Have you ever been out with someone who's just a bit too much of a gentleman? Yes, I know that's a rarity and I should thank my lucky stars, but the problem with Martin was that even after three dates he still didn't seem to realise that I fancied him like crazy.
"Thanks for bringing me, Martin," I said, looking away from the stage for a second and smiling at him. He had lovely grey-blue eyes and an odd mixture of confidence and shyness. He wasn't at all like the guys I used to date; the big dumb blonds, as I thought of them now. I just wished he had a little of their, shall we say, forthrightness? With them, if I escaped a first date without a hand on my boob I considered myself fortunate. With Martin I was lucky if I saw even the idea of a goodnight kiss flash across his face before nerves got the better of him.
It was my first music festival, and a beautiful summer's day with it. I wished we'd bought tickets for the whole weekend, and if Martin had any sense he'd have suggested sharing a tent. I'd even have said yes to sharing a sleeping bag, but I doubt he'd ever be so bold as to ask.
And before you ask, I wasn't just desperate to sleep with him because I'd had a couple of beers; at the start of the day I'd already decided that, one way or another, I was going to find out if he actually found me attractive or not. I'd even planned to start the day with a not-so-accidental towel drop, but when I'd told Martin I wasn't ready he'd waited out on the street. I just hoped that skinny jeans and a sleeveless top was sexy enough for him, and I guess I'll have to find another way to get naked before the day was out. I've even deployed the wireless pullover bra in case Martin had no idea how to undo a clasp.
My train of fantasy was interrupted by two guys lifting a young woman into the air in front of me. I was about to complain about blocking the view to the band when she fell back towards us and I automatically lifted my hands to stop her.
More hands joined, and the next I knew it we were pushing her over our heads as she stretched her arms above her. She seemed to glide effortlessly over the tops of the crowd, sometimes twisting and rolling, progressing slowly on a meandering path across the park.
Hands grabbed at her and she let out a shriek. She moved her arms to her side and gripped her t-shirt as someone became over-enthusiastic about the presence of a young woman's body and tried to lift her top.
"Woah!" I said involuntarily. Martin had seen it too and his eyes were wide.
As I looked back at the girl her arms were above her head again, and more hands had pushed her t-shirt high enough to expose her stomach. She didn't seem to mind, having found a level of exposure that she was comfortable with. Other hands tugged at her jeans and she shrieked again and grabbed her belt.
She was spun over and her arms flailed helplessly, and as more people grabbed at snatches of fabric as she passed over them her jeans slipped a little. They jammed on her hips, which is a good job as her underwear looked to be going the same way. You could see half her buttocks, and I was in no doubt that she shaved.
She reached down and pulled her jeans back into place as her t-shirt was yanked up further, exposing her bra. She laughed and squeezed her arms to her sides and was rolled over once more, but this time she was prepared for it and kept her hands at her waist, gripping her jeans. She seemed to have reached a truce with the crowd: she was okay with her top pulled up around her neck, but no more.
I looked back at Martin to see he was still transfixed by the spectacle. He moistened his lips and I wondered if I'd seen the first glimpse of what sexual excitement might look like on his face. A moment later the girl was out of sight, still being moved over the crowd, gliding and rolling and out of control and loving it.
"Do me!" I said urgently to Martin, "Lift me up!"
