[FM] How not to get caught at Coachella

While reading this story, please listen to: https://www.reverbnation.com/davidkeogh/song/10579038-closer-with-adrienne-adair

I got inspired to write this story down by a post by u/quin_girl about Coachella. She got caught having sex in the deserted VIP tent by a security guard. Based on the band she named, it was literally the same day. What she didn’t know is that the way to not get caught having sex in inappropriate places at Coachella is to do it in the middle of the crowd.

Now that I have your attention, some background. I was a goody two shoes at a dirtbag college, rapidly getting acquainted with my inner own inner dirtbag slut. I was 19 and dating a guy in his late 20’s, also very much a dirtbag. I think we met at the climbing gym, but he turned out to be terrible so I’ve blocked memories of that relationship as much as I can. With this one notable exception. Anyway, he invited me to join him at “a music festival in California.” I had no idea what a big deal Coachella was, and had no particular association with any of the bands, but I went along because I liked festivals. I remember getting a late start and driving late into the night, dozing in the car. We didn’t have tickets but my boyfriend assured me that we could get them from scalpers at the door easily. Not my usual M.O. and I was feeling a bit apprehensive about driving so far to potentially be turned back, but we did indeed get tickets.

It always takes me a bit to get comfortable at big festivals. I had packed for camping, not for a fashion event. My boyfriend and his buddies were drinking a lot, whereas I have always found that drinking makes me tired and I wanted to be alert for the bands. It was much bigger than I was expecting and easy to get lost in things and miss a band you had wanted to see. But I found myself easing into the rhythm, enjoying the incredible weather, shedding more clothes, and hitting my stride.

Nine Inch Nails was the Sunday headliner. I had never heard them before – and I say “them” because Nine Inch Nails live is a very different (and IMO better) musical experience than Nine Inch Nails recorded. There’s a band, with instruments, it’s layered and melodic and interesting and danceable and the lyrics come across differently. The reason the soundtrack to this story is a NIN cover is that that’s actually more similar to the musical experience I was having. This particular cover was a frequent hit, both recorded and live, at the dance events I went to later. It’s the perfect song for grinding up against a friend or stranger, and it always makes me think of that first time.

This was the last act of the whole festival, so my boyfriend dragged me deep into the crowd. We were probably 100 yards from the stage, packed tight with strangers. He was taller than me, so he stood behind me, with his hands on my hips and his cock pressing into my ass. We swayed like that, getting more and more lost in the music, more and more turned on. I remember hearing the lyric “you let me penetrate you” and realizing how much I wanted to let him penetrate me, right there. His hands were wandering from the waistband of my jean shorts, up my bare stomach to the sports bra I was wearing as a top under an unbuttoned flannel shirt. Up to my neck, curled loosely but still claiming my body for his own. Feeling his hands grope my breasts shamelessly, as though we were totally alone, turned me on even more. I felt caught between my overwhelming desire and my ever-eroding sense of propriety. We were in the middle of a crowd of people! And yet… everyone was looking at the stage, meaning they were looking up, not at what was going on at waist level. There were maybe five people directly around us whose view wasn’t actually blocked by other bodies. I guess they could have objected… and said something… and then we would have stopped and never seen them again, so whatever.

I decided that I was going to encourage my boyfriend to follow through on his teasing touches. The next time his hand grazed my waistband, I grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand inside my shorts – not far, but enough to let him know that I wanted him to keep going. Slowly, sooooo slowly, his hand circled lower and lower, past the band of my underwear, through the bush I had just started trimming (I was cheating on him by that point and was convinced he would be able to smell the other men on me, so I shaved and was pleasantly surprised to find that I liked the better access it offered too), to find my wet, waiting, wanting slit. His circles on my clit drove me crazy. I widened my stance slightly and pressed back into him, which let him push a finger all the way inside me. 

“I want to fuck you like an animal,” sang Trent Reznor – and there I was, being fucked like an animal, my desire driving me to do this crazy and inappropriate thing. I imagined that the musicians could see me – after all, they were the only ones looking directly at me. They probably got to watch people fuck to their music all the time – why else would they sing such filthy and delicious things? I tipped over from just being indifferent to the fact that I was getting finger-banged in the middle of a crowd to actively enjoying the people watching me coming apart. I offered up my lust as part of the collective prayer we were creating, an anonymous pilgrim come to pay homage to the power of music. It felt like the only possible response.
 
If he had taken it further, maybe pushed my shorts and panties down and plunged his hard cock in and out of me to the driving beat of the music, I would have welcomed it. As it was, he slipped first one then two and three soaking fingers inside of me and crooked them against my g-spot. Wave after wave of orgasm buffeted me. It felt like it was carried on the sound waves that were vibrating through my body from the giant speakers. I was out of my mind on the energy of the crowd, it felt so good. I wanted to stay there forever, having strangers watch me get fucked, letting anyone who wanted to take a turn.

Concerts end, of course. As the last notes died away, the energy changed. My boyfriend needed his hands for clapping, for one thing. People came back to themselves, the selves that didn’t necessarily want to fuck like animals. We stumbled, giggling and giddy, back to our tent and I fucked him late into the night, but I still think I got the better deal when it came to sex at Coachella.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/lxtjut/fm_how_not_to_get_caught_at_coachella