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 The Super Group Diaries Revisited – Il Divo Dreams! By: MoeD

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PostSubject: The Super Group Diaries Revisited – Il Divo Dreams! By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:55 pm

Day 13 (Unlucky for some!) – 6.00 am - An Airport somewhere; anywhere!

Urs sighed and looked around the comfortable seating area where his band mates were reclining in various states of wakefulness.

‘You know I used to long to use these VIP lounges when I was young and first travelling. Look at me now; another damn lounge in another damn airport. This is definitely the part I like least about our chob; so much waiting around.’ None of the others bothered to answer. It was a topic that they returned to again and again and no one could find it in their tired brains to react at the moment.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the announcement for their flight boomed out over the P.A. system and the guys drew themselves wearily to their feet and headed for the departure gate!! They were soon boarded in the business class lounge and all made themselves as comfortable as possible, no doubt hoping that they would be able to resume the sleep that had been so cruelly interrupted earlier. In deed, by the time the plane actually became airborne; all four Divos were dreaming quietly.

……………………………………………………………………

…………David played the game with consummate skill, twisting his body as his hands punched the controls to make the virtual car do as he wanted it to. He was on the home straight and the car picked up speed in response to his commands … but where had that lovely straight road on his monitor gone? Why was the horizon waving surrealistically as though part of some psychedelic nightmare … and why was he now sitting in a cavernous vehicle, surrounded by dials and knobs and levers? He stared around, puzzled as the car zoomed along the deserted highway, apparently guided by an invisible force. The road and surrounding desert threw up the occasional cactus or boulder but otherwise the scene was eerily barren.

David blinked frantically and tried to clear his vision … his mind … both! Where in hell was he? As if answering his cue a sleek black car drew along side him, its windows also black and mysterious. He felt rather than heard the ominously malevolent roar as its engine spurted into life, readying itself for a burst of acceleration. David could not peel his fascinated gaze away from the apparition and he watched in horror as the driver’s window began, oh so slowly, to descend, revealing the features of its grinning driver.

The skin was wizened and gnarled as though the sun of ages past had weathered it. Gimlet eyes seared into his own; examining his very soul … and finding it wanting, judging by the glare of pure, unsurpassed evil which supplanted the earlier grin. The head was almost hairless, only wisps here and there but instead of hair there were horns … twisted, sharp, twin horns.

The creature raised wicked looking talons and gripped the steering wheel before lifting one threatening finger further and pointing at the road ahead. David’s eyes followed the direction of the pointing finger and saw some way ahead of him a baboon like little man waving a chequered flag. The meaning became clear to him … they had to race! But for what prize he wondered? He didn’t have to guess for long.

His eyes were drawn to a little curtained off stage area to the left of the road … why hadn’t he noticed this before? … No matter … it was there now! As he stared the curtains drew slowly open, amid much creaking of wheels and cogs which seemed to be originating inside his skull. As the stage area was revealed he drew back in horror as he saw his three band brothers, stripped to the waist, their arms held by manacles above their heads. They all turned beseeching eyes simultaneously towards him before, as one again, contemplating the fiery abyss which yawned beneath them.

He had to race to save them.

David felt the sweat begin to trickle between his shoulder blades … this was going to be the most important game of his life. He passed his tongue across his dry lips but moisture was curiously absent from his mouth and it rasped uncomfortably, giving no succour whatsoever. His sharp eyes tuned into movement to the right of the combatant cars and he observed a gaunt, caricature of a man carefully climbing a ladder, starting pistol in hand.

The drivers each sat ready at the starting grid. They gunned their engines, watching the man at the starting gate. He raised his arm imperiously and fired his pistol into the sky. Both drivers immediately slammed the foot on the accelerator pedal to the floor but for David nothing happened and he heard the sardonic peel of laughter recede as the black vehicle roared away from him. He pumped the pedal furiously, without any response but his attention was attracted by his friends’ frantic callings. He strained his ears to make out what they were saying, the disjointed words seeming not to make sense. Their agitated gestures became more and more desperate but finally one phrase filtered through to his befuddled brain.

‘Put your money in the slot!’ What? Put your money in the slot … what damned slot. His eyes roamed desperately around him and another thing he hadn’t managed to notice before popped into his field of vision. There, on the dash board sat a garishly lit six-inch slot. The words ‘insert coin to play’ were emblazoned below it in bold block capitals. He searched desperately until he became aware of a huge shiny coin projecting from the glove compartment so grabbing it thankfully; he pushed it into said slot, slammed his foot down to the metal once more and finally zoomed up the road.

The other car was nowhere in sight and David became fretful as he contemplated the chance that he may have doomed his friends to a fiery death by his inability to follow the game rules. They had always made comments about his cutting corners and not obeying the rules and now it could have cost them the ultimate penalty. This was no use; he had to concentrate now, not allow himself to think the unthinkable … he had to win.

The car was moving smoothly and the roadside scenery zipped past him without note. Suddenly he saw the opposition way up ahead of him and he renewed his efforts. The other car had slowed slightly as though willing him to catch up and he didn’t disappoint. Eventually he pulled alongside it and stared over to where the other driver was regarding him deridingly. They both pulled to a halt as a sign which flashed ‘stop’ appeared in the sky ten feet above them. More people appeared by the roadside and a flurry of activity ensued; culminating in two bikini clad females who had beautiful bodies but the heads of gargoyles, strutting out into the roadway carrying placards. One Said ‘David is bad’ and sported a garishly animated head blowing a raspberry, while the other said ‘Devil is good’ and showed the horned man stroking a puppy. David had a lot to think about. He had to be more careful when they moved off once more otherwise he would lose and his friends would suffer a horrible death. As if to reinforce these thoughts the stage appeared at the roadside once more and he saw his colleagues dangling helplessly; trying to keep their feet out of the flames.

So now he minutely checked everything within the car to make sure he hadn’t missed anything he needed to know about before deciding that he was ready. The neon sign above them flashed ‘Go’ and both cars jumped forward in answer to its urging. The road changed from long and straight to a perilously zig-zagging series of bends and turns. David screeched from one hazard to another but at least he was more than keeping up with the opposition on this section. Both drivers pushed their cars to the limit as they negotiated the twisting road. David’s sleek silver bullet of a car edged into the lead and the devil snarled in fury. For a few seconds David actually started to enjoy himself, forgetting all about the prize at stake, intent only on the game itself.

He was jerked back to reality by a juddering thump as some kind of projectile hit the side of his vehicle. He veered across the road under the impact and almost lost control but by quick thinking, honed by all the years of game-playing he was able to manoeuvre himself to a position of safety without losing too much ground. He looked around for the source of the attack and saw a large gun-like structure which had erupted from the ground beside him. He accelerated away, before the weapon could be aimed and fired again but as he scanned the road ahead he noticed more bunkers springing into being. He reviewed his options before proceeding and seemed to hear the pleading voices of his friends, keeping him on track. He planned his route through the gun emplacements with lightning speed and, swallowing hard he made a dash for the finish line which had suddenly appeared beyond the hazards.

Miraculously he outwitted the hidden marksmen as he threw his vehicle around the road almost recklessly. He checked his rear view mirror and saw the black car only feet behind him, the demonic driver snarling oaths at each successful swerve. Finally he was in the clear and he was in the lead. The stage apparition appeared once again to remind him of his prize and as his front wheels passed the chequered flag he at last saw his brothers freed of their shackles and safe.

He smiled. He had won and he and the others were safe … he had triumphed! Another bikini clad lady appeared, this time she was beautiful in face as well as figure and she held a gleaming golden chalice high in the air. It was a trophy … his trophy. He reached out to take the cup from her but just as his fingers were about to grasp the handle his world was enveloped by a huge grey mass which bundled into him, smothering the breath from his body. He struggled with whatever was pinning him down. It looked and felt like a huge elephant which was squashing the life slowly from his body. He coughed and spluttered, clawing at the bulk until a chink of light finally came into view. ……………………………………..

‘Mr Miller, Oh Goodness me; what’s happened? Here, let me help you.’ David came to his senses as the flight attendant’s voice brought him back to consciousness. But he was still pinned down. The man in the next seat, a huge diplomat on his way home from the German embassy, had also fallen asleep and the boundaries of his seat had proved inadequate. The resulting scene was worthy of a Whitehall farce as Divo and attendant struggled to wake the slumbering passenger and remove his bulk from David’s lap. Eventually they were successful thanks to the odours emanating from the dinner trolley which was trying to get along the aisle-way. David thanked her profusely and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He looked across to see his still sleeping band mates and smiled ruefully before going back to the PSP and the game he had been playing … not a car game though … funny that!


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PostSubject: Re: The Super Group Diaries Revisited – Il Divo Dreams! By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:56 pm

Sebastien stared into the full length mirror and smiled roguishly. He was completely happy with his appearance and the way the white dinner jacket showed off his dark good looks so beautifully.

‘My Seerenes will love me!’ He giggled at his own joke before pretending to pull a gun from his jacket pocket and posing once again. ‘My name is Izambard, Sebastien Izambard … OO6; licensed to kill with a smile.

He smoothed his jacket, checked his hair and sprayed breath freshener into his mouth … well a super spy never knew who he might meet … and walked out into the room. The walls began to shimmer and bend as though being pulled back and forth by an invisible giant hand. This was strange! Everything was strange! Sebastien slid his hand into his pocket … and felt the reassuring coldness of the steel gun barrel beneath his fingers. His alter-ego, John Bond, was the man for this case!

His eyes roved around the crowded dance floor as he watched spinning couples whirling at break neck speeds to a Viennese waltz. He checked florid faces for the one person he needed to locate for his mission but his quest was hampered by so many of the guests wearing masks. Still the unveiling would begin at midnight, only 12 minutes away and then he would find his man … or woman.

He knew only that the person he was looking for would be easily distinguishable by a heart-shaped mole on the bridge of his or her nose. It was of course imperative that he find his quarry before they were able to carry out their dastardly plan to annihilate every member of the British Royal Family who were all present at this gathering to celebrate the marriage of Prince William to Britney Spears. True, some family members would be glad of the chance to eliminate some of the assembled gathering, particularly the interloper of a bride who had hastily ditched her poor first husband as soon as she had got so much as a sniff of royalty but Sebastien’s job was to ensure that the marriage went ahead and that Anglo/American relationships would be well and truly cemented.

And so he paced the perimeter of the room, ready for any sign of attack. He checked the alcoves by the grand windows, ensuring that no assassins could be hiding there and then he positioned himself as near to the royal table as he could without arousing suspicion.

As he stood there he had no idea that keen eyes were watching his every move. 006’s fame went before him and the assassin smiled ruefully while watching the catlike movements of the master spy. The mission had just become immeasurably more difficult but the light of manic zeal shone in those keen eyes …whatever was needed would be done.

Sebastien’s thoughts were interrupted by a firm touch on his right shoulder. He turned to see who was disturbing him in this way and stared into a pair of luminous green eyes. The eyes stared back and it was a moment before Sebastien was able to drag his attention away and check out the rest of the person. Seb found this action immensely pleasurable and he let his hungry gaze travel down the delicious form of a stunningly beautiful woman. She was sheathed from neck to ankle in red silk which fitted to every curve and crevice like a second skin. Her long dark curls hung like a curtain down to her waist and were held back from her face by an exquisite tiara.

006 instinctively straightened his tie … this lady was worth impressing. He opened his mouth to speak but he was pre-empted by the goddess in front of him doing the same. Dazzling white teeth showed though pink rosebud lips and Sebastien waited, entranced, for her words. But none were forthcoming. Instead a donkey somewhere very close began braying. This was the only possible explanation for the sounds which were assaulting his ears at that moment. He realised with horror that his goddess was responsible for the cacophony. The braying turned into a guffaw which in turn became a screeching. She was obviously going for some sort of record which involved breaking the sound barrier. He looked around to see if the people from the Guinness book of Records were standing with clipboards and stopwatches but none were apparent. His mind was forced back to the reality by a congenial slap on the back which almost floored him … merde, but she was strong!

Finally coherent language of sorts dripped from her mouth.

‘I say … aren’t you one of those Divo chappies?’ More guffawing followed as she entertained herself with her comment. ‘I simply loved your record, don’tcha know! Are you going to sing for us this evening? And where is that lovely Spanish chap … mummy would be so pleased to have the chance to get her hands on him? He’d be lucky to get out alive. My name is Clarissa Fortington-Smythe … member of the family … second cousin; twice removed on my mother’s side … I love these family parties. One gets to meet such interesting people. Britney’s a bit of a disappointment though, I’m afraid. Says she can’t sing so I told her I know that already … haw,haw,haw …but can she at least do a little dance or something, ya know … to entertain the troops, so to speak. William dragged her away before she could don the school uniform and put her hair in plaits … damn shame if you ask me.’

Sebastien stared incredulously as the babble continued. He had no idea what she was talking about as the whole speech seemed to be delivered while she was attempting to peel a plum at the back of her tongue … most peculiar! He excused himself, citing duty as the reason and quickly moved to the other side of the room. The braying Smortington Fythe woman, or whatever the hell she was called, attempted to follow him but he managed to shake her off around the buffet table as he ducked down between the ice sculpture depicting a girl in a baseball cap holding hands with a lion rampant and a gigantic mountain of hot dogs served with a dressing of caviar. Damn his good looks! Sometimes they were such a trial!

The assassin continued to watch Sebastien’s every move and constantly made mental calculations concerning how his being here would affect the plans for carnage. Seb’s expertise in dealing with impossible situations was known throughout Europe … he was indeed a fitting adversary. A wry giggle escaped the wrong-doer’s lips but it was lost in the hubbub of the crowded room.

At the stroke of midnight a trumpet fanfare echoed as the lights in the ballroom were extinguished to allow those who were masked to reveal their identity. Excited chatter, interspersed with oohs and ahs, filled the room and as the lights came back on those gathered turned excited eyes on the rest of the crowd.

Suddenly a scream was heard, quickly followed by a burst of machine gun fire and then pandemonium broke out. Bodyguards came out of the woodwork like ants from a nest and threw themselves selflessly in front of their royal charges. Sebastien drew his gun and moved rapidly to shield the queen herself … only the best for HRH!

He scanned the hall, looking for the seat of the threat and saw to his absolute horror the last thing he would have ever expected.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, now busily leering at all and sundry as she sprayed the walls and ceiling with bullets stood … the bride!

Britney laughed maniacally as everywhere people ducked for cover. She was enjoying the terror her actions had engendered, even stopping to chase some poor person or other with a stream of bullets. Her minions had now joined her, throwing off their disguises as waitresses and they quickly insisted on silence at the point of their guns. Everywhere frightened people huddled for safety.

A demonic cackle oozed from her throat as Britney eyed the desolation.

‘I have you now! You thought you could overcome my threat for world domination but once again I have proved you wrong. I will hold the Royal Family to ransom – their loss would de-stabilise the balance of power so the super powers would have to deal with me … I will become their leader … and rid the world of anchovies, so that no one would ever have to scrape them off a pizza again … horrible, nasty little fish … disgusting!

Where was I? Oh yes! I will become the supreme leader of the planet and all of you little people will kneel before me.’

The diatribe was interrupted by a soft humming noise. This grew into a voice, singing, quietly at first and then growing in intensity. 006 stepped out from the throng and walked into the middle of the hall.
‘Y como libro el Corazon
Nos ensena que hay temor
Que hay frascasos y maldad
Que hay batallas que ganar
Y en cada pagina el amor
Nos convierte en luchador
Y descubres lo comun
No hay un heroe como tu’

The effect was electric. Women all around the room began to sway and grin inanely. As the song continued it eventually became too much for the female population of the room and they fell in faints everywhere. This, of course, included the waitresses/terrorists who had been busily pointing guns at everyone just a few moments earlier. Men everywhere seized their chance and grabbed weapons from the swooning women. The crisis appeared to be over.

Without warning more shots rang out and men everywhere looked around anxiously to see who had shot their weapon so quickly. But it was none of them … it was Britney again. She stood now, pointing her gun at Sebastien. He looked quizzically back at her. How could this be … a woman immune to his charms?

The evil cackle bounced around the room again as Britney jeered at the bewildered spy.

‘You can’t get me with your silky lyrics about heroes and hearts, 006 … I am immune because … (from somewhere in the room you could almost hear a loud den, den, den being played!) … IAM A MAN!’

To reinforce the statement she lifted her gun free hand up to her neck and pulled until the ‘skin’ covering her head came away to reveal the twisted countenance of the evil genius Doctor Evil.

‘hahahaha – you had no idea that it was I, the greatest criminal mind of a generation who was behind all this, did you Bond?’ Sebastien stared at him before acknowledging that he was correct. At the same time he slowly moved forward, unseen by the gibbering master villain, until he was able to grab the gun barrel and drag the weapon out of his hands. A short struggle ensued which was ended with great aplomb when Sebastien delivered a swinging uppercut which landed squarely on the very heart-shaped mole on the bridge of his nose which Seb had been searching for earlier. It laid him out cold.

‘Ah! That was fun … I ‘ave never ‘it a man in wedding dress before!’

Once the song had ended the women had begun to regain consciousness and he was approached by the strange Fythington Smorthe (he never would manage to get that name right!) woman again. She marched up to him her arms outstretched.

‘Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw! How amazing 006. What a clever chap you are! How can we ever thank you? She obviously thought of a way very quickly though as she proceeded to grasp his neck and wrestle him to the ground and began smothering him with kisses. He pushed with all his might and inched away from her grasp.
His head was swimming … where was he?

Mr Izambard, are you okay sir? The flight attendant grasped him again, trying desperately to wake him from what she perceived to be his nightmare. He thrashed his head from side to side.

‘Non, non … do not kiss me again … my seerenes will get jealous.’

I beg you pardon, sir but I am not now, or ever have, kissed you. Whatever are you suggesting?’

Sebastien opened his eyes slowly, suddenly aware of his status and the faux pas he had just committed.

‘Excuse moi, mademoiselle … I ‘ad the bad dream.’ He smiled, crinkling his bambi eyes to best effect and the woman’s anger dissipated immediately and he couldn’t help echoing a line from his dream. … sometimes his good looks could be a trial … but sometimes they were a godsend!


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PostSubject: Re: The Super Group Diaries Revisited – Il Divo Dreams! By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:58 pm

Carlos twirled before the mirror and the red silk cape caught an echo of the sunlight which was seeping through the open window, sending a dazzling fiery halo around his image. He smiled the roguish smile so loved by his fans, well satisfied with the look of the costume … his suit of lights!. My cuties will love this … Carlos the Matador … perfect!

He opened his door, ready to join the others on their way to the party but the haze beyond the boundaries of the doorframe was a thick, swirling mass and he struggled to see anything through it. Eventually it began to thin, to be replaced by the sight of a baying crowd in the bull ring. He stepped out onto the golden sand and the sun picked up the bewitching crimson of his suit, highlighting his presence to the crowd.

The roar went up!

‘Carlito, Carlito! El Matador!’ Every throat screamed the famous chant as Carlos strutted into the arena to face his foe … the bull! But first he had to show his adoring fans what they had come to see most … him. He stalked around the ring, casting his electric gaze over the assembled crowd. His eyebrows danced as each pretty lady present was noted and given the benefit of his leering smile which promised to each that, who knows, maybe later ……

The crowd became delirious as he acknowledged each adoring section in turn. Flowers rained down around his feet and plump women lifted their equally plump babies to see the great El Matador. Everyone expressed their adoration in their own way and Carlos basked in the glory.

As he finished his circumnavigation of the bull ring a drum-roll rumbled from deep within the bowels of the main stand. Trumpets joined in the celebration as Carlos twirled one last time so that everyone could get a final look before the struggle began.

and the crowd quietened, everywhere the expectation was tangible … the action was about to start.

From the side of the arena, to the left of Carlos came the sounds of pulleys whirring as a gate opened slowly. All eyes were riveted on the now yawning portal, not least those that belonged to Carlos. His life in the next few minutes depended on his observation as much as his skill with cape and sword. Suddenly a huge snorting beast erupted from the cavern to the roar of the crowd. It stopped, unsure of these new sights and sounds, before storming into the centre of the arena. He angrily pawed at the ground, driven to frenzy by the noise and colour.

Carlos watched and waited and soon the bull spied him, his red outfit acting as an insult to the enraged animal. They watched each other, neither willing to make a wrong move. The bull began to prance towards Carlos, whilst he strutted, his cape billowing in the breeze, his lack of concern at the animal’s approach obvious to all.

Carlos manoeuvred his cape with expertise and the bull charged only to be deflected easily by the smooth movements.

‘Torro’ The roar went up from the crowd. Everywhere people reacted. Men wished to be El Matador and women swooned as they wished they were in his arms. Children re-enacted his moves and hoped that they, too, would some day be able to fight the bull. For the man in the centre of the ring, this was what he lived for. The adulation was his life blood and he was the consummate showman.

He watched almost lazily as the bull galloped to the opposite side of the arena where it pawed at the floor to the delight of the crowd. And then it was charging again and the life or death dance was re-lived. This time Carlos skipped away to the perimeter of the open area with a flourish, drawing the plaudits of the crowd as he went. He dodged behind the board which screened off a small area where he could rest and, if necessary, regroup and the arena clowns spilled into the ring to deflect … or increase the bull’s anger.

El Matador hastily took a drink from a proffered water bottle as he gazed up into
the nearest section of the crowd who were watching his every move with excitement. Before long his roving eyes alighted on a beautiful senorita seated a few rows above him. After the bull the girls were second in importance to him and he turned his searchlight smile on to her. The effect was usually instantaneous. They either swooned; batting their fans ferociously or they returned his stare with a ‘come hither’ addition. He was delighted to see the latter on this laydee’z face and he asked his steward to take her a note inviting an assignation later that evening.

After a few minutes he made ready to re-enter the fray but his thoughts were interrupted by a high, clear voice.

‘Carlito … I will wait for you, querida … I love you.’ He had heard such endearments too often to count but this was somehow much more interesting. He turned back to the crowd and saw that the beautiful girl was standing, waving the note happily. He let out a rakish laugh before waving back with a flourish.

He became aware that he had been stalling for much too long and he drove all distractions from his mind. The restless murmurs from the throng once more rose to a peak as El Matador stepped back into the ring and, once again, he began his ritual dance.

The contest wore on, an equal matching of the bull’s strength and speed in opposition to Carlos’ intellect and manoeuvrability. The crowd was held spellbound by the intricate movements battling against the brute strength and they greeted each of El Matador’s successes with delirium.

After some time, Carlos felt himself tiring and he made his way back to his refuge behind the board and watched the clowns going into their routine as he regained his breath and stamina. He turned to face the crowd and laughed as small children reached out to touch his cape in order that they would be able to boast of this contact to their friends. Being Carlos though, his eyes eventually went back to the girl and he stared boldly into her eyes. Her returning stare held all the sweet promise of the coming evening and he relished the thought of the games to come.

As he returned to the arena his mind was still lost in the contemplation of these delights … a possibly fatal flaw! He looked up to see the bull much closer than he expected … and thundering towards him. He rolled his cape desperately, in an effort to deflect the vicious horns from the correct path to his soft body and he was partly successful.

He felt the agonising pain as the razor sharp tip of one horn gouged his side and the hot wetness of his blood began to spread over his shirt. Someone screamed close by and he tried to turn to see who it was but the effort was just too painful and he sank slowly to his knees in the already blood-stained sand.

But the danger wasn’t, of course, over …now he was a vulnerable target. The bull turned, snorting and pawing, sensing victory and every throat in the arena was stilled. Carlos looked at the charging animal and tried to move but his legs refused to support his weight. A quiet resignation overcame him as he considered his fate. He had always know that his end might come in this way … it was really quite fitting when all things were considered.

The enraged beast loomed ever nearer. Carlos closed his eyes and waited for the collision of bone and sinew with his fragile body … but it didn’t happen. Instead the crowd roared as a clown, heedless of his own safety, threw himself into the path of the bull, distracting it long enough to allow the medics to drag Carlos to safety.

Once he was back behind the board his wound was attended to and he was made more comfortable until he could be moved to hospital. In the arena the clowns danced and slid around the confused animal until it stopped abruptly, unwilling to play their game any more and sat down on the sandy floor … thoroughly fed up!

Carlos lay on the stretcher, his eyes closed against the pain. He re-opened them rapidly when he felt a cool hand on his forehead. The lovely young woman who had been the reason for his downfall stood beside him. Her face showed her concern and as he watched she knelt in the dust and brought her face close to his. He smiled, despite his discomfort and prepared his lips to receive a kiss from her rosebud lips.

Without warning the scene changed and the beautiful face was transformed into the grinning visage of a grotesquely made-up clown. Huge flabby lips, wildly exaggerated with too much greasepaint, loomed closer. Carlos thrashed his head from side to side.
‘No, no, no! Get off me now!’

Carlos re-opened his eyes to find himself safely in the plane and he immediately noticed a very burly male flight attendant leading a large, heavily made-up, woman back to her seat.

‘Madre de Dios! What is going on?’ He turned to a grinning David sitting beside him for an answer.
‘Well, nothing to worry about, amigo! Just an over friendly fan who couldn’t resist the sight of your sleeping face any longer. I couldn’t stop her. Hell, I was too scared to try. Fortunately for you, the staff have been watching for any such incidents and so that guy was quickly on the scene to save your bacon … more likely your chorizo, come to think of it!!


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PostSubject: Re: The Super Group Diaries Revisited – Il Divo Dreams! By: MoeD    Tue Sep 21, 2010 10:59 pm

Urs felt rather than heard the sensuous Latin rhythm of the music and as usual he couldn’t keep still. He closed his eyes and allowed his hips to sway provocatively to the beat and he smiled to himself as he considered how his uberbabes would enjoy this spectacle. The soft curls at his nape were casually held back by a small band and he was wearing a white linen shirt which billowed slightly as he moved and tight black trousers which were tapered perfectly to reveal every muscle.

His eyes were forced back open by the sudden intrusion of blinding light seeping through his eyelids. He squinted uncomfortably until he was finally able to see around once more. He found himself to be stood in the middle of a large, ornate room, which had one wall completely covered in mirrors.

The floor beneath his feet gave ever so slightly when he moved to the rhythm. The music was taking over his senses, insisting that his body explained every beat to those watching. He cast a lingering gaze over his audience … all female and beautiful … and all entranced by his dancing prowess. Wordlessly they began to line up along the mirrored wall. They were his pupils and he was about to teach each of them all the mystery of dance; all the love and romance that two people moving in synchronisation can convey to the world.

Urs approached the front of the line, his slow, sinuous gait still in perfect harmony with the beat which was pulsating through the room. The girl was, of course, beautiful; petite but with curves in all the right places. Her curtain of auburn hair framed an enchanting heart-shaped face and her adoring eyes were fixed on his, ready for her lesson.
‘Oh Mr Buhler, I’ve waited so long for the chance to dance with you.’ She blushed furiously, totally overcome by the importance of the moment. His only answer was a devastating smile which made her knees weaken to such an extent that he found it necessary to catch her in his circling arms to prevent her from hurting herself. Once he was sure that she was steady again he re-arranged his hold in preparation to begin the dance and waited for the appropriate beat.

On cue he swept her out into the middle of the room and guided her movements masterfully. He led her to new heights of grace and sensuality as they moved together … holding, touching, hinting that the dance was merely a preliminary event which would eventually lead to ultimate togetherness. For the few minutes she was in his arms she knew complete happiness and she prayed with all her heart that her time would be everlasting. But as with all wistful dreams, this was not to be and before she realised it she was back in the line, this time at the rear. She hung her head, desolate.

Once more he returned to the front of the line and greeted the next girl, a sultry blonde this time … God, he loved this job … and once more he led her in a perfect dancing circuit of the room.

The lesson wore on; each beautiful girl was taken breathlessly through the intricacies of the salsa rhythm before being deposited back in the never-ending line. He felt as though he could have danced in this manner forever … he was truly in his natural element and the adoration of the women was quite fun too.

Without warning the scene began to subtly change. The lighting became more intrusive, there was even a crude spotlight following his movements. At the same time Urs became aware that he was no longer dancing around an elegant room but was now on a stage which was draped with luridly glittering strips of curtaining

He stared out into the room and noted sadly that all the beautiful girls seemed to be melting into an altogether different crowd of onlookers. He was still surrounded by women but this crowd was sinister and hungry.

He became aware that the music had also changed at this point; the intimate Latin notes were steadily being replaced by a more raucous, driving beat. After a while he noted some lyrics … they were familiar! The music swelled to a new and deafening level and despite his efforts to the contrary, his body responded to the earthy pounding which was assaulting his senses. His sensuous swaying became frantic hip thrusting and the familiar lyric wrote itself across his consciousness.

Lookin’ for some hot stuff, baby, this evening,
Some hot stuff, baby, tonight,
Gotta get some hot stuff, baby, this evening,
Gotta get some hot stuff.
Gotta get some love tonight!

As his gyrations became more and more suggestive Urs stared into the slack, baying mouths of the women in the crowd. They were hung over the little railing that surrounded the tiny dance floor below him and they were scary! Some held money in their fists and made lewd gestures as to where they expected to stick this cash while others simply stared … and drooled.

He danced on unwillingly but unable to stop and then; horror of horrors; his feet took him to the stairs down to the floor area and closer to the women who all now sensed a step up in the performance.

He stopped in the middle of the area as he waited for the appropriate stanza of the song then, as Donna Summer bellowed out her request for hot stuff once again he slowly began to unbutton his shirt. The women went wild, abandoning all pretences of decorum – what little there was here - and reaching lascivious arms out to help him. They drew him towards them like a magnet and he recoiled in terror as the first fingers made contact with what his ubers call the ‘Bermuda Triangle’. No gentleness was here as they tore at the shirt until it hung in tattered shreds from the waistband of his trousers … their next target.

Urs tried desperately to take a step back but his feet remained glued to the spot. Loud laughter could be heard as they watched his pathetic efforts; no mercy would be shown by these women. A large, repulsive woman with maniacally staring eyes and wild flowing hair put her hand onto the buckle of his belt. She licked her lips in a way which made him want to vomit as she started to manoeuvre the leather through its fastening. ………………….

From the back of the room came the sound of wood and glass smashing and the music ground to a halt. This seemed to break the trance he was held in and Urs smacked the woman’s hand angrily away. She wasn’t going to be put off that easily though and she grasped his arm in a vice like grip before dragging him so close to her that he could feel, and smell, her fetid breath on his face. Others now held onto him and she sneered as she let her hand roam roughly down his body but just as she was about to commit the ultimate indignity on his person a commotion at the rear of the crowd became apparent. Everywhere women turned to see what was happening and were faced with the sight of more women, dressed in black combats … and fighting their way towards the leading group.

The baying crowd scattered, unwilling to become embroiled in the battle and only the sneering woman and her cronies were left surrounding Urs. The leader of the group of interlopers boldly stepped forward and levelled her gaze at her opposite number. It was a stand off!

The lady in black carefully and precisely removed every finger that was touching Urs’ body as the rest of her group now surrounded and outnumbered the wrong doers. Eventually they all melted away and their leader scowled before following them into the night.

And so she turned to Urs and removed her head covering, smiling broadly at Urs as she did so. She was familiar … one of his uberbabes.

‘Hello Urs, I hope you’re not feeling too bad after that terrible interlude.’

‘Well I’m not now … thanks to you and all your friends.’ He glanced around the group as more and more women revealed their faces. Many of their number seemed familiar and he looked back to the leader for an explanation. ‘Who are you ladies that I have to thank so much?’

‘Why, we’re your uberbabes, of course; those who inhabit the den. From there we constantly monitor events around the forum for any news which might be important to us and we found out about this little plot earlier. You should know by now that we in the den are there to help our uberlord whenever we can.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I’m Siobhan, by the way, the high Commander. We met in Canada some time ago and all these ladies are your ubers: Jenny, Simmi, Rob, Leo, Lynne, Daf, Laura Elena, Asa . But ,in truth, it could have been any of those who call you the Swiss rock God, we were just handy … and Moe and Marie are here somewhere, they were the ones who discovered this plot’

From the back of the crowd a shuffling could be heard and Moe and Marie stepped into the pool of light which surrounded Urs. They weren’t dressed in black but wore their ordinary clothes. Urs stepped forward and hugged his naked chest to each of them in thanks. Then he looked at them puzzled … hang on, weren’t you in the crowd earlier, hanging over that bloody railing.

Moe and Marie looked at each other like frightened rabbits and eventually Marie cleared her throat and spoke in a halting, little-girl voice.

‘Well someone had to be here to make sure you were okay until the rest of the girls got here.’ Moe nodded her head so vigorously to this comment that she almost succeeded in knocking Siobhan out.

‘But we weren’t enjoying ourselves watching you take your shirt off, honest! Oh no! … not us … never!’ Mo was now back-pedalling so furiously she was in danger of doing herself an injury.

Urs considered the slightly shamefaced pair and started to smirk. They received this gladly and smiled sheepishly back before each putting a hand on either side of his face and patting his cheeks.

……. Who in god’s name was touching him now? Hands were either side of his head, tugging at something. His first wakeful gaze showed a pretty flight attendant who was carefully and unobtrusively trying to remove the headphones, which were connected to the in-flight sound system, from his ears.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to wake you, Mr Buhler but you seemed to be having a dream and I was quite sure that you were so happily fast asleep that you wouldn’t really want to listen to the film we are showing. It is funny though … a British classic … The Full Monty!

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