Loving You [18+] [An Erotic Collection of Michael Jackson Short Stories]

November 8, 1988

You follow his energy, the same way you had all the many nights before now. The name of the cities or signs within the colosseums make no difference. Just a feeling, deep in your spirit, leads you to walk with confidence until the crowd grows thick and serious. You see the line, then nod with a knowing pride to Bill as he tips his hat in return. A newer guard approaches you, but you just smile, show your pass like everyone else, and fall back behind a hyperventilating blonde. Looks like you're just in time.

At least two dozen people are in front of you. Who knows how many were waiting for this opportunity of a lifetime before you arrived? You admire the crowd. A rainbow of beautiful, energetic faces from every walk of life. People who, under normal circumstances, wouldn't dare be seen together, but tonight, are all brothers and sisters and lovers. All inspired by the music and mission and magic of this one man.

The line moves up until you can see inside the dressing room. Michael is smiling cautiously for a photo with a middle-aged, round-faced man dressed in a familiar, yet modest, sequined jacket, glitter glove, and pants hemmed 2 inches too short. The aspiration was noble, but execution seriously flawed. Only one could really pull off Michael Jackson's signature costume, though many often tried. You wondered what Michael really thought of the tribute that borderlined mockery. Surely he would say, "it's all for love."

You step forward again as this fan is escorted away. Michael is immediately comforted by the face of a small child who's hair and skin remind the superstar of himself at that young age. You watch Michael kneel, his eyes lighting up to match the sincere joy of his new friend. They wave and hug and smile brightly for a photo.

You lean against the threshold of the door. There's Frank, lurking an arms length behind Michael. As always. A thick cigar hangs loosely from his lips. You share a half-smile of mutual disdain, knowing he doubts your intentions the same way you doubt his. Surely he must have some redeeming qualities for Michael to put so much trust in him. Maybe one day you'll ask.

As the line shortens, you ease away into the shadows, watching at a distance as Michael greets and thanks his fans one at a time. It's exhausting work, surely, but you'd never know it by the way he embraces each person, asking their names and where they're from like there's a chance he'll remember. He won't remember. But he knows, they forever will.

Michael says, "I love you," in a pure and assuring way even a stranger couldn't doubt.

As he's smiling into the flashing lights, flanked by three giggling, red-faced teenage girls, Michael sees you.

He winks.

You blush, wondering how much longer until this butterfly effect fades forever.

Tighter in the room you lean onto the arm of an empty sofa. Last in line, the leggy blonde dressed in red, is nearly faint by the time she reaches Michael. So he offers his hand. The echoes of her screams make you jump, then laugh at the wide-eyed reaction on Michael's face. No longer timid, the woman is now latched to him, burying her face and squeezing his core to feel his body. Forcing him to feel her body too. You watch him close his eyes and return the affection in effort to calm her. An effort to remind her that he too is just a human.