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Disturbed One
The day I met David Draiman was magical. You might even say it was supernatural.
"The dreaded I-E-Ed," I could still hear Steve 'Fuzz' Kmak's voice from an earlier interview when asked about his band, Disturbed's vocalist. But, this was not a 'dreaded' meeting, by any means. Mr Draiman had heard of my steadfast determination to write an unauthorized biography on the band, and while on a layover during their tour of the southern eastcoast, he had scheduled a meeting with me to discuss some of the facts that were to go into the preliminary manuscript. He even sent a limo to pick me up from my home, which was also my office.
As soon as I stepped out of the limo onto the RSVP parking grounds, I saw the well-over-a-million-dollars-bus I'd seen Mr Draiman give tour to the camera in an interview months earlier. But, in real life, it was more breathtaking, and much larger than I'd dreamed. As I stood there open-mouthed, the limousine drove away, and the bus doors folded open with a swoosh. I looked up in awe, because standing on the bottom step of the bus to greet me was David Draiman, himself.
He was dressed all in black. The trademark tight black leather pants. A mesh shirt with the appearance of thick black straps across the chest and upper arms. And he wore a pair of black stacks, although I didn't think the extra height was necessary.
He held out his hand to assist me up the first step. "Thank you, Mr Draiman," I gushed like a schoolgirl.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Betta," he called me by my screen name. "And please, no more Mister. Call me David." He used no profanity. He was smooth and classy.
"Of course. David," I swallowed hard, and placed my hand atop his. "Pleased to meet you, David," the words were coming a bit easier.
"No," he lowered his smooth head to my hand. "The pleasure is absolutely mine." I heard the labrets softly ring as he brushed his lips across my fingers, one by one. The feel of his soft, full lips on the back of each one of my fingers, mingled with the slight coolness of the labrets dancing across my skin, caused such a tremor to run through my body that I had to hold my breath to keep it from emerging in one long tremble. I knew of the verbally abusive lyrics that tended to be directed more to females, particularly ones that showed emotional weakness.
I could even understand that. Especially if there had been a domineering mother, as had been portrayed in The Sickness. But I had many questions, and did not want to scare him off with my feminine wiles, which I knew he also abhorred. So, I put on my best 'innocent' smile and gasped, "Please!" as I tried to calmly put my slightly trembling hand down to my side.
"Of course. Betta," it sounded strangely mocking as he straightened suddenly upright, as if it had all been my imagination. "What can I tell you?" he offered... (to be continued)

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