Anna Anastasia pt 3
Every woman has, or should have, a gay male best friend to confide in. I didn't have a gay male best friend, but I had Steve Page, which was close enough. I'm not sure what exactly drew us together and made us become each other's confidant. Maybe it was because we both had a cynical view of the world, or because we had a love of "intelligent" music. Or, maybe it was simply because we both liked Chelsea buns. I once quipped that "If Chelsea buns were women, I'd be a lesbian." Steve liked that line so much, I let him borrow it.
I saw Steve as the brother I never had and he saw me as the sister he never had. We were also each other's fashion mavens, though Steve didn't always listen to me. He had this hideous argyle sweater that I insisted he should never ever wear in public, much less on a photo shoot. But, Steve thought it looked cool. I told him to keep it just in case he ever needed to prove to someone that he wasn't gay. We knew secrets about each other that we wouldn't dare tell anyone else; up until Jim narked on us, Steve was the only person who knew about me and Kevin.
Steve helped me through a lot of personal problems and I helped him through troubles of his own. When my dear, sweet Kevvy was stricken with cancer, Steve and I cried on each other's shoulders. During the Stunt tour, Steve and I would often sit up into the wee hours of the night, just talking because we were both too depressed to sleep. There were, of course, rumours going around that Steve and I were sleeping together. Steve being Steve, whenever we were confronted with it, he'd play it up by pretending to neck with me.
I do admit that I did have a crush on Steve once, back when I'd first joined the crew and Kevin and I were still in our flirting stage. That was before I learned he was married with children, and one thing I will never do is sleep with a married man. My sister did that once and, well, that's a whole ‘nother story. I do think Steve is an attractive man, but I don't have any sexual feelings toward him.
Why am I mentioning all of this? Because I had a dream. A dream that, quite frankly, freaked me the hell out. Here's how it went:
I was backstage after sound check. I'm not sure exactly what I was doing, but that's where I was. Then, Steve appeared. He was clutching a black acoustic guitar with a broken string.
"Finally, someone who can help me," he grumbled. "I broke a string and I can't find anyone to fix it for me." He had a pouty look on his face, like a kid who'd broken one of his toys and needed a grown-up to fix it.
"What happened to the other techs?" I asked.
"Fuck if I know," he said. "They probably went for lunch."
"Well, I'll see what I can do."
Steve felt that, since he was a rock star now, he didn't have to change his own strings anymore. It'd been so long since he'd changed his own strings that I figured he probably didn't know how to do it anymore anyway. Since I was both Kevin's keyboard and guitar tech, I could change strings faster than a NASCAR pit crew could change tires. I had the broken string off and the new one on in a matter of seconds.
"Wow, that was quick," he said. "Thanks, Anna."
"No problem, Steve Babe," I said.
Then, for reasons unknown, I followed him onstage. All of the other instruments were set up, but Steve was the only one of the Ladies onstage. The seats were completely empty, and even the sound and lighting guys weren't around. Steve started playing "Some Fantastic," and I played along on Kevin's keyboards. I sang Ed's parts, which sounded strange when sung by a female voice. He looked at me every time we sang the chorus, and that sexy, smoldering grin spread across his face when he sang the line, "But none as much as my want to be with you."
"Damn, you're good!" he said. "You just might put Ed out of a job."
I laughed until he suddenly grunted and clutched his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Shoulder cramp," he grunted. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for one of your world-famous back rubs?"
It's true; I am famous amongst the crew as "The Chick Who Gives Really Good Back Rubs." There's no special trick to it; I just have really good hands. It must from all the keyboard, guitar and accordion tuning I do. I have made even the most macho of men melt into a puddle in my hands. Kevin always gets a little green about me giving back rubs to anyone who asks, but I always assure him that there's nothing remotely sexual about it, unless, of course, he's the one receiving said back rub.
That's another reason why my dream was odd. I stood behind Steve, gently working his massive shoulders with my thumbs, and I was standing so close to him that I was actually breathing on the back of his neck. He didn't seem to mind, as his head was tilted back in utter euphoria. I found myself staring at his wide, fleshy neck and wanting to bury my face in it. I leaned in and touched my lips to the side of his neck ever so softly.
"Mmmmm...do that again," he said in a husky voice.
I nuzzled his neck some more, until he turned around. He looked at me over the top of his glasses with a "Someone's been naughty" expression on his face; then, I put a hand on the side of his face and kissed him hard, as if I were trying to absorb his full, pouty lips. He groaned when I shoved my tongue into his mouth and clutched me to his chest. He held me so tight that I could feel his growing erection against my body. I pushed away from him, and he looked at me with a hurtful expression until I pulled my crew member t-shirt over my head and flung it toward "Stage Ed". He pulled his sweater off(Yes, the ugly argyle one. The damn thing had snuck into my dream somehow) and flung it away. It landed on Ty's drumkit. Had it not been for my fear of being crushed, I would have pulled him to the floor, but instead, I pushed him backward and threw myself on top of him.
Once on the floor, we gazed into each other's brown eyes and knew we wanted this. In a single, swift motion, he unhooked my bra and flung it toward Jim's spot, where it got caught on his bass. Steve then took one of my breasts and licked the nipple until it became hard. Then he sucked on it until I couldn't stand it any longer and just had to get my pants off. I rolled off of him, kicked off my shoes, and practically ripped off my jeans and socks. I was about to pull my panties off, when Steve grabbed my wrist and stopped me. He pulled my panties off and spread my legs apart. Then, he pleasured me in a way I thought only Kevin could.
I moaned loudly as he massaged my clit with his tongue. I wrapped my legs around his neck, which made him suck harder. He didn't even flinch when I grabbed his ears and started panting. Kevin didn't suck my pussy very often because he hated when I grabbed his ears, but when he did, there was no better pleasure. Or, so I thought until this dream about Steve. He seemed to know exactly how to please a woman. As soon as I orgasmed, I sat up and shoved him backward.
"Now it's your turn, Mr. Page," I said in a sultry voice.
I pulled off his shoes, socks and slacks, leaving him momentarily in his boxerbriefs. His erection was plainly visible, which must've made wearing such tight underpants extremly painful.
"Balls out," I said with a smile as I pulled his underwear off.
His penis was only of average length, but it was, as I had suspected, very wide. It was a mouthful, but I didn't mind. I sucked him hard and slow, and he showed his appreciation by crying out. It was in Hebrew, which I found strange, but I didn't mind. Then, he gave me a look that meant that he was about to cum. There was no way in hell I was going to swallow, so I grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be the sweater.
"Here, use this," I said as I tossed it it at him.
He wrapped it around the head of his dick and grunted when he squirted into it. He pulled away and looked sullenly at his soft penis.
"That's too bad," I said as I shook my head.
"I might be able to get it up again," he said.
I shoved him down again. "Let's find out."
He stared at my pussy as I straddled his chest. "Oh God, I want you," he moaned.
His dick was up again and I sat on it. I slid up and down, rubbing his chest. (I am relieved to say that his boobs were not bigger than mine.) Steve put his hands on my waist and rolled over so that he was now on top.
"Now we're going to do it my way," he said.
I grabbed a hold of his soft, sweaty body and he began thrusting so hard that I thought I was going to become a permanent part of the stage. I woke up just as I was about to orgasm. I sat up abruptly and ended up smacking my head on the top of my bunk.
"Fuck!" I shouted.
"What's wrong?" asked Dean, one of the guitar techs. His bunk was right below mine.
"Nothing," I answered as I rubbed my head. "Just had a bad dream."
As I lay back down, I realized I now had a dilemma. I couldn't tell
Steve about this because there was no telling what it would do to our friendship
if he thought I had feelings for him(even though I didn't. At least, not
those kinds of feelings). I couldn't tell Kevin because there was no telling
what it would do to our relationship if he thought I had feelings for Steve.
Who could I tell? It had to be someone who understood Steve better than
anyone else, and it had to be someone I could trust not to tell anyone
about this dream. Four words came to mind: Lloyd Edward Elwyn Robertson.