Stare (with a Dangerous Era MJ)

An old maxim once said that “Eyes are the windows to the soul.” And how true that is when applied to Michael Jackson. I always found that no matter what he was doing, he couldn’t hide the emotions in his eyes. If he was sad, it showed. If he was happy, it showed. And so on. I’ve always loved how beautiful and wonderful Michael’s eyes were and how I liked trying to figure out what was going on behind them. In this story though, it’ll become swiftly apparent what’s going on behind them to one young lady…



“Stare”
A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave


Café Noir
San Francisco, California
November, 1991

Dark brown eyes.
That’s what he had: dark brown eyes.
Staring up at me.
Leering as I took his order.
Every morning he ordered the exact same meal, seven days a week.
A large mug of black coffee with hazelnut flavoring, and a plate of home fries topped with shredded cheddar cheese.
His eyes never left me for a moment as I prepared his food and drink.
Always there. Always present.
Watching from the booth in the back corner of the restaurant.
He always thanked me sweetly, when I returned with his meal.
And even though his meal amounted to less than five dollars, he always paid with a twenty-dollar bill--leaving me the change as a tip.
(A tip which would pile up immensely over a week’s time)
Also with the twenty, he’d leave behind his card.
A small black slip of black paper with his name and occupation embossed in red:



So that was how he managed to overpay me with more than a hundred dollars a week; he gave song and music lessons.
I never could avoid his eyes. It was impossible to miss them.
Impossible to miss Michael Jackson.
He came like clockwork. No later that seven in the morning, and had for about the last eight months. When the weather permitted, he’d be dressed simply, in practically the same outfit consisting of a brightly colored oxford shirt, blue, red, green, black, yellow, sometimes plaid, black or blue jeans, cuffed at the ankle to show a pair of white socks, and patent leather loafers. Once it got cooler, a sleek black trench coat and fedora were added.
Michael never said much; always kept to himself in that back booth, watching me as he ate. He even did the same thing to his food each time. Five spoons of sugar into the coffee, a dash of cream. Smothered his fries in ketchup with a sprinkle of salt and black pepper.
As the months progressed, I found myself starting to meet his gaze.
Be pleasured by it. Even craving it.
He was an attractive man.
Tall and very trim, he possessed skin that was a fine, fair complexion, completely a contrast from his dark eyes, set under thin, expertly arched brows and his long, waved jet black hair. Always parted on the right, always with his fine hairs gelled down into place.
His appearance was always neat and tidy, never sloppy.
As he ate, eventually, one of his long, inhumanly large hands would curl up against his pointed cheek, knuckles brushing his small nose.
Those eyes, following me as I tended to other patrons and bussed tables.
Many times I had wanted to ask him why he stared at me in such a way, and yet, I never could muster the nerve. I don’t know why.
There was something about his eyes…they just seemed to drain me of all the strength I possessed and made me almost physically weak. I often found that if I met his gaze for longer than a few seconds, my knees would give out and I’d have to cling to the nearest table or counter for support.
The power Michael seemed to have over me.
I liked it. I relished the way he looked at me. The strange odd stare. The open obvious way he looked. Never trying to divert his eyes, never trying to mask them.
It was all such a strange exchange, only taking his order and receiving a thank you. No long, drawn out conversation had ever laid between us. And he was always gone once he’d overpaid for the meal.
Only staring back and forth as he ate.
There was something there. I wasn’t sure what exactly, but there was some particle of something there.
One morning in the middle of November, I got a fair idea of just what that something was.
It was a brisk, rainy morning, about a week before the Thanksgiving holiday. Bleak and grey it was outside, and because of the inclement conditions, Café Noir was fairly empty, with only a handful of patrons having breakfast.
I had been wiping down the counter, and placing used cups in a plastic bin to be washed later that afternoon when I heard it.
Ding-Dong!
Still tending to the cups, I glanced at the clock. Six fifty-one in the morning. Not quite seven.
Dropping my eyes from the clock, I saw the familiar figure, making its way across the room, closing a cherry red umbrella.
Michael Jackson.
Looking like a flatfoot detective in that trench and fedora as he got to “his” booth and began taking off the outerwear. Draped in a black shirt with a bright blue satin band around the right bicep and black pants.
I didn’t even need to go take his order.
I knew it by heart.
I just took to preparing the potatoes, the scent of frying spuds, onions and green bell peppers mixing with the already pungent aroma of the coffee. Plating them, I threw on a generous amount of cheese, more than any of my other patrons received. The other patrons weren’t Michael Jackson.
I poured his steaming black coffee myself, adding more hazelnut flavoring than usual.
A little extra for Michael. I always gave him a little extra.
He always gave me a little extra.
Placing everything on a tray, I started towards Michael.
Through the steam billowing from the food, he was watching me.
Hand curled to his face, eyes lined heavily in black and framed with lush lashes, blinking every so often as I got to him.
Set the food before him.
“Thank you…”
The meek utterance slipped past those soft, and glossy rosy lips of his.
Nodding I started to go back to the counter.
“Sit with me, please…”
I paused, feeling my brow go up with curiosity. Trying to figure out if my ears weren’t playing tricks on me, I turned back to Michael.
Tray still steaming in front of him, I saw he had his hand extended, pointing at the vacant seat of the booth. He had asked me to sit with him!
I gave the other few people there a glance. No one seemed to need my assistance--for the moment, I was indeed free to join him.
Which I did.
Slipping onto the leather covered seat, I watched as a smile graced those lips of his.
Grateful. He appeared grateful.
“Thank you, Natalie…” He repeated softly and was reaching for the ketchup bottle.
As he covered his potatoes in that tangy tomato sauce, I found his eyes were planted firmly on me.
“Why do you do that?” The question popped from my mouth before I could stop myself.
Misunderstanding me, Michael was forking food into his mouth.
“The potatoes and cheese are really rich, the vinegar in the ketchup cuts through it…and it all tastes really good.” He replied, smacking loudly.
Chuckling to myself, I shook my head.
“No…not the food, Michael. Why… why do you stare at me like that? Stare so hard?”
Tending to his coffee, Michael asked innocently,
“Am I staring? I hadn’t noticed.”
Spoon pinging as he swirled it in his mug, I pointed out,
“You’re staring right now. You stare every time you‘re in here. Every day.”
Michael took the time to tilt his mug to his mouth, taking a deep drink, before grinning at me.
“Forgive me for being rude. I know it’s rude to stare, but I can’t help it. I’ve never seen a girl as breathtaking as you. I’m sorry.”
For the first time since I had known him, Michael’s eyes left me and were on his food as he ate.
It was my turn to stare. Had he just referred to me as breathtaking?
Me, sitting there in my brown uniform, without a stitch of make up, with my hair tossed back in a butterfly clip?
How… how did he see that as breathtaking?
Michael’s eyes came up to mine again as he was quietly chewing.
“I can see it in your face you’re wondering how I find you breathtaking.” He stated calmly, hitting the nail right on the head.
Eating more, he added,
“I prefer women who are natural. I don’t go for all the cosmetics piled on, seeking attention. All the fuss and fervor. I like how you look. Just…yourself. Not trying to be something you’re not. I like that.”
Blushing, I stared at my hands, folded on the table top.
“You’re very kind, Michael.” I whispered, my cheeks burning.
“And you’re very beautiful, Natalie.” Came the serious reply. “Your pale skin, your freckles, your grey eyes, your dark hair….its all beautiful. You should never try to cover it up.”
Drinking more coffee, he added,
“Natalie…I would like it very much if I could see you once you got off work tonight. Maybe take you to dinner or something?”
My heart instantly dropped at the request. He was asking me out!
Michael was asking me out! Jesus Christ!
And then a hurtful realization hit me.
“Oh…oh, Michael…” I whimpered, sorrowfully gazing at him. “I can’t, not tonight. I have to do the inventory.”
It was a task that I had been putting off for months and needed to do before I absolutely did run out of supplies and food.
Undaunted, the man suggested with a smile,
“I’ll come here then. I can count past ten, I’ll help…if you don’t mind.”
Those eyes focused on me and I simply could not refuse.
Couldn’t’ turn him down.
“I--I don’t mind.” I couldn’t get my voice above a whisper.
Picking up a paper napkin, Michael wiped at his mouth.
“Then. I’ll come back around seven tonight.”
Michael then rose and placed his money down on the table, for his breakfast.
I felt my eyes widening at the bill.
It wasn’t my usual twenty.!
He’d just set a crisp, one hundred dollar bill down.
‘Michael--I can’t take that! It’s too much!” I gasped as he slid the money towards me. The twenties were fine, but that really was too much. Far too much.
“Yes you can--”
I stiffened as his lips, sticky from the sugar in his coffee, brushed my cheek.
“--I want you to have it.”
He kissed me! Michael had just kissed me! Lord!
As I warmed all over, a hand gripped my shoulder.
“I’ll see you tonight.” The top my head was pecked before Michael started to scoop up his hat and coat.
I watched him, twisting in my seat as he donned his hat and coat, before braving the rain again.
Then he was gone.
I held a hand to my chest, where my heart was beating wildly and erratically.
I was taken, completely taken with Michael Jackson.

* * *

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”
I didn’t know how it happened.
I really, honestly have no idea how it happened.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”
But there I was, clad in nothing more than my bra and panties, pressed against one of the shelving units of the pantry .
With Michael.
Michael Jackson wore even less than I did, the only article of clothing on his thin frame was a pair of dark grey silk boxers.
His pallid body, soft, smooth and shimmering slightly in the lights, was pressed against mine, hugging me in a way.
Those lush locks of hair falling my face as he pressed his cheek against mine.
I don’t know how it happened.
All I remembered was that Michael had appeared a full hour before our agreed upon meeting time. Instead of taking his both, he’d sat at the counter, watching me as always.
Didn’t order anything. Didn’t ask for a drink.
I don’t even recall him saying hello to me.
The hour passed and Café Noir emptied out, and eventually closed.
He looked on as I cleared the last few dishes for washing and told him, if he wanted to help me, I was going into the pantry.
He smiled, and for the first time spoke, saying only
“Yes…”
We’d walked in relative silence, to the large dry goods pantry in the back of my restaurant, where I handed him a pad and pencil, to record the items I counted.
I counted two different items out to Michael. Twenty-six boxes of pancake mix and fifteen bottle of ketchup.
The pencil tip broke.
That was the meek declaration came from behind me. That’s what Michael had said. That the tip of his pencil had broken off.
I turned to tell him where a sharpener was, and almost instantly, the pencil, or even what a pencil was, had left my mind.
He had undressed. Michael Jackson had undressed, and only stood there in his underwear. His clothes lay in a neatly folded pile on a shelf on the other side of the room.
He hadn’t written anything come to think of it, as the pencil and blank pad laid on the floor. Tossed there carelessly.
I didn’t get a chance to say anything before Michael crossed the room, backing me into the shelves, knocking some items to the floor and was kissing me.
Holding my face in those long hands, smothering my mouth with his.
Kissing. Sucking. Licking away at my mouth.
I didn’t try to stop him; I let him kiss me.
He could kiss me all he wanted, until I our lips bled.
I didn’t care. His mouth tasted so good. His smooches, so thrilling.
I was his for the taking.
It was evident he did want to take me.
My clothes came off. I believe Michael took them off of me…I’m not sure, but I was in my undergarments, being hugged some more and kissed at some more.
Those large hands roving and roaming my body. Squeezing at my breasts, patting my bottom, stroking my thighs.
Eventually a hand found its way between my thighs.
Grabbing at me, touching me.
The hand disappearing in my panties. A finger disappearing inside of me.
I didn’t try to stop him. Damn it, I didn’t want to stop him.
Not for anything in this natural world.
And so there I was, mashed against the wall, in the back room, Michael rubbing his cheek against mine, as he was forcing his long, slim middle finger in and out of me.
Clinging to him as he was fondling me.
“Ugh, Ugh…Ah!”
I was breathless as he began to ease his finger from me.
That long hand cupping my private area as Michael leaned back and was staring into my face. A fierce, brightness to his eyes appearing.
Damp lips pressed my forehead, before a request was whispered into my ear.
“F*ck…Now…Please…”
“Yes…Yes Michael…”
There was the sound of fabric tearing, as Michael broke the side of my panties, pulling them from me, and yanked the center of my bra loose, freeing my breasts.
I felt a gasp leave my mouth at the somewhat large mounds of mammaries bounced wildly a few moments.
“Christ…you look like a marble statue that belongs in a museum…”
The pant of admiration slipped from Michael’s lips as his hands went up into his lustrous hair, nails audibly raking his scalp, his eyes washed over me.
“Oh…God…” Michael murmured as those eyes I loved so much swelled in his head ,his large hands came out and traced the round shape of my flesh globes and rubbed against my abdomen before gripping my hips.
I held my breath, wondering what he was going to do next.
“You’re so lovely Natalie…I’ve dreamed of this for so , so long. Too long…”
The hands slipped from my waist and were now resting on Michael’s.
Without warning, rather boldly, the grey boxers were eased over Michael’s slender hips and fell to his feet where he stepped from them.
My eyes now widened as I took in his exposed groin.
Decorated with the barest tuft of jet curls, that had been so impeccably trimmed they looked more like a shadow on him than anything else.
And sprouting from those tender, bitable loins were a shaft of flesh like I
had never before seen.
Thick, tan and boasting a dark red tip, Michael’s d*ck bounced as he shifted back and forth, hand curling around that massive meat and rubbing at it.
Absently maintaining the erection that was gripping him at that moment.
“Ah!--” He exhaled sharply, dropping himself before biting down on his finger, trying control himself.
If he was feeling anything like I was feeling, perhaps to strong a breath may have brought on a simultaneous orgasm.
I was so hot, raw and a bit woozy, I didn’t quite know what to do.
But Michael did…
“Nat…Baby, please…touch me a little.” He cooed, and with a finger was indicating that growth swinging from him. “I need to feel your touch.”
On shaky legs, I managed to come forward and with hands shaking even more than my knees, I took hold of him.
Feeling his warmth and hardness in my palms.
Michael brought his hand up, licking at his finger tips, ribbing the moisture around my hands, helping to lube it.
Then I was stroking him.
I was stroking Michael.
“Yes, yes! That’s it girl….that’s exactly it!” Michael’s voice was now hushed, and higher, in his delight at what I was doing to him
“Girl…oh!” His hands were squeezing after my bosom again and taken, I toled my head back.
“No--” I whimpered as his mouth came forward, pressing on my neck, sucking and that sharp, tongue stabbing at my throat over and over again.
He was certainly leaving me looking like a Dalmatian, covered in hickeys.
Pulling his mouth from me with a soft smack, Michael’s eyes found their way into mine.
Burning with the intensity of a billion solar flares.
“May…may I put ‘it’ in you?” He speaking was so meek, almost lying if compared to the way he was looking at me.
This softness, tenderness, just didn’t seem to match the stare he was giving me.
Like a lion stalking a gazelle, was how I was being gazed upon.
Was this man really asking permission to do me?
Touching his smooth cheek, I repeated the words he had whispered earlier.
“F*ck…Now…Please…”
Softly, gently, I was turned to face the shelving unit before me
With Michael’s assistance, my hands were wrapped around a metal pole to steady myself.
The next few moments were spent with Michael positioning me before him, lightly spreading my legs apart.
Then Michael said something, in a foreign language that I did not understand.
I did understand it when I felt his lips peck my right buttock, and surprised, I stared back at him, in time to see his tongue flap against it, before he straightened.
That length of meat in his hand.
One hand resting on my hip to steady himself.
He spoke again, in English, but more to himself than me,
“I only hope I can stay hard long enough to enjoy this…I’m so wound up I might explode any second!”
“Aw--Mike!” I cried out as slowly, deliberately, Michael began inching his way into me.
“I know Baby…I know…’ He cooed, grabbing the clip in my hair and letting it loose down my back, rubbing at it. “I know it’s big…”
Big was an understatement. It felt like a freight train was trying to park inside of me.
He was so large. So in humanly large.
How could someone so thin be so large, damn it?
“Oh Michael…Michael, wait…” I begged as he finally reached my inner depths, his crotch bumping my backside.
One arm wrapped my waist and his free hand clutched at my throat.
I felt his pointed chin pressing my shoulder and warm, moist breath hit my face as he laughed, half-crazed,
“I can’t wait. I have to f*ck you now. I have to give my c*ck to you, Baby!”
Pounding.
That’s what Michael began doing: pounding away into me.
“Oh! Oh! OH! Michael! Michael, stop! No--”
I was holding onto the shelving until for dear life with Michael tearing into me so hard that with each thrust everything on the shelves rattled.
“Take it! Take it! Aaow! Hee! Aaow! I want you to take it! Take me! Have me! Take this big, hard c*ck!”
With a loud smack he had kissed my cheek.
Another smack resounded as he slapped my backside several times before leaning back, off me, and pinching, tweaking my nipples to ripe soreness.
“I can’t take it!” I wailed as he paused to yank on my hair.
“Yes you can! You can! You’ve got a tight little p*ssy, that’s why you’re not used to a d*ck like this! “ He insisted as was plunging deeper and deeper into me.
“Aaaah!” I screamed as Michael ripped himself from me.
Without a second to catch my breath, he had whirled me to face him, wrapping his arms around me, kissing me fiercely, tongue halfway down my esophagus.
In the next instant, I was lifted up, hugged to Michael, him placing my legs around his hips.
Holding me up, unsupported, and driving away into me.
“Ugh, ugh ugh…damn, you’re so good to me girl…ugh…” Michael threw his head back and yelled to the rafters and I cupped his reddening face in my hands.
“I love you Michael!” I cried and pecked at his mouth.
Brows went up and he laughed.
“Sh*t….I love you too Natalie!” He exclaimed and whacked my ass again.
“UGH! UGH!” Michael cried became more intense, and gently, I was set back on the floor.
“Kneel….kneel….hurry!” Michael pleaded, his voice tight, as he was lightly hitting at the tip of his engorged member.
As I dropped to my knees on the cool cement, Michael reached over my head, breathing hard, and came up with an un opened, bear-shaped bottle of honey.
Michael set a record for opening a bottle of honey, ripping the top off and throwing it behind him.
Holding himself with one hand, with the other he poured honey all over his slicked, shiny shaft.
Dropping the bottle, Michael threw his head back as I leaned forward and slid my mouth down him, tasting the mixture of sweetness that was the golden honey and the saltiness that was his pale skin.
Hands on his head, Michael shrieked,
“DAMN IT! That’s it! That’s it! Baby! Oh, Baby! It’s almost there! It’s almost there!”
Grasping his hips as I let him go further and further down my throat, I became aware of the sensation of Michael beginning to tremble.
His skin was damper too--he was sweating.
“Aaow! Aaow! Aaow!” Michael was biting his hand again, trying to silence his screams. “Holy sh*t….Natalie! Natalie! NAT!”
Michael pulled himself out of my mouth so hard, it hurt my teeth.
“I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it… I have to come! I gotta come.
Goddamn, I gotta--”
Michael Jackson exploded.
A high, loud, almost female shriek, came from his open mouth as his eyes snapped shut and his teeth grit.
He managed to rub his d*ck exactly three times before it began shooting hot white globs.
Globs that collided with my face and chin, causing my to protest, more flying in my mouth as I cursed.
The rest was directed at my breasts. Effectively soaking them.
“Uh…Lord….”
Michael dropped to his knees at my side and proceeded to wipe at his miss, pressing as much as he could get up, into my mouth.
Forcing me to taste him.
“Come on, get it all Baby…you like it… you like your Michael. You love me.”
He pecked my lips and was surely tasting himself on me.
“I love you…” He mumbled into my mouth and we wrapped our arms around each other.

* * *

The follow morning was almost like all the mornings that had come before it.
I got up, at the crack of dawn, dragged myself from bed, and made it down to my Café to start cooking breakfast for all my hungry patrons.
And most mornings, I usually did everything alone.
But not this morning.
Not at all.
Right there, behind the counter, next to me, staring as he helped me with every thing, was Michael Jackson.
Still staring at me.
With those loving, dark brown eyes.

The End