French felt heavy on me. The smell of sex was no longer exciting. His sperm felt cold as it dripped from my cunt, over my ass, and all over the front seat of the car.
I held him very tightly. He was breathing very heavily, as though he were about to have a heart attack. I patted him affectionately on the side of his head.
It was good, I thought. As good as it always had been with Peter, and perhaps as good as it had been with Adam. But it wasn't magic. It wasn't what I needed.
CHAPTER THREE
When we arrived at the festival site, I said goodbye to French and thanked him. He had friends to meet there, and I sensed his usefulness to me had ended, I tried to find what I needed in the youthful innocent hardness of his body, but it was not there. I was just as anxious, just as unhappy as I had been with Adam. Happiness, if indeed that was what I was looking for, was neither to be found in the security of a husband, in the experienced touch of a supple-bodied lover, nor in the unspoiled enthusiasm of youth. I had to search on, further, further, until I found it.
I walked the last hour, still a mile or two from the grounds because the cars were backed up and un-moving in an endless string that stretched in both directions as far as you could see.
I walked past the unbroken ranks of cars, feeling a little uncomfortable in the thin fabric of my dress. I was aware that I was completely naked under it, and even more acutely aware of the heavy, unaccustomed bobble of my braless breasts. I walked with my arms folded across my chest, both shielding and supporting my half-naked tits.
But, as I walked, I began to notice what was going on around me. Nudity didn't seem to be a very important consideration. Many, many of the girls I saw were dressed in a fashion that was very similar to mine. And some were even completely naked, and not, apparently ashamed of it. They sat in the cars with their breasts dangling, or their skirts pulled up to their waist, airing their sweaty crotches. More than once I observed them fucking openly, in the back or front seats of the cars, with anywhere from one to four boys, without any apparent concern or embarrassment, I, of course, was shocked whenever I walked past a stalled car that served as a place for an orgy, and I averted my eyes, trying not to notice.
But it was almost impossible not to, and it continued to happen with increasing frequency, the closer I got to the festival entrance. Perhaps it had something to do with the waiting. In the boredom, they simply resorted to fucking as a way of killing time.
Without really wanting to, I found myself growing aroused. The girls were young and beautiful, the boys hard and virile. Whenever I saw a flash of cock sinking into a quivering snatch, or heard the unabashed groans of pleasure, I felt excited and a little cheated. I sensed that I had missed something very important with French, but I didn't know what. Perhaps it was an attitude towards sex, and I began to wonder whether anyone from my generation could ever really see or accept human sexuality with the same kind of honest, open, guiltless ease that boys and girls of French's generation did. If there was any kind of generation gap, it was in this area.
I could see a crowd of people ahead, in the distance, and off to my right, the rolling hills and valleys were completely littered with humanity. As for as I could see, there was an endless sea of men, women, children, boys and girls. They stood, they sat, they danced and jumped, obscuring the grass the way confetti covers over the dance floor at a New Year's Eve party. A million bobbing, bearded, longhaired heads.
I reached the crowd and watched for a moment. The fence that had roped off the whole festival area was trampled down here, and everyone was waiting patiently their turn to enter the grounds illegally. Not having any money, I waited my turn in the group, and I climbed over the fallen fence. I was officially at my first rock festival.
I still couldn't hear any music, although there was something that might have been a stage off in the distance. It was about a half a mile away. The area between was filled with laughter, shouting, talking, singing, records, radio noise, and small pockets of people making their own music. The air was heavy with a sharp, pungent smell, and I watched people passing around strangely shaped cigarettes. They sat on the ground, on blankets, on each other, on bedrolls and in tents. They ate food: sandwiches, fruit, raw carrots and candy. I saw one girl with a knapsack filled with nothing but bubble gum, and she was handing it out to everyoneJPeople were drinking wine, and I saw my first wineskin. A boy was holding it up to his bearded open mouth, squeezing into the leather pouch, and a thin purple stream of wine arced into his mouth. He offered the skin to me, but embarrassed, I declined. I walked on.
I began to hear music, and I looked in the direction of the stage, The sound seemed to be coming from two huge towers on either side of the stage. The music was loud and harsh, full of static, but no one seemed to mind. No one, in fact seemed to be paying very much attention to it. The music seemed nothing more than an excuse: a reason for attending.
There was a great deal of open nudity, but I was past the point of being surprised or shocked. Naked men and women sat around in relaxed, non-sexual positions, and they reminded me of sun-bathers at a crowded beach.
I found myself staring, however, furtively at first, but then more openly. They might treat nudity as commonplace, but I still found it exciting. Especially when the girl was fairly well-developed, with heavy pendulous tits or a very hairy, sexy-looking cunt. And when I came across a man who was really well-hung, or who had a harden, I felt myself sucking in my breath in an involuntary throb of excitement.
Couples even made love out in the open, although, this did bring on some curious observers. They'd gather around in a small cluster, and watch and comment on technique or cock size or the way the girl was reacting. But no shock, no violence, no sudden uncontrollable surges of passion that would lead to rape. Just an open, honest curiosity and strangely frank admiration.
I watched a black girl sucking a white boy's cock. She was on her knees, and he was lying flat under her. Her mouth was wrapped around his thick shaft almost to the base of his hairy belly, and behind her, fucking her in doggie-fashion, was a tall, muscular black man. I watched in awe, with my cunt dripping down my naked thighs, as his mighty, thick black shaft sunk in and out of her quivering cunt. Then, Just as he came, he pulled his long black cock from her cunt and placed it on her back, between the ebony cheeks of her ass. The black man began to come. Thick, milky-white blobs of cream gushed from his rod, and sprayed all over her tensed, arched back.
The moment she felt the sperm, she bent her mouth down the remaining length of the youthful white lad under her, and I could see her cheeks draw in. The boy hunched up hard into her, moaned, and I could see her throat bobbling up and down, as if she were swallowing something.
Then I realized she was-his sperm! While I was watching them, the white boy was coming in the black girl's mouth. He was coming in her mouth!
My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and I could feel my nipples getting hard under the thin fabric of my dress. My cunt lips quivered, and I had to press my thighs together to still the fluttering of pleasure that I felt in my clitoris. Something wet moved down my cunt, inside of me, 'then outside, and it dripped down my thigh. ''S wild, ain't it'? someone said.
I jumped. A flush rushed to my face. Someone saw me watching the sexual scene and, even though there was about twenty or so men and women watching with rne, I suddenly felt as though I were the one doing something immoral. My face burned as I turned towards the man who had spoken.
'That's really something, isn't it?' he repeated. 'I guess everybody should do his own thing.'
I stared at him, feeling the blood rushing to my ears. He was tall and thin aesthetic-looking, with soft brown shoulder-length hair. He was naked to the waist, and below it, he wore a ragged pair of faded Jeans. His feet were bare. I looked up again at his face, at his blue, blue eyes that seemed to be looking right through me.
'I-I guess so,' I muttered. His cheeks were hollow, and his beard and hair made him look almost Christ-like. His blue eyes burned like twin chunks of ice. 'As long as it doesn't bother anybody,'
He laughed, a soft rippling sound that stole up from his thin, naked chest. 'Well, I don't know about you, sister, but their doing their thing is really bothering me.' He put his hand down and touched his crotch. I noticed for the first time a long thick throbbing harden pushing out the front of his jeans. He laughed again, touching himself through the pants.
