The music is pounding so loud that I can literally feel it in the air. My clothes and hair are vibrating. My heart rate has switched from its regular rhythm and is now paced with the loud house or trance or jungle or whatever the hell they’re pumping through the speakers. To be honest, I never listen to this type of music, and so I have no idea what to call it.
Around me, the relatively normal looking club scene is peppered with people in neon clothes and sporting multi-coloured hair. Guys are wearing make-up and girls are sucking on pacifiers. People wear dreadlocks and have giant headphones slung around their neck. Girls are wearing baggy pants and guys are wearing tight shirts. Everyone is dancing and rocking and well... raving.
I look for Megan, the Make Out Bandit, but she’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd. As the crowd shifts, I catch quick glimpses of her at different points, each time making out or grinding with a different boy. She is earning her name.
I however, am not making out or grinding with anyone. Tonight, unfortunately, will not be characterized by dancing and grinding, but instead will be more characterized by the mistakes that occur when you don’t think things through, and the consequences therein.
People are dressed so bizarrely and in so many bright colours that I feel like I’ve stumbled upon the extreme hipster fashion scene or fallen back into an 80’s music video. The music is loud, the lights are blinding, everyone is drunk or on drugs, and some guy is puking out of a window near the edge of the dance floor.
As I look around the abandoned-factory-converted-into-some-kind-of-crazy-dream-of-a-club, I start to realize that staying sober tonight was probably a bad idea.
I smirk at the girl standing beside me, Sydney. I tell her that it’s good to see her again.
This is Sydney’s first rave, and mine too.
Sydney smiles at me and tells me that she’s missed me since our last night of mind blowing sex.
Sydney is eighteen years old. Sydney is the younger sister of one of my buddies, and cute as hell. Not helping me forget her age, she is dressed in a plaid skirt and a white tank top. If she had pigtails right now, she would be every guy’s schoolgirl fantasy. Well... maybe even without the pigtails.
And Sydney has a boyfriend.
I laugh and ask her if her boyfriend knows about us yet.
She shrugs, “He thought something was up after our most recent fuck-fest... when I came home exhausted and with sex hair.”
I laugh.
“But I’m a good liar,” she adds.
“I bet you are,” I smirk.
I tell her that she’s naughty and she tells me that that’s a good thing since that’s the way I like it.
I laugh again, and she grins.
Suddenly Megan shows back up and rolls her eyes. “God, are you guys still talking about fucking?”
We both shrug mischievously.
She sighs, exasperated, “When will that joke die?”
We both laugh.
“Seriously if I have to listen to any more banter between you two about your fictitious sexual encounters I’m going to lose it,” Meg says with an exasperated tone.
“Come to berate us between your tongue-and-cheek adventures?” I ask Megan. You like that? I thought of it on the spot.
“We were just talking about when we were 69ing last weekend actually,” Sydney says mockingly to Megan as she throws her arm around me.
For the record, I’ve never had sex with Sydney, I’ve never kissed her, I’ve never even so much as touched her. And yet all we do is joke about screwing. I couldn’t tell you why or even how it started, but it’s what Sydney and I do.
“Was that before or after we watched the romantic comedy?” I ask.
“During,” Sydney says seductively.
“Oooh baby,” I say, pretending to be turned on. “My kind of date...”
Meg rolls her eyes and sighs, “Dear god...”
We both laugh.
“JD,” Megan says strictly, as she leaves, “You’re in your late twenties...”
“Mid!” I correct her defensively.
“Stop flirting with the jailbait and go make out with a woman already.”
“Hey!” Sydney interjects. “I’m legal you know!”
Exit Megan.
One thing I’ve learned is that I don’t function well at clubs when I’m sober. Let’s face it, I’m nothing special to look at. I don’t have the perfect body and chiselled jaw that draws girls to me from across the club. Girls don’t swoon at my suave style when I enter a room and think up excuses for bumping into me. My charm rests with my wit and daring, not my looks. And the reality is without alcohol I have no daring, and without the ability to be heard I have no wit.
The loud trance music pummels my ear drums and drowns out any dreams I have of meeting someone tonight. I stir from my thoughts momentarily and realize that Sydney has been talking to me for the past few minutes and I didn’t even notice. I just thought it was part of the song.
I grimace a little to myself. I wish I’d thought things through a bit more when Megan asked me if I wanted to come to a rave. The longer I’m here, the more I realize that this kind of sucks.
I’m about to turn and say something to Sydney when I get yet another reason to be unhappy.
The DJ suddenly swaps tracks from a relatively mellow tune into an ominously sounding upbeat song. It must have been a favourite melody for a nearby raver, because he suddenly goes from melancholic to spastic. He starts to scream and throws his arms in the air. He jumps and spins and does all these things that you would normally dismiss as due to the fact that he’s being riddled with bullets. And it wouldn’t matter normally, except that this time he is holding a drink. At least, he was, until he lost his fucking mind.
As he spasms on the dance floor, his drink flies out of his hand, travels a short distance, and hits my crotch like a shotgun blast of liquid to my dick. I shit you not. A few residual splashes land on my shirt and leg, but by the large the drink hits only my groin.
“FUCK!” I exclaim angrily.
Sydney laughs instantly however quickly hides her chuckles when she realizes that I’m not laughing. Holding back giggles, she tells me that she’s going to grab some napkins from the bar. She tells me not to move and then she disappears.
The raver continues to dance, oblivious to his missing drink and my now soaked genitals. Everyone around me is going berserk and I’m stuck sober, with wet balls, and a slowly forming headache from the loud pounding music.
I sigh, “Why did I even come tonight...?”
With wet testicles and a broken spirit, I consider ditching Megan and maybe going home. I get the feeling that tonight is not going to be my night. However, I look up from my woes to see some huge guy by the bar trying to pull Sydney aside. She is trying to ignore him but he’s having none of it. From his rough handling of her, he’s either going to dance with her or rape her.
“Oh yeah,” I mumble to myself. “That’s why I came...”
Exit JD to argue with macho raver guy.
I hate raves.
After rescuing Sydney from the clutches of the burly raver rapist, I set to trying to dry my pants. Using the napkins Sydney grabbed and some tissues from her purse, I manage to get it mostly dry. But here’s the fucked up thing though, at a rave with black lights everywhere, it doesn’t matter. The entire crotch of my jeans are lit up like my balls are radioactive. I look like I had a starring role in the Jizz in my Pants video.
What’s worse, this whole place is so hot that I’m sweating like a horny pig.
And so there I stand, with sweat stains and glowing balls. I notice some girls snickering at me and I sigh.
“Have I told you that I hate raves?” I ask Sydney rhetorically.
Sydney jokes, “Behave or you don’t get a blowjob tonight.”
As if no better time existed, return the Make Out Bandit. Megan bursts in laughing and asks me why I’m not making out with anyone.
I tell her that I have a black light jizz stain on my pants, I’m sweating like a sexual predator, and I can’t even hear what language people are talking in over this stupid music. Megan tells me to stop being a pussy, avoid the black lights, and just grind some girl until we start kissing.
I roll my eyes.
“Seriously!” she exclaims. “How do you think I work?”
“Well I guess I’m not you,” I yell over the beats. “Besides, someone has to chill with Syd.”
“Okay, I’ll stay with her for a bit,” Meg says as she sidles up beside me. “Now you, you need to make out with someone...” She starts to scan the crowd, looking for a suitable candidate. “How about her?”
Megan points out a blond with massive tits dancing all by herself. She is drenched in sweat and wearing a white cotton shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. I know this not by the unbridled bouncing and bounding of her massive mammaries, but by the fact that she’s perspired her way through her shirt. Her nipples are clearly visible through her sweat-stained shirt.
“Her?!” I exclaim. “Are you nuts?”
Megan shrugs, “She looks easy.”
“Yeah! And crazy!”
“Well maybe she just doesn’t realize she’s having a private wet t-shirt contest,” Megan offers.
“You do realize that she is dancing right in front of a mirror right?” I tell her.
Megan shrugs again.
I roll my eyes.
“Okay what about...” Meg starts to scan the crowd again but I interrupt her.
“Watch Syd. I’m going to piss.”
On my way to the restrooms I get a text from Megan: “I want to see you making out in fifteen minutes.” Then another one: “With a GIRL!”
As I read the texts I push past these two guys near the restroom line. The line to the guys washroom. There is never a line to get into the guy’s washroom and yet here, in this shitty abandoned factory, there is; and it’s massive.
When I look up I realize the full extent of the line. The toilets are at the end of this long hallway, and the line extends all the way out and into the main dance area.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
Suddenly, I get shoved. I crash forward and catch myself on two people in the line. I apologize and stand up. Behind me, are the two guys I pushed my way past on the way over here.
One of the guys is yelling that I kicked over his beer.
“Kicked over...?” I ask confused.
He motions to a tipped over beer can resting on the ground.
He looks livid, like the beer was his own slutty teenage daughter that I left pregnant and used on her side.
“First off,” I say. “Why was your beer on the ground?”
He shoves me again. The people behind me are less concerned for me and are more annoyed at constantly having to break my falls. The two angry guys draw nearer and I realize that I’m not getting into the restroom right now. At least I don’t really need to piss that badly.
He tells me that I’m going to buy him another beer. “That’s what’s going to happen next,” he says ominously.
I didn’t know this happens in real life, but I gulp. I really don’t feel like getting beat up tonight. Lucky for me, I get some rather unusual help.
A guy who I can only describe as bat-shit crazy bursts out of nowhere and grabs one of my intimidators by the shoulders. My saviour has neon green spiked hair and is wearing gratuitous amounts of clown makeup. He’s dressed in a wife beater decorated with black light paint, and he has various glowing bracelets around his arms and painted nails. He is possibly one of the skinniest people I’ve ever seen.
He screams and barks, like a rabid animal. He growls and snarls.
“Raaa... yayayaya! Yayayaya!”
He doesn’t assault my attackers so much as he freaks them the fuck out.
He jumps from person to person, screaming and violently shaking them like a monkey gone mad. He is head banging and hooting, screaming and gyrating, pushing and pulsating. In the end, when the entire crowd is thoroughly confused and frightened, he turns to me, and whisks me away.
Needless to say, when we leave, my two would-be attackers are more stunned than they are interested in pursuing.
Once we’re out of harm’s way, I thank my manic saviour.
“Man you were about to get crunked up!” he exclaims. “Wooo!”
“Yeah,” I say. “Um... so thanks for that... whatever it was...”
He nods and slaps my arm. He is scrawny and breathless yet oddly full of energy. He’s high on E, or meth, or Redbulls, or something, I’m sure of it. He sticks out his hand for a handshake. He moves jerkily and reminds me of Kramer, from Seinfeld.
“Name’s Weasley,” he tells me frankly. “Weasley Horniblow.”
Yes, Weasley. Not Wesley, Weasley. Weasley Horniblow.
Astounded by his name, and without further reflection, I laugh and blurt out, “Seriously?! What are you an afterhours Harry Potter character?”
A look of offense suddenly washes over his face. I reach out to shake his hand, having not realized that I just insulted him, and he slaps it away. He stares at me with little, beady, angry eyes for what feels like forever.
I have no idea what to say, so I just stand there, frozen.
Finally, he speaks, “Why are your balls glowing?”
As he asks, three sexy girls walk by in the background, staring at me with disgusted looks and I realize I am standing by a black light again.
I hate raves.
With the prospect of pissing gone for the moment, both due to the size of the line and the angered thugs guarding its entrance, I decide instead to get some water, as I am literally sweating through my shirt.
It’s a strange sensation to be both dehydrated and thirsty yet need to piss. It’s the only time in your life when the sound of water causes you to simultaneously salivate and clench your penis shut. But I am in dire need of water. From the way I’m sweating in this place, I look like I just finished a masturbatory marathon.
The entire push to the bar is incredibly crowded. I get smushed and sandwiched between dozens and dozens of people for several minutes. In retrospect, it was the perfect opportunity to be pick pocketed.
Eventually I get my water and return to find Sydney in a corner, all alone. Somehow, I’m not surprised.
“Hey,” I say, as I approach her.
“Hey honey,” she says casually.
“Who’s Meg making out with now?” I ask.
Sydney shrugs. “Some blond guy I think.” As I stand beside Sydney, she drops her head to my shoulder and sighs.
“Tired?” I ask.
She nods.
“Me too,” I mumble, as I take a sip of water.
Sydney holds out her hand for the water and I pass it to her.
I notice a few girls dancing by one of the black lights and I smirk. They have highlights or something in their hair that is glowing in the light. I look down at my crotch to make sure that it’s not glowing, and that I’m not standing near a black light again.
For them, it’s their hair that glows, for me, it’s the whole groinal region.
Sydney sighs, “So like... is this it?”
“Is what it?” I ask.
“Clubbing? Is this all you do?”
I forget that she’s only eighteen sometimes. She’s never actually been to a club. I realize that this was her first club-esque experience. Probably explains why she was initially so excited to come.
I shrug, “Yeah I guess.”
“Clubbing is kind of boring...” she sighs again.
I laugh, “Yeah well, it’s more fun when you’re drunk...” I spot Megan, apparently sucking the life out of some guy with dreads, “or making out.”
“Yeah…” Sydney says slowly. “Okay…”
“Okay what?” I ask, almost off hand, as I take another sip of water.
“Let’s make out.”
She meant it as a joke. She meant it to be understood as our regular, sexual repartee. She wasn’t actually suggesting we make out.
The weird thing is we’ve joked about fucking each other for so long that her comment really shouldn’t have mattered. We’ve talked about banging each other in every position and pose imaginable. We’ve gone into excessive details of our fabricated all night fuck sessions. We’ve done it so often and so long that we do it right in front of our friends and no one bats an eye.
It’s just what JD and Sydney do, they joke about screwing. They joke about wanting each other. They joke about love and lust and carnal, vigorous sex.
We’ve joked about far worse than making out. We’ve joked about fucking, and 69ing, and anal. Yet, we’ve never joked about making out. We’ve never joked about something so plausible, in such a matter-of-factly way, that it could conceivably happen.
I guess we always flirted in the realm of make believe, and maybe that’s why her suggestion caught both of our attentions, because it wasn’t so fantastical to imagine. It wasn’t so distant from reality that it would never happen. It lived on the border of reality and fantasy.
Neither of us follow her comment with any words. We both glance over at each other and smile awkwardly as something suddenly changes. I can’t tell you what was going on in her head, but for me, it was nothing. It was literally nothing. I was on auto-pilot. I actually just stopped thinking at all. I wasn’t thinking, I was just doing.
We’ve joked about every sexual act imaginable yet we’ve never acted. At least, not until tonight.
I don’t know how it starts. I couldn’t tell you who kisses who first. But before I realize what’s happening, Sydney and I are lip-locked, jamming our tongues down each other’s throats, clawing and grasping at each other like our lives depend on it.
I really, really wish I had taken a second to flick my brain back on manual, to consider what I was doing. Because the one thing I wasn’t thinking about at that moment was that while I was grabbing and pawing at her like I was a horny teenager, she actually was one.
I am sitting on ledge in the corner and Sydney is on my lap. Her hair is dangling in my face and we’re both gasping for air.
Around us are fog and lasers. People dressed like they’re superheroes without costume budgets are spasming and dancing around us, lost in the blaze of the thunderous musical notes. For its part, the piercing music is smashing through our bodies, shaking us to the core.
And there we are—a boy, and his friend’s younger sister—making out like ravenous animals. It’s almost romantic... almost.
I run my hands all over her young body. I run them over her bare arms, her sexy back, and even over her supple adolescent buns.
My head is a mix of every school girl fantasy I’ve ever had. The plaid skirt, the white tank top, the knowledge she’s my friend’s younger sister, the fact that she’s only eighteen.
Fuck, this girl is only eighteen... This is fucking awesome!
My opinion of raves is starting to go up.
She kisses me harshly and bites at my neck.
I’m a little shocked when she does it. I was never that bold when I was eighteen.
A little voice in my head is telling me this is a bad idea. It’s calling me a fucking idiot. It’s saying that she’s too young, that she’s my friend’s sister, that she has a goddamn boyfriend!
“This can only end badly,” it warns me.
But I have a cute eighteen year old girl making out with me like it’s a crime right now. The little voice is my head is more of a distraction than a voting member of the conscious stream at this point. And so I keep making out with Sydney.
Between kisses she tells me that she can’t believe this is happening. She asks me if this is a dream.
I tell her that it’s not, and silence her with my tongue.
The rave music pounds through the club, through everything in this shitty abandoned warehouse, and through my head... like an ominous ticking clock.
She takes the tip of my ear in her mouth and tells me that she’s never dated an older guy before.
The word date kind of hiccups in my mind for a second. I shrug it off and return to the carnal sensations of now. However, the longer we kiss, the more she talks, and the more hiccups build up.
She tells me that she’s wanted to be my girlfriend for years as she rubs her nails over my chest and after a French kiss she smiles and tells me that people will freak when they find out we’re together.
Uh oh...
The music continues to shake my existence, my world. She shifts to straddle me as she tells me that we’re going to be an awesome couple. She laughs, saying, “Wouldn’t it be so weird if we got married some day and people had to call me Mrs. Sydney David?”
Uh oh!
“God! I can’t believe this is happening!” she swoons.
Oh Jesus...
The music is pounding on my skull, screaming at me to wake up. The nagging little voice in the back of my head suddenly chimes back in with an arrogant, “I told you so.”
I realize that I am fucked...
You see, to me, to a guy in his mid- or arguably late-twenties, this is just messing around. This making out, this kissing… this doesn’t mean all that much. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t mean nothing. But it doesn’t mean we’re necessarily together. It just means: “I like you. Let’s see where this goes.” That’s about it.
But to an eighteen year old… to a naive girl whose only serious boyfriend before me was the boyfriend she was currently cheating on… to her, making out is the solid foundation of a long-lasting relationship.
I was just kissing her but she was doing more. She was busily fantasizing about us getting married and how many pets we’d have. She was naming our children and imagining our honeymoon. She was watching me propose to her on one rested knee, with a gorgeous diamond ring, while she stared back with baited breath, crying, as she told me how much she loved me.
Her lips press against mine, and her tongue pushes through my mouth.
The music is now hammering and bashing at my brain.
She is kissing me, panting and rubbing her hands all over me, as she tells me that we’re going to be so happy together.
We are definitely not on the same page.
Fuck, this girl is only eighteen... This was a terrible fucking idea!
As Sydney and I continue to make out, I am running through various make-out-stopping scenarios in my head. As we kiss and grope one another, I am trying to figure out exactly what to say, and how to say it to not only stop the make out, but downplay its significance completely.
“Hey remember when we made out? Yeah that didn’t really mean anything...”
“Boy that was fun. But seriously, you should stay with your boyfriend.”
“Hey remember how you thought I was fulfilling your lifelong fantasy about us finally being together? ...PSYCH!”
I hate myself a little right now.
The more we make out the more I wish life had an undo function. I start to wish Sydney was right, and this was all just a dream. Because as awesome as it is, in some fantastical sense, to be making out with her... I realize that I really need to wake up from it.
I start to curse myself for not drinking tonight. At least if I were drunk I would have an excuse the next day and could dismiss my actions as mistakes... but what’s your excuse when you’re sober? I’m just a thoughtless jerk?
Gods damn it!
The longer I go without a plan the more I realize this needs to end. And so, I do the only thing I can. I just... stop. I stop kissing. I stop touching her. I stop everything, and just casually lean back. Then, I look off into the crowd and pretend to listen along to the music.
She’s looking at me gleefully, wanting to talk, or hold hands, or at least look at each other, but, I have somehow decided to just pretend nothing is happening. It’s a terrible plan, that was not thought through or intentionally started, but I’m doing it nonetheless.
Sydney’s elated mood begins to shift as she realizes I’m kind of ignoring her. When I turn to her casually, she leans in and tries to kiss me. I smile fakely and turn my head. She kisses my cheek.
“Oh,” I say, as if surprised by her kiss. “That was nice.”
I realize I am talking to her like she’s a five year old.
Pull it together JD!
I shrug and roll my eyes at her, all the while with a clearly forced smile, before turning back to the crowd and the nodding to the music. I’m only looking at her with my peripheral vision, but I can tell she’s a mixture of pissed and heartbroken.
She grabs my face and turns my head with her hand and tries to lean in again. Before she can kiss me I stop her.
“I think we should just be friends,” I blurt out. I try to smile reassuringly.
“What?!” she says, almost furiously.
“I... think we should just be friends...” I say more timidly.
She stares at me for a second, before she finally speaks in a weak voice: “Y-you don’t want to be my boyfriend…?”
“Well...” I say, taking a deep breath, “What I mean...”
She’s gazes at me with heartbroken eyes. I feel like she’s going to breakdown sobbing any second.
“I just don’t know if this is going to work out…” I mumble. “Maybe we can just take it slow and...”
“Are you telling me,” she says slowly, “that I just cheated on my boyfriend for no reason?”
“Well... not no reason,” I say with a gentle smirk.
She looks dejected, miserable, depressed… but only for a moment. Her expression quickly changes to that of fury, rage, and betrayal. I’m about to try and apologize when suddenly she slaps me. She slaps me harder than I’ve ever been slapped in my entire life.
“Fuck you!” she shrieks.
Despite the volume of the rave music, I have no trouble hearing her curse. And neither do several people who were subtly watching us make out.
She jumps off of me, now crying, and runs off.
“Sydney...” I start. I stand up, intending to follow her however, as soon as I stand I realize that my penis is still standing at full mast and my crotch is glowing from another cursed black light. Now I really do look like I jizzed in my pants.
I sit back down, cross my legs, and let out a heavy breath.
I’m a fucking idiot...
I catch up with the girls by the front door. Sydney is standing by the doorway itself and Megan stops me before I even get close. Sydney’s face is stained with dry tears. She spots me talking to Meg but intentionally looks away, pretending to not even notice me. She wants nothing to do with me.
Megan looks completely unimpressed with me. I know that she knows.
“You couldn’t fucking keep your lips to yourself, could you?” Megan scolds rhetorically.
“Look I’m sorry,” I say apologetically. “It was completely my fault.”
“Yeah, no shit dumbass. You made out with an eighteen year old. An eighteen year old who is the sister of one of your friends. An eighteen year old with a boyfriend! I mean… what do you have to say to that?”
I shrug, “I’m really sorry?”
Meg shakes her head.
“Okay well what about you and all your talk about what happens at raves stays at raves? You were trying to goad me into kissing people all night Ms ‘Make Out Bandit’!”
Megan reaches over and pats my cheek condescendingly, “Strangers. I only break the hearts of strangers sweetie. Not my friend’s siblings. What do you think her brother is going to say when he finds out about this?”
“Christ,” I sigh as I drop my face to my hands. I look up and catch Sydney peeking over at me. As soon as I see her she looks away again, pretending to not notice.
Megan tells me that she’s taking Sydney home, and that she’ll come back for me after.
“After?!” I exclaim. “Wait, I don’t want to be stuck at this shitty rave alone.”
She shrugs, “Well, start walking home or something. I’ll call you in an hour or so when I’ve dumped off Syd. I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“Better choices,” she smirks as she leaves. “Gotta start making better choices JD.”
Exit Megan.
With Meg and Sydney gone I find myself alone at a shitty rave. I immediately leave the building and feel a sigh of relief as my clothes are no longer shaking around me and my ears are no longer pounding.
As I return to the world outside, I almost feel as if the whole ugly experience may have actually been a dream. Then I reach for my cell phone, realize it’s been stolen—it wasn’t a dream. And what happens at raves doesn’t always stay there.
“Mother fucker...” I curse to myself.
I half wonder if I just dropped it, but am more inclined to believe it was pick pocketed... probably at the crowded bar.
With a heavy sigh I decide to take a quick piss before going back in to begin the futile hunt for my “dropped” cell phone. I realize that I have no choice but to try and look for it because Meg is going to have to no way of contacting me without it.
Without my phone, I am on my own to get home and I have only a vague sense of what part of the city I’m in.
I shuffle around to the back of the building and start pissing on a dumpster. I tell myself that I need to apologize to Sydney tomorrow, if she’ll even talk to me anymore.
My mind wanders as I piss, and at first, I don’t even notice it. It’s a weird light in the distance. A flashing light. I realize it’s come closer. Then I spot another, and another. Next there’s a strange, loud beep. Suddenly my mind clues in to what I’m looking at.
“OH SHIT!” I exclaim.
Two doors by the back of the building suddenly fly open and people start streaming out. I see people running away from the sides of the building. People are tripping and falling and pushing each other in every direction. Everyone is yelling and fleeing and screaming at everyone to run. The fucking cops are here.
Two people from the second floor hang out of the window, dangling their bodies as close to the ground as they can before dropping to the ground.
Police raids, the one downsides to holding an illegal rave in an abandoned building.
Realizing that I too need to flee, I pinch off, mid-piss—it burns—and start to run off into the woods. However, we all know that you can’t stop mid-piss, not really. So, as I make my getaway, hobbling away toward freedom, toward ultimately ending up lost and alone in the woods with no phone and no real sense of where I am, I am pissing myself the entire time.
This was my first and only rave.
Fuck raves.
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