This is fan fiction.  Though the characters involve real people, this does not recount real events.  The rating on this story is NC-17.   If you are not 18 years of age, please do not read!




D A R K N E S S   I N V I S I B L E

P a r t  T h r e e


© Radiantbaby, 2000



*     *     *


I was too afraid to go back to sleep, still shaking from the nightmare I’d just had.  I strained to remember Christie from any previous experience to try and see if my subconscious had simply been playing some sort of trick on me.  She did look familiar, but then a lot of the fans do most times.  Sadly, lots of them are just a blur to me.  It is not out of disinterest either, ironically, it is more out of insecurity on my part.  When I am on stage, it is hard for me to look at them out of fear of their gaze carrying a harsh rejection of me.  Then when I meet them, sometimes I am just overly concerned with whether I measure up to their preconceived fantasies of me, that I am barely paying attention to them.


Christie stirred next to me, sleepily looking over at me.  I was just lying there, staring up into the sky.  “Are you alright?” she whispered.


I rolled over to look her in the eye, biting my lip as the feelings from the dream came rushing back.  “Christie…Did I…Have I ever treated you…badly?” I stammered.


Her eyebrows furrowed, studying me for a moment before replying, “What do you mean?”


I cleared my throat, trying to figure out how exactly to express what needed to be asked, to quell the questioning within me.  “Er, you know, perhaps ignored you or something?”


Her eyes widened a bit in surprise and I saw her throat move as she swallowed.  “You mean like recently? You have paid a lot of attention to me over the last few days…” she answered, trailing off, the tone of her voice slowly peeling away the layers of the truth.


“Well, I mean…before that.  Before the whole…experience occurred,” I clarified. 


She took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.  “Yes, I mean, sort of,” she replied timidly.


“Christie, you can be honest with me.  Did I…Did I ignore you once when you were trying to meet me?”


“What?  How did you…?”


“You were with some friends and waved at me, but I didn’t acknowledge you.”


“Uh, yes, you remember that?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably next to me and sitting up.




“I need to go,” she said firmly, standing up.




“I just need some space,” she added, walking away, seemingly bewildered.


I think that things began to go somewhat downhill right at that moment.  Yes, I can actually pinpoint it as being right then.  I didn’t have the strength to get up and follow her as she walked away, nor did I have the voice to call after her.  I just simply sat in the grass, moist from the morning dew, and watched her slowly walk away into the red haze of the sunrise.


I laid back in the grass again letting my emotions wash over me.  I didn’t know how to feel actually, but it all had seeped beneath my skin.  My therapist, Marisa, would certainly chastise me for it all, I am sure.  She was always trying to wean me from letting the fans get to me, or get to my self-esteem, more precisely.  In my state of invisibility, I was living a social nightmare.  It was a big contradiction.  On one hand, I was invisible and thus being ignored which was certainly chipping away at my confidence, but I was also able to breathe a bit more as I was able to float amongst everyone without being bothered.


The tears rolled down my cheeks as I let sleep take hold of me once again.  I fought it for a while, afraid of what my subconscious would throw at me this time, but finally succumbed out of exhaustion.  Thankfully the dreams weren’t very substantial, only brief and fleeting recollections from when I was a music-absorbed teenager meeting my own idols probably spawned on by the whole situation.  The bright rays of sunlight breaking through the trees was what woke me up and I felt my heart sink for a moment when I realized that Christie had not returned.  A part of me wished that whole encounter had been a dream as well.


I got up and slowly made my way across the yard, heading towards the fans that were also awakening and chattering in the late morning.  I think that I was on some sort of autopilot as I moved towards the small plot that had sufficed as Christie’s home for the last few days.  She was not there and I felt myself panic a bit at her absence.  I sat beside her friends, listening to them speak about all sorts of subjects, listening a bit more intently as they began to speak about my last tour.


“Good thing he seems to have gotten rid of the tuxedo pants!” one laughed.


“I liked them!” another pouted.


“Yes, but I began to wonder if they were going to walk away themselves by the end of the tour!” the first one said.


“Can you believe he’s got blonde bangs again?” another one asked, rolling her eyes.


“I think he’s having a midlife crisis!” the girl who hated my tuxedo pants replied.


I zoned out a bit after listening to them for a while, greatly hoping for Christie to return and trying to deal with the fans teasing me.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could sense that they meant no harm, but at that moment, I didn’t need an ego bruising.  When a good deal of time had passed, I began to worry.


It occurred to me that if I could touch someone with enough effort, perhaps I could make myself heard as well.  I took in a deep breath, concentrating as hard as I could, and then leaned over to the closest girl.  I whispered just by her ear, “So, where is Christie then?” and prayed that I was heard.


I watched her furrow her eyebrows and then ask aloud, “Where is Christie anyway?  I haven’t heard from her all day.”


I took in a deep breath, wiping the droplets of blood from my nose from my exertion.  It had worked. 


“She’s up at the Days Inn on Sunset, remember?” one of the girls replied.


Days Inn on Sunset.  I knew that a lot of the fans were shuttling back and forth from there, getting showers and such, and then returning to their vigil outside the house.  I had to see her, it was as if something was propelling me towards her.  I snuck in the back of a van of kids heading over there, hoping that I’d at least find her somehow when I arrived.


I waited nervously in the lobby, trying to figure out where she was within the building and if she was even there.  Finally I saw someone that I recognized as being a friend of hers and rushed to their side.  “Go to Christie’s room,” I urged with a whisper.


She paused, contemplating my words, and then began to make her way towards the elevator and upstairs.  I did not know if she was actually bringing me where I needed to go, but I held my breath in hope. I kept whispering “Christie’s room,” in her ear, the blood now flowing copiously from my nose and my head throbbing with intense pain. I held my hand to my nose, trying to catch most of the flow, eerily reminded of my past coke binges where I was living in constant fear of my nose bleeding in public or on film.  I needed to get there though, it was as if it were some overwhelming challenge I had to face.


The girl I followed seemed to be almost in a trance as we made our way past the expanse of doors on the third floor.  She stopped in front one quite a ways down.  318.  “Now go on then,” I whispered.  “Your friends need you.”


She sighed a bit and then left me standing alone at the door, going back towards the elevators.  I looked down at myself, especially my bloodied clothing and hands, and groaned at how awful I must have looked.  I leaned against the wall just outside the room for a moment, trying to recollect myself and calm myself.  Soon my nose stopped bleeding and my headache began to ease up.


I moved in front of the door, stretching my hand over its cool surface for a moment, before pulling it back to knock.  I stood there almost paralyzed hoping that I was actually at her room and that I could see her.  The thing was, I was losing myself mentally as well as physically.  If I didn’t have someone to acknowledge me and coddle me, then I would just fade away completely.  I needed Christie desperately to pull me back from the oblivion.


The door opened slowly and standing before me was Christie…wearing only a sheet wrapped around her.  For a moment, it didn’t even occur to me.  I suppose I thought that maybe she had been sleeping or that she was about to shower or something.  No, it was a rather harsh reality check. 


“John, oh my God, are you alright?” she whispered, looking me up and down.


“Now I am,” I asked, taking a step forward towards her, but she held up her hand to stop me.


I looked at her quizzically, “This is not a good time,” she whispered.


“Not a good time?” I asked in an almost whine, suddenly becoming aware that I was trembling.


“Darling, who is it?” I heard a voice call from behind her -- a man’s voice.


She bit her lip and looked at me and then called back over her shoulder.  “No one important, I’ll be right there.”


“No one important?” I bellowed, feeling as if she had clocked me, or something.  I was suddenly welling with anger and hurt.


“John, just go.  This is not a good time,” she whispered harshly, avoiding eye contact with me.


“But Christie, I…I need you.  I need you, I am falling apart,” I begged, lifting my hand to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall from my eyes with the back of my hand.


“Christie? Are you coming back to bed?” the man called from the room.


“In a minute, Arthur,” she replied.


“Who is this Arthur, anyway?” I spat.


“John, not right now, okay?  I’ll talk with you later, I promise,” she replied.


“Now, I want you to talk with me now!” I whined, but she closed the door on me before I could even finish my sentence.


I slid down the length of the door to the floor, staring at my shaking, bloodied hands.  I could hear the two of them speaking from underneath the door and sat there crying and listening to their conversation.


“Who was that, luv?” I could her him ask. He was English, from Oxfordshire perhaps?


“It wasn’t important,” she replied quietly.


“Aw, you look so sad, let me cheer you up,” he said and I just knew that they were kissing.


I just sat there, pulling my knees to my chest and laying my head upon them as I listened to the soft sounds of the two of them making love.  I was equally repulsed and aroused by what I’d heard.  Still with each moan, each groan, I found myself getting more and more angry.  It was all stupid really as I look back, stupid and selfish, but I was in such a state at that moment, it wasn’t as if I were being logical by any means. When my anger peaked, paralleling their own peaks of pleasure, I burst into the room.


I slammed the door and Christie’s lover, Arthur, looked around bewildered, unable to see me.  Christie glared at me, lying on the bed barely covered by the sheet, her breasts exposed and still patchy red from their love making.  “John, what are you doing?” she growled.


“What does it look like?” I replied, walking around and knocking things off the table.


Arthur looked around with a look of fear and confusion in his eyes, “What is going on?  Who…where is this John?” he stammered.


“John, stop it!” she yelled, her voice wavering with its own hints of fear.


“Why should I?” I replied, tossing things across the room.


Arthur watched the chaos helplessly, completely petrified by what was happening, I am sure.  “Whatever or whoever you are, don’t hurt her!” he commanded, pulling Christie to him.


“Aw, isn’t he sweet? Quite the dashing hero, eh?” I said to Christie, flipping the light switch on and off. “Ooh, isn’t this fun?”


“That’s it!” Christie yelled, wiggling away from Arthur and grabbing a shirt and shorts from the floor.  She tugged them on angrily and marched towards me.  “Come on, we need to talk!”


“And stop this?” I asked sarcastically, knocking one of the chairs backwards onto the floor.


“Yes,” she grunted, opening the door and glaring at me until I followed her.


We went away from most of the rooms for privacy, Christie leading me.  When she felt we were in a decent enough spot, she turned on her heals and swung at me, her fists passing right through me.  Her eyes were filled with tears.


“Hey, whoa, whoa,” I said, backing from her.


“What the hell was that in there?  Can’t you give me any peace?” she whispered, beginning to sob.


I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest, regarding her.  “I am sorry,” I replied, the full impact of what I had done finally hitting me.


“Why did you do that?  Why are you even here?” she asked exasperated, pressing her palm against her forehead.


I looked down, “Like I said, I just…I just needed you.  I needed to be with you.”  I was feeling smaller by the instant.


She sighed, “I know, I should have been there for you, but…it wasn’t the best time.  I am going through a lot right now.”


“Because of me?”


“Well, yes.  I just needed some space away from you to sort some things out,” she replied.


“So you fucked that guy then?” I said, my hurt feelings rearing their head.


She groaned, rolling her eyes, “John, am I not allowed to date anyone then?  Am I to just be alone and only worship you?”




“John, Arthur is my boyfriend and he has been for some time.  What you did to him was terrible, what did he ever do to you?” she asked, angrily.


“He, uh…he,” I took in a deep breath, “he was with you.”


“What are you saying?” she asked, taken aback.  Indeed, what was I saying?  It was a feeling that I had never said out loud until then, but somehow felt so right to say.


“I was jealous, okay? Did our kiss mean nothing to you?” I asked, now wringing my hands in nervousness.



*     *     *


“What?” she looked at me bewildered.


It had been frightening to admit what I was feeling out loud, especially to her.  Still, though somewhat meekly this time, I repeated myself, “Did our kiss mean nothing to you?”


She leaned against the wall, her hand to her forehead.  She sighed heavily, “Of course it did, John,” she replied not looking at me, but instead straight ahead, “Things are just complicated.”


“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I suffer every minute from that?  Christie, I am a married man and up until a few days ago I thought everything in my life was picture perfect.  Still, here I am and I cannot get you out of my head and more and more I see the cracks in my relationship with my wife.  It took me to become invisible to see that I was already invisible to her.”


“John…you are just upset because of everything.  As much as I would love to believe that you are completely enamored with me, I honestly think that you are just clinging to me because I can see and hear you.  In your mind, you need to be seen by someone else to be visible and you need to be heard by someone else to really be heard,” she accused, now looking at me sadly.


“I don’t think that is true at all!” I countered, wrapping my arms across my torso.


“Is it not? Can you really tell me that honestly?” she asked.


I felt my throat catch and my mind race with something good to say, something to prove to her that she was wrong.  The saddest thing was that she was right.  “I don’t know…I mean, I think that I am my own person, an individual.”


“Are you? Then why are you never yourself?”


“Because…” I stammered, trembling a bit, “because no one wants the real me.  They just want the happy-go-lucky pop star.  I am just acting out their dream.  That is why I never get too close, because when I do, they are disappointed.”


“How do you know what everyone wants?  What if I told you most people don’t want you to be so fake?  Most people don’t want you to try so hard to be cool and not be natural,” she said, moving closer to me.


I could smell her scent, drawing me close to her, delighting me.  “I don’t know who I am anymore.”


“Well, it is time to work on making you visible, in more ways than the obvious physical state,” she said with a warming smile.



*    *    *


Christie went back and tried to explain to a bewildered Arthur the circumstances of my predicament and I, being a gentleman when needed, apologized for frightening.  Still, I must admit, it was a bit fun now that I look back on it.  I can be a right devil at times. 


He was strangely easy to convince of everything, perhaps because of his apparent philosophical nature.  I could tell that he treated Christie well and that he was a good sort of chap.  Unfortunately, I felt the jealousy seethe as I watched the two of them together and, though it was wrong of me, still wanted her for myself.


Later that day, while Arthur went out for a while to give Christie and I some time alone, I took my chance.


I can still remember it in exquisite detail, strangely enough.  I remember the scent of jasmine from the burning incense in the room and the hum of the air conditioning unit on the far end of the room.  I remember the stark contrast of the coarse sheets underneath where I sat and the soft satin of the edge of the pajama pants Christie was wearing.  Most vividly though, I remember the way the sun shone though the window and illuminated Christie almost like an angel.


I could not help myself, she had cast her spell on me and I was beyond control.  In the middle of an innocent discussion about something completely unrelated (which I honestly cannot recall as my only focus was her lips as they formed the words and not what she was actually saying), I again pressed my lips against hers, concentrating intensely enough to make sure that they made contact.  She gasped when I kissed her, her body a contradiction that was pulling away, yet pushing towards me in the same instant.


“John, we can’t…do this,” she gasped as I trailed my lips down her neck.


“We are already doing it,” I said.


“But Arthur…your wife…” she whispered.


“Give me this one moment, that is all I ask of you,” I whispered against the flesh of her collarbone, sliding the straps of her tank top off her shoulders and over her head.


She moaned as I continued to kiss her, my head aching, but my nose not bleeding this time.  It seemed as if I didn’t need to concentrate as much anymore when I touched someone.  I was learning to control my state of being.


I moved my lips down to her breast; the only sounds between us no longer protests, but heavy breaths of desire. 


“Christie,” I whined, her name now like prayer on my lips, this angel glowing in the light of the sun now coming to life for me.


She reached her hand to touch my own on the bed and it passed right through.  It seemed that I could touch her, but she could not touch me.  “John, I cannot touch you,” she whispered, her words punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.


“Later…for now, I just want to touch you,” I murmured, now suckling her nipple as I softly rubbed the other one between my fingers.


She arched beneath me, welcoming my mouth and my caresses, letting herself go to me.  It was the first time that we seemed to really connect, ironically enough.  We let ourselves completely trust one another and the act itself was not just borne of lust and desire, but rather the two of us reaching for that connection with each other.  I needed the warmth of her flesh just as much as the knowledge that I could please her.  She was right about one thing, I always had to please someone.  It fed my ego.


I pulled off her pajama pants, sliding them slowly down her legs and leaving her with just her panties.  I slipped my fingers over the wetness of her them, pressing against her to feel her desire for me.  I circled my thumb around her clitoris beneath the material, delighting in her hips rising and falling against my caresses.  “Lie back,” I whispered.


She lay back, spreading her legs as I leaned down and pressed my lips against her thigh and moved them towards the apex between them.  She called out when I touched her softly with my tongue, moving it deeper to part the wet folds and probe within her mystery.  I was consumed with her scent, getting reacquainted with actual undertaking as my wife tended to disfavor when I would do such with her and I hadn’t really done it for a while. 


My headache eased, my body now so into what I was doing that I actually didn’t need to concentrate so intensely anymore.  I moved my mouth against her, now suckling her clitoris between my lips and penetrating her with two fingers.  My cock stirred with every moan that fell from her and I concentrated on the places that made her moan the most.   I pressed myself against the edge of the bed, grinding against the hard corner almost blindly, my body now completely succumbing to the desire.


I slowly coaxed the climax from her, not wanting to rush it, wanting for the pleasure to last as long as we both could handle it.  She would simply whine in defeat as I would bring her just to the edge and ease off her, letting her climax build itself back up from the beginning.  So when her orgasm finally hit, it shook her with intensity, her insides gripping against my fingers and her body jerking about on the bed.  As her pleasure subsided, I still moved my fingers slowly in and out of her, suckling her until she lie still on the bed.


I still ground myself against the bed, my own pleasure raging out of control.  I felt like a teenager when I would press myself against my teddy bear or football, trying to relieve myself.  Unlike then, though, it didn’t seem as easy and I found myself getting more and more frustrated.  Christie seemed to notice and whispered, “I wish I could touch you.”


I climbed up to lie beside her on the bed, my cock now tented in my boxers.  I nuzzled into the bed, brushing my hand against myself, “Mmm, yes.  Well, I suppose I could always pretend.”


She watched me, her eyes dark with desire, as I pushed my underwear to my ankles and ran my fingers all over my body.  “Where would you start if you could?” I whispered, closing my eyes.


She smiled shyly.  “Hmm, I would run my hands over your chest and belly,” she whispered as I mimicked her fantasy.


“That’s nice,” I murmured, giving myself gooseflesh. “Where next?”


“I would run my hands down over your thighs until you begged me to touch your cock,” she whispered, throatily, my hands following her command.


“Then what? I’m begging,” I moaned, a smile crossing my lips.


“I would grasp your balls with my palm, while wrapping my other hand around your cock…”


“Oooh, I like that,” I said, begging slightly against my own touch, my cock now greatly sensitive.


“Then I would stroke you until you come…”


“Mmmm…would you like me to come for you?” I murmured playfully, starting to stroke myself with deep insistent strokes.


“Yes,” she answered with an exhalation of air.


I opened my eyes and saw that her hands had descended between her thighs and that she was touching herself as she watched me.  I moaned and shut my eyes again, stroking myself more insistently.


“Talk to me,” I whispered.


“What do you want me to say?”


“Have you ever fantasized about me?”


“Yes,” she breathed, causing my cock to throb.


“Have you fantasized about me lately?”


“Yes.”  Mmmm, yes.


“What did you fantasize about?”


“Its embarrassing.”


“And wanking in front of a near stranger is not?” I giggled.


“Okay…I have thought about what it would be like to be the one who is invisible and watch you…”


“Watch me do what?” I grunted, my hips rising to meet my hand.


“Do this,” she whispered, her voice laden with her own pleasure from touching herself.


I felt my climax building steadily within me and my eyes darted open, focusing on her fingers working eagerly against herself and the splotches of red over her skin.  I called out, it rising and rising, until my orgasm finally hit me, my ejaculate now spewed over my chest.


She came right after me.




N A V I G A T I O N :


Continue onto Darkness Invisible: Part Four?


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