TROPICAL FRUITS EROTIC ADVENTURE
LISMORE’S FAMOUS TROPICAL FRUITS NEW YEAR’S EVE PARTY ATTRACTS A FRIENDLY CROWD… VERY FRIENDLY, DISCOVERED JACK LADD.
For me, one particularly sumptuous pop, was Tropical Fruits, the New Year’s festival in Lismore on the north coast of New South Wales. It’s way out of the city, but filled with sights and sounds more mesmerising than any I’d see on a regular day down Oxford Street. I’d contemplated going for years, but didn’t have a tent or the means to drive up. That fateful year, however, a friend had a spare seat in his car so I bit the bullet.
Over four nights I savoured many firsts, like the joy of a job well done: setting up camp under the blazing NSW sun, sweaty and exhausted from a ten-hour drive from Sydney. Drinking by firelight, mingling under a dazzling star show, not to mention a head-swimming spin on an openair dancefloor as fireworks ignited the sky into a kaleidoscopic explosion of colour and sound and scent, fabulously ushering in another year.
But it’s not those moments that linger in my heart. They’re fantastic memories, sure, but it was what happened on the first night. A night I’ve fantasised over ever since, longing to be back at Fruits. It began with a smile.
A smile across the campsite from a short but handsome man. Great body, tanned and muscular with a casual but effortless style. Short shorts showing off hairy legs and a tight singlet clinging to a flawless build like a layer of cotton skin.
Wide, curving pecs and thick, sun-kissed biceps. Strong hands. Glistening eyes noticeably blue in the early evening light. A fixed stare filled with a hunger I’d recognise anywhere. A heavy slab of meat softly bulging behind his zipper.
My kind of guy.
Short enough to fuck stupid. Take back to my tent, peel down his shorts and go to town.
The night is young.
Which was the problem: the night hadn’t started. I’d come to Fruits to make friends and run naked through fields. Take shrooms and explore my mind, not just my body. I wanted to dip my toes before dropping my pants. Stretch my legs before stretching holes. Though this guy was hot, and the urge to drop to my knees to suck out his load was pulling at my cock like a muscle boy after a hit of poppers, I had plenty of time. Time to turn my attention to the drink in hand, the bag of Nimbin weed in my pocket and the other friendly faces. So, I rolled a fat one, and, by the time I looked up, he was gone.
Smoking and passing the doobie, I introduced myself to the other campers in my immediate vicinity: 15 or 20 tents, including mine, erected in a circle to form a small gathering area among the overall campsite of similar, makeshift communities stretching off in all directions.
A throng of welcoming faces and bubbling,