through the body pressing me down, through the roof of the tent, high above the festival site, and I crashed into the moon. Colors flashed all around me, and for the first time in my life, I could taste the fibrous texture of my own orgasm. It rang deep and powerfully in my ears, like some great tolling bell that I was a part of. Then my body crumbled into a billion quivering pieces of raw flesh.
Tm coming!' ^the one fucking me grunted. His cock went berserk in my cunt, and I thought he was trying to screw me to the ground. In a solid, thick stream, gushing out with all the force and pressure of a firehose, his cock opened up and jetted his come into my cunt. I could feel his hot gush mixing with the cold puddle of Zach's, Then he screamed it again, as if anyone had failed to hear him: 'Tm coming!'
He dismounted, and before I had completely returned from my voyage to the moon, someone else had taken his place in my overflowing cunt. It was the blond one called Gino. His cock was a different size, and I felt it fill my cunt in an excitingly different way. He began to fuck me, and when he came, I did again also. Only this time it was better, longer, harder, higher, further and more intense. My mind went away from my body, and for a very long while it didn't return.
When it did, Gino was gone, and there was a different cock in my cunt. A longer, thicker, harder one. I coulJ hear him splashing into my gushing box, driving the shaft of his cock through the deposits of three separate cocks and three separate comes. Not to mention mine.
And I was not surprised when he began to come, that I began to come again. I could hear my cunt making a deep, sucking noise, like an overflowing drain. I could feel his hot sperm oozing from my swollen cunt and dripping down my ass.
I felt someone behind me change places with the person holding my legs down. New hands gripped my ankles. Then a new cock throbbed into my cunt I don't know whether this new cock came, for my mind went away somewhere, and did not return for a very, very long time. And when it did, there was someone on top of me, in my cunt, that I never saw before in my life.
After him there were three others. I was sore and I ached, and I was tired of coming.
But I couldn't make up my mind. It was hard to tell if they were raping me or being nice to me. I think I passed out after a while.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun beat down very heavily on my brain, and I had to shade my eyes from the daylight glare. The roadway was very hot, and I could actually see the heat radiating up from the melting black tar. The air was thick with exhaust fumes that I tried not to inhale, but I had no choice; I haoT to breathe. Every time I did so, I would feel my stomach turn nauseously, and I had a dull, throbbing headache.
I walked slowly along the grassy shoulder of the highway, turning towards the road whenever a car swept past me. I was in Virginia now, and the rock festival was completely gone from my mind as a way of finding what I was searching for. I only wished it was gone from my memory; and my body.
Still, I thought, it wasn't all that bad. The grass was good and exciting. A new experience; something I've never tried before. I still wasn't positive I had explored it fully enough to say it didn't hold anything for me. Perhaps I'd try it again one day. Of course, tinder different circumstances.
My legs ached, and the flesh between my thighs was raw. Literally raw. My cunt was swollen and puffy, and there was a dull throbbing ache deep in my vagina that pulsed with pain each time I took a step. I still don't know how many men I took on: perhaps the whole festival. All I know is there was a continual stream of them, all with new hard cocks, filling my drowning pussy with more come than I ever knew was possible to absorb. My cunt felt like Niagara Falls, with torrents of rushing come cascading over the curved cliff of rny pubis, draining down into the sperm-soaked floor of the tent.
After it was over I think they were frightened, They took care of me, put blankets around me, and tried to comfort my sobbing. Zach personally washed out my cunt, and dabbed medication on the long abrasions between my legs. They gave me food and drink, more than I needed, and gave me even a knapsack to carry it in. And then, when I tried to put my clothing back on, and we discovered that someone had shredded my dress, the only clothing I had, they went out and obtained some other clothing for me to wear. It wasn't much-a pair of men's jeans that were a little big for me, a shell-like purple shirt, and a pair of sandles that laced up my calves. I still didn't have any underwear, but it didn't bother me as much now. I seemed to have adopted a new role, and my present clothing fit my body as well as my new temperament. I was a hippie, on the road, searching for what? I still didn't know. Maybe I never would. But I had to search just the same, A twenty-eight year old married hippie. It was all so very strange.
A car roared past and I stuck out my thumb. There was a man and a woman in the car, and as they sped past, the woman gave me a horrified look I tried to imagine myself as her all those many times I drove with Peter and we passed some ragged-looking hitchhiker on the road. We never thought to stop. We simply drove past, as if it wasn't a human being, but just another thing on the road, something discarded like an old used tissue or an empty soda bottle.
The car disappeared down the long gray road, and I began to think of Peter. I wondered what he was doing, right at that moment. Had he called the police? The FBI? What had he told our parents, our friends? It was like another world, I thought. Part of the past, part of my imagination. And like all things from the past, it was beyond touching, beyond memory. It was like a dim image, fading, fading, fading in the sunlight. I felt hollow thinking about it. Empty. As though someone had drained all the color from it, all the laughter. It rattled from corner to corner in my brain, fitting nowhere, a part of nothing-Life's too short, I thought. I'm twenty-eight, and in November I'll be twenty-nine. And then thirty. It only comes around once, so you'd better make it good. After it's gone, it's all over.
Another car went past, but this one stopped, about a hundred yards up the road. I walked slowly towards it, not in any particular hurry. Unlike that first night, I was no longer rushing to get away. I was away now, and all that mattered was that I keep on going further and further away. Where didn't matter. How fast didn't make any particular difference. I would search until I found it.
The man driving the car got impatient, and he threw the machine into reverse. Swerving from right to left, moving very rapidly, the car drove back to meet me. From the rear, and the way it moved, the car reminded me of a dinosaur.
He stopped about ten feet from me, and I walked slowly up to the front door. I looked in. The driver was alone in the car. He was an older man, about fifty, I guess, kind of fat and balding. He had a white short-sleeve shirt on and a pair of green work pants. His hair was faded mouse-color, what little there was of it, and the top of his head was a shiny deep brown tan. He was wearing a pair of green sunglasses.
I tried the door. It was locked. I knocked on the window and pointed to the door. He sat and stared at me.
'It's locked,' I said, pointing to the handle. 'Open the door.' He sat and stared.
'Fuck you,' I said, giving him the finger, and I turned away from the car and wandered down the road.
A few minutes later, the car pulled up beside me and the door swung open. I stared in at the man. 'You sure you want to give me a ride?' I asked.
He tried to smile, but it somehow reminded me of a threat. 'Sure. Come on in.'
I studied him a little longer. He looked harmless, but that didn't mean anything. Zach had reminded me of Christ.
'Come on!' he insisted. 'You want me to get a ticket?'
I climbed into the car, and then remembering French, I pulled the door quickly closed. The car was air- conditioned, and the icy breeze billowed against my sweat-sticky clothing. It was an expensive car, and the front seat was soft and comfortable. The car
was equipped with a tape-deck, and soft string music filled the car. I think it was Montovani.
Like a sleek dark animal, the car moved silently back onto the road. There was hardly any sensation of movement, and no sound of the engine working. Only the music and the humming purr of the air-conditioner.
The man behind the wheel stared at the road in complete silence for about five minutes. If he didn't want to speak, that was all right with me. I learned my lesson with French. I sat back in the soft seat and closed my eyes,
