Hot Stuff – ‘That’ Dance

That next week I didn’t see much of my Canadian beauty. It was a hard slog at work preparing for the arrival of the talent and festi-goers. Each day the land swelled a little more with activity as new entities arrived bringing colour, personality and excitement to the lesbian utopia. The hype built at a frantic pace and one I was not used to.

Finally the weekend was upon us, another dance to attend, more lesbians to choose from. But not for me.

I stupidly waited too long to ask Hot Stuff to be my date for the second dance. When I heard on the grapevine she would be attending with another, I was deservedly gutted. Understanding the procedures for life on The Land was a blistering lesson. You ‘stated your needs’ or asked for what you wanted. Open, clear communication. No assumptions or expectations.

I got to the dance a little sloshed, unable to deal with my feelings of rejection. After doing several laps of the floor, I managed to spot the item of my longing. Something happened to me physically. My mind was no longer in control of the body, senseless yet again.

What happened next seemed to unfold in front of me, it just wasn’t me, not the me I knew.

I glided through the cloud of swaying bodies and worked my way in between whoever she was dancing with or near. I felt magnetised to her, each cell prickled in response to her hammering heart (I could feel it), as was mine.

We synched.

I was a lion and she was my prey, both of us equally intoxicated by the demonstration of affection surfacing. Space began to clear as the crowd too became transfixed. I am not an extrovert, but this was a performance that could have earned me money in another setting.

I needed for her to endlessly ache for me as I did her, even if it was only in the physical. I ached for her insanely on every level and my sense for the imbalance made me pitiless. I left the moment unfinished and walked off.

Hot Stuff Day Six Pt 3

I made it to the lake and found a spot near the funky gals to lay my towel and wait. I never wait. But I waited. I think that was the first time I realised I was in terrible trouble. Never ever wait for a woman. I was no longer a woman on a towel tanning, I was a doormat near a lake waiting.

And then she arrived. I observed her walk past the entire flock of lesbians toward me. She gently lay her towel near mine and stretched out in a bikini. She was the darkest skinned Canadian I had ever seen. I stared at her skin so intently that I can still see those grains of sand paling and textured against her dark smoothness. I had to touch her. She told me it made her tingle. I felt deliciously tender at her mild coax.

After what felt like a minute had passed, the sun commenced its descent over the lake and people started to bob about like it was time to leave. My focus had been directed entirely on my Canadian muse and all concept of time had vanished. It unsettled me that the moment was ending.

A group of us crammed into Hot Stuff’s mini for a ride back to camp. I knew part of me was lost to this woman I knew nothing about. I wanted her all to myself. My concept of consequences, accountability, the future or any other rational thought had evaporated. Her very essence was consuming me. I was light headed and mindless.

Hot Stuff Day Six Pt 2

Just her acknowledgement of my existence was enough. It immediately elevated me to a higher place, a wonderful Utopia that lesbians try to visit frequently. Resisting the urge to linger was unpleasant. But I managed to make it back to my post unharmed. She drifted past “You going to the lake?” I liquefied into my own lake and whispered “Of course.”

Once the shift was over and the dishes were done (including breast inspection), I clocked a personal best for preparing for an unsanctioned MichFest date. The record time allowed me to hail the ‘late’ bus moments prior departure. Because I was last on I was forced to stand. And because I was forced to stand I was able to see Ms Hot Stuff cycling wildly toward the automobile on a poorly assembled apology for a bike. I hung out the window as we approached. When she saw me she squealed and grabbed my hand “Don’t worry, I will get there.”

She honestly could have had ANYBODY at MichFest; in fact, probably any ‘single’ lesbian on the planet, but she wanted me. Hot Stuff was a head turner. Correction. She was a head detonater. I know, I saw it happen every time she stirred. There was even an occasion when we were out in the truck inspecting the festival line (about 400 women camped on the side of the road waiting to get in) and I watched as women combusted or melted when we cruised by.

And I would throw my coat over these puddles of lesbians to ensure she only saw me.

To Be Continued...

Hot Stuff Day Two

By day 2 I could no longer resist from noticing a particular female human. The initial spotting of Hot Stuff was during my shift in the dish pit. The dish pit was an elevated trough where, during the course of the festival, thousands of lentil-caked apparatus were individually soaked, scrubbed, sanitised and swabbed. It was noteworthy that the dish pit was tactically positioned along the outdoor showers trail. Us poor dish pigs were regularly exposed to the never-ending meanderings of naked women as they made their way to and from the open-air bathing district. It was just implausible.

Working a double shift ensured I was given a daily dose of breasts, which was soothing in a remedial way.

On this particular second morning in the dish pit, I became quite lucid. Just as I was finishing off the final buff on a rather outsized soup ladle, a mortal of a most pleasing divinity happened to saunter down the path toward the breakfast pavilion. I tried to smother a Ren and Stimpy goggle-eyed tongue plunge, as I was concerned that my drooling might carve a new unnecessary watercourse. But it was useless. She was goddess-like. And I was ruined for eternity. The most suitable cliché would be that I was ‘struck by lightning’. And from that moment on every cell in my body was on a constant ‘high-alert’ in case she was nearby.

To Be Continued..

Hot Stuff Day One

Way way way back when Pink Sofa was shiny and new, I met an interesting woman through one of my Sofa connections. Every year this woman would go to the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival in the USA and every year she would try to convince one of her friendship circle to go with her and every year all of her friends would decline the invitation. That was until she met me.

I had heard rumours of this festival. That it was brimming with naked, non-monogamist, crunchy-granola eating, Birkenstock-wearing, herbivorous LESBIANS. I heard that around 5,000 women descended upon 650 acres of forest and some lived there for up to 6 weeks in tents! I thought that such bliss only existed in my imaginings.

I also heard magical things happened on the land. That there was a romantic force no one could resist. It was common for women to meet, fall in love and move states, countries and sometimes planets, only to return the next year to ‘repeat cycle’ [insert new love here]. How does one plan for such enchantment? Back then moving countries for ‘the one’ sounded delightful, so I arranged my references and testimonials meticulously in preparation for an anticipated rendezvous.

I wish I could have documented my wide-eyed enthusiasm from day one. Naked women really were successively running around exchanging sensual glances at each other and provoking a frenzy of undeniable longing. And I was not immune to the intoxication of this particularly foreign surrounding. Besieged with choices, I decided to channel my urges into other physical activities like ‘work’. We were rostered to do 6 x 8 hour shifts every week, so I doubled that to ensure no free time for dalliances. I absolutely did not know where to put all of my sexual energy but slicing tofu, liquidising garlic and baking pie seemed appropriate. We fed 400 women with enormous sexual appetites. Some women ate, some women worked, but 99% of them f----d.

To Be Continued..