Fifty Shades of Kurt Cobain~

The Concert

After hours of getting ready I am finally set to go. My heart pounding and my face flushed, I drive up near Toad's and park a block down. With every step I take towards the venue I sense the excitement in the air; tonight is all about Kurt Cobain, sex, drugs, OH GOD tonight is the night to remember forever.

Due to being the niece of a sound manager, I walk straight into Toad's without having to wait in the dreadfully long line. It is only seven o'clock and yet the venue must already be filled with five hundred people. The show starts at eight, so I walk around and exchange small talk with some of the guys. Naturally, each offers to buy me a drink and as always I decline. As I walk by the crowds of men, I get several comments about how I should head out to their car and fuck. Again I decline.

However, I cannot hold the dirty comments against them because at twenty years old I know I look damn good; I stand five feet six inches, one hundred and sixty pounds, with flowing red hair down to my voluptuous waist. Tonight I have on my shortest denim skirt with black fishnets, and a revealing purple sequined vneck top. To top it off I'm wearing my enormous five-inch black patent leather pumps and my smokey-style makeup with brilliant red lipstick to match my hair.

Suddenly the room grows pitch black and every single person holds their breath; within seconds smoke starts billowing from the stage and laser lights focus on the four men walking out from back-stage. Immediately the crowd roars and I release my breath before joining in with the other girls' screams. The lead singer, Logan Blackwell, left-handedly strums his gorgeous turquoise guitar, which appears to be a  vintage Fender Stratocaster. In response we all chant "We Come As We Are!!" and the drummer, Jesse Platello, begins to violently play the drums. Next enters the bassist, Reese Blackwell, the older brother of Logan. He too strums his instrument, this one being a beautiful black Epiphone Thunderbird. Finally the other guitarist, Derek Hunter, appears and throws his cup of beer into the crowd before raising his Fender Jaguar above his head.

In no time the band commences and the chords for "Rape Me" resound throughout the packed venue. At this point I look around and fall into the same swaying rhythm as everyone else, all the other hundreds of people that are here to celebrate epic music. It is when I turn back around to face the stage that I notice a man standing a few people away from me with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. I try to look closer at his face but his hair is in the way. I forget about it and instead close my eyes and move my lanky body to the sounds of the instruments and intense vocals.

Without warning I feel someone brush against my arm and shout in my ear "Rape me, rape me my friend. Rape me, rape me again." Startled, I look to my right.