A big, Black man brushes past me, wearing nothing but a sort of sack around his sex, attached to a belt at his waist.
Definitely not Zion.
Deep inhale…even through the mask, I can smell sweat and other human odors. Okay. It’s okay. Another inhale and a slow pan right, where a large-bellied, elderly Asian man is getting a lap dance from a very slender, tall, white person, fully dressed in a suit and tie, with buffed leather shoes on.
Not Zion. My eyes linger for a few seconds anyway before skipping forward to the next play area, where—oh, god, I think that person’s getting fisted. No. Nope. I can’t look at that. Not yet, at least. It’s all too soon, too much. I feel raw here, scared and also wide open.
I’m shaking, just a little.
The barn is long and narrow, the ceiling high overhead. The middle of the space is filled with a line of cages and structures—all currently occupied. The exterior walls are lined with individual play spaces that look like stalls, open to observers, and separated by short wooden dividers.
I head right.
I have no idea what I’ll do when I see Zion.IfI see him. What if he’s not in the dungeon? What if he’s in one of the many other play areas the camp brochure lists? The club house? The pool? The Sex-o-drome? The Hangar? I can’t remember the others. There are so many places he could be. Are they all as crowded as this?
I’m moving slowly forward, zombie-like. In the next stall there’s a writhing pile of bodies, the parts indistinguishable from each other. Are they… Oh yep. Okay. They sure are.
Buzzing with surprise, feeling caught out, like I’m seeing things I shouldn’t, I turn and look anywhere—at the scuffed concrete floor, the bars of a cage, an empty swing hanging from the ceiling. I guess I wasn’t quite as ready for this as I’d thought.
As the initial shock fizzles, I register excitement, adrenaline, curiosity. And here’s the thing: I really want to see what they’re doing.
So I turn back.
After a few seconds’ staring, the writhing flesh separates into body parts and finally humans of all shapes, genders, colors, sizes.
From the bottom of the pile, a woman—I think—looks up, tilts her head fully back onto the shoulder of a person she’s lying on, her mouth wide open. A man edges over on his knees and…holy shit, my entire core clenches as he shoves his erection straight into her mouth. Within seconds, he’s thrusting, hard.
My body moves closer of its own volition. My eyes are glued to the scene, between my legs I’m throbbing when I realize that the woman’s sandwiched between two other men and they both appear to be penetrating her—one from below, one from above. She grunts, the sound muffled by the cock in her mouth.
Mid-moan, I realize I’m staring, which I read last night isn’t necessarily polite. Although, here, out in the open, maybe they want that. It’s a fine line between voyeuristic and intrusive.
I’m already walking, but I glance back just in time to catch the man on top of her as he yells and sinks deep, then holds.
He’s coming inside of her.
One of my hands flies to cover my mouth.
I want to see and I want to know how it feels to—
No. No, I’m not here to do any of this. Confront Zion and go. Make him understand what he’s done. That’s something, right?
I’m breathing hard and it’s not just the edginess I’ve been fighting all evening. It’s excitement, plain and simple. What these people are doing is sex like I’ve never experienced it: brutal and fierce and totally free of shame.
I don’t intend to get sucked in, but I’m already caught in its glow. Tonight, in this sultry second skin, I’m not Twyla Hernandez or Tina, the name I registered under. I’m Twilight, the camp name I chose at the gate.
It says so on the bracelet I’m wearing. Right beside where it says She/Her. Next to it is a band that shows that I’m cishet and another that shows people this is my first camp, then a bright orange one telling the camp photographer that they may absolutely not snap pictures of me. I sure hope they obey that rule.
I tear myself away from the scene that’s got me completely turned on, and move up to the next space and the next.
A slow, sultry electronic song is playing, the bass vibrating to my core. It carries me further into the human fray.
There are people doing thingseverywhere. To my left, I draw even with what looks like a mini paddock, filled with people dressed as ponies, complete with tails and saddles and…
I peer closer at one of the long, fluffy tails, which looks like it’s—
Okay. Okay, that is a butt plug.
The sex shop woman tried to sell me one—with a bright blue jewel on the end, which she claimed would look beautiful against my skin.
