He's wearing this black shirt. I know every stitch, every inch of cotton, and it is unbuttoned most of the way, revealing a tantalising, teasing glimpse of skin. Skin that I have become very familiar with over the years: I think my lips have traced every inch, every soft, supple sinew, since we have been together.

Oh yes, we've been together a while. I know we didn't do a great job of hiding it, especially to those with eager eyes and a vivid imagination. Well, not so vivid you know. Let's just say that there are some places that we touched that enquiring minds never even considered. But I'll leave that to the more creative of you to enjoy and speculate upon.

And 'together', well there's a word that is open to interpretation. Yes, that is a wedding ring on his finger. No, he's not married to me. It's complicated. And people would probably find it blackly comic if I tried to explain. So I won't.

That black shirt. There are two reasons it was unbuttoned. The first, is because I unbuttoned it in that five minutes prior to him going on stage and, well, he didn't have a huge amount of time in which to get it buttoned back up. Second, is because he's a tease, and he knew that I was watching. You see, our Darren can be a little bit of an exhibitionist. He knows how much I enjoy seeing his flesh, especially those teasing glimpses. Of course, I know that I'll get to see so much more after the show, but the anticipation is almost as much fun as the... who am I kidding? The anticipation is fun, but the real fun doesn't start until much later.

I know why he chose that shirt. Black is his colour. I don't mean thelittle goth-baby look he had when we first started out, although yeah, that was hot as hell, but the mature man that he has become looks incredible in black. A soft black shirt, black pants: he knows I love him wearing that.

No one knows I'm here. It's amazing how anonymous I can be, considering a large proportion of the crowd were screaming for me only a few years ago. I exaggerate slightly, of course: they were screaming for Darren for the most part. But I should be recognisable, at least. I relish that I'm not. It makes it easier for the both of us. Especially him. Because black doesn't just look good on him, it describes his mood to when someone tries to pry too deeply into his personal life. Who he fucks is his own business, and god help anyone who tries to insinuate anything different.

So he guards his privacy carefully. I don't mind that. Makes it easier for me to slip into his room after the show and fuck him senseless. When we're alone in his room and his eyes darken and he needs me, his eyes are so expressive, as I'm pounding into him. His pupils widen until I'm drowning in a sea of blackness and it fills my heart that it's me he's with. I know these moments are few and far between, like little stars in a black cloudless night. That makes them all the more precious.