*I recently went to a folk festival and got inspired to write this story about me and my partner meeting a third. If people like this I will post the other parts.*
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We are riding the bus back to our campsite after a long night of dancing, the walk is too far after all the time on our feet, so we are thankful for the luxury. This is your first time at a folk festival, and my first time at Folkfest so I’m glad we’re both having fun. As the bus rides along we whisper about the ridiculous five dollar shower fee, and what we’re going to do about it.
“There’s a sink right out front,” you say casually. I hold you close so as to not slip off the short seats, and as I do, I notice the warmth radiating off you even in the cold night air.
“What do you mean?” I respond.
“I mean, you could wash your pits and stuff right there, you’re a guy, no one will care.”
I smirk at the idea, I’d have to figure out a way to give myself access to my body, while keeping it hidden. “I could go shirtless and just wear a skirt to cover my junk with easy access.” You tilt your head as if contemplating the image and then nod vigorously. “Well what about you, I don’t want you feeling smelly and gross just because of bullshit standards.”
You side eye me, I’m not sure if you’re asking this to dare me to answer, or you just don’t realize how obvious the answer to your question is. Either way, you ask it. “You want me to walk through the campground with nothing but a skirt on?”
I stare directly back at you, not breaking eye contact. “Yes.” You shiver at the certainty of my answer, squeezing your legs together. That is when you decided to do it.
As the bus rolls into camp you notice the big flood lights out the window. Scattered through camp are giant brightly lit lamp posts every few yards or so. Causing everything in their sight to be perfectly lit, and casting everything else into darkness. I voice my concern at the bright lights over the bathroom area, and your response causes me to have to walk behind you the whole way back to the tent due to tenting. “That just makes it more fun.”
Back in our tent we figure out the logistics, you slip on your space skirt, and I carefully pull off your Meundies and put on my elephant pants, and no shirt. I open the tent and scramble out, offering you my hand. You don’t take it and get out feet first. Or should I say ass first as you poke it straight up in the air coming out. The skirt slips up as you’re bending over and I see your lips poking out, a smooth sheen of moisture laying atop them. You quickly dart up as you hear me moan. We look at each other questioning if this is a good idea, my head darting back and forth to see if anyone can see us. You look down at yourself and hoist the skirt so it’s above your boobs. “Just to get started,” you say. I can’t imagine how that is more comfortable as the skirt is now higher up on your thighs than your red notice shorts.
You start to move out, going slowly as to not disturb the delicate environment that is your skirt line. I follow you, a ways back so you know I am there, but don’t feel me with you. Also, to make sure no one is watching.
We had seen one or two topless people earlier during a show so there was precedent, still it seemed like an unusual thing even here. You jump a small ditch caused by a large delivery truck earlier in the day. As you do, your skirt flies up and you flash me with all your glory. It’s an amazing sight, seeing the crescent moon behind your full moon. You land and immediately crouch and hold your legs tight, looking around to see if anyone saw. Only one other person is walking around at this time and their flashlight is pointed in the opposite direction. You are safe.
The bathroom area is set up with portapotties to the left, and a trailer of showers on the right. Sticking out of the trailer is a deep sink, the kind you’d see in a painter’s room. Five feet in front of the sink is a large generator that buzzes and hums as the bright beams from god descend upon all of it, all surrounded by a metal fence except where it meets the road. It does feel quite isolating in the dark.
You make your way to the sink and bring out the bar of jasmine and lemon scented soap we had purchased at the market. Looking around a final time, you take a deep breath and pull down your skirt. Your boobs bounce at the quick motion, and I see them getting hard in the night air. I love how your nipples get hard, it isn’t just the nipple, but spots on the areola that poke out. This tells me it isn’t just the cold that’s making them hard.
You release a small amount of water over the bar of soap and begin scrubbing your pits with it. I feel odd about it, but this is the most attractive you have looked since you left the tent. In that moment you let all else fall away, you are simply you, washing yourself, nothing more. Your skirt slipping a tad, showing off your hips, getting sprinkles of water dripping down your side upon them. Hunched over the sink, determination in your face. You’re radiant. But when you begin to splash water on yourself, that’s when you hear it.
“Oh hey Bryn!” A voice that isn’t mine.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/cmix98/folk_festival_fornication_part_1_exhibitionism
looking forward to more!