How to Enjoy Your Concert Festival: Port-a-John Porn
The story starts here:http://thelastditch.blogspot.com/2005/04/part-one-port-john-porn-preamble.html
The link won't work, so there's the URL for you.
There was something different about the couple. Something about them stood out as they weaved together, hand in hand, through the crowd below us. I spotted them and began to watch with interest. There was a physicality in how they moved and something about it aroused me.
They had a cadence to their steps, an intimacy with each other in the casual, matter-of-fact way they held hands and moved as one through that crowd. They were zeroing in on the hand-sanitizing basin by the long wall of port-a-johns, and I could tell something was up. I grinned, nudged GayBoy, and said, “He’s gonna get himself laid.”
GayBoy started watching them. If there’s one thing my friends know about me, it’s that I’m strangely good at picking things up about total strangers.
(Ed. Note: Unlike this photo, the johns at this gig were spaced about 18" apart, so it was possible to squeeze between them, emerge into the corridor behind the row of johns, as many people would soon be doing.)
They stopped about four johns into the line, and stood behind the unit, still visible to us. She leaned against the wall, he leaned into her. His hands splayed against the john’s wall, on either side of her head. They began making out, but then the telltale thrusting began as Econoline Crush, a local metal/rock band with melodic yet driving hooks, took to the stage.
The guy got intense with the music and the sex was clearly hot. Oh, if I only had a handicam. I was getting a little aroused just watching, but GayBoy was a little bothered since it was a little too hetero for him.
It wasn’t the sex that was interesting, though. It was what unfolded around them.
This couple was oblivious to what was happening around them--the sex was clearly everything at the moment. And it was pretty fascinating for the others, too.
There was a small crowd gathering.
Guys would always come behind the wall of johns to piss rather than wait in the interminable lines for the port-a-johns. The ones who were doing so now, most didn’t even notice the back-to-the-wall sex going on nearby. Some, though, did.
One particular guy weaved between two johns, eagerly did his bladder relieving business, zipped up, and then noticed the couple. He turned and started watching them for about two, perhaps three minutes.
This had been going on ten minutes now, so the sex was fully unbridled at this point--hard, rhythmic thrusting, and absolutely zero inhibitions.
So dude’s watching the show, grinning like a school kid on a professional day, when he suddenly turns and walks. About two minutes later, dude returns with five friends, all holding beers, smoking cigarettes, as they lean on the bleacher stands’ base wall, staring in fascination at the sexual escapades continuing to unfold, their heads banging to the beat of the music and so too, with the rhythmic thrusting.
It’s then that the security guards approach, and the sex has been ongoing for more than 20 minutes. (But for those of us (aka: us) who'd been noshing magic mushrooms, swilling vodka, then beer, and smoking excessive marijuana, it'd seemed like an hour. And so pretty.) The guards tap the couple on the shoulders, and the couple stops. The guy zips up. A conversation ensues, and it’s clear the guards are more amused and file this one under “too bad, but I gotta do my job,” since who can begrudge a guy whose girlfriend’s willing to go the distance in bright daylight with a crowd of 15,000 around?
Everyone breaks up amiably. The couple wander again to the hand-sanitizing bath, and you can tell by the tilt in the guy’s head that he’s watching as the guards wind their way back through the crowd, looking for real trouble to deal with.
As the “Security” shirts fade into the countless bodies buzzing on the stadium floor, the guy takes the girl’s hand and he leads her back to the row of toilets.
Within 90 seconds, they’re back to having full-on sex.
The guys with the beers and the cigarettes? They never really left. They came back and caught the rest of the show.
The moral of the story? You may think you’ve got the best seat in the house when you’re in front of the stage. Sometimes, though, sitting in the nosebleeds gives you a view of a show you never thought you’d catch.