Banging on. Relentless. Never ending. And then it started to rain. Not for the first fucking time at a festival. The music continued uninterrupted. A...d who was on stage? Kirsten didn’t know. Didn’t care. After all those weeks comparing DJs. Was Carl Cox on? Was Judge Jules, Paul Oakenfold, Ferry Corsten, Armand Van Helden? Was it going to be blinding? Or cheesy? Or hard? Or trancey? Who fucking cared? The rain beat down gently, softer than the music, barely noticed on the sweat that already. Then we heard Rick and Mary moving around, and then Mary murmur: ‘Oooh, you’ve got me all over your face, … hm-hmm. I can still taste you, you don’t mind?’ Obviously, Rick didn’t, we heard a moist kiss. I sat up and turned around, embracing Jean, and we kissed without having to clarify that. My thigh slipped between hers, and she made space, inviting me to slide it to her pussy, and then we dozed off. Eventually it cooled off in the tent, waking us. We rummaged around and got a sleeping bag to. More

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