The Exhibiton--EXCLUSIVE TO THE BLOG!

One of my best friends actually inspired this story. My friend, who is a fan of Michael Jackson, but not to the degree I am, once marveled at the way Michael’s fans always seemed to fawn and go crazy over him. Fainting at his feet if he simply looked their way or tossed his hair. So I wondered, what if I made Michael really DO something that was so outlandish, so unbelievably hot, that everyone watching him couldn’t help but get sucked in and react? And with that in mind, I present this erotica for your reading pleasure. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART.

“The Exhibition”

A Michael Jackson Erotic Short Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

　

Clinton, New York

Autumn, 1992

You don’t need to know my name.

It’s not important.

What I want you to know about is quite possibly one of the strangest evenings I ever spent in my young life.

All my life, I had been interested in various forms of performance art from interpretive dance to someone protesting the killing of animals for fur by splattering red paint all over their nude body and rolling on the ground screaming.

It all interested me a great deal and I was always on the move, looking to see as much of this art form as I could.

In 1992, I was twenty years old and in my second semester at Rhymer’s, a private performance art college, studying dance.

A few weeks into my semester, I had noticed that there was a pretty significant buzz going around about some guy named Michael Jackson.

That he was performing for a limited time at a playhouse a couple of towns over.

Though I had never even heard of Michael Jackson or had the faintest idea in mind of what this man did once put onstage, I simply could not ignore how his name seemed to be coming out of everyone’s mouths.

And so I found myself driving nearly a hundred miles away to small, suburban town of Clinton, to visit the box office at the Laurence Olivier Playhouse to purchase a ticket.

Can you believe that the line waiting for a ticket to the three day engagement wrapped halfway around the block?

Plain posters outside of the play house only showed Michael’s name, and that he was going to be in town for the nights of September 24^th, 25^th, and 26^th. There was no photograph of the man or anything, so I was going into this blindly not even knowing what Michael Jackson looked like.

I stood online for three hours before I got to the ticket window. I was informed that only four tickets to the first night were left available, and that it would be thirty-five dollars.

I found that to be a bit steep for such a performance, but paid it anyway after waiting so long. I had never paid so much for a ticket to anything before--not even when I had gone to see Aerosmith in ‘89. In the end, I was glad I had. And probably would have paid ten times more…

Eventually, the night of the 24^th rolled around, and I made the drive back into Clinton, still uncertain of what kind of performance I was even going to see. Everything was a mystery.

It was a cold, blustery evening as I disbanded from my car in the parking lot, and joined the crowd of people streaming in through the open doors of the LOP, trying to hunt a seat.

Inside of the theatre, which was opulently decorated in rich shades of burgundy and gold, the hallmark within being the large, ornately carved mahogany stage, that was adorned with rich velvet curtains, standing closed and soaring for nearly two stories.

As I walked down the center aisle, in search of a seat, something became immediately noticeable to me.

The show, which had sold out a few minutes after I purchased my ticket, had garnered an exclusively female audience.

Everywhere I looked, all around me, about two hundred women packed the seats on the floor and up in the four balconies on the second level. As I thought about it, claiming an empty seat in about the fifth row, I hadn’t seen a single man in line for a ticket to Michael Jackson’s show.

The entire line had been women.

That only piqued my curiosity about why Michael Jackson had an all female audience.

As I sat, over the general clamoring of various females speaking and laughing, I suddenly heard a shriek.

“Michael! Oh my God! Michael! Aaaah!”

Turning in my seat, it took a minute for me to find the source of the screams. Up, in one of the balconies, I woman was clinging to the railings, screaming her lungs out at the curtains that still remained closed. As I continued to look at her, I watched as the woman put her hands into her hair and fainted right there, several others having to grab onto her limp body, to keep it from plunging to a sure death in the rows below.

I was absolutely dumbfounded by this display. Just what in the hell kind of display was this Michael Jackson character going to put on if one of the spectators passed out before he had even appeared?

I didn’t have to wait all too long to find out.

A few minutes later, the lights overhead began to dim and all around me, packed shoulder to shoulder, the place began to fill with thunderous applause, whistles and the errant scream here and there. It was so loud that my butt was vibrating in the little plush seat!

“Michael! I love you Michael!”

“Aaaaahhhh!”

“Mike! Mike! Mike!”

“You’re so sexy, Michael!”

Before us, the velvet curtains began to part and a spotlight illumed a lone figure standing on the stage.

Michael Jackson.

Michael was a tall, very slim man whom I figured to be in late twenties or very early thirties. He had a fine, fair complexion, with sharp, sculpted features--high cheek bones, caved cheeks, a tiny, upturned nose. His eyes, dark, wide and slightly almond shaped was sweeping the room as the applause and noise continued.

Immaculately arched brows went up towards his hairline as he continued calmly staring around the room.

His slender, almost skinny body was adorned simply in a black turtleneck top and black trousers that stopped at the ankle revealing white socks and polished loafers, that made his light skin seem all the paler.

A stark contrast, his shining, long black hair that had been slicked back into a low ponytail, making his sharp features pop out all the more.

He was a handsome man. Very handsome.

Beside Michael, a cart stood and on the top of it, were three, silver, domed platters.

I only hoped he didn’t go about smashing watermelons like Gallagher.

(If you don’t know who he is Google/Wiki him!)

I was wearing my favorite cashmere sweater and I didn’t want it ruined!

Michael lingered a moment, motionless, while the sounds of soft, classical music began playing over the loudspeakers.

Almost immediately, there was a strange tension that gripped the theatre. All around me women were cooing, some swooning, everyone leaning in to get a better view of this man.

Even I was, unconsciously.

Lifting a long, white hand, Michael removed lid from one of the domed platters on the cart.

From where I was sitting, I could see it was a platter of pineapple chunks.

“Woo! Yes!” The woman beside me screamed and blew a kiss, as Michael picked up a chunk of the fruit and stared it a moment, like he’d never seen it before.

Bringing the pineapple up to his light pink lips, Michael began to nibble on it, sucking at the fruit, before completely eating it.

“Yes! You do that Michael! Yay!!!!” Someone in the balcony yelled and scattered applause rang out.

“We love you, Baby!”

I was confused. Was all this man going to do was stand and eat? I paid thirty-five smackeroos to see a man eating? I could have gone to Burger King and seen that for FREE!

Sure it hinted at being seductive, but damn! It seemed ridiculous.

And the way the other women were behaving…it was deplorable!

Finishing the pineapple, Michael paused to lick after his fingers, his tongue darting around his digits, as with his free hand, he was lifting the dome off a second platter, loaded with enormous, plump and ripe strawberries.

Selecting a berry, it was brought up to his lips--some b*tch behind me screamed so loud, my ears rang--and began kissing on the fruit.

“AAAAHHHH!”

“I wish it was me!”

“Sweet ass mouth!”

“Mike!”

Michael popped the whole thing into his mouth, smooth cheeks puffing, before, slowly pulling it out by the stem attached to the top of it. Past those tender pink lips.

Suddenly, the strawberry was airborne, and landed somewhere in the rows to the left side of the room.

A scuffle instantly broke out over it between two women.

“It’s mine! Mine! Let go you sl*t!”

“No way! He threw it to me, skank!”

“B*tch!”

For the first time that night, the dozen or so security guards that had been standing at the rear of the auditorium, moved in and broke the women apart, effectively ejecting them from the show. It wouldn’t be the last time.

Undaunted, Michael removed the lid from the last platter.

I could make out a bunch of red cherries around a bowl of some kind of white substance.

At the sight of the contents, people were becoming more vocal.

“Michael, I love you!”

“Oh my God!”

“I love you!”

“F*ck me, please!”

Seeming to ignore the cries, Michael chose a cherry, and dipped it in the substance--it was whipped cream--and devoured the whole thing, sucking the cream from his finger tips.

This was getting crazier and crazier. Stranger.

“I want to have your baby!” A girl, just out of her teens yelled and tried to rush the stage, being tackled by three members of security and carried out screaming in hysterics.

Another begged Michael to “pop, my cherry, please!” before sinking to the floor in a heap.

The situation was getting more and more out of hand.

The hold Michael had over the entire crowd was about to catch hold of me. And I couldn’t stop it.

Michael Jackson proceeded to eat five more cherries, spitting the pits--fights broke out over the damn PITS--caused more than a dozen people to be thrown from the playhouse.

It was pure bedlam over nothing really.

And then Michael Jackson did something I completely did not expect.

Taking a step back from the cart, Michael placed his hands behind his back and announced, in a light, thin voice,

“I believe I’ve had enough to eat tonight. I’m quite full, now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to work off the calories I’ve consumed.”

“Jesus Christ! Marry me! Marry me, Michael!” The woman seated to my right shrieked leaping to her feet, before falling back into her seat, sobbing wildly.

The lady on her other side was fanning after her to try to calm her.

As I stared at the crying woman, distracted, I noticed all around me, women began jumping to their feet, screeching, some clapping, others wiping tears from their eyes. Few were even hugging each other, expressions of shock contorting their faces.

Turning my attention back to the stage, I put my hands to my face in shock and it took a moment to register that I was screaming.

Michael Jackson still stood onstage, staring out at his audience.

But he was no longer wearing his all black outfit.

Lord, no.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I could not fathom what I was gazing at.

Michael Jackson, still onstage and fairly glowing under the spotlight, was now totally in the buff.

Nude. Naked. Bare.

Call it what you want, he was out for everyone to see!

In spite of myself, I felt a warm feeling washing over me, as I stared at this creature, discovering just how beautiful he truly was.

Michael’s body, a lovely shade of pink-tinged beige was smooth all over, toned just slightly in his arms and slender thighs. The indentions of a beginning six-pack accented his flat tummy.

But I highly and of us women even noticed or appreciated it.

What I was staring at, as I was sure everyone else was--about three dozen more people were collapsing--was Michael’s endowment.

Sprouting from a scarce thatch of inky pubic hair, was a massive hunk of flesh that pointed skyward.

One of the largest pricks I had ever seen in my life was, fully erect, and there on display, as Michael made no attempts to hide himself.

“F*cking hell, that’s a man right there!”

“Is that real? It’s so big!”

“Hell yeah, it’s real!”

“Will you f*ck me please?”

“Can I touch it Michael?”

“AAAAAHHHH!”

With a wink--another woman nearly fell to her death from the balcony--Michael turned and exited, stage right, his smooth, little chicken cutlet booty wiggling.

“Hot ass! Sweet ass!” The lady to my left cried and was throwing a high-five at me.

“Pop that ass, Michael! Woo!”

The woman threw her arms around me and hugged me close confiding,

“You’re gonna love what he’s about to do now. Oh sh*t. They ain’t ready! They ain’t ready, girl!”

Seconds later, Michael emerged, still nude, carrying a small, brown valise, taking a seat center stage, set the case before him and was unlatching it.

“I need you! Michael! Oh! Ah! Ah!” Another woman, over the shoulder of a bodyguard was carrying on as she was carried out.

Pulling free of the woman, I was now on my feet, staring, watching anxiously, wanting to know what Michael’s next move was going to be. I had become one of this hot and bothered pack and didn’t mind a bit.

I was watching Michael Jackson.

When Michael began to dig in the case, the classical music that had been playing softly the entire time, stopped abruptly.

Michael came up with a jar of some yellowish looking putty, it wasn’t until he had the lid off and was digging in it, I saw that it said “Vaseline” on the front label.

I bit down on my fist. Was…was this man going to do what I thought he was?

Was he going to masturbate, use that to lube up that flesh hose he called a pen*s?

Rubbing the petroleum jelly on his hands to distribute it, for the first time, Michael Jackson smiled. A gentle, curl came to his shiny little lips as he scooted the jar out the way and spread his legs.

People were now jumping in their arousal, some fanning themselves, others still screaming and pulling at their hair.

And though I couldn’t see it, I could hear some women moaning lustily, probably doing what I had figured Michael was about do.

Michael Jackson was quite flexible as he rolled back slightly, his legs splayed in the air.

As I looked on, I was quite startled when Michael didn’t begin to stroke himself.

Instead, with one hand, he was separating his small buttocks, exposing an even smaller, round, rosy-tan circle.

Another scream came from me as Michael, with his index and middle fingers began to slide them into that little circle.

He was playing in his ass. Right in front of us.

Onstage, he must have had some kind of microphone hidden somewhere--up his butt maybe?--but I could clearly hear every sound he made, even over all the women.

“Ugh…ugh…oh yeah…oh damn…” He grumbled, barely audible as he kept jamming his fingers in and out of himself, the flesh expanding and contracting around him.

The playhouse was becoming the scene of a huge orgy.

People were undressed, openly playing with themselves and not caring who saw.

One woman, trying to catch Michael’s attention had laid right on the floor between the front row and the stage, legs behind her head, manipulating herself. Security didn’t even try touch her.

Michael played in his backside for a good ten minutes before finally extracting his fingers, and sitting on his knees, reaching into the jar with one hand and the still open case with the other.

Out the case, he came up with a crystal, champagne flute, setting it on the stage.

“Oh Michael!” I shrieked as finally, he began to do what it seemed everyone had come for: jerking off.

Michael hunched over, one hand rapidly pulling at his groin, the other slapping at his scrotum, so hard, it was turning red.

“Pull it! Pull it! Pull it!”

The whole room seemed to be shouting. Egging him on.

“Get off, get off, Baby! Do that!”

“Come! Come, please!”

“I wanna suck it!”

Over the din, I could hear Michael, whimpering as he was masturbating.

“Oh….oh sh*t. God damn! God damn! Judas Priest! Aw!” He sighed throwing his head back and I dropped into my seat, knees suddenly weakened.

Getting deeper and deeper into it, Michael, scarlet all over, fell onto his back, legs curling up to his chest, and reaching around his thighs was yanking at himself even harder with one hand, and the other, spanking his backside.

“Spank it! Spank it! Lord! Spank…it!” Another balcony dweller called before tossing her pink underwear towards the stage. It landed a few feet from Michael, who was forcing his fingers back into himself.

“Oh! Oh! OH! OH! SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!” He hollered and ripped his fingers from himself before opening his legs again, and arching his back, thrusting in and out of his hands.

“F*ck it! F*ck it!” In the row in front of me, a woman fainted and slumped all over her seat.

Michael wasn’t stopping. Not for anything as he flew forward, sitting on his knees once again, the sound of him hocking plainly, before he spat on his c*ck, keeping it lubricated enough where he wouldn’t hurt himself.

I was losing it. Slowly losing my mind as I watched the spectacle unfold.

Michael had controlled himself pretty well but it was becoming apparent he was coming close to his end.

As one united voice, all of the hundred and fifty or so women began chanting,

“COME! COME! COME! COME! COME!”

Starting to rattle, and convulse, Michael was giving in. Giving in.

And he wasn’t going to go quietly,

“Aaow! Aaow! Aoow! Hee-hee! Sh*t! My d*ck! My d*ck! Oh shit!”

My jaw hung and eyes widened as he gripped the fluted glass, holding it to the nearly blackened, and swollen tip of his glistening c*ck as he continued whipping at it.

Head falling back, pink mouth stretching wide, Michael wailed shrilly,

“Aw! I’m gonna squirt! Aw! I’m about to blow! I’m gonna blow--AH! AH! AH! Yeah! Yeah!”

All over, women were experiencing an orgasm along with Michael. Crying out, screaming…people were getting wet.

A white liquid started to appear in the glass. He was ejaculating.

Michael was ejaculating into the glass.

Before my eyes, Michael kept spurting for a full ten minutes, causing him to scream like he was being beaten and fill the glass to the top with semen.

I had never seen anyone climax like that…over and over.

Obviously exhausted, Michael sat there, his member let go off and going soft, falling downward. Chest heaving, his breathing being heard plainly.

He sat for a moment, eyes closed, a look of relief to his face, as he sucked his lips in, before popping them out, puckering them.

Staggering to his feet, I was biting all my fingernails off as Michael. stumbled to the front edge of the stage, staring down at the glass.

At the mess he’d made in it.

I was spellbound. For a scant second, I thought he was going to drink it.

Drink his own juice.

I saw that same smile touching his face again.

Looking out over the wriggling moaning mass, he pointed.

Almost instantly, a woman, fully nude ran forward and dropped to her knees on the floor, face turned upwards at him.

Jealousy was rampant around me.

“Lucky b*tch!”

“He would pick her!”

“Why not me?”

“Skinny wh*re!”

I heard the snarls in between sighs, shrieks and cries.

Michael stared at the woman, that odd grin on his face, before turning the glass and dashing his seed all over the woman’s face.

“AAAAHHHHH! Oh--Michael nutted on me! He nutted on ME!”

She announced proudly and was wiping the goo from her face, trying to lick it from her fingers as Michael took several steps backwards. Several others came forward trying to dip their hands onto her face for a taste of the man.

Holding the glass out from him, he dropped it to the stage, allowing it to shatter.

My heart came up into my throat, as, for no apparent reason, Michael turned his head and stared directly at me.

“I love you!” I sobbed, amazed I was crying and was reaching for him as suddenly, the velvet curtains fell closed and the dimmed lights picked up. “Michael! Michael--I love you!”

Around me, woman were weeping, most nude, some still fingering themselves. All proclaiming love for Michael Jackson.

As I stood, to try to leave, I discovered a dampness between my thighs.

Somehow, someway, I had managed to climax and hadn’t noticed it until then.

Michael Jackson had gotten me wet, and hadn’t even touched me.

He was Superman. Michael Jackson was a goddamned Superman!

Sexual superhero if there ever was one.

Staggering out of the theatre, I noticed that several men in work jumpsuits were fiddling with the posters that had been advertising Michael’s show. Putting up fresh posters.

I damn near hit the pavement when I saw that his engagement had been extended to last an entire month.

I didn’t have to even think.

I ran to join the line starting to form at the box office. Hell most of the women were still so breathless, all they could do was point, rather than ask for a ticket back.

Going to get that ticket, I knew I’d be back. Back for as many shows as I could possibly see.

I had to see him again.

I had to see Michael Jackson’s Exhibition over and over and over again.

Under the Boardwalk

You know, when I get the idea for a story in my head, the first thing I do is go hunting for the picture of Michael that will accompany the story. In my searching, I came across this gem of a photo of Michael. When I saw it, I knew it was perfect and actually crafted his part around this particular photograph. It captured everything I wanted. That childlike sweetness, with just a hint of sensuality that might not have quite been realized. Enjoy.

“Under the Boardwalk”

A Michael Jackson Short Erotic Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

Selznick, Maine

Summer, 1985

As a kid growing up in Pennsylvania, my favorite time of the year always had to be the warm months in between school terms. Summer vacation.

What I liked the most about it was that always the day after school let out, I was packed up into the car with my family and we’d go up the East Coast for three months to spend the summer at our cabin in Maine.

To be honest, even though I spent the bulk of my time in Pennsylvania, I considered Maine my home.

I loved it, spending my days going on ferry rides, exploring old--and some working--lighthouses, building sandcastles on the beach with my kid brother.

But I have to say, my favorite part of going to Maine, was Jackson’s Boardwalk.

I always considered Jackson’s Boardwalk to be Maine’s answer to Coney Island. As far as the eye could see, there were nothing but concession stands, selling everything from Italian ices in fifteen flavors to chocolate-dipped bacon on a stick.

And at the end of the boardwalk, which hovered right over the beachfront, was the large amusement park, always lit, in motion and forever filled with the screams of happy riders.

Really, most of my days were spent on the boardwalk, the only instruction from my mother was keep my brother, who was prone to motion sickness--and vomiting--off of the Neck-Snapper, the large, wooden rollercoaster.

Typically, I was on the boardwalk for the same reason as all the other locals and tourists that would appear. To gorge on rich, fattening foods, ride the rides and get a little color from the sun.

And then I met Michael.

One of my favorite places to eat from on the boardwalk was a little seafood shanty called “Surf’s Up”.

My first week in town, I saw Michael.

Goodness, he was just the cutest thing I had ever seen.

Tall, slim and wiry, with skin the color of a Hershey’s Kiss and a head full of shiny thick black curls, the man was just gorgeous and quite literally took my breath away.

I started eating lobster rolls everyday, just to see him and talk to him for a few moments. I had the worst crush on him and it was to the point that before I went to the shanty, I would stop into the nearest ladies’ room to make sure I looked perfect.

And that’s where I was that particular day in July.

I had cut my brother loose with about fifty dollars to run like a maniac all over the park and had spent the last thirty minutes scrutinizing my appearance.

I stood in a simple pink one piece, with pink and white striped short shorts on over them, and pink flip-flops.

I had spent most of the morning with my long black hair in curlers, to achieve just the right amount of volume, and just enough make up to make a drag queen sick. (Hey, it was the eighties and girls spackled it on!)

Figuring I looked presentable enough to go for my daily lobster roll, I exited the restrooms, just in time to see my brother, in green trunks, go streaking by with a large puff of blue cotton candy in his hands, whooping it up with several other little boys.

Nope, I wouldn’t have to worry about him at all.

As I started down the boardwalk, my eyes instantly zeroed in on “Surf’s Up”. It was an adorable little concession stand, painted blue and white with a bright green plastic surfboard propped against the side of it.

It appeared empty, save for a little girl in a white swimsuit peacefully munching on some hushpuppies.

For a moment, I felt deflated. Perhaps Michael was off that day, or sick and hadn’t come into work. (Shows just how paranoid I was about him.)

Just when I was starting give up all hope and about trudge home, possibly to cry and eat Velveeta right out the box, miracle of miracles Michael appeared.

Bottle of disinfectant and sponge in hand, Michael came ambling out the back of the little building.

I stood a moment, staring and taking in just how good he looked in his uniform of a bright blue tee with the name of the shanty on it in white and little white shorts.

As he strolled out of a side door, I was admiring how the shorts accentuated his small, plump, perfect booty and his long, toned legs. He had the legs of a dancer, I decided, though I had never seen the man take a single step.

It was cute that paused to pat the little girl’s head before he started spraying down and cleaning the counter top.

As I did everyday, it was a struggle with myself to come up with enough courage just to even go over and speak to him.

Heart pounding in my chest, I somehow willed my legs to carry me over to the stand.

I stood, staring at Michael, unable to speak, really as a breeze hit him, and I caught the barest trace of his cologne. I loved how he always seemed to smell of crisp musk. It was nearly intoxicating and I was beginning to swoon on my feet right there.

And that’s when the little girl spoke. Mouth full of hushpuppies, the child reached with a greasy hand and patted Michael’s slim thigh.

“Uncle Michael…” The child giggled as she continued patting him. “You got a customer!”

Uncle Michael? I was wondering to myself as his glossy head came up and I was momentarily stunned as he grinned at me, seemingly all the white teeth in his head flashing at me.

“Hey Sophia!” He greeted me, his voice so sweet and soft. “You want the usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I heard myself reply as Michael bent and took the little empty paper carton the fried pieces of cornbread had been in from the child.

“Valencia, will you be a good little girl and put this stuff away for me, so I can make some food for this lady?” He questioned gently and was handing the girl the bottle and sponge.

He’d called me a lady. God, somebody catch me, I was going to faint for sure!

“Yes, Sir!’ The girl smiled and was running off into the building as Michael went around and began donning plastic gloves to start preparing my lobster roll.

“Is she your niece?” I questioned, trying to come up with something to talk about. His voice…I had to hear more of that gentle voice of his.

“Oh, yeah…” Michael was saying as he turned from me and was pulling a steamed roll from a holding bin, before opening another and starting to scoop the chilled lobster salad onto the bread. “That’s my brother, Marlon’s daughter. I can’t remember if she’s the oldest or not. He’s got three kids.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” I admitted and was nervously twirling a lock of my hair, trying to calm myself.

“I’ve got five brothers. You’ve probably seen them…“Michael was squirting the juice of a lemon wedge on my meat. “Marlon runs the ice cream stand three doors down.”

I raised a brow. I had seen the nice, young man at the ice cream stand plenty of times when my brother and I would buy some to eat in the afternoons. A man, seemingly close in age to Michael, with a pencil thin mustache and always a laugh in his mouth.

“The others run different shops. One rents surfboard, one rents out boats, one makes hot dogs and one sits and does sketches on the beachfront.” Michael was chuckling as he turned and was placing the roll in another paper carton for me.

“Here you go, a “Surf’s Up” lobster roll. What kind of soda you want?” He inquired as he set the hearty food before me.

“Diet Coke--all your brothers work here, too? You must really love the boardwalk.” I chuckled, starting to loosen up some, since the initial conversation was progressing. Just how I liked it. Michael was paying attention to me and every time those large dark eyes swept over me, my knees buckled.

“Well, we kind of have to…” Michael was raking ice into a large Styrofoam cup and pressing it into the fountain, letting the soda flow. He always gave me a large soda when the roll was supposed to come with a medium. It was amazing how an extra six ounces of soda made me feel like a Queen.

What he said next surprised me.

“…the boardwalk has been in my family for over fifty years.”

I had been picking at my roll, but paused at the statement.

“What do you mean the boardwalk has been in your family?” I giggled unable to comprehend the idea. “Then that would mean--”

“I’m Michael Jackson.”

Michael snickered as he set my soda beside my plate of food and was stick a bendy straw into it.

I just stared at him. “Are you joking? Or are you serious? You’re really one of the Jacksons that owns Jackson’s Boardwalk?”

“I’m serious.” Michael was nodding as he was fumbling just behind the counter and came up with a little carton of crinkle-cut French fries for himself. As he squirted them with mayonnaise and sprinkled black pepper on top, he continued,

“My grandfather started this place because he was from Maine, a fisherman, and wanted a place to sell some seafood to other fishermen and lobstermen. Somehow it just kind of snowballed from there. My grandfather passed it on to my father, who turned it into the big tourist attraction you see now. Someday I’ll inherit it and eventually, kids like Valencia will have it.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if everyone just naturally owned one of the greatest fun spots on the East Coast.

I was quiet a moment, chewing on a piece of roll and enjoying it’s light flavor as I contemplated this information. I wondered if Michael were indeed still pulling my leg, when I noticed it.

Glimmering on his left wrist, was a thick golden watch. And as he moved and ate, I saw it said “Rolex” plainly on the white face of it.

As expensive as those watches were, I knew Michael hadn’t been kidding.

He really was a Jackson. He really owned the boardwalk.

And it was kind of awesome.

“How’s your roll? I didn’t put too much lemon on it, did I?” He wondered after a spell and was refilling his carton of fries, dousing them with more mayonnaise and black pepper.

(Author’s Note: I’ve always loved to watch Michael Jackson eating food and anytime I can make a sequence where he eats, I do it!)

“No, it’s perfect.” I smiled, feeling warm near him.

“Sometimes I get lemon happy…I like a lot on my rolls.” He chuckled and was stuffing more fries into his mouth. “Hey, Sophia, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead.” I shrugged, and took one of the mayo-fries as he offered me one.

“How old are you?” Michael moved over and was making up a cup of grape soda for himself. I don’t know how we ended up having lunch together like that, but I was loving it!

“I’m nineteen.” I smiled as Valencia finally came out the back of the shop, raced through and was but a memory on the boardwalk, headed for the amusement park.

“I’m twenty-six, does that bother you?” Michael was sticking a straw in his drink and gazing down at it, rather than at me.

Why was he telling me this….Was this man possibly doing what I thought he was doing? Was he really asking me…

“No, not at all.” I was twirling my hair so hard, I was about to yank it out by the roots. “Age is just a number to me.”

“Well, um…” Michael stammered timidly and still fiddling with the straw.

“If you’re not busy later tonight, would you like to go out with me…cruise the boardwalk or something?”

I could feel my eyes widening with glee. Michael was asking me out! On a date! Holy Sh*t!

Trying to hold in my unbridled happiness, I bit onto my bottom lip and was bobbing my head in agreement.

“That would be wonderful.” I spoke at a whisper to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs.

I’ll never forget the look of relief on Michael’s face as his head came up. Was he really that shocked I had said yes to him? Only a damned fool would have said no.

“Oh…gosh! That’s great!” He was chortling, his cheeks tingeing red. “How’s about we meet at the entrance to the park…say seven?”

“Seven it is!” I smiled and started to pay for lobster roll.

“Nah…don’t worry about it Sophia….” Michael was waving a long hand at me. “It’s on the house.”

Suddenly, I felt bold. I don’t know where the feeling came from, but I felt incredibly bold and I had to have been for what I did next.

“Well, I have to give you something, for such a nice bite to eat.” I heard myself purr and I was motioning Michael to come closer.

Michael leaned against the counter to bridge the gap between us and before I could stop myself, I had pecked his soft, sweet-smelling cheek with my lips.

“Gee whiz…gosh….” Michael dissolved into a mess of giggles and was reddening all the more as I turned and began sauntering away, a feeling of triumph enveloping me.

I was going on a date with Michael Jackson!

I spent most of the rest of the afternoon first locating my little brother and extracting him from a pack of boys he’d been running buck wild with most the day, so I could bring him home. And slather him with aloe as he’d gotten a bit of a sunburn. Then I spent an hour with my parents yelling at me demanding to know why “Giovanni looks like a tomato with eyes?!?” and saying I should have made sure he had on enough sun block.

Once that was finally all over and done with, I could concentrate on getting ready to go out with Michael.

It took me trying on no less than a dozen outfits before I came up with the right ensemble. A red tank top with a red and grey zebra print ruffled skirt and red pumps. I took the optimum amount of time to make sure my hair was at its largest, with a red bow tied in, and that my make up was perfect.

I had to look great. I wanted to impress Michael and I desperately hoped that before the night was over, I’d get a kiss from him.

Or if I was lucky…more than a kiss.

I got down to the entrance of the amusement park at a quarter to seven, just to make sure I wasn’t late. I didn’t want to make Michael Jackson wait in any way.

By the time I got to the park, the sun was just beginning to set and all of the rides and attractions were beginning to light up, like one gigantic Christmas tree.

It all seemed so perfect.

The entrance, fashioned with an under-the-sea theme of course, two large pillars carved to look like mermaids welcoming the never-ending streams of people rushing in to have a good time.

I had been leaning against one of the pillars, waiting maybe ten minutes, when I saw him.

Like an angel descending from the Heavens, was Michael Jackson.

He was dressed casually in a pair of black, high-water jeans that revealed plain white socks and black polished loafers which he’d paired with a red shirt, over which he wore a stunning, black and white, multi-zippered, leather jacket. Since we were right on the waterfront, it was much cooler in the night than day.

Curls bouncing as he got to me, Michael reached and embraced me warmly, an act that nearly made me lose consciousness.

“Hi Sophia! Oh you look so pretty.” He greeted me with a gentle kiss to my cheek, further warming me.

“You look very handsome…” I managed to compliment him as he placed his arm around my shoulders and was starting to lead me into the park. I could scarcely believe it. I was out, on a date, in public with the most gorgeous man on the boardwalk. And he owned the damn boardwalk!

I did immediately notice a difference in the way Michael was treated as opposed to the other people entering the park. While everyone else was paying a five dollar entrance fee, Michael was waved on in.

Michael completely passed up the booth that sold tickets for admittance to the rides and calmly told me that we didn’t need them.

Indeed, for the next couple of hours, Michael was receiving preferential treatment everywhere we went.

He was bumped ahead of everyone else for the rides and food stands, given toys from several games booths--which were in turn given to me. Michael really was a king among men at the park.

I felt pretty special with him. I liked that feeling.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Michael asked as he and I were strolling along through the main thoroughfare, sharing a large puff of pink cotton candy.

I was so loaded down with toys, Michael had to tear pieces off and feed them to me.

“Yes, time of my life…the living end.” I chuckled as he was holding out more candy to me to eat.

“I’m having a great time too…I’m enjoying your company immensely.” Michael confided as I began nibbling the candy from his hand.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Sophia.”

I dropped all my little stuffed animals as, without warning, Michael grabbed me and was pulling me against his slender form.

Kissing me.

Mashing those delicious, almost sinfully delicious lips of his against mine.

I was sagging in his arms by the sheer force that was Michael’s mouth.

Very gently, I felt him flicking his tongue, warm and moist, back and forth in my mouth.

Eventually, Michael extracted his mouth from mine, and still holding onto me, suggested luridly,

“Why don’t we get out of here?”

Not waiting for an answer, Michael stooped and began scooping up my toys.

“You wait here, I’ll give these to one of my brothers to hold for you. Please…don’t leave.” He begged as he was hugging the dolls against him.

Reaching out, I grasped his arm.

“I’d never leave you, Michael.” I assured him and impulsively smacked at his mouth again.

“I’ll be right back!”

Michael didn’t just turn and walk away, but the man sprinted like I had drawn a gun on him.

Leaning against the railing, I hugged myself, zealous chills running the length of my spine.

I couldn’t believe it, I had just been kissed by Michael, and now with him running off, I knew some kind of “monkey business” imminent and truly I was up for just about anything Michael requested. I was just that crazy about him.

I wanted him. Wanted him desperately. I hadn’t thought about it until then, but I had wanted Michael since the moment I met him. Since that first lobster roll over a month before.

Turning, I gazed out over the beach. I wondered how Michael would look, how his touch would be. Just how the whole experience with him would be.

I jumped slightly as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around my waist and Michael was back, pressing himself against me.

“I’m here…” He murmured and kissed at the back of my neck, making me tremble.

“What exactly do you want to do…to me?” I went straight for the jugular, wanting to know if Michael Jackson and I truly stood on the same page.

I gasped as Michael squeezed me tighter and was quite openly pressing his groin against my backside.

The sensation was maddening and I couldn’t help myself. I trembled against his as Michael was now pecking after my earlobe.

His breath damp and steamy was making me ear moist as he finally replied,

“You’ll see…”

My hand was gently grasped and Michael was leading down the walkway, along the railing the over looked the beach.

After a few moments, the crowd, and hustle and bustle of the amusement park were but a squeak in the night, far behind us.

Michael was eerily quiet and when I looked up to him, I saw that he was staring straight head, his lovely features set, eyes scanning the area ahead of us.

Following his gaze, I saw what he had his sights on. A few years away, there was a stairway that led down to the waterfront.

It became clear that Michael wanted to go under the boardwalk and my chest tightened. I knew we’d be truly alone, as the beach officially closed at about ten p.m.--so the amusement park would get all the tourists. (And money.)

“Here we go. Come on Sophia…” Michael was urging in a quiet tone as he we began making our way down the darkened steps, me clinging to the banister to keep from taking a tumble.

I was slightly dizzy with glee and my own arousal as we made out ascent stepping off into the soft sand.

Michael was my Pied Piper of Sex and I following him, willingly as we crossed back under the boardwalk, shadows surrounding us, and the coolness of the breeze coming off the water blowing on us.

I was staggering alongside Michael, as I was in four inch heels and not accustomed to trying to walk in sand.

Abruptly Michael stopped and I bumped right into him.

Michael Jackson stood there for a long time and the only noise I could hear coming from him was the sound of him breathing lightly.

Taking his arm from around me, Michael walked a few paces from me, still silent.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deeper, with a note of authority to it.

“Undress…I want you to undress, Sophia. I want to see you. See your body.”

He wasn’t asking me. He was telling me.

If anyone else had told me to basically get naked on the first date, I’d have cursed them out and kneed them in the nuts.

But when Michael said it…it seemed exactly like the correct thing to do.

I don’t think I even replied.

I simply began disrobing, slipping off my top, skirt and underwear, placing them in a folded pile on the sand.

In the darkness, I could hear the crinkling of fabric and zippers disengaging as somewhere, only a few feet away, Michael was also taking his clothes off.

My head was spinning at the thought of Michael Jackson’s beautiful, wonderful body.

In the shallow light coming through the slats of wood overhead, I saw him.

Michael Jackson approaching me.

His svelte, slim body naked, and shimmering with toned muscles, approaching me.

His bare shoulders, that beautiful chest with the delicate little nipples

As he came closer, I saw that Michael was holding his two toned jacket against his waist, concealing his crotch from me.

I tingled all over: I was dying to see what Michael looked like.

Just what kind of “man power” he possessed.

Almost theatrically, Michael let the jacket drop onto the sand between us.

And there it was.

Michael Jackson’s d*ck.

I felt my eyes widening in awe of him. Though he was limp, I could make out that hunk of meat swaying somewhere near his knees, he was so well endowed. A perfect shaft of light fell on his c*ck, displaying the long rod of girth, highlighting the small patch of curly black hair, trimmed into a perfect square on his pubic area.

Hanging under his mammoth pen*s, I could made out a pair of smooth, slightly swollen testicles.

Parts of me were scorching I was so hot for this man. It was ridiculous for anyone to be so amazing and lovely.

“Come here…”

Michael’s hand held my wrist and I was drawn closer to him, where the light could fall upon me.

“Judas Priest…” I heard him sigh as I knew his eyes were on me. “Damn, girl…look at you…holy sh*t…”

The next thing I knew Michael had his arm wrapped around me, kissing at me fiercely, hands mashing down on my buttocks.

As our tongues intertwined, I found myself feeling after his ass, taking pleasure in the feel of his tight, muscular buttocks on my palms.

I quivered as his pen*s was bouncing against my thigh and starting to rise upwards, being taken by an erection.

At once, Michael plucked his mouth from mine and was resting his chin on my shoulder, embracing me.

“I’m…I’m getting so hard…” He mumbled and kissed my cheek.

“Please…” Michael begged. “Please suck me….suck me just a little…”

I didn’t get the chance to reply, as Michael was placing firm hands on my shoulders, making me kneel down onto his leather jacket.

I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to give Michael, I had only done it a couple times before in my life. I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Michael left me for a moment, before coming back with the muscle shirt he’d been wearing under the jacket.

I watched as he laid it out and was reclining on it.

“I don’t want sand to get into my ass…” He told me simply as he was spreading his legs before me, that mass of flesh standing up. Waiting for me.

“Come on Baby…sh*t…” Michael cooed as he began pulling at himself with one hand and beckoning me with the other. “Open up…open that sweet, pretty mouth…”

For a split second I wondered if I could take all of him into my mouth and I wasn’t given a choice.

The same hand that was calling me on suddenly grabbed the back of my head and pushed me down onto that groin, so quickly my nose collided with those sweet smelling d*ck hairs.

“Lord!” Michael exclaimed, throwing his head back and growling lowly as I finally got my bearings and started to suck on him.

“Do it how I like--” Michael instructed and was grabbing onto my head, pulling me up until my mouth rested just past the engorged, rounded tip of him. “--suck the tip…rub the rest. F*ck…it’ll get me off faster. I wanna…” He was breathless as I obeyed his requested and was starting to stroke after his shaft.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Aaow!” Michael was grumbling through gritted teeth and starting to sit up, with me still gnawing him. “God damn! Yes! Shamone!”

My head was effectively caught between his legs and abdomen. But that didn’t stop me, I was starting to get more into this nasty act and enjoying the feeling of that much c*ck in my mouth at one time.

I felt Michael tugging after my hips, turning me to the side.

“Yes, girl…that’s it….that’s it right there.” Michael was whispering as he was gingerly rubbing at my back. “Get all on my d*ck…get it. Make it juice…”

I could feel Michael beginning to rub at my backside, slapping at my right cheek a few times.

“F*cking hell…you’re so good…” Michael told me as I felt his hand, from behind starting to touch my p*ssy.

At the sensation of him starting to pick around my cl*toris, I gasped and his pen*s fell from my mouth.

“No! Don’t do that! Keep sucking! Keep sucking! Don’t stop until I tell you!“ Michael whined and once again, I found myself smelling his crotch.

I groaned lustily as I felt Michael starting to push back my flesh and was starting to poke his fingers inside of me, stroking me deeply.

“Yes! Yes! Oh! Hell! That’s it! That’s it!” Michael was encouraging me, as I was fairly choking on him as he was intensifying his rubbing of my hole.

With a strict yank on my hair, Michael pulled me off his c*ck, a few droplets of my spit rolling down it.

Bending down so his head was close to mine, Michael inquired lethally,

“Do you want me to f*ck you? I wanna f*ck you so badly…”

“Yes!” The word leapt from my lips, still tasting of HIM before I was aware of it.

I was laid on my back, Michael holding my arms out in the sand, him forcing his tongue down my throat once again. He was sucking after my mouth so passionately I forgot how large he was, and that I had never had a man like him try to mount me.

That all came back to me as I felt him slowly starting to squeeze his way inside of me.

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh--no!” I fairly screamed into Michael’s mouth as he was continuing to slide into me.

Ignoring my pleas, Michael’s hips began whipping, as he was starting to thrust himself in and out of me.

Drawing his lips from mine, in the light, I could see Michael had his eyes shut, mouth tightened into a sneer as he continued holding my arms, laying down on me as he was thrashing on top of me.

“Michael…stop…Michael…wait…please!” I was pleading with him faintly as he pushed himself up and was slapping my breasts around. I was starting to feel a rush brewing inside of me. I was going to come.

And soon.

“Nice titties. So small and perky…” Michael didn’t seem to hear me as he continued jiggling my chest. .

I lost it completely when Michael bent forward and started flicking his little tongue against my nipples.

“MICHAEL!--” I screeched and a hand swiftly was covering my mouth.

“Don’t shout like that…” Michael advised with a chuckle. “Someone will think I’m raping you! Don’t do that…Honey…”

Twitching and quivering under Michael Jackson’s sweet form, I felt myself giving into him and the new dampness produced a moist squishing noise.

“Hee! You’re wet! I made you get wet! Hee-hee!” Michael giggled some more as he was still running himself in and out of me. One hand on my mouth, the other on my abdomen.

He happily plugged at me for about ten more minutes before suddenly stopping, his entire body going rigid.

As intent as Michael had been on keeping me quiet, he began out-louding me.

“Aaow! Aaow! Woo!” He all but shouted, throwing his head back, hair bouncing freely on his head. “Damn! Damn it! Oh! Ugh! Ugh! Mercy me!”

The shaft of flesh was eased from me and Michael began wildly rubbing it with one hand, the others keeping my thighs parted, allowing him to look down at what he’d done to my c*nt with all the violent gyrating he’d been doing.

“Woo! Judas Priest….Aw! Aw f*ck!” Michael was visibly trembling as he started to orgasm, white liquid oozing from him. “Good God!”

And landing directly onto the inside of his leather jacket, inches from me, so hot, I was still pumping my hips at air.

“Ooof!” Michael made the odd noise as he tipped over onto his side in the sand, hand still holding himself as he grew limp.

Putting my hands to my chest, I laughed.

Some time later, after Michael and I had dressed, and had made ourselves presentable, we lingered under the boardwalk, doing nothing but holding each other.

Embracing sweetly, and saying nothing.

Michael had dressed in everything but his soiled jacket, which, in his muscle shirt and jeans, he had it draped over his arms.

“I’ll take you home now…” Michael informed me and was rubbing his forehead, damped slightly with perspiration against mine. “I really enjoyed you, Sophia…”

“I enjoyed you, Michael.” I confided, and was toying with his tendrils as they fell into his eyes. “You were wonderful.”

“Will you come for another lobster roll tomorrow?” He wondered, once again timid, and nothing like the beast I had laid under before.

“Of course.” I vowed as he offered his hand and we started towards the stairs that led back up to the boardwalk.

As we neared the steps, Michael, came to a quick halt and placed his hands over my mouth, hugging me against him.

“Shh! Look!” His voice was barely perceptible, he spoke so quietly.

With a flick of the wrist I saw what Michael was pointing out.

Several yards away, sprawled in the sand, I could make out something moving wildly.

Squinting, I gasped into Michael’s palm as I made out what it was.

The man who ran the ice cream stand, Michael’s brother Marlon, was frantically pumping away at the poor woman he was on top of. And like Michael had done me, Marlon was concealing her screams of sexual excitement with his hand.

As I was ushered back up the stairs, I couldn’t help but wonder how many, if not all, of Michael’s brothers were having sex right then.

On top of the boardwalk, for the rest of the summer, Michael and I were inseparable.

To this day, I still receive letters from him.

Most often referring to our encounter, under the boardwalk.

Feeling a Younger Michael...

Hey Y'all!


(Shit on a biscuit! That's HOT!)

I know you're all waiting on a new erotica, and trust me, I am working on it. I am really in a young MJ mood. I've been watching the Jacksons variety show and some of Michael's concerts from way back when, and soaking up some of the essence that was the late 70s MJ. I really like his look--though I really have never been a fan of clothing from the era. LOL.  But I like to have the nice cutesy MJ. It gets a little monotonous to have an older agrgressive MJ. I like to shake it up to keep you guys, my wonderful readers, entertained.

I'm balancing a few ideas--one even includes Marlon again. Because let's be real, Marlon's pretty cute too.

Well I am hard at work and should have a story posted both here and on Eternal.