I step down from the stage. The lights are fucking hot and I feel like I can't stop sweating. As I am stepping down crooning at the audience with my winks and my sultry eye contact, a million underlying thoughts exist behind the plain clarity in my performance:
1. "Am I making musical thoughts?"
2. "I hope I don't trip over the god damned mic chords."
3. "Is there strong stage presence?"
4. "Fuck. FuckFuckFUCK."
5. "Can I make this better?"
6. "I'm gonna get that guy's attention..the one that's aurally not getting off? Yea. Ima get him off."
5. "Bitch needs a new dye job. Stat."
7. "Christ-on-a-bike, almost tripped."
8. "Is she here?"
At the last thought I realize the buzzing turmoil almost got out from behind my mental guard. If I start letting that side of me talk I'll be spending some time in the looney bin.....again.
I look around at the young crowd that mainly consists of colligiet students. I am playing to a crowd whos maturity level goes from 13 year old boy to 50 year old midwife status. I love a challenge though, it is my job to give them a reason to listen and stop talking about Jersey Shore and who got drunk when and where. When and if I do grab their attention, I will fully hand myself over to them and in return they will belong with me. I will love each and every person in the room without undressing a single item of clothing.
Eyes are following me and I stare straight into the back of the students' heads. I make love to the mic with my mouth and I make love to their souls with my eyes. This is every performace.
I step back onto the stage with grace (for once)and I abruptly cut out the backup of my guitar. I tap lightly on the strings as my voice fills the room with what I want it to be filled with.
I want her to be there. I sing through my sadness but I know she must be busy, or doesn't care, or can't care any longer. I finish up with my musical nonsense, say some shit about 'change' and 'the greater good' and I walk off the stage as apathetic as I was before I stepped onto it.
People give me praises that I take full heartedly, but I still am feeling empty.
Its only later that night when I am reaching orgasm that I can stop the turmoil, if only for half a minute.
There were stares, there were hips cocked to the side, there was eye contact complete with lip biting and sugary-sweet kindness when I was approached after the performance. Im oblivious to that shit, why would I pay attention to it when it probably is just a fabrication of my needy brain? I went home alone and I will stay that way thank you very much. I don't understand the 'love game'..only when I am performing am I smooth and unfrizzeled. Its only then that I don't think about the other 10,000 thoughts I have in the back of my subconcious...
Well..when Im performing..and when I am masterbating.
I know how to push my buttons and I only can make myself do it. Where for some it is a sensual and romantic relationship with the self, my masterbation expirience is becoming someone else. I take my industrial strength vibrator (A truly 'lesbian' toy because it has to be plugged into the wall...booyah!) and I hop right to it. I press the edge of the round massager against my whole vulva and I switch it on. Powerful vibrations (that I am certain my roomates can notice)surge through my bloodening tissue. I am on top of the vibe and grinding my hips into it while imagining her legs around my hips.
I imagine the arch of her back and the tiny gasp when I carfully enter her, gently and lovingly. I imagine her calling my name softly and myself wrapping my arms beneath the small of her back and around the back of her head. I'll kiss so tenderly and give so willingly, its all I've ever wanted to do.
I turn the vibe up and my thighs begin to obtain that oh so familiar burning sensation, yet I keep on thrusting and grinding. I can feel myself getting my wettness on my toy and I remind myself to, yet again, clean my pillow. The vibrations are focused onto my clit and I use my whole body to dip onto it and press up against it with sweaty, natural angst.
I imagine how her face will look, her lips parted slightly, eyes fiercly peircing mine, and her forehead slightly furrowed as she gasps for breath and moans with deep anticipation of what is to follow.
Things start going white and my body begins to slip into a warm and blissful release. I won't cum from masterbating but my orgasm is powerful. I jerk my hips up and my muscles are bared. My blank chest rises and falls and a slight mist of sweat covered my raging body. My breaths are abrupt, short, pleading and hot.
I moan her name over and over again and then the sensation is gone.
I roll onto the bed and breath deeply for a few moments trying not to close my eyes so I won't fall again.
I love to perform...