’ With a glance up front, he stepped beside me, surprising me by reaching out and running his hand softly between my legs. I felt weak in the knees...and had to stifle a moan. The dream this morning flashed back into my mind and I sagged against him, letting him touch me. He rubbed my labia and ran a finger between them, across my nub. I forgot where we were, I wanted him now. Here. ‘Good morning,’ A voice said, startling us both from the other side of the clothes rack. Both of our heads turned. Hitting hard. Banging on. Relentless. Never ending. And then it started to rain. Not for the first fucking time at a festival. The music continued uninterrupted. And who was on stage? Kirsten didn’t know. Didn’t care. After all those weeks comparing DJs. Was Carl Cox on? Was Judge Jules, Paul Oakenfold, Ferry Corsten, Armand Van Helden? Was it going to be blinding? Or cheesy? Or hard? Or trancey? Who fucking cared? The rain beat down gently, softer than the music, barely noticed on the sweat. More

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