Lollapalooza

Lollapallooza, a concert "event" in Waterloo, NJ. A full day of live, cutting edge, alternative bands, thousands of people in an open field, no arranged seating, just a mosh pit (for "slam-dancing", basically a release of pent up energy) up front, people laying out in the middle, portapotties lining the sides, and concession stands in back. The bands included notable like Living Color, Nine Inch Nails, Jane's Addiction, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Butthole Surfers, and Ice T (rap? he thought but it was more like heavy metal).

A friendly mosh pit, where one could lose oneself without worrying about someone trampling over you if you fell - in fact if you did, so many hands grabbed you back up that you'd fly up into the air, at least just a bit. Girls everywhere (well there were guys too). Food and beer (not for him, not his style). What more could a guy ask for? Not much. But in the end, after a spectacular day, they had to leave. They wandered the littered field, checked out the once booming speakers, the stage hands packing up so that the same thing could happen a couple days from now somewhere else.

Standing in line for the busses back to the parking lot, the 21 year old guy stood patiently. What a pain, he thought, looking at his buddies around him. They'd been standing there for about an hour, but their "what happened to me" stories slowed down after about half that time. Now they were just exhausted fans, waiting to get back to their cars, knowing that a 3 hour drive up north awaited them. Finally the decrepit school bus fleet trundled down the dirt road, looping around in front of the tired but cheering fans. They swarmed each bus, oblivious to the fact the busses were still moving. Sunburned, warm, and satiated from the full day of music, sun, and just the overall experience, the masses crowded each other. All sounds were muted as the exposure to blaring music all day had deadened everyone's hearing. Combined with the darkness only partially penetrated by the lot lights, the world took a surreal feel to it.

He noticed one girl, a little taller than her friends, all of them about his age. She stood about 5'3", had shoulder length highlighted brown hair, pulled into a ponytail for now, a white t-shirt and a white or beige pair of shorts. Her arms bore the signs of a little too much sun, redness glowing under a tan surface. A few strands of hair lay over her flushed cheeks, and her eyes, bright and eager even after a full day of activity, betrayed her enthusiasm for life.

Never, he thought, would someone like that be approachable. She looked definitely attractive in a real way (not like a plastic model), not really showing off her body. Still, he could tell she was attractive underneath; all the curves were right, the shapes all there. Her slim hips and fit shoulders showed a concern for her own body. Her shorts bore the marks of the mosh pit, little smudges of dirt here and there - he liked that, a girl that could have fun with the rest of them. In fact, many of the girls here seemed full of life, of enthusiasm, the kind of girl he'd want to date. He looked back at her and he could sense and almost feel her butt moving beneath the thin fabric.

His friends nudged him over and he lost sight of her, but then, suddenly, miraculously, she appeared in front of him. At this point, the wave of busses had gone (accompanied by a groan and cry from the crowd), but with a taste of possibility, everyone seemed a little more hyped up. There was animated chatter, re-visits to some of the more interesting happenings during the day, and talk of the traffic from the lot and on the highways. A two hour traffic delay proceeded them to the location; it could hardly be better leaving it.

His mind, though, was not on the traffic, his unglamorous but trusty and individualized car waiting in the lot, or his friends' rowdiness next to him. It was on the girl in front of him. More specifically, her sun-soaked, female scent; her shoulders moving under the shirt; her neck, smooth and inviting, her ponytail sitting tidy just behind it; her tanned arms. There would be more, but he was too close to look down discreetly. The closeness was not unusual in the packed, somewhat moving crowd. He found himself occasionally bumping her, her hips, her butt. At the first touch, he literally sprung away, afraid of provoking a piercing glare or accusing eyes. But she nonchalantly looked off to one side, completely oblivious to the touch. But her actions were a little too deliberate, a little too casual.

He realized his heart was pounding, and his flushness wasn't just from the sun anymore. He wasn't sure of what to do, what to say. Maybe he shouldn't say a thing?

He tentatively reached forward the couple inches separating his hand from her butt, and tentatively, nervously, softly touched it. He was ready for the alert, the scream. But strangely, she didn't do a thing. He moved his hand forward again. Nothing. He lingered, the backs of his fingers just barely touching her shorts. Now, he thought, he was asking for it. This wasn't a casual touch, a mosh pit thud, a crowd jostling shove; it was a soft, longing touch. And not to an elbow or a wrist, but to her beautifully curving rear end.

He couldn't even look directly at her - he looked off to one side. And out of the corner of his eye, he watched her look off in the opposite direction. And the whole time, his fingers were on her derriere. He turned his hand so it faced palm up, and slowly, gently, cupped her cheek. She kept looking with a curious fascination at the woods off to the right. He glanced around him, and everyone was still crowded together, still looking for the bus that would show up shortly. Now he was wishing it wouldn't show up for hours.

He slipped his hand down just a bit. He could feel the hem of the shorts - although actual shorts, they reminded him of a pair of boxer shorts. He could feel the indent under her cheek, the line that helps define his favorite part of anatomy, the rear end of a female. He dared a glance the other way, taking inventory of what she was doing. Now, it seemed, the left side of woods held some deep, grave secret. Her eyes seem to burn into him, but they were pointed out in a completely different direction.

He realized his hand was trembling, and it felt warm even from the inside. Her skin too felt warm and humid, but he wasn't sure if it was from the long, summer day or from his actions. He caressed that junction of thigh and butt, moving his fingers back and forth. If only he used a moisturizer he thought, his fingers would be softer. He smiled inwardly - what a thought to have at a time like this!

He slid his fingers up, daring himself, moving them inward at the same time. Incredibly, within the crotch of the shorts, he could feel the seam of her panties. He stroked it with his finger, verifying to himself that that was indeed what it was - he also risked another glance up, not able to believe that he was not the only one who approved of what he was doing. And there she was, her profile to him, a calm face and a calm demeanor. Well, perhaps a hint of a smile. But nothing more.

He thought to himself that if this was a Penthouse letter, she would end up in his car having massive amounts of sex. But he was scared, he was nervous, and he was inexperienced, only having experienced the joy of sex a couple years prior, and only with one girl. So he didn't know what would happen.

His fingers, almost numb with nervousness, slid sideways, feeling her warm, soft core. He froze as she moved, panicking that he'd just gone too far. He should have stayed at the seam, that was the limit, he thought, he shouldn't have risked everything to touch just a bit more. But by the time he thought that, he realized she had stopped moving. In fact, he couldn't even tell what she did, because his fingers were still on her panties and getting warmer from the heat of her core. She took a step forward, breaking the contact. He looked up, his eyes narrowing in dismay, as bus headlights started bouncing down the road towards them. No, he thought, not now. He stepped up, slipping his hand right where it'd been before. The whole crowd was moving up, but as everyone moved forward, both the girl and he moved in tandem, his hand now pressing upwards with a slight pressure. He stroked his finger forward, gently touching her groove, not sure exactly where all the various female bits lay. Naively, he figured if he got everything at some point, he'd get something that would feel good to her, sort of a payback to her for the excitement she was providing him. He never thought that it wasn't just his adventure.

It took a couple minutes for the busses to arrive, and they came into the corral area, swinging around in a circle, lining up to take the concert-goers back to their cars. The crowd funneled towards open bus doors, and his group (and the girl) angled in with all the others. Following a pattern from the overall day, the pushing was polite, people giving way to each other, not crushing each other like a modern soccer match. And as they moved forward, they were pressed together. He moved closer, her hair brushing his face, then, deliciously, softly, warmly, his hard penis pressed against one of her cheeks. He worked his fingers into her groove and he pressed against her, his fingers caressing her, stroking her, rubbing her, a certain amount of dampness betraying her approval. They reached the door, his hard penis still pressed against her but, his hand glued to her crotch. As she started to step up, he helped her a bit by pulling her up by her mound with his fingers, the pressure the highest during their brief 10 or 15 minutes together.

He followed her onto the dark bus, and she turned into a seat near the front, looking expectantly at the faces behind her. Scared of following up, nervous of what his friends would say, insecure, he walked past as a flash of disappointment crossed her face. She sat down as he passed, and he walked, discombobulated, past all the open seats. He reached the back and turned around, catching one of his buddies looking back at him. Hey, the friend said, over here. Oh, I was spacing, he replied.

He sat down, looking up, now not able to recognize even her hair in the dark bus with 60 or 70 people on it. He disparately wanted to get up and walk forward and find her. But as everyone settled down, he realized that he was too scared to do so. He sat, wondering what to do, staring forward, until the bus stopped at the lot. Everyone clambered out, and hopeful, he looked around, looking for that girl. Alas, there was a few groups walking to their cars but no girl in any of them.

His buddies started walking away. Hey, one cried out, what are you waiting for? His friend laughed and turned to his companions. Jeez, he seems spacey, pointing his thumb at the their friend. Yo, we have a long drive back, another cried out. Oh, sorry, I'm just tired, he replied. He trotted towards them and they turned to keep walking.

Anyone remember exactly where the car is, one asked. They started discussing next to what tree or hill or bush the car was parked. He slowed to a walk about 20 feet behind, the grade steepening as they went up a hill. He turned around, a final look, to see if he could see her. He walked backwards until he bumped into one of his waiting friends. Jeez, you lose something back there? Well, no, just checking it out, he replied. He turned around and started walking up the hill. So you guys figure out where we parked? he asked. Each one pointed in a different direction. Man, it's going to be a long drive back, he said to no one in particular.