Universally Speaking

Once I got to my appartment, which just so happed to be above the laundry mat a block away from the record store, fed my dog, Harrison, named after my favorite Beatle, emptied my cabinet sized dishwasher, and colected my mail, it was 6:30 and I thought I ought to walk down to the venue where RHCP would be performing.
When I arrived, they had alread begun playing. I saw Anthony, swinging the microphone, and swirling his golden locks in every which direction. I glanced around hoping to find a table somewhere. Thankfully, I found a small grimy table near the left corner of the stage, secluded enough, and yet close enough to enjoy the music. There, I sat and ordered a drink. I first saw Flea, who was swinging his head around as if it wasn't attatched to his neck, while his fingers moved at lightning speed up and down the neck of his bass. I was so very jealous of him, because I was pretty sure I could never play like that. Then my eyes trailed to Anthony. He was already dripping with sweat, and looked very enthused. He was shirtless, of course. He was wearing brightly colored swim shorts. When I was admiring the interesting design on said shorts, something else caught my attention: the outstanding bulge in his pants. When I realized exactly what I was staring at, I felt extremely embarrassed and yet completely okay with it at the same time.
They played quite a few songs, including a few with some very interresting lyrics. By interesting, I mean taboo. The kind of lyrics that If your parents knew you were listening to them, they'd blush. Throughout he entire set, my fondness for Anthony grew. I became smitten.
At the end, Anthony strode over to my table, dripping in sweat. He slumped down and order a drink. I sat there tapping my glass, trying to conceil my hormonal crush. I felt embarrased, staring at his pants while he was on stage, but also slightly turned on at the same time. "So, what do you think?" He said. "I think I really like your music." as soon as I opened my mouth, I realized I was slightly buzzed. "And might I say," the words spilled, "that song about a secret song, was very interesting. In order to write something that...detailed, you have to have a little experience." I winked. He smirked and bit his lip. "Plus," I continued. "I think I need Flea to give me some pointers. He was really funkin it up." His eyes widened "You play bass?" I giggled and leaned back in my chair with my drink in my hand. "Anthony, there are alot of things you don't know about me." He leaned forward closer to my face, and brushed hin knee against mine. "I'd like to know more." He said seductively. "I bet you would." I raised on eyebrow, and stood up. "Well, the night is young, and I'd prefer not to spend it in this dark bar that I usually attend only to drink away a break up. Care to join me?" and I pointed to the doorway. He shoved his hands into his pocket, flexing his long lean arms. And followed slightly too close behind.
We walked down the strip, for a while in silence. But it wasn't the awkward silence. The kind where you really don't mind.