Tag Archives: sex against a wall

Port-a-John Porn — The Main Event!

The first part of this can be be read here.
I’ll tell you what, I ain’t never gonna be a Zen Buddhist. My patience level? Sweet fuck all. So, this one’s for all those out there who are just like me: Greedy, impatient, and far too curious. I said I’d post it tomorrow, but why wait, right? I’m the she-wants-it-when-she-want-it-how-she-wants-it type, really, so it’s somewhat hypocritical to deny you.
Besides, I received a few very ego-strokey emails today and yesterday that leave me wanting to appease others. Impatient, AND a big ol’ softie. Gotta love a girl like me. 🙂 So, without ado, part two.


So, this photo here is the stadium where all this transpired, at the University of BC campus (home of Canada’s only totally nude beach, too, so, you know, gotta love the higher-education types). Along the right side of the stadium seating (where no one is ever seated in the…
Urm, so, this is interesting. My neighbour (the one with the Canada flag in his window, GayBoy) is presently fucking his girlfriend with the blinds open, on the sofa. Hmm, fitting timing. HeLLo, NEIGHBOURS! They’re in boxers and stuff, so I don’t see much skin, but I know those moves. They’re opting for tha fast-n-furious brand of fucking, it would seem. That, or a CD’s skipping and they’re keeping pace.
…seats — since vomit’s easier to hose down on grass than clean up off the bleachers, ha) is where we found ourselves, up near the top, in those bushes, sitting on one of the bases of the pillars you can see there. A bird’s eye view on it all. The johns were lined up on the stadium floor directly in front of us, with the backs of them facing us, with about 18″ between each john, just wide enough to squeeze through.
(They just left the living room. Fuckers (literally) and I was enjoying that! I should keep my blinds up more often.)

So, the story continues–
There was something different about the couple. Something about them stood out as they wovetogether, hand in hand, through the madding throng of people below us. I spotted them and began to watch with interest. There was a physicality in how they moved and something about it aroused me.
They had a cadence to their steps, an intimacy with each other in the casual, matter-of-fact way they held hands and moved singularly through that crowd. They were zeroing in on the hand-sanitizing basin by the long wall of port-a-johns, and I could tell something was up. I grinned, nudged GayBoy, and said, “He’s gonna get himself laid.”
GayBoy started watching them. If there’s one thing my friends know about me, it’s that I’m strangely good at picking things up about total strangers.
Sure enough, it took less than a minute or two for the couple to casually wander behind this wall of johns. Now, this rear wall, you could see behind it where we were, in the stands and beyond, but it wasn’t visible from anywhere else in the stadium.
They stopped about four johns into the line, and stood behind the unit, still visible to us. She leaned against the wall, he leaned into her. His hands splayed against the john’s wall, on either side of her head. They began making out, but his hand slipped down between them, and seemed to prep things for the soon-to-begin telltale thrusting that started as Econoline Crush, a local metal/rock band with melodic yet driving hooks, took to the stage. He jacked her up a bit against that wall, and there was no mistaking, even at our distance, that this wasn’t innocent dry-humping.
The guy’s thrusting got more intense as the music heated up, and the sex was as hot as the day’d become. Oh, if I only had a handicam. I was getting hot just watching, but GayBoy was just bothered since it was too hetero for him.
While the sex was interesting, what unfolded around them was absolutely entertaining.
This couple was oblivious to what was happening around them–the sex was clearly everything at the moment. Maybe they just didn’t care. But the sex pretty fascinating for others, too, as a small crowd was gathering.
At these outdoor gigs at Thunderbird Stadium, guys would always squeeze between the johns and emerge at the back, where they’d relieve themselves au naturel in orderf to avoid the interminable lines for the port-a-johns. The ones who were doing so now, most didn’t even notice the against-the-wall sex going on nearby. Some, though, did.
One particular guy emerged between two johns, eagerly did his bladder relieving business, zipped up, turned, and then noticed the couple. He started watching them for about two, perhaps three minutes.
This had been going on ten minutes now, so the sex was fully unbridled at this point–hard, rhythmic thrusting, and absolutely zero inhibitions.
So dude’s watching the show, grinning like a school kid on a professional day, when he suddenly about-faces and walks. About two minutes later, dude returns with five friends, all holding beers, smoking cigarettes, as they lean on the bleacher stands’ base wall, staring in fascination at the sexual escapades continuing to unfold, their heads banging to the beat of the music and so too, with the rhythmic thrusting.
It’s then that the security guards approach, and the sex has been ongoing for more than 20 minutes. (But for those of us (aka: us) who’d been noshing magic mushrooms, swilling vodka, then beer, and smoking excessive marijuana, it’d seemed like an hour. And so pretty.) The guards tap the couple on the shoulders, and the couple stops. The guy zips up. A conversation ensues, and it’s clear the guards are more amused and file this one under “too bad, but I gotta do my job,” since who can begrudge a guy whose girlfriend’s willing to go the distance in bright daylight with a crowd of 15,000 around?
Everyone breaks up amiably. The couple wander again to the hand-sanitizing bath, and you can tell by the tilt in the guy’s head that he’s watching as the guards wind their way back through the crowd, looking for real trouble to deal with.
As the “Security” shirts fade into the countless bodies buzzing on the stadium floor, the guy takes the girl’s hand and he leads her back to the row of toilets.
Within 90 seconds, they’re back to having full-on sex.
The guys with the beers and the cigarettes? They never really left. They came back and caught the rest of the show.
Another twenty minutes of top-notch, if unsanitary, sex continued to unfold there until the unseasonably hot April setting sun. The couple finally climaxed during the last song in the band’s set, and then diasppeared back into the crowd.
The moral of the story? You may think you’ve got the best seat in the house when you’re in front of the stage. Sometimes, though, sitting in the nosebleeds gives you a view of a show you never thought you’d catch.

Port-a-John Porn: Classic Steff


Readers of my other blog know, GayBoy (aka @mr_tits_pervert) is my best friend, with whom I’ve been bad the most. Occasionally he graces us with a wacky comment here.
Arts County Fair is a local rite of passage. It’s a spring concert that’s unleashed on the last day of classes for the University of British Columbia, one of the largest universities in the country.
This year was year 11, and though me and my friends have stopped attending, in the early days, we’d seen nearly every show in the first nine years.
GayBoy and I always went together. The most notable ACF for us? The spring of 1999.
The concert lineup wasn’t anything special, but they never really are at ACF. The student union body puts the concert on as a celebration at the end of the school year, the very last day. It’s a license for insanity, with some listenable tunes on the side.
And sometimes it’s the insanity that makes it all worth while.
I never needed to blow off steam like I did that spring. At the time, it seemed like my mother had had a close call with death but was going to recover from her cancer. I was upbeat but trashed and needed an outlet for my stress. She never would recover, instead, she’d die less than four months later, but I didn’t know that then, whatever my suspicions might have been.
Like anyone would, I just needed a good party.
Enter GayBoy and his vodka-filled watermelon. (GayBoy has a fondness for injecting fruits with vodka for outdoor concerts. This was the penultimate: More than a mickey had gone into this bad boy. He uses a hypodermic syringe and painstakingly does the work over several hours.)
Also enter a few packages of Scooby Snacks. Back then, there was a brief craze here where Scooby Snacks were all that. They had Mexican magic mushrooms, guarana, and ephedrine. They were mushrooms for the rave crowd and the ephedrine gave you a little kick.

Responsible writer note: They were fun for a while, but after a few instances of trying the cutesy-named “Scooby Snacks,” it all went wrong for me. The ephedrine did what they say it can do — my heart felt like it was going to explode. When you’re on highly hallucinogenic drugs, the last thing you need is to feel like heart-rupturing is a potentiality. Ephedrine can be a kick, but is scary as shit when it goes wrong. Don’t bother.

Fortunately, that day, everything went perfectly. We had fine dope. We had the Snacks. We had the vodka. We had mini-donuts and a beer garden. This was seasonal bliss: a fine early summer day that would soon result in sunstroke for these thousands of concert-goers.
Did I mention the insanity? The beer garden would be churning out hundreds and hundreds of kegs of beer to these students. By the end of the day, there’d be lost lunches puddling the perimeter of the stadium. There’d be guys relieving themselves against every wall they could fine, in order to avoid having to stand in the endless lines for the port-a-johns.
This day, though, the spectacle had gone insane by the third act, the legendary Odds. It was The Odds’ last performance as a band that day, and those of us who’d been along for the ride were glad they were here to say goodbye in their hometown.

Music fan note: If you have no experience with the defunct Canadian band the Odds, Heterosexual Man was a classic, and MTV and MuchMusic couldn’t get enough of the video, which starred the Kids in the Hall. Total thumbs up for song and video.

GayBoy and I had amped up our drugs before their set and we were very hallucinohappy by this stage of the gig.
By the end of the Odds, it was obvious that well over 50% of the stadium was having trouble controlling their alcohol on this crazy-warm sunstroke day. The vomiting was getting hard to take.
GayBoy and I weren’t ready to throw ourselves into the pit at the front of the stage, not yet. Econoline Crush, the next set, weren’t our favourites. (They’re not too bad, but nothing spectacular, just standard-issue grungy alt-rock.)
No, we’d hang back. Find a seat with a view. We made our way to the back of the stadium, where we found a spot to perch right next to the stadium’s seating, which was always inexplicably cordoned off for these concerts. We sat at the base of the massive roof’s pillars, and from there, we could see everything unfold.
Which was good, since we’d soon be treated to a full-on sex show.