My Biggest Fan

by Lea Bronsen

Confused, I shake my head, and watch her walk to the nearest café and disappear inside.

  The fountain water gurgles behind me as I wait, elbows on my knees, entwining my hands. Funny, how I already miss her. The sun burns on my back, and sweat rolls down my spine, wetting my shirt.

  Two minutes later, she returns with a plastic cup and a smile. “I figured ice cream might be better. Wanna taste?” Before I can reply, she sits next to me, plunges a small white spoon into the cup, and brings it to my lips.

  I gaze into warm hazel eyes, open my mouth, and accept her present. How unusual, to be spoon-fed by a girl. Icy vanilla-flavored cream melts on my tongue. It’s refreshing, and I crave more.

  She alternates eating some and feeding me, sending me quick glances. Her scent lingers. At one point, she misses, smears ice cream on the corner of my mouth, and leans forward to lick it off.

  Jesus! Her steamy, wet tongue on my lips sends a rush of need through my body, and I have to be closer, smell her, feel her. Before she can withdraw, I move my hands to her denim jacket and unbutton it from the top.

  “It’s so hot, you don’t need this.”

  She lets me take it off her shoulders, and my heart sings with relief.

  Above a white top tank appears a tiny yellow star on her collarbone. I put a finger on it. “What’s that tattoo?”

  “A star.”

  “I can see that, but why?”

  “It reminds me that anyone can reach for the stars and become one. Like you.”

  I look into her eyes, and her smile fills my heart with warmth.

  “I’m just a person, Sam.” I lean forward and place my lips on the small tattoo. God, her skin is hot and smells so good, a mix of faint musk and flowers.

  Her chest heaves, and soft breaths brush my hair. Being the wolf I am, I look down to her cleavage.

  Small, round scars decorate her upper ribs. What the fuck—are these burns? I move a hand to her shirt collar.

  “No, don’t!” She tries to push me away.

  I’m faster. I widen the collar and peek further down, between her breasts. Yep, these are cigarette burns all over her chest.

  Anger rises quickly. Pulse hammering in my ears, I clench and unclench my fists. “Who did this to you?” My choked throat makes my voice tremble.

  Brown eyes stare back, vibrating with pain.

  I clutch her shoulders, wanting to shake her. “Who?”

  “My father,” she whispers. “B-but it was a long time ago.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter!” I bark to her face.

  “Why are you angry with me?”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “H-he was jealous. You know, when I was growing…” She palms her breasts. “He didn’t want guys to…”

  I stand, raging, unable to hear another word.

  I’ve seen abuse before. I’ve watched my mother cry of humiliation. A sneaky disease paralyzed her three years ago, forcing her to live in institutions. I’ve found a good one for her now, but at the previous place, each time I visited she had new bruises and new excuses. I’ll never forget, never forgive.

  Wide-eyed, Sam asks, “Where are you going?”

  “I have to go back.”

  “Why? It’s only—”

  “I need to call someone.”

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  I turn on my heel, and with quick strides, cover the few hundred meters to the concert hall. What hurts the most is I can’t remember when I last called. It must be two weeks, at least. And sweet, lovely Mom, I’m good at finding excuses, too. Fucking ass, I am.

  When Dad left, she became the sole love of my life. No matter the mischief I did, she mothered me. When I started my band, she supported me. And still to this date, she’s my dearest treasure, my biggest fan.

  Boiling inside, I yank the heavy steel door open to the large club, jog toward my chair, and find my phone in a jacket pocket. All band and crew members are here, sitting on scattered chairs, staring at me. I ignore them. Mobile in hand, I stride to the backstage area, find an empty office, and dial Mom’s number.

  After an eternity of rings, her low, tired voice sounds in the phone. “Shawn, is it you?”

  I picture her brave smile and sad eyes. Oh, Mom. My chest tightens painfully. I look around the office, as if something could help ease the hurt. A two-seater sits in a corner. I sink in its softness.

  “Shawn, my sweet boy. When are you coming to see me?”

  “I’m on tour, Mom. I can’t just leave the guys…”

  “I love you. I miss you so much. I’m so alone.”

  I swallow hard. “I know. I love you, too.”

  “I’m your biggest fan, never forget that.”

  I’m choking, can’t reply. I’m afraid she’ll hear my cracked voice.

  “Shawn?”

  “…Yeah.”

  “I peed myself this morning, and they haven’t cleaned me yet. It’s been hours. I keep ringing the bell, but they’re not coming. I’m so…”

  She sobs.

  Tears rush to my eyes, and I press hard fingers against my closed lids.

  “I’m so humiliated, Shawn. My baby boy.”

  I can’t hear any more. I croak, “Gotta go,” and hang up.

  The phone slips from my clammy palm, drops, and bounces in my lap.

  I gasp from the pain. I want to erase the images of the sick, reduced person she’s become. Please, let me remember what she looked like when I was a kid, before Dad left us. Happy and beautiful, laughing, blowing me kisses.

  Someone sits beside me and puts a warm hand on my thigh. A familiar scent reaches me. Fuck, the last thing I need is Sam seeing me cry…

  After a beat, she murmurs, “I lost my mother when I was fifteen. To cancer.”

  Sniffing, I take her hand. It’s so soft and nice, so young. Slender, with perfect nails. I bring it to my nose, breathe in the smells of soap and feminine skin. The last time I held Mom’s frail hand, I saw how much muscle it’d lost, how the skin had loosened from the bones.

  “That’s when Dad started hurting me,” she says. “He was afraid of losing me, too, but for another reason.”

  I turn to look into her feverish eyes. “Fifteen? Isn’t that when you started listening to my music?”

  “Yes. And I fell in love with you. It didn’t matter that he hurt me, ‘cause deep inside I knew what I wanted.” She gives me a weak smile.

  I nod. I understand. Her feelings for me carried her through these terrible moments. And she understands me, too. She knows what it’s like to lose a mother, bit by bit.

  But Mom’s not going to die. She’s immortal, she’ll never leave me. She’s all I have. Pain rushes through my chest again. I let go of Sam’s hand and cover my eyes as a brutal sob lifts my torso. I press my other hand against my trembling mouth to suppress a new gasp and turn away, because whatever I do, I can’t stop burning tears from pressing through my closed lids and rolling down my cheeks.

  She follows my movement and sits closer, thigh-to-thigh. Her body’s warm to the touch, comforting. I sob like a child, but being with her feels right.

  She pulls my hands away, finger by finger, wipes my face, and places kisses on my wet eyes.

  I open them and meet her brown pupils full of concern and love. Instinctively, my lips find her full ones and taste them. How sweet, how hot. With a moan, I move a hand underneath her shirt, up her slim waist, and cup a boob through the bra. Her soft breast fills my palm, and fondling it makes my cock harden with need.

  “Stop!” She grabs my wrists, pushes me away.

  I stare, mouth agape. She has to be joking. “C’mon, that’s what you’ve wanted the whole time.”

  She stands from the couch, shaking her head, and makes for the door.

  I don’t understand what the hell is going on. If she’s got the hots for me, shouldn’t she be happy I give her some loving?

  “Sam! You can’t leave me like this. At least tell me what’s wrong.”

&nbs
p; She stops in the frame and turns. Her face is red with anguish. “I’m not a groupie. I’m not a—” Her voice cracks, and tears fill her eyes.

  A new kind of hurt squeezes my chest. I can’t stand the idea that I’m responsible for her reaction. “What is it, Sam? What did I do wrong?”

  “I love you. I’ve never loved anyone else, but I’m not some cheap slut you can sleep with whenever you want.”

  What? I raise my voice. “Who called you a slut?”

  Fuck, this is the classic example of chicks complicating things. Misunderstanding me, twisting my intentions. Pissed, I grab my phone, get up, and tower over her.

  “First you want me, then you don’t! Make up your fucking mind! Besides, I’ll always find someone willing to have some.”

  Staring hard into her red, running eyes, I grab my crotch to make the point, then step past and out the door.

  I know I’m wrong, and I don’t mean to hurt her. But I can’t help hating her rejection, especially now that we’ve come close and shared our innermost secrets. I’ve poured out my heart to her, for fuck’s sake!

  ****

  It’s late afternoon. Sam’s absence drives me nuts. I roam around backstage like a caged beast, pacing from wall to wall, fists balled, blood pulsing in my ears.

  When we tested the gear, sound, and lights earlier, I couldn’t see her. Rehearsal’s reserved for the band and crew, but as a label employee, she would have been welcome. She didn’t show at dinner, either.

  Our supporting band is playing. Rhythmic funk rock blasts through the walls, and the lowest notes resonate in the floor. In forty-five minutes, it’s our turn to hit the stage, but I can’t concentrate on the task. I miss the girl so fucking much my mind keeps focusing on her and our argument.

  Has she left?

  It wouldn’t surprise me. She’s more hard-headed than I thought. That’s great, but I’d prefer she give up that pride of hers and come back to me. I want to tell her I regret my words.

  Timmi sits in a corner observing me, but I can’t talk to him. It’s hard for a skirt chaser like me to admit a chick is driving me crazy.

  After a moment, he stands from his chair and walks over, shaking his long blond curls. “What’s with you, man?”

  I stare into worried green eyes and find myself unable to speak.

  “Ah, I think I know.” He pats my shoulder and smiles. “She went to the hotel room.”

  Heart racing, I run out the door, through the street, into the marbled hotel lobby, take the elevator to the eighth floor, and run in the endless, carpeted hall until I recognize the correct room number. Out of breath, I knock.

  Sweat runs down my temples. What do I do if she refuses?

  The door opens. Baffled, I gasp. I can’t believe my luck. It’s her, standing there with an insecure look in her gorgeous brown eyes, showing me in. In the next second, the door closes.

  I wrap my arms around her, press her hard against me, bury my face in her warm, pulsating neck, and inhale. I want to apologize, but can’t find the words. Me, the songwriter, the big-mouthed, cocky ass!

  Ass-hole, yeah. I close my eyes in shame. How can I believe—

  “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I know you, Shawn. I’ve always known who you are.”

  She lifts gentle hands to my head and caresses my hair. With the movement, her lovely tits point against my chest, and I want to fondle them and roll their hard nipples between my fingers.

  Patience, man!

  With a whine deep in my throat, I push her backward until she meets a commode. I grope her firm butt, run my hands up her thighs to her slim waist. What perfect curves! She’s so warm and welcoming, I want to be hard and sink inside her. I want her to take away the pain.

  But what if she refuses me again? I can’t take that. I have to have her, will fight to have her.

  I’m choking. “Sami, baby, I need you.”

  I move my hands up to her face and pull her to me, find her full lips and kiss them. She lets me. No, wait, she kisses me back, nibbles my lower lip, gives it small bites.

  Encouraged, I push my tongue in-between her lips. Her sweet tongue meets mine, rolls around it, sucks me in. I explore her delicious mouth and taste her. My whole body tingles with need, and my cock presses against the zipper of my pants.

  “You were right,” she purrs. “I’ve always wanted this.”

  Images from our fight flash in my mind, and I wince. “I never considered you a groupie, Sam.”

  “I know, I didn’t mean it. I was…emotional. So many years of dreaming, and then suddenly it happened…”

  “And I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I croak. There, I’ve apologized.

  With a moan building deep in my throat, I unbutton her pants, pull them down with her panties, and lift her to sit on the commode. A scent of warm, sweet musk from her spread thighs tempts the hell out of me. I’m so hard I can’t wait.

  “I want you inside,” she whines.

  “Yeah.” I unzip my pants, pull down my briefs, and let my huge erection pop out. It jerks with lust between us. I find a condom and roll it on.

  I don’t want to rush our first time. With slow, teasing moves, I grab my shaft and direct it to her hot entrance, poking the head between the lips before sliding it up to her clit, pushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, then down again, in the middle of her thick folds of flesh.

  She gasps, puts her hands on my ass to dig her nails into my skin, and pulls me to her. She moves her inner thighs toward my groin and manages to press the tip of my cock inside. Juices moisturize her sweet tunnel, and before I know it, I’m plunging halfway in with a low groan, and then as far in as I can, filling her deeply.

  The selfish part of me that ignores a chick’s need urges me to pound fast, but the other part that cares for Sam wants to wait for her to come with me. I take my time, glide in, pull back, and dive in again, rubbing her walls with long, regular movements, trying to stroke her G-spot with my shaft.

  She exclaims, “I love you!”

  I don’t know what to reply. Is that what I feel for her? I’ve never known what love is like.

  She mews in tune with my rhythmic thrusts and squeezes my length with strong inner muscles. Our breathing picks up, presses our heaving chests against each other. Moist sounds and our groans fill the silence.

  Driven by burning need, I slam harder and faster into her sweet pussy, to the deepest of her core and out again. I’m trying my best to hold out, but her inner massages drive me crazy.

  Holy fucking shit, I’m coming! No way back. Burning heat erupts from my balls, rushes through my spasming cock, and I growl with each quick spurt of semen. Damn, it was over too fast.

  Her pleading cries of need fill my ears. While continuing to bang her, I move a hand to her clit between us and roll the tiny knob of nerves—until she screams and her thighs jerk wildly against my groin.

  Fuck, I’m done. I’m quivering, working to catch my breath. Eyes shiny, she melts against me and takes me back into her warm embrace.

  I recover listening to her soft breathing, enjoying our intimacy. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay like this to the end of my days. She caresses my hair, my back. I can’t remember the last time a girl treated me like that. We’re so close! Heart to heart, breathing in tune.

  A ring sounds in my pant pocket, startling us both. Shit! With a grimace, I withdraw from her, step back with my glistening hard cock in the air, and reach for the phone.

  It’s Teddy. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “At the hotel.”

  “Don’t you know the show’s about to start?”

  I imagine the band and crew trembling with nervousness. Because of me.

  “You punk,” he sneers. “Get your fucking ass over here now or I quit!” He hangs up.

  Sam climbs off the commode. “Who was it?”

  “Teddy. They’re waiting for me.”

  “Ah.”

  I remove the used rubber, throw it in a bin, and zip up.
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br />   Once she’s dressed, we hurry out, slam the door closed, take the elevator to the first floor, and speed through the lobby, hand-in-hand, out to the street.

  Fans hang everywhere, filling the entire place.

  Some recognize me and get in my way, wanting to talk. I dodge them, sneak in-between bodies, and for once wish for a bodyguard. Clutching Sam’s hand, I reach the backstage door and flash my pass to a couple gigantic security guys in black shirts.

  A glaring Teddy holds the door open for us. He ushers us in, and when I step past, he slaps the back of my head.

  With my heart in my throat, I jog through the room. The roadies scowl as I pass by. But why are they here? They’re supposed to stand behind the curtain with the band. And where’s my bass tech?

  I hurry out the second door, find the corridor empty, and stop in my tracks, breathless. Fuck, my bandmates are already onstage. I grind my teeth.

  Booing and loud chanting from behind the curtain vibrate through my body, make the hair on my neck stand.

  Mike accords his eight-stringer. Timmi taps the microphone head to test the sound, and a muffled thump echoes through the club, followed by his amplified voice. “Hello, people! How are you doing tonight?”

  Damn, they’re starting without me. I’m so fucked. They’ve probably decided to replace me with Jaz. He’s a good enough musician to play my parts.

  Shit, shit, shit. Beginning to despair, I turn on my heels and bump into Sam. Her warm smile greets me, tells me I’ll be fine.

  Okay, move! Maybe I can still make it. I grab her hand, spin around, and pull her through the corridor. She doesn’t know it yet, but tonight she will save my ass.

  Together we sneak behind the curtain, enter the wide, luminous stage, shield our eyes from the intense spotlights, and affront the thousands of faces staring at us.

  What a vibe! Waves of moist heat from sweaty bodies and the roar of excited voices punch my gut, deafen me, freeze me, drive my heartbeat out of control.

  Mike’s scowling—but behind him, Timmi smiles, and I know everything’s cool. Jeff beats a quick roll on his drums, stands, and points his sticks to the ceiling, and the crowd roars in response.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Timmi shouts into his mike.

  I hold Sam’s hand and drag her across the stage. She pulls back, but I want her with me. I’m so high-strung I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but she belongs here. I step to my spot where Jaz waits, bass guitar in hand. When we pass behind Timmi, he turns around grinning. His warm, green eyes look at Sam.