This guy that I used to work with, a lawyer whose wife had recently left him for another woman, talked me into going to a few of the more bohemian-type meetups in the area. He grew up a Mormon, and needless to say that he was finding the wife-turning-lesbian disruptive.
I’ve since acquired an assortment of bongo-type drums, but at the time, I attended the bongo circles empty-handed.
The first of the two bongo events was drama. My Mormon co-worker with the wife, who left him to pursue her lesbian life, was falling apart. He refused to leave when most others were packing it in and insisted I just go and leave him there. I had driven us way out into the middle of fucking nowhere for this drum circle. I drove a few miles without him, then turned back. He couldn’t believe someone would do something so nice for him, having not known him long.
He cried and thanked me the whole way to his house. I didn’t envy how he’d probably feel at work the following day.
He drove us to the second drum circle with a decent bottle of tequila in tow. I had a couple of shots but didn’t drink too much. I was anticipating more drama – if not another emotional breakdown.
My friend kept it together this time, and we both enjoyed ourselves. A girl that was there the last time and witnessed the whole drama that ensued when I returned to retrieve my broken co-worker evidently found it endearing. For whatever reason, she remained right next to me, around the circle.
There were twenty or more people drumming and about as many dancing and mingling outside the circle.
There wasn’t a fire. There was only the light of the moon and stars. I remember it being so dark that we had trouble finding the car.
I never got her age, but Kelce was around twenty-seven or eight. She was a luxury hippie. She had plenty of money, beauty, and time to play. She was hippie enough for me.
We drummed, side by side, until my hands were hurting. Kelce was wearing some loose-fitting, hippie-looking pants. The waistband of her pants seemed gentle and forgiving, so on an urge, I pushed my hand just an inch or two down her back under her waistband.
I was right. Kelce’s waistband was effortlessly loose around her thin waist. Before I had a chance to pull out, Kelce said, “Further.”
“What?” I asked.
“Further,” she said. “What you’re doing, keep going.”
The drums were beating, and I was struggling to hear her. I was half-heartedly beating my bongo with my other hand, trying to continue to blend into the dark mix of stoned strangers and trippy night vibes. In case I heard and understood Kelce correctly, I pushed my hand down further until I could feel the top of her panties. Kelce looked at me and said, “Further.”
I didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but I got the message. I was right in tune with her on whatever trip she was on. I moved lower, sliding my fingers under the back of her panties until my middle finger slid into the top of her butt crack.
She told me to go “further” three times at least. At that point, I extrapolated the next three or four additional “furthers” and continued down between her cheeks. She wiggled in just the right ways to help my middle finger reach her ass.
“Put it in,” Kelci smiled. She was a genius. She delivered these simple, naughty directives with untold ease and grace, looking to the other drummers in the dark as if she were exchanging casual, relaxed, and trivial conversation. All of this invisible scandal. And there, around this weird drum circle – where I didn’t know a soul other than my new Mormon co-worker who drove his wife lesbian.
Kelci ground and shifted. She did all she could to help get my fingers as far into her ass as possible. Both of us could thank God that it was so dark. I had a hard dick, and Kelce had three fingers probing lustfully, dilating, searching for her boundary.
Finally, she had mercy on me. Kelce reached behind my bongo, into my fly, and basically just squeezed her hand around my cock, and I came right away.
I never saw her again, but I’ve never gone long without thinking about it. There was never any discussion, no explanations. Only randomness and strangeness. Lust and midnight, drumming and ecstasy. Mysterious love and naughtiness.
