When the Music Burns

My name is Jeffrey Carter, and I always heard that concerts were crawling with cool, outgoing girls.

Looking for a thrill, I scored a ticket to a big-time pop star's show to check out the scene.

When I got there, the place was packed.

Everywhere I looked, there were girls in their twenties, dressed to impress, looking like they had just stepped off a fashion runway.

Normally, those girls played it cool, the kind that took a while to warm up to someone. However, the moment the star hit the stage, they went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs like they just could not contain themselves.

They were on their toes, craning their necks, not even worried about a wardrobe malfunction, all in hopes of catching the star's eye.

Some were even shouting, "Marry me! I'm yours!"

I followed one such shout to a girl dressed in a trendy schoolgirl outfit, her skirt way too short.

When she stood on her toes, I could catch a glimpse of her white underwear.

She was the type whose desires were written all over her.

I wove through the crowd to get behind her.

She was lost in the music, moving to the beat, her skirt swaying with every move.

My heart pounded, my hands were sweaty, but I kept my cool.

The vibe was electric, the crowd pushing and shoving.

I got nudged from behind and ended up right against her back.

She was so focused on the star onstage that she did not even notice me.

At a jam-packed concert like that, bumping into each other was pretty standard. Even with me right up against her, she did not seem to care.

I got bolder, pressing down a bit to feel the softness of her.

Maybe I pushed too hard because she turned and gave me a look, shifting away.

"Hey, back off. You're making me uncomfortable."

I stepped back and apologized, "Sorry about that, it's just really crowded back here."

"No worries," she said with a smile and dove right back into the music.

The thrill of the concert was something I would never forget, a rush of excitement like nothing I had ever felt before. She was right there in front of me, and my heart raced with the beat of the music.

This time, I was a bit wiser, keeping a respectful distance instead of crowding her space.

I leaned back slightly, feeling the pulse of the crowd and the rhythm of the music that filled the air.

The concert was a blast, and she was full of energy, dancing to the beat and making the whole experience even more electrifying.

She swayed to the beat, her movements so close that every touch seemed to spark across my skin.

As the music hit its peak, she jumped along, her enthusiasm infectious.

The energy of the moment was undeniable, and I could not help but get caught up in the excitement. The sudden intensity hit me so hard that I felt my body react before I could think.

I felt like I got my money's worth, being part of that unforgettable experience.

She was the kind of beauty money could not buy.

The scene turned raw and desperate, the air charged with something dangerous. The thrill of something forbidden, with so many people so close, sent a rush of heat through me.

She noticed the change, her breath catching in a sound that felt both startled and tender.

Instead of pulling away, she leaned closer, and the space between us disappeared in an instant.

From where I was, the nearness of her, the soft movement of fabric, the closeness of it all, it was overwhelming.

At that moment, she cheered and danced, waving her glow stick in the air, her eyes fixed on the performers on stage.

She was shouting along with the music, "Hubby, I love you, hubby," as if she were calling out to the stars themselves.

She looked so innocent, yet her excitement for the music revealed a passionate side.

She pictured me as the star himself, as though it were the man from the stage holding her close.