Content warning: this story potentially contains some dubious consent, as I was very drunk for it. That being said, I personally have no regrets or weird feelings.
If you’ve ever been to a festival/burn, you know that there’s a certain air of hedonism. It’s almost casual, how people fuck, and while I’m sure a lot of it can be chalked up to the booze and drugs, I think a lot of it is just letting yourself have that fun.
This story takes place on the third night of such a festival. After two nights of warming up, our forest glen was positively bacchanalian. For my part, I had done my duty of consuming as much alcohol and herbage as I could stand, then consuming some more for good measure. I staggered gleefully from tent to tent, enjoying the art and performances underway. At one tent, a woman called like a carnival barker for cocks to play with, leading to a decent enough hand job. Eventually, I found myself in front of a large canopy, filled with mattresses and moaning. Why, it was a sex tent!
Dressed in only a loose, unzipped hoodie, I decided masturbation was a form of sex and promptly laid down, my hands finding my cock easily enough. My head lolled to the side, watching with some curiosity and excitement as people walked by, watching me touch myself. What they saw was a young man, in his early twenties, with wavy blonde hair and a massive red beard, tugging on his stiff six inches. It was the official beginning of my exhibitionism.
This continued for some time, and I was having a blast. Under the influence of natural and synthetic hedonism, my body felt awash with pleasure, and I couldn’t help but moan a little. This drew some attention, as a man a little older than me approached.
I cannot tell you exactly what he looked like, but he had an average body of average height and build. What I do remember is his head, shorn in a lovely buzz cut.
“Can I join?” He asked, already sitting down next to me.
I nodded, happy and spacy. “Just hands, no penetration”, I managed to slur.
“Fine with me. I’m rolling, so I probably won’t cum.” With that, he lay down closer to me, his hand finding my cock as quickly as mine found his. His touch was gentle but persistent, and I continued to make happy sounds for the world to hear. In my sensuous state, his sweaty torso pressed against mine felt gorgeously erotic, a public admission of my queerness that would take some time for me to do sober. His buzz cut was especially intoxicating as my free hand found the back of his head, his sounds joining my own. My forehead was pressed against his in what was becoming an intimate embrace. We had gone from strangers to blissful partners in a matter of mere seconds, it seemed.
I looked up to see our partnership expanded, as another man my age, with long brown hair and a mustache, joined in. I slurred my same prerequisite about not wanting penetration, and we quickly formed a masturbatory triad, the smallest possible circle jerk. He had a few minutes of fun, but was quick to wander off, leaving us back at two.
My body heat began to rise as a familiar sensation began to build. Surely not so soon? But my partner (and another twenty people) watched with amusement as I arched my back and let out a sobbing gasp, hot cum covering my chest and stomach. After a dazed moment, I wiped myself down and disappeared back into the crowd who had just watched me. I never saw him again, but God knows I’m still a sucker for men with short hair.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/oc3jrg/a_very_public_circle_jerk_mm_group