1. Locking Eyes with Layla Moon

Transcript

The air is electric as the crowd buzzes with anticipation. I'm beyond excited to be there. I can't believe I was even able to score tickets at all, let alone some in the front row.

She's the picture of a rock star charm, with her short, spiky blue hair, her knee-high combat boots, and her black lipstick. I've been a fan since her stuff was on Soundcloud, and to see her make it big like this is as validating as it is thrilling. Plus, Layla's hot.

I mean, really. Tall, willowy, soulful, and just perfect. All attitude.

Seeing her live had always been a pipe dream of mine, and tonight is the night. The second Layla steps out on the stage, my heart starts pounding, and I feel like a giddy schoolgirl. The crowd is roaring, the spotlight shines on Layla, and I'm melting where I stand.

She launches into her most recent hit, a tune about a broken heart. It had only come out within the last year or so, but it was one of my favorites as soon as it was released. Her raw emotion comes out with each line, and I feel like she's singing directly to me.

But everyone says that, right? Wait, is she? I feel like she's making eye contact with me.

That's not possible, is it? In a sea of people, blinded by spotlights, there's no way she's actually making direct contact with me as she sings her heart out to the stadium. Still, how could I risk blowing her off if she was? Her apparent eye contact hasn't broken, so I look around and point to myself, raising an eyebrow as I do so.

And then she blows me a kiss. Oh my god, there's no way this is happening. I catch the kiss in my hand, and a grin spreads across her face as she sings.

That confirms it. Layla Moon knows I exist. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure she's flirting with me.

I have to pinch myself a few times to make sure I'm still on planet Earth, and I figure I'll be riding this high for the rest of the night. As I watch her sing and work the crowd, I find myself strangely distracted. It's weird to think that anything could occupy my mind more than the show of my dreams unfolding before me, but nonetheless, I find my thoughts wandering down a path they normally only go down when I'm trying to fall asleep at night.

I'm picturing her kissing my neck, grabbing a fistful of my hair until it hurts just a little. I can almost feel her perfect tits pressing against me while I desperately try to grab her ass to reflect some of the fiery energy she's breathing into me. I've fantasized about these things a million times before, but with Layla right in front of me, they're amplified a hundredfold.

They almost feel real. I can feel my pussy throbbing the way it does when I let my imagination run away with me, and I'm immediately embarrassed, even though I'm sure nobody can tell. I try to shift my focus back to the stage and Layla.

She's broken my gaze and is back to focusing on her performance. Phew, okay, maybe I can just focus on the show now. I'd hate to waste the time on an idle, impossible fantasy.

Ah, she's just so fucking sexy, the way she moves to the music, performing with such confidence. When half of the show has passed, I feel somebody tap my shoulder. I scooch to the side a little, assuming that I'm blocking someone's view, but the tapping reoccurs.

When I wheel around, I'm face to face with a security guard. Fuck, I think, was I not supposed to flirt with Layla or whatever I did? Am I standing too far over the red line? To my confusion, the guard hands me a small envelope and gestures for me to open it.

When I do, there's a handwritten note inside, along with, Seriously? An official backstage pass? I immediately put the lanyard around my neck, grinning like an idiot.

Then I take a closer look at the note, which reads, Layla would like to see you after the show. There's no way this is real. When I turn around to meet the security guard's gaze, he's disappeared back into the crowd, leaving me no way to confirm what just happened.

I text my best friend a photo of the note and pass, accompanied by about a million exclamation marks. What the fuck is even happening to my life right now? The rest of Layla's show goes by in a blur.

I want to be mentally present at a concert I've dreamt of for years, but I keep trying to see if I can catch her gaze. I think I have, a couple of times, but it could just as easily be wishful thinking. Before I know it, the crowd is roaring after Layla's last uncle, and the show is over.

As the crowd dissipates, I'm standing awkwardly, unsure where to go. If I make my way backstage, is a guard going to stop me like the Secret Service? Should I go out to my car and come back? As if answering my thoughts, the guard from earlier approaches me, and when enough people have vacated, he asks if I'm going to accept Layla's invitation.

Obviously, I say yes. There's always a chance that this is some big joke, but how could I pass on that kind of opportunity, just in case? He walks ahead of me and motions for me to follow him.

I'm starting to sweat from a combination of the body heat I've been absorbing for the last few hours, and absolutely unrelenting nerves. I'm vaguely aware of the guard talking to me as we make our way backstage. He's laying out some ground rules.

No photos, only go where authorized, either by him or by Layla, and don't take anything from the snack table without asking. I mean, fair enough, right? These seem like basic courtesy, though no photos is going to be a bit of a bummer.

How was I going to get my best friend to believe what happened otherwise? Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think what a strange rule that is. Wouldn't most performers encourage photos for a meet and greet opportunity? If nothing else.

They're good Instagram fodder, good PR. But if this meeting is for more intimate reasons, no, come on, I can't do that to myself. This backstage meeting is a dream come true in and of itself.

There's no way I'm that lucky. While I'm lost in thought, the security guard knocks on the door and calls for Layla, letting her know that I'm here. Oh, God, this is it.

I can taste my heartbeat in the back of my throat, and I'm sure I'm sweating through my shirt. And there she is, Layla Moon, right in front of me, for me, specifically. Her smile is just as enchanting as it is on the album covers, and I'm sure I must be visibly shaking.

Hi. Hi. Hey, thanks for coming.

I'm Layla. What's your name? Divina.

Thank you so much for inviting me. I can't believe it. I manage to catch myself before I start babbling too much.

Layla motions behind me for the guard to be on his way, which he obliges, and I take a seat on the couch. She packs the open space beside her for me to join, and I do. Still convinced I'm having some kind of fever dream as I slowly absorb the sights and sounds of the green room.

So, did you like the show? Oh, my God, it was incredible. Thanks.

It was a good crowd today. She offers me a beer, and we continue to make small talk. She asks me where I'm from and what I do, and I'm beginning to think that this is more than just a meet and greet.

This is a date, and we're really hitting it off. You're really cute, Divina. You are.

I mean, you are literally my biggest celebrity crush. So, you like girls? Yeah.

Yes, I do. I'm a lesbian. Divina reaches her hand out and places it on my thigh.

I may not be able to believe what's happening right now, but if there's one look I recognize, it's the one that says someone is about to kiss you. As she caresses my jaw with her free hand, and the world around me stops, and then she kisses me.