. I have been chosen to bear this burden, chosen with glorious will to carry this weight on my shoulders, carry the sky like the great Atlas before me. I will keep it from the ground, never touching, never meeting, never dropping. The weight shall stay on my shoulders for all eternity, no matter how much it becomes, how much it hurts. The weight shall stay put, just like the black, just like the silence, just like the sea of heated bodies all around me.

"SIX BLACK HEAVENS GUNS. IT IS THE LAST MADNESS OF MEMORY."

The lights come back on and blind me all over again. The music blares and tears through me until I feel myself start melting from the inside out. On stage, guitars and drums and bass and everything light and good and pure pours out from the music. My cheeks hurt and I realize I am smiling, wild and manic and crazy as all the energy from the sound pours into my chest. I feel alive and excited in every way possible. Louise is on my shoulders and she screams. I think she lifts up her shirt, but I'm not sure. The wall of sound smacking me in the face has left me disoriented and confused.

She drums on my skull, hands through my hair, running and stroking and petting and thumping. Everything's thumping. The music, my skull, my heart, her heart through her stomach, the feet of the crowd stomping on the cheap metal of the stands. So many people, so many all thumping and stomping and trying to crash the roof of the place down on our heads. We might actually do it, from the sea of dust cascading down around us.

"Rachel," Louise says in my ear, "This is amazing."

She screams it honestly. I can't hear anything else over the band. It is amazing. Incredible. I never actually thought that I'd get to see Dust to Dust in person. I never thought I'd get to see Dust to Dust in person with a beautiful woman on my shoulders, surrounded by people I don't know and having a great time. I think I'm drunk. I'm not sure, but with the atmosphere I don't really care. Louise is drunk, half on the aura, half on cheap stadium beer that's almost water, but it's enough. It's really enough. She leans over my head and kisses my nose. It's as deep as she can go, but it's still appreciated. And I'm not really in a position to return the favor in kind. I end up giving her lovely ass a squeeze. One of her many, many, many wonderful points, a lump of flesh that springs back into my hand underneath my fingers. She wiggles a little bit on top of me and tries to get the sensation to move a little bit deeper. But now's not the time or place for such an action, despite my own growing excitement. That would be fun, in theory at least, a crowd this size around us, cheering and clapping, begging to join. Fantasies and nothing more. The logistics alone would be a nightmare.

The show's the best. It's the best. And I can't believe it. Lily of Steel, Colors, Shotgun & Head, Society, all one after another, in a continuous stream of heavy thumping noise. The only real bad spot was when they went into Birthday Train. The band likes to play that song and I don't know why. No one else likes it, no one at all, and they keep trying to make it a hit, and nothing they do will ever make it good. They realize that a few bars in, at least, and go into Ride the Fire pretty quick. It takes a bit to get back into the mood, but I get there. Louise gets there again. The crowd gets back into it with a cover of The Great Empress. She kisses me again, finally figuring out a way to get to my lips, contorting like a serpent around my neck until Louise stares into my eyes. She tastes like lipstick and cheap beer, and a mounting crash that will probably drag me down with her into the deepest sleep I'll have in a long, long time. I squeeze her ass again and try to figure out a way to get to her chest. That's what I really want, but every way I can think of would involve dropping her onto the cold concrete and neither one of us would appreciate that. Her hands reach down and squeeze my breasts, running the nipples under her thumb. I almost drop her but manage to control myself.

I couldn't feel the soft flesh of her thighs on my shoulders otherwise. Music and light and pressure and weight and just the energy of so many people excited and drunk and probably high. It's fun and I can't stop smiling. My face hurts so much and I do not care at all. There's Louise on my shoulders writhing around my body like I'm a stripper pole. It's all perfect, and I never want it to end.

It does though. The band gets tired, like the mortals they are. I get it. It must be exhausting being up there and playing, but I'm having a good time, and that's all that really matters in the world. Me and Louise enjoying ourselves until we drop dead. And the band can do that first, for our amusement. But the lights have gone dark, truly dark, and the house lights come back on, bathing us all in the stark reality from which we came from. We are not creatures of manic highs and crushing beats drowning out our thoughts. We are people, more or less, and that means we have pets and jobs and houseplants that require our attention. We are more than pure physical sensations, no matter how deep those sensations hit us. It is fun to have a Louise crawl down from me, pushing soft and hard things into me as I push them into her. She's flushed and teetering and beaming and I'm beaming back at her and I kiss her, and she kisses me, and we have to leave this magic place, back into the city proper and all that entails.

The sea of people, the current, carries us out and deposits us on some dark street, lit up by neon signs and spilling light from shops and restaurants and bars, all offering some amount of respite from the harshness of the dark. I'm half dragging, half pushing Louise along. I didn't keep track of how many she had. Too many, maybe not enough, maybe just right. I don't know the right ratio of Louise to stadium beer. But she's happy, humming and touching and rubbing and hugging and thanking me in every way she knows how for bringing her out with me. Which is odd because it was her idea. She's the one who saw the poster on my wall as I was inside her and correlated Dust to Dust with sexual ecstasy. Correctly, I might add. She's the one who looked into her job and found that they offered discounts on concert tickets for select venues. And she's the one who planned this whole thing and surprised me for my birthday three weeks ago. I thank her too, but she just keeps saying that I'm responsible for all the good times, when that is simply not the case. I kiss the top of her head and debate just picking her up and carrying her all the way home. I could do it, but it's still a few more blocks to my place and I don't know if I can do that. Definitely two or three, but not more. And she'd probably squirm and that just adds a whole other level difficulty that I don't want to deal with in my own state.

Not quite drunk, not quite high, not quite horny, not quite on an adrenaline rush, just all of those things combined and none of those things at the same time. Just good, really, really good. I am happy. Louise is happy. We're both happy, and everything's good. She stretches up to find my ear.

"I want to suck your dick," she whispers. She might have shouted that. I'm not sure. My ears are still ringing. But the people around us haven't reacted, so she must have whispered it. I perk up, my pants getting tighter and more restrictive. It knows. It knows what's coming down the line and wants that moment to be here now. Frankly, I would like her to suck my dick. That sounds like a wonderful use of my time. But I have to be the sensible one here. We are in public and my apartment's like two blocks away, maybe. I don't know anymore. There is a beautiful woman offering oral and that has kind of taken everything else out of focus.

"When we get back," I say, and it kills me a little inside. I throb in anger and the war begins. There is pleasure being offered, freely and innocently and I am denying it for the most asinine of reasons, like being in public.

"No," she says, "Now. Right over there. That's an alley. Dick sucking happens in alleys. We should do it now."

She starts tugging and pulling and trying to get me to go into the alley. I fight, I try to fight, but a hand finds me and pushes and I'm still getting hard for her. I am not one to deny her what she wants. That's just ten types of cruel and I'm in no shape to put up a real fight.

But she's drunk, and we're in public and I don't want to cause a scene. And she's still trying to drag me off into the dark hall of brick and steel.

She's gotten stronger, I notice. RTL's has been good to her. The guys have been good to her, working with her to find something that she likes and actually gets her going. Less heavy things, more kinetic, less tank, more cat. Not to say she hasn't done some of the work I do, but she likes to move too much, likes to jump around. I like that. I like watching her move. All that movement is concentrated into getting me into a dark alley to do sexual things with her. I relent. I have to. I have to give in, because I'm running low on jeans that I like, and I don't want to rip anymore. This pair already has a stain growing on my thigh and I'll have to wash it. At least in the alley, I won't have to worry about the mess. That's the city's problem at that point and I pay taxes for a very specific reason.

Louise blends in with the bricks, her skin, and the darkness of the night, shifting and changing to almost take her away, turning her into some ethereal spirit of drunken joy. Flitting between manmade stones with a smile glinting in her eyes, she pulls me deeper and deeper into the brick cave. It's empty, no cover, no hiding places, nothing between us and the world at large. Anyone and everyone can see us join with one another at a little tilt of the head. Only people's apathy could really save us and that is a sure bet, in all honesty. No one cares what goes on in alleys, except the people already in there.

"You don't have to do this," I say, "We're almost back to my place. We can do this there."

"No," she says with red faced indignation, "No, we do this now. Boyfriends get blowjobs for their birthday. That's the rule."

"It's not my birthday, and I'm not really you're boyfriend."

"It's close enough, right? This was your gift, so it's your birthday. And fine. Girlfriends get blowjobs for birthdays. That's the new rule. And just in case, Rachelfriends get blowjobs. You get blowjobs. Everyone gets them. Wait no. Just you. Only you. No one else. Just you. Why are your pants still on?"

She actually pushes me against the wall, and I let her. It makes her feel good and it's getting harder and harder to actually resist the dark pull in my stomach as she kisses me again, pushing her tongue into my mouth, wrestling with my own, trying to prelude her actions to me. It's good. She's good and hot and wet and writhing across my flesh, trying to impress me and she is. Skilled and groping and writhing and wriggling and touching me, hands everywhere with brick at my back and she's going down.

Her hands on my breasts, going under my shirt. I'm hard, so hard it hurts, as it tries to free itself. Louise is pressing against it with her thigh, keeping it contained. She's playing with something dangerous and she knows it and she wants it and I want her, and I suddenly stop caring that we're in an alley where anyone can see us. There is only me and her and the throbbing desire that threatens to tear into her and break her open and she wants that so, so much.

"You deserve this," she whispers in my ear, "You deserve so much more than this. A sea of women at your feet. All of them. Open for you, and you hide this thing away. Let go. Let go and ravage me. Let go and go berserk." Her teeth find my ear lobe and hot breath tries to enter my brain and take over everything higher than the urge to breed and eat.

"Do you really want that," I whisper back, "Are you ready?"

"Oh fuck no. But that hasn't stopped you before."

I shove her against the far wall, careful of her head. That has seen enough trauma from my hand, and I will not let any more harm come to it. She might asphyxiate, but that's not blunt force trauma. That's fine. That's perfectly fine, because I'll have an orgasm down a woman's throat Just punching her in the face doesn't have quite the same amount of release. She's smiling and I press myself into her again. Her hands keep wandering, finding things to poke and prod and trace, lines in my muscles, little pockets of soft tissue to stroke lovingly. But she doesn't come down to the most important part. It's straining and bulging and beating and spitting down my leg, fraying the threads and threatening to break free by any means necessary. It's still annoyed, angry even, at the slow release it trying to get, and nothing is coming. There is still kissing and hugging and touching and that's amazing, but it wants licking and sucking and everything that it's not really getting.

I place my hand on top of Louise's head, savoring the slightly rough scratch of her head. She's grown it out a little, let it be natural and wild. Says she wants to go for braids, maybe dreads, but I like it bouncing and untamed. Not really my decision, but I can certainly have preferences. I push and she goes down, grinning all the while. She's fighting it, trying to push back. She's gotten stronger, but not stronger than me. And this is a fight she doesn't really want to win. There's a little resistance, just a bit, to get me a notch angrier, a notch more impatient, a notch more forceful and she wants that. She wants this from the dark glint in her eyes shining like a flickering streetlamp. I see the glint of her teeth shine and she finally gives in to her rightful place.

For a moment, I worry about the ground. All manner of sharp things could be there, willing to tear into soft knees. Only I am allowed to defile the beautiful creature before me. Only I am allowed to hurt her. The discarded shards of broken glass are simply not worthy of marring her skin of moonless nights and cold embers. She is mine to mark and stretch and break and no one else. She was on her knees all the same, hands to my thighs, pressing into my muscles, kneading, and stroking, finding where I'm tense and a single line to ease the tension and relax. I throb and pulse, my own heartbeat coming through my pants and in her palm.

She struggles to get all of it out. It's too much to get out, its own efforts trying ultimately defeating its purpose. It wants out on its terms and the woman before it was not worth the struggle. I hear the sharp rip of fabric again as something dark flitters in the back of my mind. I help, I try at least. Ripping through some more of the denim, spitting and red and furious, droplets hitting the concrete and splattering against Louise. She licks it, cleaning and savoring and trying to keep everything out of the way. It's too much. I'm too much for her, and she knows it and she love it. That's the challenge, the mountain to climb, the beast you take down with bows and clubs and bring to kneel with will and strength and cunning.

It's free, I'm all free and towering above her and she goes wide eyed with the terror and awe which I am owed. The smile drops as I eclipse her face, covering one eye. Deep breath in and her eyes glaze over, trying to figure out how to tackle this. She wanted this and she's getting it and she doesn't know what to do. I'm smiling I love this. I love this moment, when she realizes that's she's in over her head and she knows it. But I'm not going to save her. I'm totally not going to save her. She needs to learn from her mistakes.

An attempt at appeasement, soft kisses, and licks against my burning flesh. She finds a vein to trace with her tongue and a ridge to touch with her fingers. She meanders her touch down, finding my sack, rolling it back and forth from her palm. The weight, she savors the weight, trying to roll and fondle and squeeze. She only succeeds in getting more and more of my preseed spilling from my tip over her face. Her cheeks are glistening, the salty heat soaking into her skin. I hiss from my teeth. The jolts and thunderbolts from her touch reach up my spine and alight my skull in a white out. There is only her and her touch and her mouth, trying to figure out how to handle me.

Louise settles for kissing the tip, slowly taking more and more of me in her mouth. She can handle the head, more or less, contain the emissions that simply won't stop, cap the flow so it's not wasted. And I don't want it wasted. Every drop deserves to be in her or on her or savored by her. The puddle on the pavement, the stray strands on the wall are a disappointment of what could have been. My seed, even my pre, deserves to be nestled and stored somewhere safe and warm, not casually marking some brick in some alley. Although, the thought crosses my mind of it as a sort of claim. This is my alley, with my girlfriend, used exclusively by me. But then again, I have a mattress and a couch and an armchair, even a counter that are much better suited to sexual conquest. No overt risk of infection or injury, ready access to water and food. Really, a back alley does not really suit my needs for a den. She goes a little further and my breath hitches in my throat as I try and regain control. Her tongues swirling drawing shapes and figures I can't quite make out through the sensation. There is only pleasure and euphoria and the odd glimpse of rough brick beneath my fingers. A fun diversion, an interesting contrast between the give of her lips and tongue and the brick in my hand.

She's trying to appease and calm the rage now. If anything, it's getting more and more needy and obstinate and aggressive, and she couldn't keep up. It was putting out more and it spilled from her cheeks as she kept swallowing and licking and stroking and fondling. It's nice. It's what I want, but I want to go deeper and deeper and deeper. The head feels nice and warm and wet, finding new little lines and paths in the flesh.

"You're doing good," I whisper to Louise, "You're doing so good. It needs to go deeper."

I trace my nails into her scalp, weaving into the hair. She hums and shivers and I feel another strike of lighting crawl up my spine, settle into my core, trying to find some outlet. There's clenching and flexing and trying to get some more grip on the manmade stone. She smiles around my flesh as a stray hand creeps up my stomach, tracing the valleys and lines, caressing the hard-flexing muscle. Every inch she can reach will fall under her touch at some point. I want all of it now. Every pore under her digits alight with sensation. She needs more hands, more fingers, more throat to take in more of me and give me sensation. It's not enough. She's trying but it's not enough.

I shift my stance, spreading my legs a little wider, giving her a little more room to work with as I apply some pressure with my hips. She starts shaking again, gripping my thighs tighter, conflicted about pulling me in or pushing me away. Pushing means she can breathe freely, but pulling means I go deeper inside of her. I don't know which she wants more, but I feel her trembling hands fumble in their execution, trying to find some great compromise that would let her have both. But there was not. There was me, towering over her, pressing deeper and deeper with every heartbeat.