It happens after almost every show. You're exhausted. You're already in your requisite pajama pants and tshirt, because that's what the fans by the bus have come to expect. You're done shaking hands for the night. No more commitments, no more work to do. You've been at it all day, and you've got another packed day ahead of you, so you need to get some sleep.

But you can't. Because you can't stop thinking about her.

You unzip your comfy blue hoodie, the one that's starting to get a little ragged, and toss it on top of the suitcase in the corner. Not a lot of room in this bedroom at the back of the bus, but it's better than a bunk with a curtain, especially on a night like this. You inch around the side of the bed and pull the covers down, glancing at the book on your nightstand. You know you're not in the mood to read. You probably should if you're ever going to finish it, and Quiana keeps bugging you for reading so slowly because she wants to talk about the ending with you, but not tonight.

You flop down on the bed and look at the little cows on your pajama bottoms. Definitely the sort of thing those fans will be talking about online tomorrow. Maybe she'll read it and wish she'd waited by the bus with them.

There are faces you see just about every night out there. Women who come to show after show. The ones who make you wonder if you only have a few thousand nomadic fans, travelling by caravan from one concert to the next. But then there are those faces that really grab you. Most nights they're down there somewhere in the front few rows, those beautiful faces you might not recognize, but you keep going back to.

In city after city, you see her. Sometimes she's a little shorter, sometimes she's a little older, sometimes she's wearing something you can't help but notice. But she's there, looking up at you with a big smile, with hopeful eyes. She sees you look at her and you know she gets excited when your eyes meet. Quite a feeling of power having all those women literally looking up to you. Looking down into all their faces, that voice inside reminding you what they're all thinking, whether or not you want to believe it.

But you know she's thinking it. You can feel it every time you lock your gaze with hers. You can feel her wanting you. And every night you wonder if she feels it from you in return.

You turn off the light and stick your legs under the covers. You curl up against your extra pillow and throw your arm over it. Soon you find yourself imagining that you're holding her, feeling her press herself against you, her lips against your cheek.

God, Clay...you feel so good. I know you don't usually...I mean, we don't really know each other, but I just�oh Clay, I want you so much...please...

You squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel your heartbeat in your chest�and other places.

That's it...come here...it's gonna be so good, honey...you just let me take care of everything...

Your fingers slide underneath the waistband of the soft cotton pants and reach the snug low-rise briefs underneath. You can see her there, as she was earlier, looking up at you. Only now, it's just the two of you...her expressive eyes pleading with you, her smile relaxing as she draws her tongue across her plump, eager lips. As you push away the constrictions of your clothing, she reaches for you, her eyes widening in anticipation. You feel her delicate fingers take hold of you, and you roll onto your back, stifling a moan.

Tonight, in your mind, you're standing in front of her, above her, and soon you're imagining her lips parting slightly. You mimic their softness with a brush of your fingers, but it's the powerful mental image, more than your own touch, that sends a shiver up your spine.

Her hair is so beautiful and soft. Tonight she's a blonde, and her long hair is tickling your thighs. Your hand glides along the top of her head, and your eyes meet again. Such big eyes. Such a gorgeous girl. And her mouth...and her hand...but God, her mouth...she senses just what you want and gives it to you better than you could have imagined.

"Oh...right there," you whisper into the darkness as you begin to move faster. You can feel trickles of sweat along the backs of your thighs and your breath quickens. "Just like that."

Your muscles tighten, causing you to thrust forward against your hand. You wish she would slow down, that she'd give you a chance to catch your breath, but she wants it. "Wait..."

No, baby...let it go...I want to make you come...please, Clay...that's it baby...

You draw your knees up just slightly, allowing you to push harder. You can't hold back any more...you've got to give her what she wants. Your back arches as your legs stiffen, and you feel the wet warmth pour across your hand. For a few moments you lie still, unable to move, and you watch her with your eyes closed as she sits back and gazes up at you, pushing her hair off of her forehead. She smiles as she runs her thumb along the corner of her mouth.

I love you, baby.

You let out a sigh as your body relaxes, and you decide to let your hand drop onto your stomach. You reach over your head and pull your tshirt off, wiping away the stickiness and tossing it aside. You realize your pajama pants have worked their way down to your knees, and pull them back up. As you roll drowsily onto your side again, hugging your pillow close, you smile to yourself.

"I love you, too."