The Lady in My Life : MJ imagines

Behind The Scenes

1988.

The night air was thick, the nocturnal heat was stifling; the shirts of the public clung to their body like a second skin by the layer of sweat. An assembly of men and women couldn't take their eyes off Michael Jackson. The way he wiggled his legs, thrusted his hips overwhelmed the audience especially the female one.

Michael was used to these women screaming at each of his fidgets or his beautiful smile. However, you were the only one who, once the performance over, will have the privilege to sleep with him.

Your two irises were attracted like magnets towards his slender body. Your attempts to look away in order to collect your senses came to nothing, you couldn't stop ogle him. You had spent so much time doing it that your bottle of water turned warm, but sipped it anyway to ease the dryness of your throat.

While he had a girlfriend waiting for him on the other side of the world, you engaged in a relationship of the most forbidden in Japan.

You had your head in the clouds, so you didn't notice that Michael brought the show to a close and covered in sweat, smoothly walked over to you, sponging down his face occasionally with the towel handed by a member of the staff. His predatory gait produced a wave of pleasant tingling in your limbs, which kindled when he stood before you. Finally, his Bambi eyes landed on you who had trouble keeping a good composure.

"Hi," he greeted, his voice hoarse from and his singing. Conscious of the effect that his deeper voice had on you, he scornfully smiled at you.

"Hey. You did great out there," you answered breathlessly as your gaze struggled to meet his.

He bowed his head politely at your compliment before leering at you. Michael liked everything about you: your silky tuft of hair, your impish look, but he adored your legs. When they paraded in the street, no man could completely ignore them, had they wanted them with all their might, and that a certain number of these men lived constantly with of the nagging image of your legs. You mostly wore mini dresses so he could see your naked thighs: you had them smooth, curved, supple and delicate. Actually, they were the first things he noticed when you met.

A sigh of relief escaped your cherry-colored lips when Karen slipped away. "Now that we're alone..." you drawl, fiddling with the buckles on his jacket. "Can you greet me properly?" you questioned in a whisper so quietly that Michael almost didn't hear anything. 

"Mmh, I see someone's needy here," his large hands slid down your back before landing on your ass.

He forced your head up into a hard kiss. A gasp came from your lips, opening them slightly and Michael took advantage of this opening to slip his tongue in, making the kiss more passionate, even aggressive. Your knees buckled and you clung to his jacket to steady yourself.

Out of breath, Michael pulled back enough to look at you, his arms still snaked around you. The absence of his lips on your skin had prompted sensation of void as if a part of yourself had been taken away from you.

"C'mon," he took your hand in his and ushered you away from backstage to his dressing room. You couldn't help but chew on the inside of your cheek as nervousness laced with excitement engulfed your whole body.

Once inside, he slammed the door with his foot before pinning you to the wall and kissing you. His arms snaked around your waist possessively as if to mark his territory. Because even though he wasn't yours, you were his. He no longer acted like a civilized human being and had let his primal instinct take over his seemliness.

Wet kisses were peppered on the corner of your mouth, your jaw, behind your ear and your neck. This made you tilt your head back in sheer bliss, causing you to moan softly.