I wasn’t just thirsty. I was parched. Dehydrated. I wanted to suck every clit, deepthroat every dick, and devour every ass. There are so many beautiful people at music festivals; it’s overwhelming. Shirtless men in short-shorts with bulges galore. Women are completely topless, wearing nothing but skimpy thongs. Everywhere I looked, there was someone beautiful, and I was letting each and every one of them know. I can’t tell you the number of people I started talking to, where, within a minute of meeting, I said, “You are gorgeous. Do you want to make out?”
So I was making out with a lot of people at the Elements Festival in the Poconos, but that was only making me hornier. There were points I was walking around with a raging boner, and I had to conceal that thing before accidentally poking an eye out.
But then, on my last day, I fucked. At long last! Did my brother and future sister-in-law accidentally walk into the RV when I was having sex? Yes, but luckily my little man and I made it to the bathroom before they could see anything. “Is someone in the bathroom with you?” my brother asked. “Yeah,” I said, laughing.
“Alright, we’ll be back in 30 minutes. Have fun!”
The moment they left, we started back up again, and that three-day load shot out of me like a bat out of hell.
I picked him up because he was wearing a crop top that said “Super Gay” and I was wearing my crop top that said “Bisexual And Still Not Into You.” I walked up to him and said we should be friends. He later told me he was surprised that I wanted to fuck because my shirt seemed so off-putting. He also mentioned that he thought I was straight—that one confused me.
But that isn’t even the main story. Sure, his ass was enormous, and his hole was tight, and I was harder than a Chevy Suburban—but what came after him—that’s where our story begins. Because somehow, even after having sex with this cute little pocket gay from the Midwest, I was still a horny mess. I was a greedy bisexual who wanted everything, and I got everything, right in front of the stage as Diplo raged on.
I met Patch the evening before. He had that mix between unabashedly queer and punk. His face, heavily pierced and gauged. Black and white tattoos with thin, clean lines covered his body. Spiny goth platform boots that gave him an extra eight inches, making him substantially taller than me. Despite his more “intimidating” look, his smile was big, and his eyes were welcoming, and I desperately wanted to kiss him.
“Fuck, you look incredible,” I said, with a fat smile stapled to my face. “You do, too,” he said, his grin matching mine. I complimented his totem, a large flower he had handcrafted and sprayed to smell like a real rose.
“I really want to kiss you, can I?” My forwardness was a welcome surprise. “Yes,” he replied. Patch’s lips were big and both of us, simultaneously, let our hands explore. Within seconds my hand was on his ass. He felt my hard dick pressed against him and grabbed it.
“Holy, shit,” he said. “You are very hard.”
“I know!” I said. “We really should fuck.”
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