If It’s Aching, You Have To Rub It…
By Tholstrup 83
”We want Michael! We want Michael! We want Michael!”
The crowds of people had been chanting his name ever since he came back to his hotel. He was on tour and the year was 1992. The nights concert had been almost flawless, but as always he went over even the tiniest mistake in his head; he did this over and over until it drove him crazy, and he was sure he wouldn’t make it again. But in spite of the flaws that were always bound to happen, he had loved every minute of it; he never stopped loving it. Sure, he was tired from jetlag, but that all went away when he stepped out on stage. The energy from the audience boosted his own spirits, and he felt truly alive.
He always wondered how other people could lead their lives without the thrilling experience of having thousands upon thousands of people cheering for you. Maybe they could settle for less. He needed that much love. Having his mother tell him she loved him, wasn’t enough; he craved the approval of the masses; some gave it to him, some did the opposite. But man, did he love the ones who did: his fans! He wanted to be with them always, but he feared getting ripped to shreds. They might do it out of love, but it hurt like a son of-a-bitch.
Michael sighed and waved at the crowds once more, causing pandemonium. He could tell the majority of people down there were girls; their shrieks traveled upwards like missiles and he felt kinda bad for the other guests at the hotel. After all, they had paid good money to stay there. He was sure a choir of screaming girls was not something they expected or wanted.
He closed the curtains and sat down on his bed and threw his hat on the floor. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake. It was always like this after a concert; one part of him was sleepy, while the other wasn’t.
He lay back on the bed, his feet resting on the floor, and put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He was going over tonight’s show; Seidah was off-key during the first part of “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You,” when he tried ripping his shirt, it didn’t quite work and he messed up a few lines of “Human Nature.”
“You’ve only been singing that song for almost ten years!” He whispered, annoyed at himself.
The audience hadn’t seemed to notice though. Sometimes he wondered if they would notice if he started singing in Chinese!? He also remembered that Michael Bush had made a few mistakes with his wardrobe. The pants he was supposed to wear during “Working Day and Night” ripped, and he was forced to wear a pair of extra pants that belonged to one of his dancers. They were uncomfortable to say the least and his private parts were squished together and they didn’t go with the rest of his costume; they looked like ski pants.
His mind went back to the audience. There had been some very attractive girls at the front of the stage and he had caught himself looking at them a lot. One of them, a brunette, had been sprayed with water by the stage crew. They did it to keep the fans cooled down so they wouldn’t faint. The fan’s white shirt revealed that she wasn’t wearing a bra. As the night went on and the air got chilly, he noticed her nipples were peaking through. She was bouncing along to the music and other parts of her had been bouncing too; he felt mesmerized at times. He often thought how easy it would be to just… But he would never do that. He knew how vulnerable the female fans were and he knew they were in love with the Michael Jackson. It would be like taking advantage of them, like his brothers used to do. He never forgot the tear-stained faces of those young girls when he tried to comfort them afterwards. He could never do that…. But he often fantazised about some of them. He was picky, but sometimes one or two girls caught his eye. It wasn’t just how they looked; it was also what shined through them: their aura.
That night, the brunette had caught his eye. A few times he felt himself getting a bit too excited when looking at her, and quickly had to look away or do a spin. He couldn’t risk getting caught aroused on stage. He knew it had happened before, but sometimes the excitement of performing could do that to him. He always said that he was married to his work; when he performed, it was like he was making love to his wife. It was a bit unfortunate, but sometimes the body had a mind of its own. And when he noticed a pretty girl staring at him with such lust and love in her eyes, well, that just made it twice as hard to stay focused and professional.
She had looked at him too. He could not tell what color eyes she had because she had been too far away. But he remembered her smile; and her breasts! They looked like they would fit just right in his big hand. He wondered how they might have felt. Were they firm? Or soft? They looked firm… If he could, he would have pinched her nipples. They looked ready to play. She probably wouldn’t have complained. The thought of her surrendering to him completely turned him on. He liked to be in control with everything he did in his life; everything!
He could feel himself reacting to his line of thought. His pants felt tight all of a sudden, and it made him uncomfortable. He could still hear the crowds outside and he felt a bit weird. Could he do what he had in mind with them outside? Would that be too freaky? He was feeling uncomfortable, so would it be so bad to just open his fly? He thought “no” so he reached down and undid his pants. He sighed at the new-found freedom.
He rolled up his shirt to his chest to allow his erect penis to rest on his stomach. He wanted to touch it, but would it be appropriate? He knew all the girls down there wanted him. Imagine the things they would do to him. Imagine what the brunette with the perky nipples would do to him. His hand took the decision for him and took a hold of his steel. He held it for a while without moving. He raised his head and looked down as his hand slowly pulled down his foreskin, revealing the glistening tip. He let his thumb caress it and lay his head back down, exhaling deeply. This was just what he needed.
He started moving his hand up and down, pumping his dick. His other hand found its way to his balls and gently started massaging them. His breathing picked up. He began trying to envision what the girl would have looked like naked. She looked curvy; he liked that. Did she shave down there? He hoped not. He liked his women to look like women. Was she tight? Would he be able to fit her? The images made him pump harder. This was so good! He thought about him telling her where and how he wanted her; on her knees, on all fours, on her back. He wanted all of it! He wanted to taste, lap, and drink her.
He closed the curtains and sat down on his bed and threw his hat on the floor. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake. It was always like this after a concert; one part of him was sleepy, while the other wasn’t.
He lay back on the bed, his feet resting on the floor, and put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He was going over tonight’s show; Seidah was off-key during the first part of “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You,” when he tried ripping his shirt, it didn’t quite work and he messed up a few lines of “Human Nature.”
“You’ve only been singing that song for almost ten years!” He whispered, annoyed at himself.
The audience hadn’t seemed to notice though. Sometimes he wondered if they would notice if he started singing in Chinese!? He also remembered that Michael Bush had made a few mistakes with his wardrobe. The pants he was supposed to wear during “Working Day and Night” ripped, and he was forced to wear a pair of extra pants that belonged to one of his dancers. They were uncomfortable to say the least and his private parts were squished together and they didn’t go with the rest of his costume; they looked like ski pants.
His mind went back to the audience. There had been some very attractive girls at the front of the stage and he had caught himself looking at them a lot. One of them, a brunette, had been sprayed with water by the stage crew. They did it to keep the fans cooled down so they wouldn’t faint. The fan’s white shirt revealed that she wasn’t wearing a bra. As the night went on and the air got chilly, he noticed her nipples were peaking through. She was bouncing along to the music and other parts of her had been bouncing too; he felt mesmerized at times. He often thought how easy it would be to just… But he would never do that. He knew how vulnerable the female fans were and he knew they were in love with the Michael Jackson. It would be like taking advantage of them, like his brothers used to do. He never forgot the tear-stained faces of those young girls when he tried to comfort them afterwards. He could never do that…. But he often fantazised about some of them. He was picky, but sometimes one or two girls caught his eye. It wasn’t just how they looked; it was also what shined through them: their aura.
That night, the brunette had caught his eye. A few times he felt himself getting a bit too excited when looking at her, and quickly had to look away or do a spin. He couldn’t risk getting caught aroused on stage. He knew it had happened before, but sometimes the excitement of performing could do that to him. He always said that he was married to his work; when he performed, it was like he was making love to his wife. It was a bit unfortunate, but sometimes the body had a mind of its own. And when he noticed a pretty girl staring at him with such lust and love in her eyes, well, that just made it twice as hard to stay focused and professional.
She had looked at him too. He could not tell what color eyes she had because she had been too far away. But he remembered her smile; and her breasts! They looked like they would fit just right in his big hand. He wondered how they might have felt. Were they firm? Or soft? They looked firm… If he could, he would have pinched her nipples. They looked ready to play. She probably wouldn’t have complained. The thought of her surrendering to him completely turned him on. He liked to be in control with everything he did in his life; everything!
He could feel himself reacting to his line of thought. His pants felt tight all of a sudden, and it made him uncomfortable. He could still hear the crowds outside and he felt a bit weird. Could he do what he had in mind with them outside? Would that be too freaky? He was feeling uncomfortable, so would it be so bad to just open his fly? He thought “no” so he reached down and undid his pants. He sighed at the new-found freedom.
He rolled up his shirt to his chest to allow his erect penis to rest on his stomach. He wanted to touch it, but would it be appropriate? He knew all the girls down there wanted him. Imagine the things they would do to him. Imagine what the brunette with the perky nipples would do to him. His hand took the decision for him and took a hold of his steel. He held it for a while without moving. He raised his head and looked down as his hand slowly pulled down his foreskin, revealing the glistening tip. He let his thumb caress it and lay his head back down, exhaling deeply. This was just what he needed.
He started moving his hand up and down, pumping his dick. His other hand found its way to his balls and gently started massaging them. His breathing picked up. He began trying to envision what the girl would have looked like naked. She looked curvy; he liked that. Did she shave down there? He hoped not. He liked his women to look like women. Was she tight? Would he be able to fit her? The images made him pump harder. This was so good! He thought about him telling her where and how he wanted her; on her knees, on all fours, on her back. He wanted all of it! He wanted to taste, lap, and drink her.
His thumb once again went to the tip of his penis. Pre cum was oozing, making it nice and slippery and sensitive. He drove his thumb around in circles all around the head. He imagined he saw her small feminine hand take a hold of his engorged member, stroking him.
He closed his hand tightly around his shaft, imagining it was her narrow cave, and his hips took over from the pumping his hand had been doing just a few seconds ago. He jammed his dick up into his hand, forcing his foreskin all the way back. He liked it rough; he wanted to really feel it. He used his feet as leverage to really get speed into his thrusts. He picked up the pace. He could see the brunette sitting on top of him, her breasts dancing for him, her mouth screaming and panting for more, for him to go faster; so he did.
Sweat was forming on his chest under his shirt and on his forehead. He was working hard, pumping. His jabs matched the chanting of the girls below. They were rooting for him to finish, for him to get his release. They just didn’t know it. They had no idea that he was pleasing himself right at this moment. The he was pleasing himself to the image of one of them. Maybe she was even down there? He felt like he was being a bit naughty, but it actually titillated him.
He could feel tickling in his balls as they started getting harder; he was close. He rested his hips on the bed again, letting his hands take over, running it faster and faster over his steel. The pre cum oozed in a steady stream now. Warmth spread through his limbs, starting at his fingers, toes and the top of his head, travelling to his pulsating and ready dick. His breath was laboured and whimpers escaped his lips, soon overtaken by loud moans, blending in with the never ending chant from below:
“Michael!, Michael!, Michael!”
He took one last powerful stroke and, with the growl of a predator who finally reached its prey, he exploded. He held his member in a vice grip as it convulsed, spewing juices like an erupting volcano. He emptied his load on to his stomach and it took several seconds before he was done. His limbs felt numb and he felt tired; both physically and mentally, and he felt satisfied. No matter what, he could always count on his fans for help; even if they didn’t know they were helping him…
The End
He could feel tickling in his balls as they started getting harder; he was close. He rested his hips on the bed again, letting his hands take over, running it faster and faster over his steel. The pre cum oozed in a steady stream now. Warmth spread through his limbs, starting at his fingers, toes and the top of his head, travelling to his pulsating and ready dick. His breath was laboured and whimpers escaped his lips, soon overtaken by loud moans, blending in with the never ending chant from below:
“Michael!, Michael!, Michael!”
He took one last powerful stroke and, with the growl of a predator who finally reached its prey, he exploded. He held his member in a vice grip as it convulsed, spewing juices like an erupting volcano. He emptied his load on to his stomach and it took several seconds before he was done. His limbs felt numb and he felt tired; both physically and mentally, and he felt satisfied. No matter what, he could always count on his fans for help; even if they didn’t know they were helping him…
The End
© 2010 by Tholstrup83 and PJWN, LLC. All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, and other identifying features are used in a fictional manner and are in no way representative of any actual events. All lyrics, song titles, photographs, song clips, and videos are copyright their creators. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored without express written permission from PJWN, LLC.