Chaos at the Concert

My name was Mandy Cox, and I was a die-hard fangirl.

I wanted a celebrity to notice me, so I dressed for attention. I wore heavy makeup and made sure nothing about me went unnoticed.

My low-cut top revealed a wide stretch of skin, and my chest bounced with every step. I paired it with a mini skirt that barely covered my thighs and sexy white stockings which hugged my legs.

But when I arrived, reality hit. The concert venue was packed so tightly I couldn't move, and the crowd swallowed me whole. The celebrity was never going to notice me.

I craned my neck and shouted, "Darling, take me!"

I never imagined that line would draw the wrong kind of attention. Instead of the celebrity, it caught a filthy creep.

After I shouted it, I became aware of a man behind me, repeatedly bumping into me.

At first, I brushed it off. In a crowd that dense, accidental contact was easy to explain. But the feeling wouldn't go away. Something hard kept pressing against my butt from behind.

I assumed I'd accidentally backed into his hand where it rested behind me, so I turned and offered a polite apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you."

He paused, then flashed a leering smile and said, "It's okay. I don't mind."

When I turned back toward the stage, I felt him press against me again, more deliberate than before. I kept my attention on the celebrity onstage and shut him out.

The man became increasingly brazen, pulling up my skirt and pressing close against my backside. I had only a thong on underneath, which left my butt exposed.

I felt his touch directly against my skin and assumed it was his finger. Only then did I realize something was wrong. The pressure was warm and solid in a way a finger could never be.

My mind lurched as the truth hit me.

In the 20 years of my life, this was the first time a man had ever molested me. Fear surged through me, sharp and overwhelming, and my body reacted with an instinct to flee.

But there was no way to move. The concert floor was packed wall to wall, leaving me stuck where I stood.

I drew myself tight, bracing as if tension alone could keep the fear out. As I did, my hips closed around the man's so-called "finger", trapping it between my cheeks.

An unfamiliar sensation followed, and warmth rose to my face.

What confused me was that I didn't recoil from it. There was a muted comfort to it, and against my will, it sparked a faint sense of expectation.

The man behind me seemed to take it as a signal. He moved in closer, repeating the motion until the intrusion was unmistakable.

I had lived a sheltered life as a college student, and now I was being toyed with by a stranger while surrounded by people.

Shame surged within me without warning. I felt the urge to sob, but my throat closed, and my voice deserted me.

Worse still, the pressure forced my thong inward and sent a restless, prickling discomfort through my body that wouldn't fade.

A quiet, involuntary sound escaped me, and the embarrassment followed instantly. I gathered myself and strained to suppress it, holding it down until my throat tightened.

The blaring music and the screams around me drowned everything out. With every eye fixed on the stage, no one was aware of what was happening to me.

At the same time, the intensity continued to rise, touching something deep inside me.

I bit down on my lip as cold sweat traced my spine. My awareness was tipping back and forth between humiliation and a pleasure I couldn't bring myself to name.

I knew I couldn't take it anymore if it continued.

So, I turned sharply to face the man behind me. "Please, stop pushing. I can't take this anymore."