You were at one of KISS’s concerts — loud, fiery, and absolutely electric.

The lights were blinding, the pyrotechnics were shaking the entire stadium, and the crowd was losing their minds. The band was on fire, not just musically, but literally spitting flames and unleashing their usual madness.

In the middle of a song, they started bringing fans up on stage — pulling people one by one into their over-the-top rock circus. Some danced, some screamed, some froze under the lights, but all of them looked like they had just stepped into a dream.

Then Gene Simmons looked at you.

He pointed.

At you.

Your stomach dropped.

You hesitated for half a second, but when he curled his fingers and motioned for you to come up, you felt your feet move almost on their own. A stagehand helped you up and suddenly — boom. You were there. On stage. In front of thousands.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, louder than the guitars.

Eric Carr was in the middle of a blazing drum solo, arms a blur, sweat flying as the lights flashed around him. He was killing it, and the crowd roared with every hit. It gave the moment a surreal backdrop — like everything around you was exploding in slow motion.

Then, Gene came over.

Towering. Painted. Tongue out.

He walked with that exaggerated swagger, bass slung low, and a devilish grin curling on his face. You barely had time to process before he got right up in your space — the crowd howling in anticipation — and then, just like he'd done in a dozen shows before…

He leaned in.

Slowly, dramatically, he dragged his tongue through the air — tracing the entire length of your neck… without actually touching it. Close enough to send chills shooting through your spine, but far enough to leave only the heat of the moment behind.

The crowd lost it.

You couldn’t even move. Your breath caught in your throat as his eyes flicked to yours, full of mischief and showmanship. He smirked, gave you a wink, and then turned back toward the crowd like the demon king he was.