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After a few minutes the blood stopped and my headache was dulling a little (the bottle
of Rum helped too).
Now my only problem was to find HER amongst this mass of bodies thrashing around me. After about three songs I spotted her going around the outside circle of the mosh dancing and bashing about. She was a vision.
I could tell that she was really into fashion. Spiked ruby red and bright yellow hair shaved on one side with the word “BITCH” buzzed in, a nose ring of a skull, lip ring, six or seven earrings with one attached to a chain connecting to her other nose ring and black lipstick. The barbed wire tattoo around her neck and the other tattoo on her arm of two roses intertwined around the words “FUCK OFF” only accentuated her petite frame. She was wearing a leather peek-a-boo bra that only partially covered her large, slightly sagging breasts with two nipple rings that looked like handcuffs, a puke green miniskirt, black fishnet stockings ripped to shreds and red cowboy boots. My god, she was beautiful!
I figured the easiest way to get close to her was to join into the inside circle of the mosh going in the opposite direction and speak to her whenever we would meet. The only way to get over there was to go over the top.
I screamed at the drunken skinhead in front of me, “DUDE, I need to get into the middle of that mosh!”
“BODYSURFER!!!!!” the idiot shouted and three guys picked me up and threw me into the air.
Now surfing over a crowd can be a very painful experience. I had my balls grabbed six times, my eyes poked, ass pinched, wallet stolen, shirt ripped before I was dumped into the mosh headfirst and my headache came back. But it would be worth it if I could talk to her.
The inside of a mosh pit is a very violent and scary place with all the pushing, punching, flying elbows and head-butting. But that wasn't going to stop me. I was on a MISSION!
The first go around I saw her coming around and yelled out, “Hey Babe, you look fuckin' hot!” I smiled and reached out my hand. She glared at me and snarled. I didn't see her fist as she clipped my cheek with a right cross that made my face feel like it was gonna cave in.
She must work out to be that strong I thought as my cheek throbbed in pain.
Maybe it was my delivery?
Maybe it was what I said?
Well I'll get another chance.
The second round I blurted out “Yo, Goddess, what's your…” Before I could finish my sentence, she kicked me on the shin with the point of her cowboy boot, sending a lightning bolt of pain screaming up my leg and blood streaming down to my socks.
I guess she didn't care for that line too much either, I figured when I stopped hobbling in pain.
Now I'm pissed. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Maybe that's what she needs. To be told what I want and that I won’t take any more shit from her. Sometimes love is a bitch! She is obviously attracted to me because she has touched me in a passionate way twice. So now it's either put up or shut up!
As she came around again I limped over and grabbed her by the nipple rings and said, “Listen, BITCH, I feel intense passion for you. So let's stop playing stupid fuckin' games and get down to business. NOW!”
The last thing I remember was her grabbing my crotch and digging her sharp black fingernails into my cock, then head-butting me.
The doctors have assured me that the operation was successful. They assured me that there are a lot of men that have fathered children with only one testicle. The reattachment went well also and if John Bobbitt can do it I should be able to also.
* * * * *
The Anniversary
A full moon lit the night sky. Two silhouettes danced ever so closely while Bill Medley sang “Unchained Melody”. They softly kissed and hugged each other tightly as the music slowly faded away.
“A last toast to finish off this special night…To my wife, ten years of marriage and the love-light still shines in our hearts. I love you!”
“Oh, honey. That was sweet,” she said and hugged him hard against her.
They had been sweethearts since high school and during their first year of college they got married in the old fashioned way, in Las Vegas on a hot June night. That November the first of the three children were born.
Together they scratched their way into the middle class. Like the rest of us, they worked long hours, hating their jobs, seldom finding time for even an occasional passionate moment together. They hoped this weekend would help re-ignite the fire that used to burn so hot. Those nights of drive-in movies, parents’ couches and the fear of getting caught, they all seemed so long ago. Actually they were long ago.
Tonight was going to be their night to remember.
“Let's take this bottle of champagne up to our room and really celebrate.”
“Rupert, don't drink too much. ‘Cause you know what it does to you.”
