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Just A Fuckable Girl
She’s wack, this girl Charlie. At first I thought she was high, but now I don’t think so. In the car she said she wasn’t buzzed, in fact claimed she didn’t do that, a little defensively I thought at the time, as if her manic energy was a source of pride and she didn’t need drugs to be like this. But man, is she wired, hyperactive.
But craziness aside, there’s something about her that’s got me hooked.
Right now she’s working it, working me, dancing at the end of the bed. I’m ready to go, shirt off, jeans undone and unzipped, waiting for her to yank them down and get going, but no, she unwrapped me this much and pushed me hard onto the bed. I tried to pull her along with me but she’s quick and I missed her, so I toppled back, off balance. When I landed she made like she was going to pounce, but the way this girl works, her mind all over the place, it seems she got a better idea. And that’s when she started to put on this show, this teasing dance, that’s got me just about ready to pop.
But she gives me just a few seconds of it, driving me crazy, and she stops dancing abruptly, standing there looking my body up and down with her mouth open and slack like she might start drooling, and then she pulls out her fucking phone again and starts tapping. On to the next thing, I guess.
“Gotta have some tunes for this, right?… How about some…?” she asks but leaves it hanging, and then, “No…wait…,” and I’m thinking I could go for some metal right now, maybe go all in with some Tool. But I see in her face that now something else has crossed her mind. No music for now. She sets her phone down on the end of the bed.
She shoots the crooked shit grin at me, the grin I’m getting to know, and then she starts her dancing again, weird without any music, grinding out wide arcs with her hips and ass, her hands on her tits under her shirt. I’d thought maybe she was a gymnast, but with the way she moves, I’m wondering if she’s an actual dancer, but then when she undoes the button on her jeans and slowly lowers the zipper, and when she spins away from me and puts her thumbs in the waistband to start to work them down, I start to think she might be a peeler, not just a regular dancer. It’s slow, teasing and very hot. The black string of her thong is just coming into view over one hip. We definitely need some music.
I wouldn’t have thought she could do anything slow let alone this teasing thing. The way she was at the club and in the car, it’s like high voltage electricity’s coursing through her nervous system.
By myself in the lobby of the club, in the line up paying the cover, she accidentally on purpose bumped into me from behind.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, pretty blonde girl looking up at me with that crooked shit grin, all five foot nothing of her. She was about my age, I guessed, thirty-ish, older than most of the crowd of kids lining up.
She crackled with energy, practically lit up the room, wearing a Pearl Jam t-shirt with the elephant shaking hands. When was that? 2010? Her hair in a short French braid pulled through the back of a Detroit Tigers ballcap. Not Seattle, but Pearl Jam and the Tigers. Good and good. She and I could be friends.
I smiled back, and right away both her hands were on my bicep.
“Football? Baseball? No! Gotta be basketball! Jesus! You’re fucking huge!” she said and her hands started to roam over me. If I touched her like that, I’d have been arrested. She had both hands around my arm and took her legs out from under herself. Instinctively I held her up and she swung from my arm.
“Not really a jock,” I said and stopped myself from saying, “Just fit I guess.”
“But holy fuck,” she said, putting her feet back on the ground. She put one hand on my back and the other on my stomach feeling for my abs and then she grabbed my shirt to lift it and have a look.
“Holy fuck!” again and just like that her hand was under my shirt stroking over my skin. I was ok with the molestation. Maybe I’d get my turn later.
“You a gymnast?” I asked because she tried to guess my sport first and because she was so nimble hanging off my arm a second ago. Besides, she had the look, tiny, but with broad shoulders for someone who weighs ninety pounds, narrow hips and something, something, about the way she carried herself, squared up, confident.
But the music from the warm up band inside was so loud even out here in the lobby, I couldn’t hear what she said, “something-ician,” probably “musician” but I’d have sworn it was “magician.” She had a spell on me, that’s for sure.
The next thing I knew she’d grabbed both my hands trying to pull me out of the line to dance.
“‘Kay, okay,” I said, “Just a sec,” and I threw down my ten bucks for the cover charge guy. The girl started to drag me into the club with the guy yelling after her, “Charlie, you gotta pay, too!”
They know her here? Charlie? Short for what? Charlene? Charlotte?
So me, six seven, two fifty, got dragged into a music venue czech couples porno by a ninety pound girl named Charlie who it seems had some powerful kind of leverage over me.
I guess you’d have to call what she’s doing dancing, but there is no dance floor in the hall and the place is packed wall to wall almost all the way to the back where we are. Charlie’s jumping up and down like a pogo stick at first, maybe because she’s so short it’s the only way she can get a glimpse of the stage. The next thing I know her jumps are landing on me. It’s like being body slammed over and over again, like the mosh pit is here in the back. She’s taking running leaps in my direction, not worrying about sticking the landing. Maybe she isn’t a gymnast.
On one of the jumps she hits me from the side and reflexively my arm goes around her and holds her up. This is what she’s wanted the whole time, I guess, for me to hold her up, because her arms go around my neck and suddenly she’s hoisting herself up higher on my body.
The opening band is fucking loud. If it’s loud enough you won’t hear their mistakes I guess. I think I hear the girl say, “…shoulders,” which must be it because she’s climbing my body like a tree until she’s got a knee in the crook of my elbow and with a final deft squirm she’s sitting on my shoulders. I guess this, too, is what she wanted, a tall guy who would be her high chair. I hold onto her legs more to keep her from kicking me than for balance.
I don’t mind her being up there at all, but the thing is, I’m here to work. So with this girl drumming on the top of my head now, I let go of her legs for a second and reach for my phone. I start to tweet from my brand @goodbandsTO. Aural Sex, the band I’m here to report on won’t be on for a good thirty minutes at least, so in the meantime I can write some setup stuff for my followers. #AuralSexAtTheRoncy. I don’t know the band except for Rupinder, the bass player. I’m hoping he can get me interviews after their first set.
“‘Chew doin’?” she yells into my ear.
“For who?” she asks.
“Myself,” I yell up to her.
“Yourself?” she asks.
“Good bands TO. Kinda new,” I yell.
She’s stopped bopping around up there for a second so I assume she’s pulled out her phone and is checking me out. In a moment, there it is: Hanging with @goodbandsTO for #AuralSexAtTheRoncy Check him out. Buddy knows his stuff.
It’s not exactly a complete lie because I do know my stuff, but the thing is, she knows nothing whatsoever about me other than I’m tall.
“Thanks,” I yell up, “Can use the hits.” Any help I can get establishing my brand is most welcome.
“How come I don’t know you?” she yells into my ear. She thinks she should know me?
“I’m new here. From out west,” I say and she starts drumming on my head again.
This band really isn’t ready for primetime except, maybe, for the drummer. He’s way ahead of the rest of them musically and you wonder why he’d be slumming with these guys. It’s worthy of a tweet.
But the band is doing what they’ve been paid to do and they’ve made the energy in the room kick up. Soon they’re done and they leave the stage to a good rousing cheer. The crowd is loud over the pumped in music that starts up as the feature band begins to get ready. I tweet away.
“You dig Aural Sex?” Charlie yells down at me from her perch on my shoulders.
“Even more than actual fucking,” I yell back up to her. It’s the cliché joke for this band, lame as hell, but it’s all I’ve got and at least she’ll know that the flirt is on. Or is it? I wait to see if a slap is coming, but no.
“Giving or receiving?” she yells.
“Yes and yes.”
“Yes again,” and I let go of her legs for a second and hold up both hands with thumbs and fingers showing tall and short. “But six seven and four ten, I just don’t think it would work for us,” I yell up.
This is good enough for a small slap, but if I have to guess, I’d say she’s laughing.
“Coming down,” she yells, but she didn’t just hop down off my shoulders. No, and I’m not sure how she did it, but the next thing I know she’s upside down with her legs are wrapped around the back of my head, her crotch is in my face and her body is draped down my front like we’re 69 standing up. Call it her experiment.
It doesn’t last long. I spin her end for end and set her down on her feet.
“All depends how long your cock is,” she says.
“And my tongue, I suppose,” I say, and there’s that crooked grin, but this time there’s something more to it. Well, well.
“Listen,” she yells. “I gotta do some things so I’ll see you later.” She disappears into the crowd like she’s entering a tunnel up to the stage.
It was fun while it lasted, but like I always do, I overplayed my hand. I get back to my tweets.
We’re still between bands. A different energy fills the room. The crowd is entertaining itself with a mosh pit up front. czech estrogenolit porno People keep getting up on the stage and security keeps ushering them off unless they jump off into the pit themselves.
The stagehands are setting up for Aural Sex and the band members are on and off the stage. I watch as the lead guy puts water and beer bottles down where the band needs them. Someone’s caught his attention at the front of the stage. He jogs over and kneels down with a big smile on his face. I can see him talking but it looks like he can’t hear the other person. He grabs her hands and hoists her up onto the stage. It is, of course, my girl Charlie.
She hugs him hard and doesn’t let go. He kisses the top of her hat. She lets go and they start to have a conversation. Eventually, he lets her know he’s got to get ready and so gives her a wave goodbye. She goes over and says hi to Rupinder who’s just putting on his bass, then to the lead guitarist with a double cheek-to-cheek kiss. Finally she goes over and high-fives the drummer and chats for a minute. It looks like she’s asking him something and he shrugs and points to the front man. She yells something to the lead guy, trots to the front of the stage, jumps down and I lose her in the mosh pit again.
These guys are good. It’s original stuff, not covers, and they’ve got a unique sound, hard-driving but surprisingly melodic for the genre. There’s lots to write about and so I do. I’m looking down at my phone when I hear a break in the vocals, something out of place in the music, “Charlie!” it sounds like. I look up. It was the front man shouting this into his mike.
And there she is, stomp dancing on the stage. She’s not the first crazy that’s been up there during the set and thrown off into the crowd on the floor. This time, though, when the guy in the ‘Security’ t-shirt starts after her the front man puts his hand up like it’s ok and she keeps on dancing. Now she’s run to the back of the stage, behind the drummer and she hugs him, tying his arms down. The other guys keep playing but for a few moments the drums are out.
She grabs a spare set of sticks and starts playing on a tom and a couple of cymbals from one side right in the middle of the song. The drummer looks at her and smiles. He looks over to the lead guy who shrugs okay, why not, and then he slides off the throne so she can take his place. Now she’s drumming like a pro. She’s tiny, dwarfed by the drum set, almost like it’s a little kid up there, but she’s pretty good. Tight and sharp. All the other players turn to her to watch and she’s closed her eyes now, as if she’s gone to a whole other place inside the music. As for me, well, who doesn’t love a chick drummer?
“Holy shit, Charlie!” the front man yells into the mike but I can see he’s laughing. They play on until the end of the song and when the last beat has been hit, this girl Charlie whips the sticks out into the audience, jumps up and starts to run around the stage. The crowd goes absolutely fucking wild. The front man signals to the security guy that now might be a good time to get her off the stage, but she sees the guy coming and starts to run backward around the stage with him after her. When the guy trips over a monitor the girl goes up beside Rupinder and starts to dry hump his leg. Hot.
The crowd goes wild and the music, with the real drummer back now, starts up again.
Charlie leaves Rupinder, comes to the front of the stage and flashes her tits at the crowd, and from where I’m standing at the back where it’s a bit calmer, I can see they are nice ones, small but just plump enough with nipples that point up and just off to her sides, not straight ahead. They’re nipples that are looking out at the world for any possibilities. The crowd yells so loud it practically drowns out the music.
Just as the girl pulls her t-shirt back down the front man comes up behind her, lays a boot on her ass and launches her off the stage. It’s more a shove than a kick, but the girl’s head snaps back like it’s going to come off and her back bends so much I’m sure there will be lawsuits.
She’s caught up in the forest of arms that rise out of the mosh pit and soon her body is being passed around and tossed up in the air with a fair amount of groping of those tits and her ass. Eventually, another crazy hits the stage and so the Charlie is passed to the back. Her turn done, they set her down and I lose her again. I get busy on my phone again.
“I came back.” She came back, standing right beside me now. Go figure. I guess I’m not as hard-bitten as I like to think because the truth is, I’m smitten.
The next thing I know she has jumped up with her arms around my neck and her legs wrapped around my waist and her smiling eyes are locked onto mine. I’m holding her up with both my hands on her ass. She weighs nothing at all. She pulls herself up for a hard kiss and after a second she makes a little sound in my mouth, something I feel more than hear, czech experiment porno like a moan or something.
When we break the kiss I let her feet down to the floor. She pulls my head down and shouts into my ear over the music, “‘s go!” For a second, just for a second, my mind says that I should stay and keep tweeting. But this is the band the magazine was interested in and I’ve already sent some good stuff. I’m pretty sure I’ve done enough for the opportunity to develop.
“Let’s GO,” she says again, this time putting some mustard on it. Her eyes are wide. I let her drop and I grab her hand and we’re running now, heading out through the hall, the lobby and out onto the street. Some other time, Rupinder.
“Just a sec,” she says and I watch, wondering, as she starts tapping her phone.
“Good,” she says, “Uber car’s three minutes.” She looks up and down the street impatiently and when she doesn’t see a car, backs herself up against a lamp post and waits for me. As I stride over she raises her arms over her head lazily. It’s wilful submission all the way, and it’s incredibly hot. I want to press my body against hers, but I can’t because I have to bend down and start kissing. It’s hard, urgent, crazy. Her hands are roaming all over me, squeezing, stroking. Again, I feel her moan in my mouth. The sidewalk is crowded and somebody’s going to tell us to get a hotel room.
She stops the kiss just as the Uber car pulls over to the curb beside us.
“Christ, you’re huge,” she says holding my face now. I think she’s wondering just how huge and where. I hate to disappoint.
We pile into the back seat but she straddles me instead of sitting down. She starts to give me a grind and locks lips with me again.
“Miss,” the driver says and I meet his eyes in the rear view mirror. C’mon man, give me a break.
“You’re gonna lose your rider rating,” I tell her, but it has no effect. She’s kissing me like it’s a battle between us. I break it off and look at the driver with a shrug.
“Long as I don’t lose my rating, but Miss, I can’t pull away until you’re buckled in,” says the driver.
“Fuck,” she says, but climbs off of me and does up her belt. The driver pulls away fast. I see him glance at her in the mirror checking her out.
“Charlie,” she says.
“Ray,” I say and now one of us is supposed to say, “Pleased to meet you,” but we were so close to fucking right here in the back of the car just then, it seems stupid. She squeezes my wrist, my arm, my leg.
“Oh my God,” she says.
Both of us were breathing hard just from the arousal, but we’re starting to settle down a bit now. This fucking guy needs to drive faster.
“It’s the place just past that fire hydrant,” she tells the driver. It’s a dump, probably student housing. We pull over and get out, and she’s on her phone right away to tip the driver. Soon we’re bounding up the stairs to the third floor. We’re in the door and she’s dragging me through the living room to the bedroom. The place is a mess. There’s something on every horizontal surface, but I notice her living room is like a recording studio. There’s a synthesizer workstation, a mic on a stand over the keyboard, a mixer-multi-track and computer, and three guitars on stands in the corner, two electrics and a twelve-string. There’s a sax and a set of electronic drums. Not magician. Musician.
I’m kicking off my shoes and getting out of my socks as she’s unbuttoning my shirt and talking a mile a minute.
“I saw you in the lobby and, man,… then seein’ you tweet… bein’ a music critic… you were doomed to get fucked, doomed from then on…so fuckin’…so fucking HUGE…you work out? Lift or something?…”
My shirt’s gone and she’s undone my belt, the button of my jeans and lowered the zipper. I figure the next thing is she’ll yank the jeans down and get on her knees but, no, that’s when I find out that for such a little thing she is fucking strong. She plants both hands on my chest and shoves with all her might. I’m not ready for it, off balance, and so I’m launched backward onto the bed and that’s when she starts the show.
Her jeans are stretched across her hips and the crack of her ass is just starting to show. She turns to face me, her face all serious, all business, and she starts to lift her shirt until the swell of her tits just begin to show underneath and that’s where she stops, teasing me, tantalizing me.
She drops one of her hands and slides it into the front of her jeans and I can see it moving around in there. She takes her hand out of her pants and I can see her fingers glistening wet. She sticks them in her mouth, sucks them clean and then her eyes light up.
“How about some Tool?” she asks and picks up her phone again off the bed. Great minds, I think, and Stinkfist might actually work on this night with this girl and what I’ve seen of her already.
“Long as nobody gets hurt,” I say to her, because, hey, Tool’s pretty heavy shit, but my words get cut off by the distorted guitar to start Hooker With A Penis, loud, very loud, from the bluetooth I hadn’t seen beside the bed. The girl’s definitely a freak and this is getting better by the second. What’s she going to do to me when the drums kick in, I wonder. When they do she resumes her dance and then a few bars into it starts to pretend her phone is a mic.
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