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I'm in the
standing-room-only crowd on the floor at the Jethro Tull
concert in Frankfurt, West Germany, April 27, 1982.
The crowd is constantly shifting; a single organism
trying to make itself comfortable on the concrete floor
of the arena. The air is thick with the smells of beer,
wine, and smoke (cigars, cigarettes, pipe tobacco, and
hash). Voices of the hawkers can be made out above the
noise of the crowd advertising (in German and English)
their wine, beer, posters, and T-shirts. Canned music is
piped in over speakers in the rafters.
The roadies are playing games with the crowd while doing
the sound system checks. Frisbees and funny little
glowing things fly at random through the air. I'm
standing at the center of the stage, about 30 feet back
into the crowd. After the concert my ears will be
ringing for three days. I can live with that...
The lights begin to dim and the crowd settles down as
the drummer for the warm-up band sets the beat on his
high-hat. The curtains open, the spots blaze to life,
and the crowd goes nuts as the warm-up band hits the
stage with a hard-driving rhythm and screaming guitars.
I've never heard (or heard of) the band before. Probably
a local hired to warm up the crowd for Tull. They're
good at it - warming the crowd up, that is - but I don't
think they'll make it on their own.
The crowd is getting into it. The energy that bands live
on - in their symbiotic way - starts flowing. People are
pumping their fists into the air - the air which is
rapidly getting thicker with the smell of hashish as the
pipes are passed around.
The folks are getting fired up! Surveying the people
around me, my eyes come to a screeching halt on a small
cluster of young ladies who are definitely getting into
the rhythm of the thing. They're dancing and screaming
and bouncing around as if it were the last night of
their lives.
One of the gals - a sweet young lady with waist-length,
chestnut tresses in a yellow, knit mini-dress - is also
surveying the crowd. Our eyes meet. Hers are the gray of
early-morning fog on the Rhine. I smile. She returns a
knowing half-smile that sends a shiver up my spine,
before turning back to the band on stage.
The warm-up band finishes its sixth set with a flourish
and runs off stage. The spots die and are replaced by
the house lights as the curtains are closed for the
intermission. The
canned music begins to play. Once again, the crowd
shifts as parts head for the restrooms
to unburden themselves of the beer, wine, and soda
consumed before (and during) the warm-up act. More
beverages are bought, along with albums, posters,
T-shirts, and popcorn. Only the most brazen are firing
up their bowls with the house lights up.
I look around for the clump of young women I noted
earlier, but they have faded into the mob. Probably in
line for the restroom, think I, as I turn back to the
stage.
The roadies can be heard moving equipment around on the
stage. An occasional glimpse of a roadie with a guitar
or an amp can be seen through the small gap in the
curtain. We wait for about half an hour as the stage is
reset for Jethro Tull. The tension of anticipation is
like a physical thing filling the arena; I feel as if I
could float on it. Then the house lights dim, and the
tension boils away in the roar of the crowd.
The arena is black as pitch, and the crowd has settled
into its final configuration, when the first notes of
the piano intro to "Locomotive Breath" push their way
through the crowd noise. A few of us recognize the song
from the first few notes and cry out in joy and
appreciation. Others don't realize what they are
listening to until the first whining guitar riffs have
faded into reverberating feedback.
Then the stage is ablaze with light as the lead guitar
is banging out the opening bar of the song proper. Ian
Anderson is dancing around the stage, twirling his
silver flute as if it were
a baton. The drums and bass are hammering out the beat
as the rhythm guitar is doing that rhythm thing. The
crowd has sprouted a forest of pumping arms and the
amplified sounds of the band are nearly drowned out by
its triumphant bellow.
And even as Ian sidles up to the microphone to sing "In
the shuffling madness/Of locomotive breath," I look down
to see a head of chestnut hair bouncing and bobbing
before me. The young lady with the misty-gray eyes looks
over her shoulder at me. Her
crazy half-smile laughs at me when she turns back to the
stage.
Sorry, Ian, I think as my eyes drop to watch the sway of
her hips and the play of her ass under the thin fabric
of her yellow mini-dress. I'm delighted to notice that -
by the way the clingy fabric gathers in the cleft of her
ass - either she's not wearing any panties, or she's
wearing a G-string. Fine by me! And, believe me, "fine"
is the active word here!
I feel my cock coming to life, its girth and length
growing rapidly. By the end of the song, I'm throbbing
to my own beat! The crowd goes wild as the song crashes
to its end. "Guten abend, Frankfurt!" cries Ian to a
crowd which proves that is CAN get louder! "That's the
extent of my German," he adds. Laughter. "The next song
we'd like to play for you is something off our new
album..." Dramatic pause. "...A little something called
`Beastie.'"
The spotlights die, leaving the arena in darkness again.
I feel the gal in the mini-dress back slowly into me.
And with the first synthesized strains of "Beastie," my
throbbing member thrills to the sensation of slow shift
of her firm ass through the thick denim of my jeans.
Does this woman know what she's DOING to me? I ask
myself.
As if in answer, I feel her hands reach behind her to
grab my hips. She then pulls me tightly against her and
moves her sweet ass in a slow, grinding roll against my
crotch.
Any other stupid fucking questions? As I slide my hands
around her waist, she turns in my arms. The spotlights
come up on stage as she loops her arms around my neck
and drags my face down to hers. My lips find her mouth
open. Her tongue like a hot, wet, fleshy spear drives
into my mouth before my mind has time to catch up! Her
firm, toned body
melts against me as our tongues start to dance.
Though my eyes are probably wide with surprise, the
vision centers of my brain are closed for business. The
other sensations easily override any sights my eyes are
trying to bring
me. The warm, sweet smell of her. The sound of my moan
drowning out her smaller one. The hot, wet, clean taste
of her mouth grinding hungrily against mine. I feel her
hardened nipples pressing through her dress and my
T-shirt into my chest. The feel of her smooth belly
pressing firmly against my crotch. The play of her back
muscles beneath my fingers.
Who the hell needs eyes?! When our lips part, vision
comes flooding back. Her face is
only a couple inches away from mine, and she is smiling
that damned smile again! I start to say something, but
she kisses me quickly again to shut me up. (Hey! I'm
dense, but I'm not THAT dense!)
Smiling, she turns her back to me, once again, to
applaud the end of the song. Ian smiled, "I hope
everyone's having a good time." Yeah, buddy! "Our next
tune," he goes on, "is something else off our latest
record. It's an odd little ditty called `Watching'!"
The synthesizer starts turning out a bewildering
combination of notes. The drummer soon picks up an odd,
jerky beat which neatly compliments the synth. It was a
tune to which I had thought it was impossible to dance.
My lovely, chestnut-haired lady seemed only too happy to
prove me wrong.
As her hips start moving in time with the drums, she
takes my hands from their resting place at her waist and
slides them up her wonderfully smooth torso to the
mounds of her breasts. She then reaches one hand over my
head, grabs a handful of my hair, and pulls my face into
the curve of her neck. Her other hand is caressing the
back of one of mine as I stroke her breasts with my
palms, brushing her nipples with the balls of my
fingers.
My mouth works its way - kissing, licking, nibbling -
gradually from the outside of her shoulder, up her neck
to her ear. As my hands are lifting and kneading her
tits, my tongue is darting into her ear. She continues
to press her lovely ass into my cock as I, pausing for a
bit to nibble on the lobe of her ear, work my way down
to where her shoulder meets her neck. All the while I've
been enjoying the taste and feel of her neck and breasts
(respectively), I've been paying careful attention to
the song. When the song comes to its sudden end, I pinch
her nipples and bite her neck - not TOO hard, mind you,
but hard enough for her to know I'm still here!
Her gasp perfectly coincides with the last beat of the
song. She whirls around and stares at me with a
look of mock-indignation. Her misty gray eyes sparkle
mischievously and her
half-smile replaces the pettish pout. Slipping her arms
around my neck, she lifts herself off the floor and
presses her lips roughly against mine. The brunette's
pelvis grinds against mine as our tongues slip and slide
upon each other. Her breathing has become quite rapid -
my own is none to steady!
Suddenly, the young lady drops to her feet and twists
around in my arms, once again facing the stage. Ian is
gazing out at the audience. He starts to introduce the
band - drummer, bass, new lead guitar, etc. - all the
while twirling his flute like a baton.
My companion, while looking up at the stage, is reaching
around to the front of my jeans. With deft movements she
unbuttons the top and pulls the zipper open. My engorged
prick
fairly leaps into her waiting hand. She feels the heft
of my eight-inch cock, wrapping her slim fingers around,
measuring its girth.
Introductions over, Ian says, "This is the title cut off
our latest album." The crowd goes nuts. I can barely
hear him as he says, "Broadsword!" The stage lights die.
The young lady with my dick in her hand uses her free
hand to guide one of mine to her left breast. She then
pushes my other hand down, down past the hem of her
T-shirt dress to the
warm, silky smoothness of her inner thigh.
From onstage a slow, rhythmic beat - reminiscent of
movie-style indian tom-toms - begins. Soon, it is joined
by the moaning of a guitar. Anderson sings: "I see a
dark sail/On the
horizon..."
The brunette's hand has moved to the head of my cock,
feeling the mushroom shape, spreading the bead of my own
moisture around. Her hand slides back to cup my balls
and give a gentle squeeze. My face is buried in her
neck. I moan softly as she begins slowly stroking me.
My hand is kneading the inside of her thigh as it moves
lingeringly toward the meeting of her legs. My loving
companion widens her stance to allow me easier access. I
feel the heat of her pussy against the back of my thumb.
My other hand continues to caress her left breast -
stroking, rubbing, rolling the nipple like a marble...
I'm a little startled when the back of my thumb slides
across her hot, wet, *clean shaven* cunt. I let my
surprise show somehow, as my gray-eyed lover giggles and
gives my prick a
couple of quick squeezes. Thus encouraged, I hike the
hem of her mini-dress a bit and begin to slide my
fingers across her slippery cunt. The hot wetness of her
flows over my questing fingers. I hear her moan gently
as against my ear as the middle finger slips between her
labia. She readjusts her stance. My middle finger finds
the opening of her vagina; my thumb, the button of her
clit. I hear air sucking through her teeth. She releases
my cock, bringing both of her hands around to press mine
more firmly against her pussy.
I pull her back into me. My dick slides up under the hem
of her dress. For a moment, it's 50-50 as to whether my
prick will slide down and forward between her legs, or
back and up against her ass. The moment passes and the
latter wins out. I feel my cock slip along the cleft of
her ass as the middle finger of my right hand slides up
to the second knuckle into her slippery vagina.
The lovely young woman grips my finger with her vaginal
muscles while she wiggles her ass. Soon, my prick is
firmly entrenched between the lovely, round lobes of her
ass. It is
quite happy to be there. Her head falls back onto my
right shoulder; mouth open, eyes closed. I begin to
slide my finger in and out of her wet snatch, my thumb
rubbing her joy-button, the fingers of my left hand
rolling and pinching her nipple. I nibble her earlobe
and watch her lick her lips.
She begins to thrust her pelvis, in time with my probing
finger. Her thrusts are doing wonderful things to my
cock, wedged as it is between her buttocks. She moans
and turns her face to bring her mouth to mine. We kiss
as hungrily as we can at this awkward angle.
Jethro Tull has jarringly blended the end of
"Broadsword" with the beginning of "Aqualung." "Sitting
on a park bench /Eyeing little girls with bad intent..."
sings Ian as he dances across the stage.
I feel a shudder run through my companion. The kiss is
released and she draws air sharply between her teeth.
She, again, moves her luscious buttocks, releasing my
ridged member.
She pulls my hand away from her crotch and turns in my
arms to face me. She then kisses me thoroughly, pushing
down on my shoulders until I'm kneeling. Widening her
legs again, she grabs a double handful of my hair and
pulls my face into her dripping crotch.
Without hesitation, I begin lapping at her cunt. Using
my thumbs to spread her labia, I bury my face in her
wet, hairless pussy. The hot, musky sweetness of her
rolls across my tongue as my mustache brushes her
clitoris.
"Jesus Fucking Christ," I'm thinking. "I'm on my knees,
eating this lovely wench right here in the middle of a
huge concert crowd!" Then thoughts are wiped from my
mind as I concentrate on trying to make the woman
scream! I can't see her face because of the poor
lighting and the fabric of the T-shirt dress piled up in
front of my eyes, but my companion's fingers are
clenching the hair at the back of my head; grinding my
face in her cunt. I can feel her breathing. I can feel
her knee against my ribs quaking.
Presently, I focus my attention on her clit. I begin
planting tiny, sucking kisses upon her joy-button. Her
fingers stop pulling at my hair, but she holds my head,
as if she can't
decide to pull me in or push me away. Shortly, I feel
quivers race through her legs with each kiss I plant. I
slip my right hand between her thighs in such a way that
I can insert my thumb in her pussy and press my middle
finger against the rosebud of her anus. My thumb slides
all the way into her lust-slick love tunnel, and I begin
to wiggle the tip in time with the music.
Now, the girl's fingers begin to claw at the back of my
head. Her nails slowly dig into my flesh, as she starts
to shudder uncontrollably. I feel her breath coming in
gasps. Her
knees are shaking so that I fear that she might fall. I
push the tip of my middle finger into her anus. That
little ring of muscle slams shut upon my finger like a
jail-cell door!
Of a sudden, her entire body goes stiff. I clamp my lips
down around her clit and suck; my tongue flicking the
tip of the tiny cone of ridged flesh. She is trying to
pull my whole head
into her cunt!
My face is washed in the juices flowing from her pussy.
The tangy sweetness sends chills up my spine as my
lovely companion is wracked with shudders. I'm almost
forced to hold her up while she rides the waves of her
orgasm!
By the end of "The Teacher," the song which follows
"Aqualung," the luscious brunette has recovered enough
to return the favor. She gives my that half-smile of
hers before dropping to her knees.
For a moment she seems hypnotized by my throbbing prick
as it bobs in front of her face. But she recovers
quickly. She wraps her delicate hand around the base of
my shaft and presses her lips to its head. Her tongue
flicks across the tiny slit in the end, catching up the
bead of preseminal moisture which clung there like a
tiny pearl.
I look down on her as she swirls her tongue around the
head of my cock. My fingers are caught up in her hair;
not pulling toward me, but holding her head for lack of
anything else to do. Presently, she engulfs the
mushroom-like head of my dick with her mouth. She begins
to suck on only the head as the hand she had wrapped
around the base of the shaft shifts to capture my balls.
The sweet mouth of the young lady then begins to pull me
in. Slowly, inch by inch, she draws my throbbing member
into her mouth and down her throat. Eventually, I feel
her nose press into my pubic hair as my entire
eight-inch prod vanishes between her lovely, sweet lips.
She begins to slowly move her head up and down the
length of my cock, never releasing the suction she has
built. I can see her cheeks dimpling with the suction of
her mouth. She begins to bob and weave, rolling the head
around with her tongue at the top of every stroke.
Faster and faster, she pulls me in and releases me. I'm
soon gritting my teeth. The fabulous sensation of her
mouth and throat upon my cock is driving me crazy. I can
feel that old, familiar pressure beginning to build in
my balls. Just as I begin to think I can't stand
it anymore, the brunette backs her had away until only
the head of my prick is in her
mouth. Then she begins humming along with the song being
played by Tull - "Cross-Eyed Mary," I believe. My balls
explode! When my cock jumps, I swear I must loosen her
front teeth! I pump streams of slippery cream into her
mouth and, try as she might, she cannot keep a thin
trickle from running from the corner of her mouth. The
feeling of her swallowing my cum only prolongs the jolts
of my orgasm.
She licks my cock clean and uses her fingers to catch
the trickle running down her chin. My sweet lover makes
a show of licking this last dab of my cream from her
fingers. I pull her up from the floor and our mouths
meet in a lingering kiss. I can taste my jism mingling
with the sweetness of her mouth. It only serves to turn
me on further. Her cool fingers encircle my still ridged
member and, using it as a handle, she pulls me down into
a kneeling position once more. This time, though, she is
down here with me. She pushes my back until I am sitting
on my heels.
As I watch in the dim light which filters between the
people
of the crowd, she releases my cock and grabs the
neckline of her
dress. With a jerk, she tears the neck apart. With
another, the
front of her dress splits down to her navel. She pulls
the flaps
of fabric away from her lovely breasts. They are creamy
smooth
and no larger than baseballs. Her breasts stand out
proudly from
her chest with puckered, pink nipples screaming for
attention.
Grasping a handful of my hair, she pushes my face into
her
left breast. I pull most of her tit into my mouth,
rolling her
nipple around on my tongue. Her moan is lost in the
crowd noise,
but I feel it through my mouth.
Moving carefully so as not to dislodge my sucking lips,
the
brunette squats down upon my lap. Slowly, she impales
herself
upon my throbbing cock. As she eases herself down, I can
no
longer reach her tits with my mouth. I cup her right
breast in
my left hand while my right arm circles her waist. With
a flex
of my thighs, I thrust my prod into her to the hilt. The
grip of
her silken pussy upon my cock is sheerest bliss.
For a moment we stay like this, my cock in her wet pussy
as
far as it will go, my fingers pinching and rolling her
nipple.
Then, she eases herself up and I lower myself back to
the floor.
As she lets gravity pull her down onto my prick, I use
my thighs
to meet her halfway.
Slowly at first, we continue in this manner, but soon
our
rhythm is increasing in speed. She comes down on me, I
move up
to meet her. As we slide apart, her clutching vaginal
muscles
show their reluctance in losing my cock.
Faster and still faster we thrust ourselves into/onto
each
other until we are each gasping for breath. Her head is
thrown
back, mouth open as, presently, I feel her body begin to
shudder
in the forewarnings of her orgasm. I, too, can feel the
boiling
surge building in my testicles. I grit my teeth to hold
the
inevitable at bay as long as I can.
When, finally, she can no longer hold out against the
rushing tide of her release, the brunette drops down
upon my pole
one last time. She hooks her legs around my back. She
buries
her face in my neck, biting my shoulder through the
material of
my T-shirt. I feel her nails bite into my back.
As for myself, I can but hold on. Both of my hands now
hold
her arching back as I feel her entire body tense. She is
screaming into my shoulder!
I can stave off my own orgasm no longer. I hear myself
gasp
as my cock fires the first salvo off into her hungry
vagina.
Stream after stream of my viscous cum are thrust from my
prick,
only to be gobbled up by her clutching pussy.
After an eternal minute, we are holding on to each other
to
keep from slumping to the floor. We kiss tenderly. I
stroke her
back and she plays with my hair.
A few minutes longer and we recover enough to climb to
our
feet. We are still each leaning upon the other, but we
are
feeling stable enough to stand that way for a time.
We watch the rest of the show holding each other. There
are
only a few more songs before Ian Anderson calls his
final "Good
Night!" to the crowd and vanishes from the stage. A few
moments
after that, the house lights come up.
As the crowd begins to slowly filter out, my lovely
brunette
lover takes my hand. She licks the length of my index
finger
before drawing it into her mouth. The wonderful
sensation of her
tongue sliding my finger as she sucks on it rapidly
brings my
resting prick to full attention.
Smiling up at me for the merest moment, she takes my
finger
from her mouth and pulls me along through the crowd by
the hand.
Holding the front of her dress closed with her free
hand, she
pulls me out into the cool night air. Our breath becomes
thin
plumes of mist in the chill April night.
The young woman pulls me along until we reach her
apartment,
only a few blocks from the concert hall. We make love
about five
more times that night and into the morning. |
