Pig in Palm Springs - Part 2 - Gay Encounters, Urination
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This is part 2 of many of this story.
This series is based on true events (a culmination of multiple trips) and fictional fantasies. It will depict many different fetish themes over the subsequent chapters. If you are not interested in m/m kinky gay sex, this is not for you. If you are, get ready!
While I drive, I might as well tell you how my slutcation came to be.
I have been a kinky pig for a long time. I'm not sure how or when it started exactly, but I know whenever I'm on vacation especially, my desire for raunchy, kinky connections is overwhelming. Something about the slight anonymity of a new place, mostly foreign from my day-to-day community. Also, the logistics of trying to get into my piggy side at home always tend to be more work than they are worth for me to fully indulge.
Mine are never usually the easiest desires to act on though as I'm usually with others I have to hide my fetishes from. I do try to sneak off when I can, and sometimes spend hours playing out situations with strangers I talk to on different apps.
It was about a year ago when I was in Provincetown for a friend's birthday weekend that I started to formulate this slutty sojourn. I met a kinky couple who owned a small place in the north end and we hit it off. They were both attractive men in their early fifties with a penchant for piss, pits, and many other things that turned me all the way on.
We hooked up one night when I snuck away from my friends at the bar for a hot, short, mostly oral romp. We made plans for me to join them again and get really wild on my last night in town but my friends wouldn't let me "abandon" them. My disappointment and blue balls were too much and I decided on the ferry back to Boston the next day that I would have to plan a solo trip. One where I can let my pig flag fly with no judgments, time restraints, or much soap.
I took my time coming up with the plan over the following month, trying to figure out how I could make it happen in the way that I wanted without causing suspicion.
I had settled on Palm Springs for a couple of reasons, mostly because it was close, I loved it there and I knew not many of the other gays would dare go in the sweltering off-season. Also, I hoped to own a place there myself one day. Originally I planned a short stay - a night or two staying at one of the clothing-optional, bathhouse-type hotels. I was too discreet to allow myself more than a quick trip.
As time went on and I let my fantasy grow, I decided I would much prefer to stay in a house with a private pool to do as I pleased. I definitely splurged but I found the absolute right place for my slutcation. I justified my spending by booking in August as the rates were lower, and I knew the true pigs didn't mind the desert heat.
I found myself obsessed with what this getaway would be, adding to my plans as I fantasized, and extended to six nights from the original two. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to do all the things, and men, I wanted. I came to realize having only a weekend, while lots of time to have wild raunchy sex, didn't allow for as much of it as I was hoping for while also enjoying nights out, and adventures away from the house I rented.
I wanted to take advantage of all Palm Springs has to offer, I loved the city for so many reasons; hiking, shopping, nightlife, restaurants, etc. This trip though, I would make sure to add a kinky aspect to everything I did, like maybe go hiking in Joshua Tree naked.
I even had sessions about it with my therapist. In the beginning, I felt like I was crazy for actually taking action on this. He was the only one who knew my secrets in full and was more than encouraging as I shared my developing plans week after week.
After about six months of putting the plan together and it slowly becoming a reality, I admitted to him I had turned down potential dates for fear they would turn into relationships that would prohibit me from my sexual exploration. I was conflicted as a romantic at heart that longed to be in a long-term relationship yet I was letting my fantasies overtake my life. With his help, I realized it is an important step for me to take in my self-realization and would only make me a better partner for whoever I'd meet in the future. It would help me release the shame I carried from my catholic and conservative upbringing.
"People work harder on things they want than what they are told they have to do," he explained once. It was excitement, not obsession that had me putting in effort. I was finally able to shake the negative thoughts that were telling me not to go through with it and let my fantasy become fully realized and finally happen. The newfound freedom was apparent in many aspects of my life, too. He seemed excited for me and I often wondered if he wanted to partake in one of his own.
I was going to embrace my inner pig and not let shame get in the way of my desire. Everything would be on my terms, even when or if I submitted. I even came up with a tentative itinerary so I would have as much time as I wanted to do everything I could possibly think of. Normally I was always having to rush, find ways to hide what I did, or pass up opportunities.
I wouldn't have to make any excuses to anyone as to where I went or who I went to see. No blue balls from saving a load in hopes of getting into a raunchy hookup only to have to cancel because my vanilla friends changed our plans and I was too shy to admit to my hopeful indiscretions.
There would be no deodorant, very little soap, if any, and no need to shower after a golden shower or thick creamy facial. I wanted to eat all the sweaty, hairy holes I could find. I wanted my mustache to smell like cum and ripe sweaty crotch all weekend. If anyone complained about how ripe I smelled from all the sex and sweat in the hot desert weather, it wouldn't make a difference to me.
I hired a trainer, worked out like crazy, let my hair grow out, experimented with different types of facial hair, and got my ears pierced. I started purchasing gear, toys, jockstraps, speedos, thongs, and lots of different slutty outfits made up of short shorts and tiny tank tops/midriffs with bold and somewhat obscene logos. I loved to be naked, especially outdoors, so if I had to wear anything, it wouldn't be much.
Every time I'd watch porn leading up to my trip, I would take mental notes of what I wanted to try. I delved deep into stories and blogs to come up with new ideas. I researched fetish websites, cruising spots, bathhouses, and bookstores and made a list of any possible event or place to get piggy or try something new. Anonymous sex always made me nervous, but this weekend it was going to be something I'd get very familiar with.
Hours were spent crafting profiles and posts on different fetish and hookup sites, resulting in lots of favorable responses. I was building up an army of pigs to play with from subs to doms, bears to twinks, groups and one on ones, tops, bottoms, and sides. All different role-play scenes, scenarios, and fantasies were in the works to happen. Some were scheduled, and some were up in the air or open to interpretation. I was excited to get local to make my presence known. Put my footprint on the different apps and even possibly post about events I could host.
I worked my ass off at work, making sure I wouldn't have to think about it, let alone check email, in between my sexcapades on my slutcation. So when I closed my laptop at my office last night, I knew it would be there untouched until my return on the following Wednesday. I was going to be covered and crusty with cum and in no mental state to reply to anyone who wasn't a potential player in my fantasy.
I wanted as much cum on and in me as I could get and give as many of my loads to willing takers. I wanted to mark as many guys as I could with my piss and have them all, or more mark me too. I wanted to kiss, suck, rim, lick, fuck, drink, dance, make new friends, and have the best time of my life. I wanted my mustache to constantly smell of pits, piss, cum, sweat, and ass. I wanted to radiate that intoxicating masculine odor of man and sex at all times.
That is what the slutcation is for. Not for romance, not for meeting up with boring acquaintances or being concerned with who I may run into and have to conform for, but letting myself indulge freely without fear of judgment from others.
So here I am in my Jeep on this hot and sunny Thursday morning in August. Already covered in the first two of many, many loads with balls full of cum, and the car filled with all the gear, toys, clothes, etc I could find to add to the experience. Only a couple hundred miles to go and a very exciting scheduled pitstop between me and the "official" start to my slutcation.
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