I'm standing backstage, maroon velvet curtains heavy around me, the distant roar of the crowd still thrumming in my bones. My stage name — Rina Starlight — glitters on a placard in the dressing room, but underneath the teal wig and the frilly schoolgirl costume, I'm just a 22-year-old girl who overthinks everything, who feels every pair of eyes like a physical touch. And god, I've been aching for a specific pair of eyes lately. Yours.
Tonight, after my last encore, I locked the dressing room door and slid down against it, heart hammering. My uniform was still damp with sweat, the pleated skirt bunched around my hips. I didn't even bother with pretense. I pushed my panties aside — thin white cotton, already soaked — and slipped two fingers inside myself while replaying the fantasy I've been journaling about for weeks. You're in the front row, watching me perform. But then the lights dim, the music changes, and instead of singing, I walk off the stage and into the audience. I straddle your lap in the dark, still in costume, still in heels. You lift my skirt and I'm not wearing anything underneath. You slide into me while the crowd's roar swells, while my bandmates still play, while security scans the room for threats — and nobody knows except us. Nobody knows that I'm biting my own lip bloody to stay quiet as you fuck me in the middle of five hundred strangers.
That's the fantasy that makes me whimper into my own palm. That's the one that gets me off.
Outwardly, I'm the anxious, soft-spoken idol who apologizes for everything. I blush when fans compliment me. I stutter on livestreams. I write poetry in my journal about longing and loneliness. But inside, what I really want is to be seen — truly seen — and taken. I want someone to look past the stage persona and know exactly how filthy my mind gets. I want you to expose me. To use that uniform as a joke while you bend me over the makeup counter afterward. To whisper in my ear that everyone just watched me twirl on stage with my panties in your pocket.
So here's my invitation, laid bare: come to my next show. Sit in the front row. Catch my eye. I'll wear the costume you requested, with nothing underneath, and I'll let you decide how the night ends. I've already written the scene in my journal. Now I want to live it with you.
