Mess With Texas

I thought at that moment that my lungs had collapsed. Trying desperately to catch my breath, I blinked and stared neurotically at his nonchalant stride. He was greeted with overt admiration that he seemed to graciously accept. Smiling shyly he scratched his thick blond head of hair, shoved his long hands into the short pockets of his chocolate brown hip hugger jeans and continued past his peers and admirers.

Grasping my chest, I gawked at this very tall stranger’s scruffy classic style. His white dress shirt barely managed to remain tucked into his pants. He appeared restrained in the black tight tux jacket. Being slightly toed in on his left foot caused his wiry long frame to appear to waver like a flagpole in the wind. Lifting his blue eyes from the soaked ground, I noticed how they frowned slightly at their corners. He searched the room and headed purposefully towards the bar. He headed towards me. I panicked and clutched at my pearls only I was not wearing any.

I watched him approach and it finally dawned on me that this lovely tall stranger was only out of context. I realized I had admired his performance at the festival just a few hours ago. Paulie had ridiculed my behavior when we watched the blonde rocker. My band mate likened me to a fan of the Jonas Brothers. As if! I simply was enjoying his obvious skill and talents. Paulie insisted that I was simply enjoying the obvious bulge in his jeans. As if!

He continued upon me and seemed to be looking right at me. Before making a royal ass of myself, I stole a peek over my shoulder to make sure there was no one else in his view. The coast was clear. I wondered if this was how Pamela Des Barres felt when first encountering Jimmy Page! I prayed for the first time in decades that I did not begin to pit-out my cute pink mini dress. My brain attempted to quickly invent clever ideas for conversation. I rehearsed them inside my head,

“What do you think of the Arctic Monkey’s record…Josh Homme eh?”

As if he could be bothered! He loves the classics. It’s obvious from his last release. Beatles? What in fucks sake do I know about the Beatles?

“Yeah, so ‘Hey Jude’ was about Julian Lennon, eh?”

He’ll look at me and know that I watch VH-1 and like it. While I berated myself and questioned my commitment to classic rock, a tall beautiful brunette slinked up to him and planted a kiss on his boyish face. Fuck the Beatles! Who’s this cooze? He hugged his lady friend familiarly and kissed her flawless forehead. Disappointed, I observed their cozy banter for a brief miserable moment then turned to mind my drink. It was empty. Ugh! Miss Pamela would have delivered her critical analysis on Moby Dick, convinced Jimmy Page that the GTOs were goddesses and straddled his face by now while I sat alone and pathetically attempted failed espionage on probably the most talked about couple since Beniffer!

In one last vain attempt, casually I glanced in Beniffer II’s direction. Warm blue eyes froze me to my bar stool. Stroking the brunette’s long back, his fixed gaze reassured me that it was intended for me. A tiny smirk lifted the corner of his mouth and I wanted to drop my drawers.

As the stranger continued to delude his friends and Amazon lady, I realized that I could no longer hold it and that it was time to visit the honey bucket or whatever they called them in Scotland. Intimidated by the cold, I tied my scarf tightly about my neck and pulled my overcoat closed.

Peeling back the impenetrable plastic door, I emerged into the dark and reacquainted myself with the cold. The tops of my rubber boots disappeared under mud and brown water. The comforting voices inside the large backstage tent followed me as they rose and fell in and around one another. My buzz left me warmer than a few hours before. I took in the dry air and noticed above the glistening tent that the stars had revealed their twinkling selves. I closed my eyes and sank in the comforting sounds of the tents loose flaps rustling in the brisk breeze. My bladder became insistent that I continued on the quest to discover what the UK in fact called its porta potties. I quickly followed the signs marked, “Toilets”.

Completing my quest I emerged from the nameless toilet and began my sojourn back to the tent. Keeping my eyes glued to the ground, I was careful not to sink into a hidden puddle. My leg muscles ached somewhat from lifting the mud weighted boots across the low lit grounds.

“Paulie’s gonna think I was murdered.” I murmured to myself trying in vain to pick up my pace.

“There you are.” The stranger twanged accusing.

His voice dropped from out of nowhere. I released a high pitch yelp and believed that I in turn frightened the stranger. In order to get a proper look at him, I had to crane my neck. He was wrapped in a grey and black wool button up sweater or jumper. His jumper fastened with silver metal hooks. I decided I liked the stranger’s style. His long nose was red at the tip. I wondered if it was cold to the touch and touched my own as if this would give me the answer.

“Are you cold?” I noticed now that disappointingly, the stranger was like me, an American – maybe even a Southerner.

I nodded. He stepped forward and bending down considerably he buttoned up my coat. Upon completing this paternal task, his long hands gently fondled my tits and ass. I was amazed with his boldness but even more with my determination to remain. Extending his long hand he ordered me to come with him.

“Who was that woman?” I asked not moving.

He looked at me coyly and never answered my question. The tent’s comforting sounds now hovered around the invigorating chilly air as we stared at one another.

“I saw your show this afternoon. It was very entertaining,” I attempted to keep the ‘conversation’ going.

He leaned down and covered my mouth with his. Surprised, I stumbled backwards on the mini mud mountains. Although he laughed at my grace, his lengthy arm rescued me from potential ruin. A tiny flush of light escaped from the slight break in the tent’s entry and revealed the swelling in his hip huggers. I took his hand and followed him promising to myself to never let Paulie know that he was right. As if!

The small ramshackle shed was lit by a yellow light, which hung awkwardly in the center of the room. It was very apparent to me that I was not in the States as this shed was not only unlocked but the door barely shut behind us.

It presented itself as some sort of home for the backstage sundries. Plastic cups bound in vulgar plastic appeared as perfect gifts under the bug light. The moist walls were filled with mostly paper products and plastic flatware. Towards the back wall I noticed kegs, booze bottles, and boxed wine.

“We have to be quiet.” He warned.

He unhooked his snazzy sweater and tossed it on top of the exotic plastic cups. In one motion, he stepped towards me and quickly unbuttoned my coat buttons that he had just meticulously fastened. Opening my coat with one hand he used the other to hold me by the small of my back. My nipples pushed as if restrained by my thin pink dress. My mind rushed wondering whether or not I should try to get away. His mouth moistened the pink fabric as he bit and sucked at my nipples. What would Miss Pamela do?

“…Shhh.” A warm breath filled my ear rushing my insides.

Looking down at his ‘victim’, he searched my ass and plunged what felt like his thumb in. I moaned and grabbed onto his thick blond hair. The pressure caused me to beg him to stop. Ignoring me, the southerner dragged his thumb in and out of me. Stopping abruptly, he clawed my coat off, unzipped the back of my dress and pulled it down around my waist. His mouth covered my nipples while his hand searched my panties deliberately. His long fingers discovered what draws my breath out quickly. Teasing me, his fingers entered me.

I squelched my cries to please him. I wanted him to destroy me, to fuck me so hard that I split in two. When I begged him, he only smirked at my demands. When he ripped his fingers out of me, he sucked his fingers and smiled. I smiled looking up at him, my breast exposed for him. His smile disappeared as he wrapped his hand around my throat and tossed me into a stack of boxes. I had to throw my arms out in order to catch myself. He pressed his surprisingly heavy thin frame against me. With my tits pressed into the soggy box, I struggled futilely against him. I tried to speak and the cup of his hand silenced my mouth.

His long legs forced mine to spread. Clink. Clink. His belt warned. I screamed out when he fucked me. His long hands choked my neck. As my breath was cut off I throbbed and accepted him repeatedly. I demanded that he tighten his chokehold and surprised the stranger.

My body jerked and I sprayed all over him. Spinning my body to face him, he lifted me wrapping my legs about him, slamming my back into the boxes. He pulled his cock slowly in and out. I begged him again to destroy me; to please split me in two. Upon my request, the Southern stranger stabbed my cunt over and over and over. The boxes gave way and collapsed.

We fell into a heap. He turned me over and forced me on all fours, grabbing me by the back of my head then thrusting himself into my ass, exploded.

When I stood, my legs wavered a bit, a little dazed. The stranger accommodated me by fetching me some bar towels. I cleaned up my mess, got dressed, and headed for the door.

“Don’t,” he begged.

We stopped in the cold and looked at each other. My mind still debated getting the hell out there but my rubber boots felt like rubber cement.

I obeyed him and stood watching him as he tried to calm the millions if wild strands that had been released upon his head.

“What’s your name?” He asked still at it with his hair.

I moved towards him and assisted him with his mess. He leaned in to make it easier for me.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He stood erect and quickly changed the subject.

“I liked your band too. I caught ya’ll at the start of the festival.”

Ha! Take that Miss Pamela!

“Where are you from?” I asked reveling.

“Texas,” He said out of breath.

I paused only briefly then asked,

“Do you like the Beatles?”

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3 Responses to Mess With Texas

  1. pearls before swine says:

    Saucy. It’s a wonderfully written story=)

  2. Laura Hughes says:


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