Page 7 of To the Moon and Back

I went on all fours to kiss him. “Aww, you have such a hard life.”

He cupped my breasts. “Seeing you naked first thing in the morning is going to get me hard, full stop.”

“Except it isn’t first thing in the morning.” I kissed him again, then pulled back. “It’s midday, Mr Wannabe-A-Rockstar.”

“And I will be a rock star, you just wait and see.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Within the hour we were all showered and fed and heading to the first act. It was Pickled and I’d had their album on repeat for months the year before. Their blend of throaty rock and roll with edgy lyrics really hit the spot for me.

Much like my men had last night.

I smiled and linked arms with Nial and Rich. Pride swelled inside me. These two gorgeous men were mine…all mine.

The sun beat down and I’d piled my hair high and dotted it with white silk flowers. I’d changed my small nose stud for a star with a diamond in the center—a present from Rich the year before—and wore a tie-dye t-shirt to give my shoulders some protection from the scorching heat. But my bare legs were primed and ready to dance. I could almost feel the beat of the music tapping at my knees and making my thighs twitch.

“We’ll get right to the front if we go quickly,” I said, rushing forward in my strappy flat sandals.

“Yeah, come on.” Nial increased the pace, dragging us with him.

The anticipation coursing through the air was tangible. Excited chatter all around. People dashing this way and that. Scantily clad girls on the shoulders of men, smiling and pointing. Heads bobbing, earphones dangling.

The stage was set with drums, amps and microphones. Pickled’s latest video was playing on a vast screen on the back wall.

“We’ve got half an hour to wait,” Rich said.

“That’s okay.” I sipped from a water bottle, though spilled some when I was jostled.

“Hey,” Rich said, turning.

But whoever had done it was lost in the crowd. Bodies were slotting in behind us, carrying us farther forward.

“Wow, this is going to be intense.” Nial wrapped his arm around my waist. “Hang on for the ride, sweet cheeks.”

Pickled were ten minutes late starting but that didn’t detract from the cheer that deafened me when they stepped on stage.

Plunging straight into their latest hit, the roar went on and on.

I raised my arms in the air, bounced with the crowd and screamed the lyrics. The extreme volume penetrated my body, vibrating my organs, my bones and filled my thoughts.

“This is great!” Nial shouted.

I only knew what he’d said because I’d lip read.

I nodded and upped my enthusiastic dancing. I wasn’t really in control, there were so many torsos, arms and legs around me, all springing up and down, jostling, writhing, pushing and shoving.

The next song came on, then the next.

I was hot, sweating. So was Nial. Rich had been separated from us by a group of lads wearingGet High And Groovet-shirts. I could just make out his hair and the green of his top.

My very favorite Pickled song came on and I closed my eyes, lost to the moment, transfixed by the familiar lyrics and beat. I jumped up and down, going with the flow, then stayed in the air for a second longer than planned when two bodies trapped me up there.

“Oh!” I fell down, my right knee buckling. “Shit.” I lunged forward, was pushed, lunged some more.

And then I was spinning and twisting. The impetus of bodies driving me lower. It went dark. The sun had gone. My ankle twisted, and a foot collided with my ribs.

“Help!” I pushed off the hard ground, managed to stoop but was instantly knocked back down.

---