Till Three Ways
Not to be confused with Till threeways. Which is something I can't even wrap my mind around, mainly because I can't think of another man or woman that I would want horning in on my private Till Face Time. No no. This is Till...Three Ways. Kind of like eggs three ways. Because he's a man of many faces, a man of many looks and hairstyles, and frankly, that can muck up a girl's fantasy life. So I find myself separating my Tillian fantasies into three categories for better brain filing. Don't let your fantasies get all jumbled together girls, you don't ever want to mix strawberries and bondage. Bad for the complexion.
So here we have what I like to call Real Till. Normal Till if you will. (I will! Thank you!) This is Till on a Monday morning in October, sitting on his couch watching Press Your Luck. This is Till who raises a teenage daughter. Till who eats sandwiches and sleeps in a big, comfy bed. I like him. The fantasies surrounding normal Till are very sweet and...frankly boring. In FACT, they very rarely involve sex at all. When I see Real Till (or in fact when I talk to him in person) I have a horrible feeling that I might rather just be his friend than his lover. Shocking, I know. I do have one where I'm laying in bed with Real Till (supposedly AFTER having sex, stupid brain, won't let me dream about it), all cuddled up in white sheets watching television. And another one where we're on a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan just sunning ourselves and drinking beer like rich people. So you see, I'm not always a pervert. Sometimes I'm just a nice, small town girl who wants to water ski with Germans.
Sometimes
So. Welcome to hell.
Here we have "Stage Till", or "Full Makeup Till". For some reason I really enjoy this Mutter tour makeup scheme a lot better than the Sehnsucht "black and silver bondage stereotype" makeup that bands like Godsmack and Korn promptly stole. Nice Silver Hair David Silveria of Korn...where'dya get that idea? But I digress. This picture doesn't really capture what I'm looking for in Stage Till, but it's the best and clearest one I could find that properly illustrated the 'mood'. The point of the story is, with the mohawk and the scary red/gold eye makeup and the black Frankenstein lipstick, Till Lindemann looks like a fucking menace to society. He winked at a girl in Vegas from the stage and I thought I'd melt into a puddle onto the floor. He looks horribly mean and not a little bit psychotic, and one who might be into making a small cut in my forearm and sucking the blood out of it.
Not that I'm into that.
My fantasies for "Stage Till" are too detailed for a little paragraph on a webpage. And they're too numerous to list, as Stage Till is in the majority of my Tillian fantasies. They need to be written out and cross referenced in a tome the size of Wuthering Heights. But suffice it to say, they're scary. They're dark. They involve rope. They involve sweat and loud music and walls painted black. They involve hot wax and hairpulling, and exhaustion and muscle soreness. But most important of all, they involve a backstage pass, because Till absolutely MUST remain in full makeup. And be smoking.
And then we have this. Incubus Till. Till on Fire. The First Till I Ever Saw. Instead of CLOSING Rockstock with the song Rammstein, they OPENED with Rammstein, so the first time I ever ever ever saw Till on stage, he looked like this. He was on fire. His tummy was hairy and flat, he was a cyborg with a bulge in his pants. My Incubus Till fantasy is so specific and detailed that it warrants tellling. It takes place outside. In the woods, in the winter, so there are no leaves on the trees, but it hasn't snowed yet. I wake up, look out my bedroom window and see Incubus Till, the jacket on fire, the cyborg goggles sweeping the landscape and then the red laser hones in on my window. He sees me, turns and begins walking towards the naked trees. There's a moon, so it's kind of bright out. I'm wearing a white satin nightgown. I get out of bed and go outside to follow him into the woods. No words, nothing. He never even turns around to see if I'm behind him. It's spooky. I lay on the cold hard ground and he just hammers away at me WITH THE COAT OF FLAMES STILL ON and then walks away without a word. I wake up in my bed, all safe and sound, thinking it was a dream, but finding leaves in my hair. Hot. Way hot.
So there we have it. Till Three Ways. Which is your favorite? And what would you do to a Stage Till? Or a Normal Till? These are the questions you have to ask yourself if you're really going to subsribe to a WWTD philosophy.