Sweet, Sweet Music

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Ahhh, summer! The blue skies, the warming sun, two months off college and girls in skimpy clothes! What’s not to love?

My final lecture had been dragging its arse as I gazed out of the window; I know I was doing a poor job of hiding my boredom, but I knew my friends would already be celebrating in the union bar as I was trying to will the slothful hands to quicken their circuits of the clock face. It didn’t help that I kept receiving text messages from them saying that my pint was getting warm. Then that it was being drunk, and finally that it had been finished.

After several eons the lecturer wound up and wished us all a good summer — before reminding us that he’d see us in September and we’d better have our essays on the Psychology of Child and Egocentric Behaviour in the Classroom. I wanted to teach the little buggers, not analyse them! I smiled as I passed him and returned the well wishes before rounding the corner and hurtling towards the Student Union Bar and what would be the first pint of many this summer.

As I jogged across the car park — I’d slowed my pace so I wouldn’t seem desperate — I saw the girl. I had no idea who she was, but every few days I’d see her around campus looking amazing. She didn’t even look as if she was trying too hard about it; her brunette hair was in a loose ponytail swinging lazily between her shoulder blades, she wore little if any make up, and clothes just clung to her. Lucky clothes. I turned my head, tracking her passage, mesmerised by the slight bounces and jiggles of her breasts and buttocks as she walked.

When I stood up again, I glowered at the lamppost I had just walked into and then at my ‘friends’ who were all but rolling on the floor laughing at me. Smooth, I thought to myself as I dusted myself off and muttered, “Watch where you’re going!” to the lamppost, trying to make light of the situation, as if I’d meant to beat my head into it, rather than being distracted and ogling the scantily-clad, but somehow still modestly dressed woman of my desires.

I brushed the dust and grit from my backside and sauntered casually towards my mates. Well, as casually as you can when you’re just made an utter tit of yourself. “Still not asked her out then?” said Jas, stating the obvious. They all knew that I fancied this girl, but they also knew I was far too shy to do anything about it. “No,” I sighed, “not yet…”

“Pint of Carling please,” as I got to the bar, I realised that the girl was probably never going to be anything more than a plaything for my imagination. I’d spent many nights thinking about her. I’d also exhausted my entire range of experience with past girlfriends and one-night stands, substituting her into the scenario and then masturbating furiously until I’d climax. Then would come the crushing realisation that what had just happened was most likely the closest I’d ever get to making love to her.

I quaffed half of my pint in one swallow and turned to my friends. Jas, Rich and Guy were all lads from the same town as me, and we’d known each other since primary school. We’d gone through a lot of the ‘rites’ of the modern day teenager as a group; we’d all smoked cigarettes nicked from parents or older siblings, we’d dared each other to do stupid things like stealing sweets or climbing on people’s roofs, we’d ‘borrowed’ alcohol from our parents, got pissed, thrown up and been hungover together. And we’d always talked about girls. Who we’d had, who we wanted and what we’d done with anyone that would let us do anything worth bragging about.

There’d been some competition along the way; Jas had been the first one to get his girlfriend to give him a hand job, he’d been the first to get head, but Rich had been the first to get laid, and by doing so prevented his hat trick. Jas had not been happy. Now the competition had ended as we’d all broken through those barriers, numerous times with a few partners each. There seemed no point any more.

I raised my glass in a toast: “To summer and good times!” Glasses were clinked and the toast repeated. As I took another swig, I noticed that Guy was grinning rather smugly to himself. I nudged rich and nodded subtly in Guy’s direction.

A brief aside here; Rich is not a subtle person. He’s your typical blunt Yorkshireman and asks everything in as straightforward a manner as you could, if he were a mechanic his only tool would be a hammer. You get the idea. “What you grinning about, you Cheshire Twat?”

Guy took a leisurely swig from his Guinness and said, “I got the final first.” The rest of us looked at each other, trying to work out what the hell he was talking about. Jas got there first; realisation flooding across his face as he simultaneously shouted “Bullshit! Who?” Guy took another swig. “Lucy.” More smugness. Rich and I continued to look confused. “Lucy? Blonde Lucy? Her with the huge boobs?” Jas, only slightly more subtle than Rich. “Aye.” Swig. “Last night. Got her a bit drunk, watched some porn, got her horny — hell she was so horny she asked, Christ, begged Bostancı Escort me to fuck her arse. Got to love these girls who won’t have sex without a condom, but still want to have sex!”

I was truly amazed by this revelation! I thought anal sex only ever happened in porn — certainly none of the girls I’d been with had ever shown any interest in it! This realisation that ‘normal girls’ sometimes enjoyed it up the arse sent my mind in a dozen directions. I knew Guy was getting into the details of his adventures by the gestures and mimes, but I was hearing none of it as I imagined her on her knees, her face buried in the pillow as she spread her beautiful, round cheeks open and urged me to impale her.

I felt myself rock, and then realised that Rich had punched my arm to get my attention. Straight away they all knew what had happened, and all three started laughing and teasing about my obsession with the girl I was too afraid to talk to, but who I was simultaneously in love with.

I endured a few more minutes of their jokes and sarcastic comments before the conversation turned to the biggest event we had planned this summer — the festival! For years we’d talked about going to a festival, but never got it together enough to buy tickets in time. For the last three years they’d sold out by the time we organised ourselves enough to coordinate the funds and the time off our summer jobs, so each year we’d had to compromise by camping in my garden with a lot of music and a lot of beer.

This year though, we’d exceeded ourselves; we’d booked our holiday as soon as we could, saved part of our student loans and started squirreling away supplies. The day the tickets went on sale we all sat in Guy’s room and bombed the phone lines until one of us got through. Tickets were bought, celebratory drinks were had, hangovers followed a few hours behind them.

We finished our compulsory, celebratory pints and wended our way back to the house we shared a few streets away from the campus. Typically none of us had thought to pack anything prior to the arrival of the parental taxis, so the next hour or so would be a frantic flurry of activity as clothing, laptops and other university essentials were crammed into suitcases, boxes, bags and bin liners! By the time Jas’s parents arrived for him and Rich they were throwing the last couple of bags into the hall and trying to look as if the whole situation was under control. They fooled no one!

Ten minutes later my dad arrived to take me, Guy and all of our accumulated crap home for the summer. Discussions in the car were about going back to our summer jobs, going out to spend the money we earned at our summer jobs, and of course The Festival. There were only two weeks before we would be setting off in Rich’s wreck of a Ford Fiesta with a tent, four sleeping bags, and as much booze as we could carry.

The journey to Guy’s house took a little over an hour, and as I waved him off and my dad pulled away there was a serious expression on his face. Great. We were about to have ‘a talk’. I wondered which one for all of three seconds before he began with “There’s going to be a lot of people taking drugs…” At this point, rather theatrically, I rolled my eyes and let out a world-weary sigh. “Dad, I know drugs are bad, I know drugs are illegal — possibly and most likely as a result of them being bad, and I know that I shouldn’t, nay won’t be taking them, so long as there’s a breath in your body.” We’d had this talk before, and several others than ran a similar theme, and hinted towards a lack of trust in me and belief in my possessing any common sense.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to look a little sheepish. He glanced across at me and simply said “Good.” I shook my head and we travelled the remaining couple of miles in a stony silence.

The next two weeks passed in a blur and before we knew it, we were all assembled in Rich’s fiesta, mockingly referred to as The Shed. However, she was all we had, and she would get us to the festival, even if we had to push her there, such was our determination.

On the way we had tunes blasting as loud as we could — before the bass made the cheap, old speakers hum and fuzz unbearably. We were all in good spirits singing to the tunes, re-enacting the head banging scene from Wayne ‘s World and ripping the piss out of each other. The journey took us just short of two hours, and they seemed like very long hours, as all we wanted to do was get our camp set up and open the beers!

We queued for about forty-five minutes to get into the campsite, and then another hour to get our wristbands that would allow us into the arena. We trudged towards the Yellow Zone, which was near enough the entrance that it was within drunken staggering distance, but not so near that the ravers in the dance tent would keep you awake with their bloody whistles.

We all carried a back pack containing fresh clothes and trainers and a few meagre food supplies — the onsite caterers were going to love us — Rich Erenköy Escort had the tent, Guy had two crates of Carling stacked in his arms whilst Jas and I dragged a sack barrow ladened with yet more beer and our sleeping bags and battered ghetto blaster that Rich had rigged a USB feed for an MP3 player into.

We found a decent plot of land without too much slope and no thistles and dumped everything down. Guy ripped open the top crate and passed the beers; “Make the most boys, after tonight the beers will either be warm, or fucking expensive!” We raised our cans and set to work drinking. After my fourth can I started to realise that if we didn’t get a move on with the tent we would either be kicked off our patch, or sleeping under the stars. Reluctantly, we set to work.

Forty minutes, several arguments and a minor injury later, and the tent was up. Rich had stumbled back, tripped over a guy rope and lodged a tent peg into his butt-crevice. Jas had doubled up laughing and shouted loudly enough for half of the Yellow Zone to hear “Another first — Rich’s first time up the arse!” Needless to say, this was the cause of one of the arguments… Eventually he calmed down and walked, rather stiffly into the tent dragging his rucksack and sleeping bag before we all did the same.

The tent itself was more like a canvas castle; it had a central area, which were would no doubt spend our time drinking and playing cards in, and three sleeping chambers. Jas was the last one in, and realised that he was now sleeping in the bar as Guy, Rich and I had already claimed our rooms. Rich grinned smugly as he laid out his sleeping bag and stretched across it, filling as much of his room as he could. Jas was left muttering to himself as he unfurled his bag against one of the walls and cracked into another can.

The first night wasn’t really the festival proper, but it was a good chance to feel the crackle in the air as we explored the site and the arena. We walked, mildly awestruck, around the arena taking in the sites, sounds and smells. There were a few DJs dotted about the site all playing different types of music; there were dozens of stalls selling t-shirts, supplies, essentials and random weirdness. We headed for a burger van and savoured the grease as it dribbled out of the meat and congealed in our arteries.

After a couple of hours of wandering the site we drifted towards a reggae sound system, which was playing some of the more commercially recognised artists, but was still good enough to have a drunken skank to. As we twisted and moved to the tunes, I was suddenly snapped out of my reverie, and nearly into sobriety. I could have sworn that I’d seen her out of the corner of my eye.

I stood up straight and scanned the area. Nothing. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t there, she could be in the crowd, behind a tall person, or just beyond the dancing masses. I took off through the gyrating drunks and heading in the direction I’d last seen her. Still nothing. I sighed and chalked it down to wishful thinking before heading back to find the lads. They were so drunk they hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.

We spent the rest of the night there until the last DJ wrapped up around 2am and wished us all an ‘irie’ festival. We headed back to the tent and opened some more beer. We’d decided the beer was for tonight and the rest of the festival we’d have the Finlandia and the JD, both of which were still tolerable when mixed with tepid cola. Warm lager was a last resort — provided we didn’t finish it all tonight!

About 3am, the first round of ‘Bollocks’ started up; a very juvenile game, wherein one person shouts ‘BOLLOCKS’ as loud as they can, and then listens as it spreads around the campsite. Being a juvenile game, and us being immature guys, we, of course, joined in. Around 4am when the beer was pretty much demolished we made our way to the nearest fence, urinated, and put ourselves to sleep.

My mind wandered back to the reggae sound system; had my eyes or mind been playing tricks on me, or was she here? I hoped she was, but knew I probably wouldn’t have the guts to do anything even if she was. I gave myself a mental lecture before reaching for one of my discarded socks. I went to sleep with thoughts of finding her, and the courage to ask her out. Or just to make a move on her…

As I masturbated, I imagined what it would be like if I was to find her again, in a big crowd of people. No one would be able to see much, and it was doubtful that they’d care if they did. I imagined that she felt the same way about me, but as she was a bit drunk she was a bit more daring. She’d flip her skirt up as she was dancing, staring over her shoulder into my eyes as I saw the tanned globes of her arse, completely uncovered and irresistible.

I’d move towards her and put my arms around her. Her fingers would lock into mine, and we’d dance together, hips moving together in time and both of us would forget about the thousands of people around us, it would only be the two of us, the Göztepe Escort centre of our own little universe. Then she’d turn and face me, our lips would hesitate a moment before meeting, our tongues gently testing each other’s mouths. She’d gently bite my bottom lip as my hands reached down to grab her arse, pulling her tight against me.

We’d become more frantic in our kissing and she’d run her hands down my chest and stomach, and rub the bulge at the front of my shorts. My zip would be opened and as I imagined her hand wrapping around my cock, I came, shattering the illusion I had built up. I used the sock to clean up the excess jism and threw it into the furthest corner of the tent before rolling over and going to sleep.

The following morning, I woke around ten to find that Jas had moved out of the communal area and was buried in his sleeping bag. I shoved him, he grunted and tried to bat my hand away, he missed and hit himself in the face and grunted again. I decided there was no point in trying to shift him and rolled over to grab the water from my bag. I was really dehydrated; it felt like my tongue had been replaced with dusty carpet and my teeth had been painted with algae. I needed mouthwash.

I downed about half a litre of water and screwed the cap back on before rummaging in my bag for the Listerine. I poured a capful, tilted it into my mouth swilled, gargled and then realised that I was in a tent with a sealed floor. I found a Karhu can, one of the big ones, and spat the tainted mint into it. I felt better, but still a long way from human. A greasy fry up would solve that.

As I climbed over Jas, I had a cruel idea. I knew he was a heavy sleeper, despite his reactions when I tried to rouse him. I grabbed the top of his bag and pulled. He wasn’t the biggest bloke I knew, so I was able to move him fairly easily. I opened the main door of the tent, and still with Jas in tow, headed out into the campsite.

There were a few people up and about at this time, a couple of small campfires had been lit and the drinking had already started for a lot of people. The acrid tang of weed caught in my nostrils, and I was taken back to my dad’s clumsy parenting. I’d smoked spliffs before, and while I’d enjoyed the experience, it wasn’t something I did often. If I was offered a toke this weekend, I’d probably take it.

I walked a little further, Jas shifted in his bag and I moved to bumpier terrain, and I caught the smell of bacon. Jackpot! I shifted Jas’s bag to my left hand only while I dug into my pocket for my wallet. I took out a fiver and left it loose in my pocket as I grabbed the bag with both hands and continued to drag Jas to a suitable point at which I could abandon him.

I reached the mobile greasy spoon and lent Jas against a tree it was parked under. I ordered two bacon, egg and sausage sandwiches and told the cook to give one to my buddy when he woke up. Hopefully it would aid in his forgiving me for leaving him out here — I just hoped that Jas was still wearing his shorts, or at least boxers, as his naked shoulders indicated he clearly wasn’t fully dressed. It would be a long way to walk naked, and nearly impossible to do without getting out of his sleeping bag.

I headed back to the tent and was just licking the yolk and ketchup from my fingers as I saw Guy and Rich emerging from the door and swaying in the sunlight. Guy was holding his head as if that might stop it from spinning and Rich had a beanie hat pulled almost completely over his eyes, sunglasses shielding the rest of them from the solar horrors.

“Where’s Jas?” Guy mumbled as he stretched. I shrugged. “Probably gone for brekkie. Or looking for something to shag,” Rich chimed in. “Bad heads?” I asked, and suddenly was caught between two sets of daggers that were now being stared in my direction. I knew they both got bad hangovers, whereas I was one of the lucky ones; when I got hung over, it was only dehydration and tiredness, not the pounding head and queasy stomach I knew my friends got. I was often cursed the morning after a heavy session, so was expecting some ill feeling towards me before I’d even asked the question.

“Bad head? It feels like there’s a Frenchman living in mine!” Rich exclaimed dramatically. Guy was much simpler in his response. He just called me a wanker. I tried not to grin as I recommended the buttie van I’d just been to. There was a sudden pick up in their moods as food was realised to be the answer, like a sudden epiphany had struck them, they looked at each other then scrambled back into the tent for their wallets. Cash in hand, they followed my guidance and were away to find sustenance, and possibly salvation too.

I put some tunes on the stereo and lay out on the floor outside the tent, catching the sun. About half an hour later I heard Guy and Rich but not Jas. I was a little concerned that something might have happened to him until I heard a shout of “Fuckin’ genius, mate!” I propped myself up on my elbows and grinned. “Jas is leant against a tree next to a fry up wagon — I assume that was your doing.” “Shouldn’t’ve tried to move in with me last night — he was practically drooling on me shoulder!” Guy and Rich cracked up again and I felt a little proud. As pranks went, this was one of my best.

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