It was raining only a little, ever so lightly, as D3 and I setup our space.
As we sat, waiting for anyone to sit in our chairs, Chey came over and sat in my seat. She wore shoes and didn’t want them blacked. But she did need them cleaned, having walked through the dirt and mud throughout her Sunday.
I used my saddle soap and towel to clean off her shoes, giving extra attention to massaging her foot as I worked.
Once finished, I turned back around in anticipation of the show.
“May I play with your hair?”
I gave my permission. She softly pet my mane, lacing her fingers through my strands. Quite quickly I was in my happy floaty place.
“I love your hair.”
I loved her hands in my hair.
“Have any of you heard of the red and blue parade?”
I sat on a piece of fabric on the ground. D3 and I had setup a bootblack station on the side of the small hill next to the Barn stage. He worked on a difficult pair of boots; aside from Chey, I had no customers for my evening.
SherynB, who was hosting the Dirty Pig Leather Contest, was stalling for time. Contestants needed to prep for their pop fantasies, and, with over a hundred people watching, time needed to be killed.
“I want you to come up here and show us your bruises.”
She didn’t need to tell me twice.
I popped up off the fabric and galloped onto the stage.
However, someone had beat me to the limelight. I stood upstage as Sheryn asked them how they’d received their marks.
And then it was my turn.
I stepped to downstage center, lifted my dress up above my cleavage, took two steps to my left, twirled, and then walked back to SherynB, who asked me the obligatory question.
“Well Monday night was biting while fisting, as well as Tuesday morning. I had an interrogation, a kidnapping…”
“Ladies and gentleman, Dirty Pig contestant number six!”
My eyes grew wide. I think my hands went up to my face as I cutely cowered. I very quickly, and sheepishly, scurried off the stage and back to the fabric on the hill.
Once, towards the end of the competition, I looked over and saw D3 playing with his knife. He held it inside his mouth, never touching his tongue, cheeks, or lips.
With the show ended, he packed up his kit. Slightly concerned, I asked him if he was okay. He explained he didn’t care for the show; that was all.
He then informed me he was leaving camp; this was it for him. As he sat in his chair, I got up on my knees to hug him. He sunk back down to the ground onto his knees for our bye.
We kissed, his lips and tongue now familiar. He sucked and played with my ring. He bit me a little. And we hugged.
As he walked away, I consoled myself with the fact I would see him at The Floating World.
And then it hit me: I liked him. Crap.
For a moment, it felt like my camp drop had started.
But I still had the rest of my Sunday night, and a pair of boots to attend to. I packed up my kit and headed down to the Pavilion.
Comments are disabled on this post