Adora Bell

Front Man

“Sara, come on! We'll be late!”

Sara Matthews took one final look in the mirror and sighed. She loved her new bangs, but today they just didn't want to behave. Running her fingers through her long, dark hair, she smiled ruefully at her reflection. In her skin tight leather pants and artfully distressed t-shirt, she knew she looked good.

“Sara! What are you doing up there?” Her best friend Erica was growing impatient. They'd been looking forward to this evening for so long. With one final swipe of lip gloss, just for good measure, Jessica grabbed her bag and dashed down the stairs. Erica was standing by the front door, hand on hip, jangling her car keys. Sara and Erica had met on their first day of high school, and been firm friends ever since.

“If we miss the support act because you were messing about with your hair, our friendship is over,” Erica teased, draping Sara's jacket over her shoulders as she hustled her out the door.

“As if you care about the support band! We're going to see Compass, that's all that matters.”

Sara grinned. She had followed Compass ever since they released their first single, “Back Track.” The minute she heard Jack Carter's deep, growling voice, singing about regrets and lost love, her heart melted. She had dragged Erica straight to the mall to pick up the album, and spent the rest of her allowance on a near life size poster of the band. Jack took up most of the foreground, cradling his electric guitar, his deep brown eyes seeming to look right at her. His strong hands gripped his instrument, delicate fingers ready to tease beautiful sounds from the strings. As she lay in her bed, letting the music wash over her, Sara could almost imagine Jack was right there in the room. She studied his flawless face, with its razor sharp cheek bones, framed perfectly by a sweep of dark hair. Sara imagined Jack stepping out of the poster, sweeping the soft toys off her bed so that he could slide between the sheets with her. His soft lips touching her own, Jack's lip piercing grazing her flesh as he gently eased his tongue into her mouth. Just the thought of it made Sara feel strange, sort of hot all over. She pictured herself peeling off his black t-shirt, running her hands over the smooth muscles of his torso, tracing the lines of his tattoos with her fingers as he kissed her deeply. Sara's breathing grew heavier as she gave herself up to the fantasy, Jack peeling her night dress off, exposing her already plump breasts, kissing her all over. The delicate spot between her legs was tingling, and she felt a rush of moisture soak her panties. Tentatively, she slid her hand down her body, feeling the wet spot on her underwear, applying just a little pressure. The slightest movement set off a wave of pleasure that coursed through her, and a tiny moan escaped her lips. She slid her fingers through her soft pubic hair, seeking her swollen clitoris, desperate for more pleasure.

“Oh, Jack,” she groaned under her breath, imagining her idol lowering his head to her desperate pussy, pleasuring her with his lips and tongue. She rubbed her clitoris in circles, her eyes locked on the ceiling above her bed, Jack's soulful expression heightening her excitement. Seized by her passion, she thrust first one, then two fingers into her pussy, frantically fucking herself as she imagined Jack above her, filling her to the brim with his thick, hard cock.

“Jack, oh Jack,” she groaned again, feeling the orgasm building inside her as she arched her back, pushing her fingers deeper inside herself. She moaned, grinding the heel of her hand against her sensitive clit until she finally exploded, every muscle in her body quivering as her pussy clenched around her fingers. Panting, dripping with sweat, Sara sank back into the bed as the tiny aftershocks ran through her. She gently eased her fingers out of her pussy and lay still, gazing up at Jack's beautiful face. One day, she promised herself, she would have him for real.

Five years later, and at least part of Sara's dream was about to come true. Erica had entered a phone-in competition with their local radio station, and against the odds, been the lucky tenth caller. The prize was two backstage passes to see Compass at City Stadium. It was the final stop on the North American tour, before the boys headed to Europe. The girls had been beside themselves with excitement for the past couple of months. They had slept in line for festival tickets, paid extortionate amounts on internet auction sites and lingered outside stage doors into the early hours, all in the hopes of getting close to their heroes. But the closest they had got was when Erica touched the bass player's hand from the front row of their charity gig in Boston. Tonight, they would finally be backstage, mingling with the stars. Sara had played over what she would say to Jack so many times in her mind, but she still couldn't decide on the best approach. She didn't want to seem too forward, like just another slutty groupie, but she was scared of seeming like a shy idiot…or clamming up completely. Just be yourself, she repeated to herself like a mantra, as she stared through the window of Erica's beaten up Honda. Rain drops clattered against the wind-shield, but the crummy weather couldn't dampen the girls' spirits. They turned the new Compass album up as high as the cheap stereo would allow, and sang along to every word at full volume.

“Jack, are you in there? Open the hell up!”

Jack stayed slumped in his chair, head in hands, breathing slowly in and out. If he could only get rid of this nauseous feeling, everything would be okay. But Jared was the last person he wanted to see at that moment; his manager's attempts to calm him down only every made him more nervous.

“Well you better not have a girl in there, cos I'm coming in!”

Jack sighed inwardly as Jared bounced through the door clutching a sheaf of paper. Despite being in his early fifties, Compass' manager seemed to have boundless energy, and expected the same from the band. No matter how worn out they felt, Jared was always behind them, pushing them forward, forcing a good performance out of them. Jack knew they couldn't have succeeded without him, but sometimes he wished he would just take a holiday.

“What's up Jared?” he grunted.

“Still feeling sick?” His manager asked, taking in the front man's pale face and grumpy expression, “you've got to learn to deal with these nerves man, I hate seeing you like this.”

“I'll be fine once I get on stage, you know that.”

“You'll be better than fine, Carter, you'll be a fucking rock star. Like always, right buddy?” Jared slapped Jack hard on the back, and he willed himself not to throw up. He was always a wreck before gigs. He had thought it would get better once Compass hit the big time, but as the crowds and the venues grew, so did the intensity of these nervous attacks. Nothing seemed to help; alcohol just made him vomit, drugs just amplified the feeling. Besides, Jack didn't want to become dependant on those things to perform. He'd seen it destroy so many careers…he'd seen it destroy families.

“Now don't freak out, but we've made a few changes to the set list,” Jared went on, and Jack bristled. He hated last minute changes.

“We? Do you mean Michael made changes?” Jared's expression told him his assumption was correct. Jack's mood darkened even further. He was so tired of Michael's petty little power plays, trying to throw him off, fighting him tooth and nail for the spotlight. Michael was a talented bass player, and before the band made it big, a solid friend. But more than any of them, fame had gone to Michael's head. He threw himself into the rock star cliche, throwing money around, starting fights with other artists, and taking fans back to his hotel room after every gig. He couldn't stand the thought of Jack getting more attention than him.

“Look, Jack, I know you two don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I actually agree with Mikey this time round. We want to play new stuff, sure, but you've got to throw some of your hits in there, that's what the fans want. So we've put 'Back Track' in at the end of the set, just before the encore.”

“For fuck's sake Jared, we've talked about this! I don't want to sing that goddamn song!”

“But Jack-”

“I said fucking no, okay? I just…I can't handle that. Not right now.”

Jack looked Jared straight in the face, mentally pleading with him to understand. To let it go, just this once. But for all his excellent qualities, Jared was no mind reader.

“We've already agreed on it Jacky boy…come on, do it for me?”

His wheedling tone set Jack's teeth on edge, and his temper flared.

“Just get the fuck out, Jared! Fuck off and leave me the hell alone!” He snapped. Holding his hands up in supplication, Jared backed out of the dressing room. Shit, Jack thought, looking at himself in the mirror, I can be a real asshole when I want to be.

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