It was silly, really.

I knew the Angel Boyzz had aged right along with me, and it had been a long damn time since I was sixteen. Back then, I’d have been able to tell you their birthdays, favorite colors, and shoe sizes. Every teenage girl in the world had all that information memorized, myself included. Their glowing, flawless faces smiled and winked at me from my locker, from the posters on my bedroom wall, and sang me to sleep as I played their songs over and over (and over.)

That was a long time ago, a different lifetime. I’d had my heart broken and mended so many times since then, I couldn’t even tell the scars apart anymore. This latest scar was fresh enough though. Jeff had unceremoniously dumped me six months before our fourth wedding anniversary, and the sting hadn’t quite faded away.

Things used to be so much simpler, didn’t they?

A crush on a boy band was safe, fodder for so many innocent fantasies. They were just there, singing their hearts out to you, not fucking your best friend while you were away on a business trip.

So when the DJ on the radio said they were giving away VIP tickets to an Angel Boyzz Reunion Cruise, I felt weirdly compelled to dial the number. My hands shook as I punched in the number, an icy trickle of sweat inched down my back. When the DJ said “Kerry, you are the fifteenth caller, YOU WIN!” I shrieked into the phone and jumped up and down like I hadn’t done for years. It felt good to be excited like that again, that jolt of pure unbridled joy.

“Aren’t you a little old for this?” my friend Anna snorted and crossed her arms as she watched me pack my suitcase.

“So? What’s the harm in having some fun? It’s been years since I was this excited about anything.” I rifled through my underwear drawer, hoping to find something that wasn’t too worn out. I hadn’t bought myself new underwear in years. I fished out a single pair of lacy red panties wedged into a lonely corner of my underwear drawer. The tags still dangled from the seam. I didn’t even remember buying them.

I looked into the mirror over my dresser. I wasn’t a fresh faced teen anymore. Little crinkles accented my brown eyes, but they were still years from being wrinkles. My brown hair was as shiny as ever, thanks to very expensive dye jobs. All in all I looked pretty fucking good for my age.

Anna picked up a t-shirt from a pile of laundry on the bed.

“Oh my God, is this original?” She held up my faded pink Angel Boyzz shirt. It was still my favorite, worn and soft from so many years of washing. Even the little coffee stain on the hem brought back memories of simpler times, when staying up all night seemed a subversive act.

“Yes,” I said, maybe a little too defensively, ”I bought it at the first concert I went to.”

“First? How many did you go to?”

“Um, two or three,” I answered. It was actually nine, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. She thought this whole thing was ridiculous, I could tell.

“So, this reunion, is it a big deal?”

“Actually they do it every year, but it’s the only time they perform together anymore.”

Anna rolled her eyes and dropped the shirt back on the bed. She stood up and stretched. “I’ve got to get going, have fun fucking your little band.”

“Fucking? What?”

“Um. Hello. Cruise ship, party weekend, horny washed up teen idols,” Anna replied, rolling her eyes again.

“You’re going to sprain your eyes if you keep that shit up,” I said, exasperated. “I’m not going there to fuck anyone, jeez.”

“Are you sure?” Anna said, looking at the bright red lace panties I clutched in my hand. I wadded them into a ball and tossed them in the trash. Anna kissed me on the cheek and left. After I heard the front door close, I snatched them back out of the trash and looked at them for a long time before I decided to throw them in my suitcase.

A girl could dream, right?

Me, fucking the Angel Boyzz. Ha. My sixteen year old fantasies never involved more than a long make out session, maybe a little boob grabbing. A blow job would never even have entered my innocent little mind. Compared to most of the girls I’d known back then, I was completely naive. I think was was nineteen before I stopped blushing when I heard the word “fuck.”

I closed my eyes and remembered the first concert I had been too. Nicky, Joey Love, Brandon, and Kevin, all wearing those impeccable white suits, each with a different color tie. The thing to do back then was to wear a strip of cloth around your arm in your favorite guy’s color. I wore all four, green, red, yellow, and blue, I couldn’t choose one: Nicky with his impossibly perfect hair, Joey Love with his big brown eyes, Brandon’s heart stopping smile and dimples, and Kevin’s sinuous, sexy dance moves.

At the last concert I’d been to, they sang “This Should Be Our Little Secret.” The four of them glided across the stage like magic, twirled in unison, all stopping, posing when they sang the chorus. I swear to this day that Joey Love had pointed right at me. I remember I couldn’t talk for three days from all the screaming I did that night. I always wondered if I could have made it backstage.

What if I had?

I pictured myself bent over a couch backstage, each of them lining up to have their way with me. The idea thrilled me.

I had awhile before I had to catch my plane, why not?

My hand drifted between my legs as I imagined the scenario. I would be there, backstage, my panties down around my ankles. I’d feel Joey Love’s hands grasp my hips, he’d thrust deeply into my pussy. Kevin would come around to the other side of the couch. He’d hold his cock up to my lips, then plunge himself into my mouth.

This was going to need more than a couple of fingers. I flicked on my vibrator and held the buzzing instrument to my clit. It had been a long time since I’d even thought of masturbating.

As I pressed the vibe to myself. My mind was flooded with images. Anonymous hands pinching my nipples, mouths on my pussy and thighs. Cocks pressing, pushing deep inside of me. I turned the vibe up another notch. I felt the tension start in my lower back, a tiny arch of electricity.

It had been so long since I’d had a real cock inside of me. I wanted to reach my hands up to a face, brush my fingers across stubble, feel strange lips press against mine. I wanted to pull a man towards me, whisper “Harder” into his ear, to feel that urgent thrust. I ached to feel my wrists pinned above my head, to cry out from that place of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck me, please,” I thought, sending my need out to the universe. No longer content to feel the vibration against my clit, I slipped the dildo inside of me. It filled me up, the cold hard plastic contrasting against my hot pussy. I felt fevered.

I fucked myself hard. Tiny splatters freckled my inner thighs as I plunged the dildo in and out. In a frenzy, I came, harder than I had for months.

I was going to make this a weekend to remember.

To read the rest of “Banged by the Band” buy the Kindle book here!

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