24.6.2009

The Festival

        

   The Festival

 http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/Leaving08.mp3

    "I had been an A-student all my compulsery years in school and I was third from the top of my class on the final tests, Greta Pals and Matti Kjartans were ahead of me. I along with my best friend, Guy decided to attend a senior-high school (Menntaskoli) at Laugarvatn, which is a tiny village up in the country, along with a few of our schoolmates; Svenni, Boi, Biddi, Mummi, Kristin and Hildur. 

 

       The summer had been quite fateful in many ways; I became sixteen, got drunk for the first time and had some kind of sex with a woman without any one´s help which was quite a funny experience for me when I look back as an adult. 

   

       After I´d finished compulsory school in Keflavik I was employed in a shrimp-factory by the name of Baldur Ltd., which was owned by two former fishermen; Hroi and Oli Bjoss who later became a member of the Icelandic Althingi (parliament).

 

     One of my jobs was cleaning the place after other work had finished. We were two guys, who had all the cleaning on her hands, myself and another one who was already in his twenties; a fine musician who´d later become the church´s organist. Two things make me mention my former work-mate; one is that he drank a lot and the other that he purchased for me my first bottle, an Icelandic strong wine called Hvannarot relished with Icelandic herbs and he recommended strongly. 

 

     We are four friends of the same age who decide to travel together and share a tent in the Husafell-forrest in Borgarfiordur, where a festival is to take place this Tradesmen-weekend, the first weekend in August 1971, supposed to be the greatest festival of all times, with all the best bands and other entertainers. The anticipation and suspence is just about turning us into madmen, because we´d heard so much about these festivals of orgies, highly recommended by our older and more experienced acquaintances.

 

       But there´s one drawback; in the ad for the festival we notice that the search for alcohol will be stricter than ever before, and the guests are encouraged to have a good time without alcohol. 

 

       -There won´t be no problemmo, boys, one of the most experienced informs us.   Just hide them bottles in your sleeping-bags.  There´s the most secure place, my friends.  Having had this counsel we become a little less anxious, because without the booze there couldn´t have been any fun, us being so awfully shy with the ladies. We find it quite amazing how people can be transformed into different persons just with the help of some alcohol; becoming humorous, funny and last but not least free of the terrible shyness that bothers most people, including us four friends.

 

        Of course we are aware of the other side of drinking; violence, black-outs and the hang-over, but we believe that´s what happens just to others. 

 

        In spite of the acquaintance´s good advise we couldn´t help but feeling despair, when our local bus stopped in the back of a long line of cars and buses infront of the gate to the paradice and the suspence didn´t leave us when we saw how the festival´s staff removed everything from the baggage compartment of the bus infront of us and then they made a thorough search in every item reaping a few bottles for their effort. 

 

     -I always knew he was a bloody liar, Kiddi moans with sweat beading on his forehead. 

 

      -Ye, you can trust no-one anymore, we agree with our friend´s nervous statement, the three of us bathing in the same kind of suspence-perspiration. 

 

       The relieve is undescribable when we noticed one of the staff giving our driver a sign to carry on through the gate without any search in our luggage. Later we heard that because of the overwhelming attendance the staff decided to search every other bus. 

 

      With dusk and darkness in the evening, illegal activities were performed in every tent.  I for one did exactly what more experienced friends of mine advised me to do. I went to one of the booths and bought me two small cokes very overprised which the conductors of the festival found very appropriate.

 

      When I´d returned to our tent and located my liquor deep down in my sleeping-bag I drank the coke down to the bottle´s shoulders, deflowered the Hvannarot-aquavitae, made a funnel with my hand around the neck and filled the coke-bottle with the liquor.  I was going to become drunk and happy in a short time. The anticipation and the assurance of becoming both amusing and free of the ghost of shyness which has bothered me for such a long time keep me from giving up drinking all together when my taste-bulbs protest strongly to this filth when it enters my mouth. I feel the fire burning down to my butt, because of how large my first sip was. For a while I´m just able to sit with an open mouth and tongue hanging out hoping for some first-aid cooling supposedly preventing severe burning on my delicate and inexperienced organs. 

 

      My friends who have been sitting by my side in the tent watching me the guinea pig, roll around laughing when they see my wry face. They presume that my liquor was too strong, so they blend theirs accordingly.  Myself having learned the hard way I pour coke up to the top of the bottle. 

 

     My further action that evening isn´t worth mentioning, except that I managed to stumble after some more drinking between the tents towards the bandstand where people were dancing merrily but I being drunk as a pig kept on tumbling between and around the other adolescents who some were as drunk as I or less as it goes.

 

      Just before the dancing stops this first night of three I crawl back to our tent and with much difficulty I imagine I found my sleeping-bag where I´d laid it down between Biggi´s and Kiddi´s.

 

      The last I remember from the night´s adventures are the angry sounds full of disgust from either one of them: 

 

      "-Oy, you´ve puked on my bag!!!!!!"   

 

      "Just as I´ve discovered later I have the terrible habit of waking up awfully early after a couple of hours sleep when I´ve been consuming alcohol. In the first daylight of this morning in August I can see where my friends lie on both sides of me in all kinds of poses; two are only half in theirs and Biggi is reverse in his bag. By their puffy eyes and drooling mouths I conclude, that it wouldn´t be advisable to wake ´em up for the time being. Probably best to leave them be until they self awaken.

 

     I feel for and find my bottle and discover what a lousy drinker I had been last night; not much better than a chicken, it´s not even half down,therefore I can certainly look forward to a promising evening.

 

       Like my three friends I didn´t take my clothes off before I went to sleep and for that reason I´m very quick getting my ass out of the tent and from there I run towards the latrine, which isn´t very nice looking to say the least after the night, but it will have to do, because of the growing pressure below belt on the backside.

 

      After having given birth to two brownies; first one big one, then another smaller one, just like Hallgrímur "healthfreak" told a large part of Icelanders was the only right thing when you speak of defecation in the Talk-show of Eirikur Jonsson many years later, I feel like a new man and become ready for almost anything.  When I had gathered enough appropriate paper here and there in the necessary-house purposedly finishing what I came to do, I go right away to a wash-basin outside which had only a single tap with ice cold and refreshing mountain-water.   Wash hands thoroughly, stoop and quaff the wholesome liquid just as I were about to die, because of the terrible need.

 

      As I´m squatting under the gush I see where the girl of my dreams arrives to the next basin for the same purpose. Furtively I follow her movements through the broken water; how she turns on the water, reaches for what´s left of the soap, just as I had done myself before of course, but how she does it is just beyond description, so feminine and wonderful. 

 

       And I continue standing bent and awkwardly under the gush , my brain has turned numb because of the ice cold water, but I don´t give it a thought. The boy´s in love and is determined to keep on following the goddess´s morning-work, because the numb brain tells him that it wouldn´t be appropriate if he kept on staring his eyes out after he´d finished his morning-work. 

 

     I watch how the goddess puts her shoulder-long blond hair under her gosh and just by a tiny movement of my backside to one side I´m able to follow her onwards hypnotized by how she throws her especially feminine shining hair back with such a dignified swing that the water splashes all around her and on me. 

 

      -Oh, excuse me, she begs so wonderfully.

 

       Such a voice I have never heard before; so kindling and attractively wonderful.

 

       When I raise myself to answer her; become cold and stiff I start by swinging my own hair which is also shoulder-long in those years. At the same time I´m searching my mind for the right enchanting words. The lad is willing to do just about anything to make this princess his forever! 

 

     The disappointment is more than great when from his lips comes the mumble of the words:

 

      It´s OK, for even though normally they would have been a-OK they weren´t the ones that I´d intended for my speaker.  The youngster in love was thinking of something enchanting and poetic, such as:

 

      Please don´t give it a thought, my dear and then I would have taken her wonderful,newly washed and dried hand in mine and perhabs asked her where she had been all my days;

 

 most anything but the silly mumble that he had at last let out into the clear morning-atmosphere in Borgarfiordur.

 

      More disappointed than you can imagine I follow closely her wagging neat backside in the black, tight jeans, until it finally disappears along with its owner into a small ravishing pink tent, which is located opposite to ours on the other side of the WC-region. I notice how much space there seems to be around her tent in between the small and scrubby birch wood;

 

 ours on the other hand is close to other tents three ways.

 

     Stoop-shouldered and disappointed with myself I drag myself towards our own tent, where I aim to drown my sorrows in a sandwich with smoked meat which mum had with her reknown ability made for her eldest before he left home into the unknown and hopefully adventures in his first camping without his parents. 

 

    Where I munch the delicious sandwich listening to my friends´ snoring on both sides silently cursing my damn shyness and passivity, but thinking about how I might possibly catch the attention and affection of this girl who has chanted me out of the shoes, which I kick off me at this moment.

 

      Lie flat on my back with hands under my head, looking to my side and seeing the glittering plug of my bottle where it peaks out of the hiding-place.

 

      Then I decide, that if I´ll be careful not to drink too much, just enough for me to get the necessary power, I could possibly become so light-hearted and humorous, but more than anything not afraid of the girl, I might possibly, perhabs and maybe... 

 

      The waiting for the evening, when I believe it´s appropriate to start the moderate drinking supposedly receiving the necessary power and boldness that I desire so much, is long and difficult.

 

      So difficult even that I´m feeling quite desperate and afraid of losing the little that´s left of my wisdom.

 

      And it doesn´t help things out that off and on I keep catching a glimpse of my dream-girl, where I´m strolling around the area, either alone or with my friends. 

 

      -Wake up Loki, Andri yells occasionally touching me or waving a hand before my dreaming eyes. What is possibly the matter with you today? But he doesn´t get any answer. 

 

     Once I walk so close to her by coincidence that we look in each other´s eyes. I startle and through me goes some kind of a sensation. Does she remember me? This question gets more insistent when the "coincidences" become more frequent.

 

     Is she watching me the same way I´m watching her?  Perhabs she´s as shy and bashful as I am.

 

     Naaa... that can´t be right..Such a beautiful lass wouldn´t have any problem making the lads crawl for her. I decide to erase any mystery here and now, where we the friends from Keflavik are dawdling at the stage following Halli and Laddi, the new entertainers at their best, along with a whole lot of teenagers. The fit of laughter is so hilarious, that there´s no way of hearing any jokes.  

 

     -Boys!!! I yell, thus trying to dominate the racket and they look at me amazingly. I have to go to the loo, I inform them, like I needed their permission for executing my primaries. 

 

     -OK, you can go now, Loki dear, Biggi allows me with a serious face and then returns to the entertainment. 

 

     -But be quick about it, so we won´t worry about you, Kiddi Hrings adds, thus creating my three amigos´ hilarious laughter, but I leave them in a hurry feeling shameful.    

 

      That is how boys are. 

 

       Looking and searching, but I can´t find her anywhere. Despaired and disappointed I return to my friends. Just when I´ve located them I see her, where she´s standing a short distance from the spot where I myself had been standing before I went supposedly to the loo.

 

     I find her a little sad-looking at this distance, but when I´ve moved closer to her and our eyes have found each other her face kind of lifts up.    

 

         Am I the reason?    

         There´s so sin in hoping. 

 

         Furtively I move closer to her, cautious not to look into those beautiful blue eyes, the world´s most loveliest eyes, so sparkling that they seem to shine from a long distance. 

 

      All of a sudden I touch something with my left hip thus making me look carefully to my side.  I get startled when I can´t see anyone horizontally.   

 

         The eyes look down and there she is.   

         This angel-like face.   

         She is so small!   

         Again I get startled.   

         Might she be as young as she looks? 

 

     -I´m in my sixteenth year, she answers before I find approriate words for the question obviously because she had seen my wondering face.  You´re not the first one to look at me with this kind of face, but this is how I am and I can´t do anything about it, she continues with her sexy little voice. 

 

    She stretches herself, eventhough I´m not a very tall man; 174 cm. acc. to latest measures, and smacks a kiss on my inexperienced lips.

 

      -Hi, my name´s Kristin, called Little-Stina and you´re Loki.  I heard it when the thin one over there named you just the other minute and she emphasizes by moving her head a little bit toward Biggi who looks a lot thinner, where he´s standing between his two friends, Andri and Kiddi Hrings who are built like trolls.  I was just about giving up all hopes of whether you were thinking about me, Loki. 

 

     -Na... Is it true, I ask with a very backward voice, but my shyness prevents me from admitting my own feelings for her and that I had myself been giving her an eye or two. 

 

    -Ye, sure I have! Since I saw your tight ass, when you were bending over the basin this morning.

 

     I can feel how I´m blushing all over hearing her using this kind of language but find it really OK how unshy she seems to be mentioning such a secret body-part, so I'm not unprepared when she carries on. 

 

      -And my affection didn´t fade, when I saw how nice a face you have. You´re just as handsome as the American filmstars, she informs me with real affection in her voice staring into my gaping eyes. 

 

      -Na... you´re bluffing me, I mumble not feeling as backward as before. My voice is a little bit higher, maybe because I´m feeling more assured with myself having just heard her opinion about my looks. 

  

      -Come on, she says with a determined voice and takes my hand in hers.  Wondering about her conduct my first act is to look down at our combined hands, where her tiny one almost disappears inside mine, eventhough it being small and pudgy. 

 

      -Where are you going, I manage to ask becoming a little unsure of whether I would be any man for such a sophisticated woman, as she seems to be in my horrified eyes. The questions that go through my inexperienced mind:  

 

      Where does she want to take me?  

      Hardly is she going to the booth?  

      Perhabs she´s taking me inside her tent?  

      Is she going to fuck me?  

      While it´s still daylight? 

 

       I´m so frightened that I´m just about petrified, where I hold her back quite easily, because of our difference in size. At the moment I´m just hoping that my friends who are gaping at some thinned act of some old revue-singer, notice my situation and trouble us with one of their nasty remarks. What ever which gives the shy boy an excuse to stop the lusty and horny Little-Stina, who seems to be quite certain of what she wants which really is the same as I do.

 

     The only thing that´s troubling me is that it is not the right time yet, t.i. Dark nights! 

 

     What if she begins to laugh when she sees me naked?  And that before my little friend reaches full erection. No woman has ever seen HIM like that, except my mum and perhabs one girlfriend of mine, when we were both five years of age.

 

      One of my friends´ dad used to have an electrical-shop in the garage by his home. The electrical-stuff he used came to him in big tree boxes which we playmates of the hood were allowed to use for our miscellanous activities out on their lawn. 

 

      Some of the older boys in the hood used to hang around us smaller ones and sometimes they made us do somethings for them, things that we normally didn´t do.

 

      Once one of them had the idea to ask me whether I´d wanted to fuck one of the girls. In Icelandic fuck means ríða, which is the same word we use for riding horces. I being only five misunderstood my older friend and thought that I was supposed to ride the girl like a horce, silly little bugger. 

 

     -No, don´t you understand Loki what I mean? 

 

      -Isn´t she supposed to be my horce in our cowboy-game I asked in my childish simplicity. 

 

      -No, what I mean is that you two are supposed to go inside the box there and then you are to stick your prick into her pussy. 

 

     -When I heard his remark I became a little worried. But if she sees my willy I thought terrified. 

 

     -There´s no need to worry man. You won´t see a thing in the dark box.  I felt a little calmer by the explanation of my friend whom I found awesome and would almost have done anything just for his appreciation. 

 

      -Well then it´s OK on my behalf, I remarked trying to look a little grown-up. But does she want it also? 

 

       -Yes, can´t you see that she is mad about you, Loki.  I accepted his answer without thinking any further, eventhough there wasn´t any sanity it it. When you think about it how can a five year old fall in love so long before her puberty? It just shows how dumb I was and easily tamable.

 

      Of course there wasn´t more to our intercourse, than there is reason to expect.  I just remember that once inside the box upside down in total darkness, our jeans and panties at our heels I did go down on my girlfriend where she was lying on her back in the grass, and according to our "friends´" directions we plodded something with our genitals together,

 

 but when my friends lifted the box thus making the light flow over us just so they could follow our fucking, I felt affended and drew up my jeans. 

 

     -Back already, I can hear Andri remarking with a wondering voice behind me, where I´m trying my best stopping this firm girl from dragging me towards something I´m not ready for.  And I´m eternally grateful to my friend who has just saved me from this sarcastic situation.   I draw my hand out of the dilemma so that I could turn towards my savior.  Are you going to desert us again, Andri asks with a teasing tone. I reckon that he´s seen our hands glued together the other second. 

 

      How old is this one actually, he then adds to his question.  I give an embarassing laughter and turn around toward her purposedly trying to excuse my friend somehow to Little-Stina, but then she seems to have evaporated. I´m neither able to see rag nor tatter of the extraordinary pretty girl who just the other minute seemed willing to eat me alive. 

 

      -She is fifteen, in spite of her height I try my best to defend her, or rather myself.  Least of all I´d want to be thought of as a seducer of a minor. 

 

       -Always the lucky one, you clodhopper, despite being a puny dwarf. 

 

       -I´m no puny dwarf, I raise my voice in denial thus trying to be heard in spite of the deafening guitar-wail coming from the stage. And what do you mean saying I´m lucky, but these last words drown in the noise, besides my friend has allready turned away. 

 

      I´ve been left alone, without a woman, feeling quite awful because of my own shyness and stupidity.  Have I destroyed an obvious chance of making out with a girl for the first time (or second)?

 

      And the day goes by and I hang around with my male friends following them absent minded. I am only able to think of one thing.

 

     Nothing else comes to mind, but the disgusting self-pity.

 

     Now I know what love is and how it´s able to treat you, or is it the sorrow of lost opportunities. 

 

     And the Sun, the Earth´s source of life goes easily down in the west behind the mountain that hangs over the beautiful Valley of Husafell, which is overcrowded and beaten this weekend by thousands of young people who have come here with the same purpose. 

 

         Everybody wants IT.

 

         But along with the Sun disappears the last hope of this boy from Keflavik of fulfilling the natural dream which every boy and girl dreams overtly and covertly.

 

    The dream which comes with puberty, when the whole body starts to scream for IT, when you can´t see a nice looking person of the opposite sex without having removed the clothes of him or her, before the old ghost of shyness takes control and prevents you from doing what your hormones tell you to do.

 

     They weren´t very few the times after dances when you had to use your hand and fingers to prevent an exploison. 

 

      Just as the day comes closer to night I become more determinded in what I shall do when and if I find my dreamdoll again. I shan´t do the same mistakes.

 

     Just when I´d have located Little-Stina nothing will come between us.

 

      NOTHING!!!   

 

      I do not see her anywhere.   

      However I look.   

      However closely I search.   

      Has she perhabs left?   

      No, no, what´s the matter with me. 

 

      On the other side of the clearing I can still see her small, pretty and pink tent. Again and again and once again I aim my green eyes over the clearing and in a very awkward situation and by threading my sight between the feet of the basin I´m able to see; that her tent is closed.  Behind me, the

love-sick youngster, the heavy drinking has begun, preparation for the night, and again and again I get interupted in my scientific research. 

 

     -Don´t just lie there like a skate, Loki, they keep on scolding me where I´m lying in the tent´s door, whenever the one in question has to go to empty his bladder. 

 

     -What´s the matter with you, aren´t you going to start your drinking?  Don´t be such a nuisance!  At long last I give up on my spying about nine pm., when my hopes of seeing the small and sweet Stína who´d flirted with silly me earlier in the day have just about disappeared from my mind.

 

      I use the opportunity when Andri has reached the stage in this evening´s drinking that he´s forgotten how much he has left of his own alcohol and passes towards me his half-empty glass with the words:

 

     -Have a drink ol´buddy! 

 

      Politely I just wet my lip in his drink, which I really do find a whole lot more disgusting than my own, shuddering secretly and imply: 

 

      -No, thank you, my friend. I think you´ll need all your booze yourself as I look into his bloodshot and dreamy eyes. I have enough left since last night, and stretch myself for my Hvannarot-aquavitae still waiting for me in its own place, where I´d hidden it early morning.  I´d except a coke for my mixture if you´ve got it, so I don´t have to leave the party? 

 

      -Ye,ye, of course my friend. All mine´s yours! Andri gives me a small coke he´d opened with another one, which is one of the drinking-trixes I´ve never learned to do myself. 

 

     The other is whistling loudly with two fingers between my lips.

 

     Before long I´ve put the memory about

Little-Stina way back in my brain´s wrinkles and have started behaving like my friends fromKeflavík.

 

      I´m not going to let some stupid girl ruin the weekend that gives you most chances of fucking. -

 

       More experienced stallions have told me so "privately".  Some stated that a good stallion could easily attend to three or four a night. The prettier sex actually being quite loose-girthed around the Commercial-Weekend. I feel angry and offended towards Little-Stina for disappearing this way, without even saying good-bye. 

 

      Light, hot, with the right mood and confidence; feeling quite certain that no-one was better than us and that all the girls would lie flat on their backs, when they´d see us the very handsome stallions from Keflavik, we decide around eleven o´clock to leave our tent just giving people the chance of admiring us and to see the others.

 

     People seem to be partying allover, they are shaking their arses listening to the stallion-rock the world famous groups of Iceland are playing for the more or less drunk youngsters.

 

     In spite of our own belief that we four the boys from Keflavik were the center of anything called the right mood no one seemed to notice us or distinguish us from all the others who probably have had the same kind of priggishness as we had at the beginning of our participation in the festival.

 

      Secretly I take a look around the area, trying to find obvious candidates for love-making.    A few seem inducable, but    some too drunk and one lying under a bush, but could check on the others. 

 

      We decide to disperse ourselves; the stallions from Keflavik, where Icelandic beatle-music originated with the group Hljomar (Sounds), thus giving more people, especially the girls the opportunity of enjoying our company, and my first action is to ask a girl who seems OK, to dance with me.

 

       When she seems to welcome me I start believing that nothing will stop me, this shy boy who shows her an interest. 

 

     -All right one dance, she answers, like being in another world.

 

      I take her hand in mine and drag her into the group of sprawling dancers.  The song finishes and I get higher hopes of it leading to something, when she doesn´t leave me yet. On the dancing thunders and I begin anticipating a closer encounter, because I seem to like her better and better.   

 

        Chestnut thick hair,   

        Down to the shoulders,   

        About 165 cm. high,   

        Greyblue and sparkling eyes,   

        Small and neat potato nose,   

        The stout behind seems to fill out,   

        The blue straight jeans,   

        The breasts stand alluring,   

        Into the pretty wool jumper,

 

 and the expectation doesn´t lessen, when she lays her soft cheek by mine in the soft song which is the third in our series of dancing, but something seems to be wrong.

 

     I notice that she seems to be abscent-minded and her eyes wander around again and again.

 

     In our fourth dance suddenly she thanks me.  I can see under her heels when she runs straight to one of the necessary houses standing at a short distance. 

 

     Behind I stand like some nerd and follow her how she knocks on the door and waits for awhile, until it is opened.

 

     Out comes a lad about the same age as me.  He seems to be fondling with his belt. 

 

      Lady-Luck certainly isn´t quite on my side, I cry disappointingly alone with myself, or were my older friends just bragging.  I send them some ugly thoughts, hoping they´ll get uncontrollable hick-ups.

 

      Once again I take a look around the area. When I notice my friends, one after the other holding hands with all kinds of girls, I decide to do something about it.  If they were able to, so should

 

      I QUITE EASILY, or what? .   

      Am I so ugly?   

      What is wrong? 

 

      I´m determined to destroy the remains of my congenital shyness and take quite a large drink of the well-strong coke-mixture. Over me comes the bullet-proof skin of the playboy who desires nothing more than the presence of the imperishable maidens.

 

         I give the area another look.  

         I get startled!  

         There she is,  

         My Little-Stina,  

         As hypnotized I stand stiff,  

         Follow her silky soft movements,  

         The billowing, golden shoulder-long mane,       

         See where she´s heading,

         Heading, heading,  

         She sees me,  

         Aims at me,  

         She comes closer,  

         My eyes go up and down,  

         She is perfect,  

         My desire is satisfied. 

 

         -No, Loki...Where have you been?  One in question standing awkwardly staring his eyes out.

 

         Bold enough to take a big one. 

 

         Are you dumb, you cute boy. Some thoughts rush through my mind. e.g. "says omething before she leaves again". 

 

        I pinch myself and some sensation goes through me. 

 

       -I haven´t gone anywhere, but where have you been, Stína?  Being a little drunk the lad discovers he´s like a new man not shy at all.

 

       I can feel that she´s mine. 

 

       -I waited for you in my tent. I waited and I waited, until I fell asleep and have just awakened, my darling. 

 

      I don´t think it´s appropriate devulging that I had been following her tent from my own tent, but hadn´t had the guts of checking out whether she was in hers, possibly waiting for me.

 

      What an asshole I had been and I curse myself to pieces, but mutter unconvincingly: 

 

      -The boys wouldn´t let me go and I had to hang around with them all day long. 

 

      -Let´s dance, she says with her silky voice and leads me to the timber-dance floor.

 

      In a minute she crouches herself, this magical creation to my heart which is running unusually fast compelled by a sexual super-desire.

 

      This author doesn´t remember the soft song´s name, nor the band playing, but at the moment both seemed quite superb for the youngsters in love. 

 

      I feel like being on the top of the world, having reached the top of my existance. 

 

      Where we move along like in a dream, I can feel my erection. I can feel her firm breasts.

 

       Automaticately our mouths come together and the toungs start great acrobatics.

 

       Quite wonderful!   

       Is my long-desired moment coming true?   

       Will I lose my virginity? 

 

       Within a minute or two we´re lying together in her lovely, pink tent, everything that was hidden is uncovered, searching and touching each other, without separating our tops, where before there was rugged cloth now is naked living softness with a firm roundish thrust and a long hot coolness, being hot on the inner side but cool on the outer; strong and elastic touching of concaving body shapes, close, strange, beautific, young and passionate; and now, when everything has become steaming hot softness, suddenly mixed with a poignant, choking, heartbeating loneliness so eager that I can´t stand it, but to my terror I sense that my swollen cock which I had been so proud of had returned to the usual hanging position.

 

      Whatever we try, it won´t behave.

 

       I´ve become too drunk and useless. 

 

       -This has never happened before, I try to excuse myself... "