**I may have gotten ahead of myself. Going to search for co-writers in the sticky thread. I'm new here, so this might not be the right format. The open part is for Carmen. I'll take over Brewer.**
Carmen doesn't quite recall the exact circumstances that lead up to her going to a hardcore metal concert with this punk guy she met a week ago, but all she knows is that another night surrounded by gossip and drama may just drive her to homicide. After the customary wrist-tagging and pat down she enters the concert and follows her new mohawked friend with a studded black jacket to the bar. Before she's finished scanning the stage and floor there are four shots of something sitting between her and her "date."
"Cheers," Brewer says holding up one of the shots.
"What is it?" she replies, holding a shot eye level.
"The fuck do you care? Hold it up, hit it against mine, and drink it."
"I don't really like..."
"We're not here to do things your way."
"He has a point," she convinces herself.
Carmen picks up the drink, clinks it against his, drinks, and immediately downs the second.
Scanning the room again she notices its not filled with the plaid pants wearing, yellow popped-collar babyfaces she's used to seeing after downing two shots. Sure, there's a few, but most people here look like they mean business.
"How many bands are there?" she asks.
"Two. Why, you wanna leave already?" he replies in a mocking tone
"No, fuck you. It was just a question."
Time passes with another drink and the first band rips into their set. Carmen and her date stand on the edge of the pit. This isn't the band he came here to see. If she's being honest, Carmen can't make out anything she would consider music. Midway through the crowd the mosh pit is going and all that can be made out is limbs flying and a few heads slamming into eachother.
"We'll be in there next."
This definitely isn't her thing, but she's willing to go with it. With a few drinks in her she feels like she should at least be moving. After a half hour of noise, by her definition, the openers exit. The air is getting a bit musky with the sweat that's been worked up during the first set.
Brewer grabs Carmen by the wrist and drags her into the fluid mass of people. Its a lot warmer in the crowd than she expected and everyone is sandwiched together. She gets a better look of some of the guys with their shirts off. Sweat, muscles, and tattoos.
"I could get use to this," she says to herself
She pokes her partner who is a bit taller than her to lean in to hear her question, "Anything I should know before the band starts?"
"Don't fall down," is his only advice.
In the world she's used to where every move is watched and recorded by another female it feels liberating to be lost in a group of people who don't know who she, and couldn't care less about her presence.
The headliners appear, the lights darken again, and the crowd awakens. Without any introduction the band hammers into their first song. The standing crowd becomes a fluid river of people with currents going left and right. Carmen is immediately thrown off balance and finds herself pressed against her new friend as well as three other guys. The wave slows and the counter push comes in the opposite direction. Quickly she figures out that there is nothing she can do other than submit to the flow of the crowd.
The show crashes on without much pause. She still can't hear anything but her date seems to be shouting the lyrics back. She feels herself getting getting hot and sweaty, or at least she thinks she's sweating. She's not sure how much of the dampness on her shirt is her own. At first she was uncomfortable being pressed into so many wet bodies, but now she finds herself pushing into them. The feel of having her breasts against some guys back, and then almost immediately after, her ass against another's is exhilarating.
Hands and limbs are everywhere. By now she's picked out a few attractive guys without shirts on glistening in sweat and finds herself aiming her chest and ass at their hands when she can. She's pretty sure she's been groped at least a dozen times by now. She don't know by whom.
"Fuck it," she says to herself. "No one is going to care."
She freely begins grabbing at any guy she can. Girls too, when she has the chance, because why not at this point? Its hard to aim her hands for a nice ball grab, but it sure feels good to place her hands all over any bare waist she can find.
Suddenly she finds herrself pressed face to face with the mohawk that brought her here. The crowd is pushing them together and for a few seconds her hand is stuck wedged between her body and his crotch. Of course in this moment her eyes meet his and suddenly her escapades are no longer anonymous. He smiles and she pulls her hand away as the pressure from the crowd releases. Not really the encounter she had in mind, but she don't regret it. She looks back at him as she escapes into the crowd and catches his eye.
After some time, she stopped keeping track at this point, the band leaves and the lights come back on. Looking down at herself she sees that she is soaked in sweat and she knows she probably smell terrible. Her senses are saturated with the musty air, so she can't detect anything foreign herself. Her hair is equally as damp as her shirt and stuck to her face. Whatever mascara she had stupidly worn is now a bunch of black streaks across her face.
She don't care though, she is completely worked up and a bit buzzed. Slowly she regains a sense of self separate from the crowd, but misses the touch of raw, sweaty flesh. Out of breath she walks towards the door and finds her date out in the cool air. The slightly chill wind is rapidly cooling off her wet clothes. Getting into his car and sitting down she realize there's no way she can show herrself back at the sorority looking like this.
Carmen doesn't quite recall the exact circumstances that lead up to her going to a hardcore metal concert with this punk guy she met a week ago, but all she knows is that another night surrounded by gossip and drama may just drive her to homicide. After the customary wrist-tagging and pat down she enters the concert and follows her new mohawked friend with a studded black jacket to the bar. Before she's finished scanning the stage and floor there are four shots of something sitting between her and her "date."
"Cheers," Brewer says holding up one of the shots.
"What is it?" she replies, holding a shot eye level.
"The fuck do you care? Hold it up, hit it against mine, and drink it."
"I don't really like..."
"We're not here to do things your way."
"He has a point," she convinces herself.
Carmen picks up the drink, clinks it against his, drinks, and immediately downs the second.
Scanning the room again she notices its not filled with the plaid pants wearing, yellow popped-collar babyfaces she's used to seeing after downing two shots. Sure, there's a few, but most people here look like they mean business.
"How many bands are there?" she asks.
"Two. Why, you wanna leave already?" he replies in a mocking tone
"No, fuck you. It was just a question."
Time passes with another drink and the first band rips into their set. Carmen and her date stand on the edge of the pit. This isn't the band he came here to see. If she's being honest, Carmen can't make out anything she would consider music. Midway through the crowd the mosh pit is going and all that can be made out is limbs flying and a few heads slamming into eachother.
"We'll be in there next."
This definitely isn't her thing, but she's willing to go with it. With a few drinks in her she feels like she should at least be moving. After a half hour of noise, by her definition, the openers exit. The air is getting a bit musky with the sweat that's been worked up during the first set.
Brewer grabs Carmen by the wrist and drags her into the fluid mass of people. Its a lot warmer in the crowd than she expected and everyone is sandwiched together. She gets a better look of some of the guys with their shirts off. Sweat, muscles, and tattoos.
"I could get use to this," she says to herself
She pokes her partner who is a bit taller than her to lean in to hear her question, "Anything I should know before the band starts?"
"Don't fall down," is his only advice.
In the world she's used to where every move is watched and recorded by another female it feels liberating to be lost in a group of people who don't know who she, and couldn't care less about her presence.
The headliners appear, the lights darken again, and the crowd awakens. Without any introduction the band hammers into their first song. The standing crowd becomes a fluid river of people with currents going left and right. Carmen is immediately thrown off balance and finds herself pressed against her new friend as well as three other guys. The wave slows and the counter push comes in the opposite direction. Quickly she figures out that there is nothing she can do other than submit to the flow of the crowd.
The show crashes on without much pause. She still can't hear anything but her date seems to be shouting the lyrics back. She feels herself getting getting hot and sweaty, or at least she thinks she's sweating. She's not sure how much of the dampness on her shirt is her own. At first she was uncomfortable being pressed into so many wet bodies, but now she finds herself pushing into them. The feel of having her breasts against some guys back, and then almost immediately after, her ass against another's is exhilarating.
Hands and limbs are everywhere. By now she's picked out a few attractive guys without shirts on glistening in sweat and finds herself aiming her chest and ass at their hands when she can. She's pretty sure she's been groped at least a dozen times by now. She don't know by whom.
"Fuck it," she says to herself. "No one is going to care."
She freely begins grabbing at any guy she can. Girls too, when she has the chance, because why not at this point? Its hard to aim her hands for a nice ball grab, but it sure feels good to place her hands all over any bare waist she can find.
Suddenly she finds herrself pressed face to face with the mohawk that brought her here. The crowd is pushing them together and for a few seconds her hand is stuck wedged between her body and his crotch. Of course in this moment her eyes meet his and suddenly her escapades are no longer anonymous. He smiles and she pulls her hand away as the pressure from the crowd releases. Not really the encounter she had in mind, but she don't regret it. She looks back at him as she escapes into the crowd and catches his eye.
After some time, she stopped keeping track at this point, the band leaves and the lights come back on. Looking down at herself she sees that she is soaked in sweat and she knows she probably smell terrible. Her senses are saturated with the musty air, so she can't detect anything foreign herself. Her hair is equally as damp as her shirt and stuck to her face. Whatever mascara she had stupidly worn is now a bunch of black streaks across her face.
She don't care though, she is completely worked up and a bit buzzed. Slowly she regains a sense of self separate from the crowd, but misses the touch of raw, sweaty flesh. Out of breath she walks towards the door and finds her date out in the cool air. The slightly chill wind is rapidly cooling off her wet clothes. Getting into his car and sitting down she realize there's no way she can show herrself back at the sorority looking like this.
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