Insert TOOL here

We're here. It's fuckin' TOOL man!! And I am amazed to just be here--with you. We've been looking forward to this for weeks. And here we are. We're pumped after downing cans of Thunder Fuck (Full Throttle to the rest of the population) and from the anticipation of the concert.

Wandering, people watching, making idle conversation, waiting.

When the lights dim and the band takes the stage, my heart pounds. The energy from the crowd is palpable. But more than that, it's your energy that fills me--feeds me.

As they strike the opening chords I can feel the bass vibrate up the floor, through my feet. It's partly situational and partly because of all the weed I think; but I feel transported and ethereal. Absorbing sound.

It's like my body moves independently of my mind. Involuntary. Slipping in and out of a conscious thought. Periodically I feel your warm hand grab mine. Squeezing it, hard. I can feel your energy transfer through your fingers.

I watch you. Watch you move. Transformed by the texture of the music. I watch your hands mostly. I'm always fascinated by the movements of your beautiful hands. And I am consumed by the wretched ache I feel beginning to build in my cunt. The way you move mesmerizes me and all I can think of is feeling your rugged hands on my impatient skin. Groping, squeezing, touching, stroking....I want this urgently.

Everyone around us is in their own trance. The crowd is one body, moving as such. No one sees as you turn to me, grab a fistful of hair in your hand, growl, pull my head back and greedily devour my mouth.

Passion fueled by lust and a pounding beat of tribal sound.

I relax in your grip. Allow myself to be taken. Submitting to your furious intensity.

And then a shift in the sound creates a shift in my own reaction to you.

I reach up, run my fingers through your curls, close to your scalp. I bring you closer to me as I kiss you deeply.

Touch is amplified.

Your hands are on my breasts, roaming. Tasting me with touch.

My hand finds your cock. Stroking it through denim.

Are we breathing?
All I feel is a pulse.
Thundering as it races through my veins.

This devouring of one another continues indefinitely, with no sense of real time or space.

We are one body, you and I. The crowd, one amorphous consciousness surging in an trance-like rhythm.

Breath
Pulse
Sound
Skin
all one without definition

you've turned me
a fist entwined in hair
my head pulled to the side
your warm lips
teeth sinking into my neck

I can feel your tongue, electric on my skin, telegraphing it's message to my cunt.

Your cock grinds into my clothed ass
I grind back
I unzip my jeans and slide them down
You unzip your own and release your cock
My hands reach for the seats in front of me
As your hands touch my shoulders and push me forward

The head of your cock presses firmly against my willing flesh

You penetrate me roughly....pulse and thrust in time with the music.....

bass drums words images pulse thrust grind blending and blurring of any clear line of thought or action

It's irrelevant if anyone is watching us.
It's about urgency and sensation as body and sound merge and become one in this darkness where eyes are blind and you feel with your primal heart.......