More Nuts To Butts or OPPY rises again

Greetings all. It was great to see one of my favorite posters, Filmbuff is still in circulation. I especially liked the fact that his posts reminded me of my own interests and experiences regarding the consensual possibilities of Chikan. I want to thank bubba for his interest in my brush with celebrity. I’ll post my Dawn Stensland story as soon as I contribute my next two stories. I may have mentioned this before but as soon as I come home from a concert or a parade or whatever, I sit down with the laptop and put in about 15 or 20 lines of keywords and mnemonics to help me remember the experience later on. My account of the John Mayer concert is close to completion so that will be next. Some of you may be surprised that Ol’ Oppy abandoned his role as the old man of Hip Hop to attend a pop show, but I’ve had excellent results at shows like the Chicks with Attitude tour starring Liz Phair and the British, female string quartet Bond (DAMN they’re fine!!!). Anyway without further delay and only a month overdue is the rousing, at least it was for me, conclusion to my Roots concert experience. In case you don’t remember, I had just successfully wet humped a girl in a jam packed hallway prior to the start of the show. The account resumes as I’m making my way to the primary stage area.

The DJ was obviously trying to energize the crowd as the show time approached. The main room is roughly “L” shaped with the stage placed in the intersection of the 2 arms of the “L”. There was a roped off section in the short arm of the L. At this point there was a solid block of people packed into this area with a steady stream of people still ducking under the ropes, forcing their way in. I briefly considered joining the press but wanted to keep my mobility until after scoping out the rest of the layout. The roped off section was dwarfed by the still growing crowd gathered directly in front of the stage and extending the length of the long arm of the L. Separating the 2 sections was a constant parade of people newly arriving in the concert section who would either fight their way behind the rope, continue moving along the human stream toward the back of the room, or disengage from the stream to swell the ranks of those clustered in front of the stage. I waited until a trio of nymphets shuffled by in the stream before attempting to join the slow moving conga line. After my session with Liz my dick was still in Flopper mode. I have jokingly classified 4 stages of erectile condition during groping activity. First is Throbber mode, when the excitation level is at its lowest, primarily anticipatory. In other words you are erect but just getting warmed up. With me this stage often occurs just prior to the first touch. The Twitcher stage occurs when the action is in full effect and the sensations that your dick is receiving seem to give it a life of its own. It jumps around and seems to be trying to burrow into whatever booty you’re prodding. The Dripper stage refers to the increased amount of precum released just prior to ejaculation. The Flopper stage refers to the condition your dick is in just after ejaculation, where regardless of the stimulation received your cock remains limp and lifeless until it recovers. Just aimlessly poking and groping girls in a moving crowd, while undeniably enjoyable, is my least favorite aspect of Chikan. This random “poke and move” would, however, enable me to give the old Flopper a continuous source of stimulation. Anyway I realize that I’m doing an inadequate job in conveying the extreme conditions of heat and crowding that existed in the main room. The constant motion especially the dancing in place so many of the girls were doing increased the heat. Everyone was perspiring freely, and if you’re like me very few sights are as stimulating as an attractive woman covered with sheen of perspiration. As luck would have it the last chicklet in our little group had a very survivable caboose though nothing special. Every time the progress was stalled I pressed the flopper against her yielding denim covered booty. As we got closer to show time the DJ began playing more of the biggest Hip-Hop hits of the summer: Lil’ John, Petey Pablo, Lloyd Banks and others. I began leaving the moving current when I happened upon a likely lone or otherwise unguarded female ass, particularly those who happened to be gyrating or humping to “Git Low” or whatever was playing at the moment. It was easy to sidle up behind or alongside a little chicklet who was already used to being buffeted by the jostling crowd and plaster yourself to her backside. If she happened to be jamming to the music so much the better. Her rhythmic movements only added to the enjoyment. As I moved through the room toward the rear I poked ass after ass with the still partially limp cock sticking out a couple of inches from my lowered zipper. Each minute or two spent pressed into some girls soft yielding ass flesh brought the Flopper closer to some semblance of a legitimate erection. As I neared the halfway point in the long main room it slowly became easier to move. It also became easier to breathe as I detected a cool breeze wafting from the rear. I had been so single minded in my attempts to resurrect at least a partial boner that I never noticed that the entire rear wall had been raised, slid aside or something. Whatever they had done the rear wall was wide open allowing a breeze, which only reached the rear half of the room. There was some kind of fenced off patio area outside that held quite a few people seeking respite from the crowding and humidity inside. As tempted as I was to make my way outside, breathe some cool revitalizing fresh air and relax for a minute in the fenced off area beyond the opening, there was no way that I was going to leave this poke fest even for a minute. I turned around and joined a small group of revelers just returning from outside, making their way back into the thick of the milling crowd up front. Working back to the front against the current was infinitely more enjoyable. I lost count of the number of boobs and hips my hands grazed and stroked as the two groups flowed against each other in opposite directions. But the best aspect was the opportunity to scout the location of available asses from the rear and settle in behind them more naturally than before. One incident in particular still makes me smile. Approaching the front of the room maybe ten rows back from the stage were two blonds, tall lean and shapely, though unfortunately wearing jeans. The luscious contours of the hineys filling the jeans were sufficient to convince me to ascertain whether they would be suitable for spending the concert with. Following my established procedure, I eased in behind the girl on the left facing the stage. My semi soft cock nudged gently up against her right cheek as my right hand grazed the left hip of the girl on the right. YUM, jeans notwithstanding this was some prime ass. No reaction from the girl on the right but the other chick suddenly put her arms around the waist of the guy in front of her, turned to lock eyes with me for a second with a severe set to her lips and turned back to her boyfriend. Well over six feet, even this guy’s ears had muscles. Little missy had made her lack of attraction to old Oppy nonverbally but clearly. I never chase em’ and I never plan to roll around on the floor with an enraged boyfriend either, so time to move on. I was just about to duck under the rope to explore the goodies behind it when I saw what I’d been searching for all night: the perfect spot and plenty of potential fillies to ride. Four rows back from the stage at about a 45 degree angle was a section about three or four people wide bounded by a 6’ speaker with a smaller speaker on top on the left, and a pillar about a foot wide on the right. I only really noticed the spot because of scrambling stagehands attempting to restart the malfunctioning sound system. Why people continued to fight their way into the roped off area when this oasis was much closer to the stage I’ll never know. Unfortunately I hesitated in the little moving current too long. An impatient young brother decided that I was moving too slow and abruptly slid in front of me. I don’t know which of us was more surprised when his ass came in contact with the ¾ stiffie I had worked so hard to resurrect. I usually have my erection covered by my hand when moving through a crowd, until I’m upon my target to avoid just such a catastrophe. My almost regrown spike quickly deflated to half mast again. After we exchanged glares he moved on and I quickly moved into the spot which had captured my attention. The best thing about the spot though was the cluster of about 8 girls with only a couple of dudes in sight. I set out to grade these potentials with my own version of Chikan triage. The best in the pack were a blond with a pleated denim mini about two rows away and a sistah in a thin white pant set, some kind of dressy tracksuit. The blond was next to two wimpy guys with whom she was laughing and talking, difficult but not impossible to get. But only her girlfriend, a blocky little fireplug of a mugwump, separated the sistah, standing next to the speakers on the right from me. I shifted back a half step to get a good look at the track-suited hottie. There were four big lights trained on the periphery of the stage while the crew readied it for the performance. Our little group was partially illuminated by the light cast from one of them. The little jacket to the suit was sitting up on as fine a specimen of athletic woman ass as I’d ever seen in person. This girl had the body of a track star specifically a sprinter. The ass was high, rounded and packed with firm, not hard, woman muscle (something I was to determine very soon). She had a pretty somewhat sharp-featured face with a golden brown complexion and a thick braid that extended down between her shoulder blades. Imagine a slightly leaner Florence Griffith Joyner. Close examination of the extremely thin material of the pants showed the imprint of a thong right below the waistband. The only cause for concern was her expression, very serious almost stern. I was almost tempted to move away to find a more receptive looking target. A couple in front of our row decided to leave, complaining of the heat and the crush. Our little row of three shifted forward only a step or two, most of the space having been taken up by people on that same row shifting closer to the stage. In that futile but inevitable scramble to get a few inches closer to the stage something happened. FloJo had changed places with her friend. We were now standing shoulder to shoulder with her shoulder slightly in front of mine. Without any attempt on my part my left hand was pressed into the satin covered right hip, and she seemed to be initiating the contact. Suddenly whatever glitch that had short-circuited the music was corrected. Juvenile’s voice moaned the words:
♪♫ Uhhn I like it like that. She’s working that back ♪♪ She know how to act. Slow motion for me♫
♫ Slow motion for me. Move it slow motion for me ♪.

As soon as the first note came booming out of the speakers it was as though someone had thrown a switch on her. FloJo’s whole demeanor changed. She bent her knees, spread her legs and started working that hellacious hiney for all it was worth. Her newly adopted stance brought her right foot between my two feet. It also allowed my left hand the first real feel of that prime piece of ass flesh. Her right cheek was bouncing into my crotch and then rubbing up to the left. Since I had still been in semi soft mode when she first started this routine my dick was flapping under my shirt like a pancake off a spatula. There was no way it could continue in this state so in less than a minute, or by the time the second chorus of:
♫ Slow motion for me. Move it slow motion for me ♪.
began I had a half grown throbber being bounced into the air by each toss of her hip. I know that she felt the new weight and rigidity and recognized it for what it was. When the song ended a slower paced semi ballad by Nelly began. She stood up straight and instead of taking the half step back toward her girlfriend, when she brought her legs back together, she took that step almost directly in front of me pressing the Jr. Throbber into the inner curve of her left cheek. I shifted just enough to line up with the center of her crack and settled in. She began swaying in time to the music as I nudged in deeper by swaying in the opposite direction. The next thing I did I’ve only done a couple of times in all these years, and only when I know the woman is obviously a willing player. I moved my hand under the tail of my shirt and used it to literally wedge my steadily growing stiffie into the yielding gap of her ass. If any of you have ever had your erection expand inside the crack of a willing, but unknown female it is like no other feeling. I could feel distinctly as each millimeter of my dick grew and pushed with a steady series of pulses to fill every drop of space in those satin covered hindquarters. Now that I had regained the use of the Throbber, and inserted it into the ass of an obviously willing recipient I began to take stock of my surroundings again. All the space behind me had become filled up while I got established with Flojo. There was a very slim sistah wearing a pair of tight jeans over a shapely little equally tight butt immediately to FloJo’s right. To my right with about 8 inches between us was a tall young brother wearing a heavy grey SeanJean sweat suit. Directly behind and between us was a young couple. I don’t remember what the guy looked like because I was paying so much attention to the girl. The girl was tall vaguely Eastern European looking with a broad high forehead and hollow cheeks. Though she was pretty her most impressive features were the round firm boobs barely restrained by a scarlet tube top. Christina Milion’s “Dip it Low” came through the speakers. Nadia, FloJo and little Slimmie joined most of the girls in the room and started to “pop, pop, pop that thang” as the lyrics suggested. For the second time that night I was dealing with sensory overload. My boner was buried at least 2 inches into FloJo’s ass as she popped away. My right hand was molded to the little slimmie’s denim covered booty and because of her position between us Nadia’s right tit was plastered to the back of my right arm and her left to the dude in the sweat suit. When I reminisce on that night a couple of months ago the first thing that comes to mind is that this show more than any other for me before or since captured that feeling of barely restrained eroticism that only a room packed with hundreds and hundreds of gyrating, gorgeous women of every size, shape and skin tone can create. Glancing around while my whole body was being jolted with wave after wave of physical stimulation on three fronts I had just realized that every inch of cleavage visible was coated in a film of perspiration, when suddenly the lights went down and The DJ came forward to introduce the Roots, who launched into their first track. If it was wild before it was insane now as women all seemed galvanized by the arrival of the band. I did my best to keep up as I increased the pace and vigor of my gouging into the ass of the increasingly willing Flojo, who pumped back as hard if not harder. Nadia (in honor of an attractive Russian gymnast) slammed into Sweat suit and me so hard I thought she might bruise her boobs. Sweat suit turned around and snarled something at the boyfriend who responded meekly “sorry dude she’s just drunk”. Welll is that right! Nothing brings out the dog in Ol’ Oppy quicker than knowing that a fine, drunken woman is pressed up against him. Rather than just allowing her to rub her melons on me I began dragging my bare elbow across that right tit up and down and side to side. The Roots were in full swing and though they are one of my favorite bands I was otherwise occupied, besides Id already seen them 3 times this year. I was more interested in trying to pull Nadia’s tube top down enough to see and feel her bare nipple. I decided to sacrifice the hold on Slimmie’s ass; she was in jeans anyway! Unfortunately Sweat suit had the boyfriend so paranoid that he decided to wrap his arms around her as a means of restraining her from causing more confrontation. Well one door closes another one opens. Since the tits were unavailable I decided to shift the location of my attention south. Since there was no opening act the Roots brought out guest performers during their set. The only one I remember was Musiq, formerly called Music Soulchild from right here in Philly. He is always a favorite with the ladies and Nadia’s reaction to his performance was no different than the majority of the women in the audience. If possible she got even more animated. When I removed my hand from Slimmie’s ass and trailed it the inch or two required to reach Nadia I was pleasantly surprised to touch bare skin when I brushed her upper hip. I craned my head around as discretely as I could to discover that she was wearing a wrap skirt of some kind of filmy material low on her hips. In his attempt to keep Nadia from imposing on Sweatsuit the boyfriend became my unwitting co-conspirator. I would have been unable to reach anything but her hip or the side of her thigh except that the boyfriend turned her at an angle away from the grouch and towards me. It was extremely easy, due to our being packed in so tightly for me to drop the hand even lower to palm the front of her thigh. Emboldened by the fact that her demeanor and actions never changed I decided to go for the gold. Just as I began trailing my hand up Nadia’s upper thigh, Flojo began this slow, intense grinding motion after dipping under my dick and straightening back up. This changed my boners position from horizontal to vertical. I get so caught up in the pleasure of jabbing and grinding between the cheeks, that I forget how much I enjoy the sensation of having my entire crotch enveloped by a shapely ass, being literally nuts to butts. The sudden change in sensations was so distracting that I got a bit careless in my quest to grope Nadia’s coochie. While attempting to position my hand in her crotch my elbow was nudging the boyfriend’s crossed arms. Whether this alerted him to my intentions or he was just tired of restraining his thrashing girlfriend, the boyfriend turned and wrestled himself and Nadia through the crowd, despite her slurred protests. With Nadia gone I had nothing to distract me from giving Flojo the attention she deserved. As much as I was enjoying being nuts to butt with her the head of my dick was aching to be returned between those cheeks. I reached down and reinserted myself into Flojo’ steadily grinding booty. The crowd was now a constantly undulating mass of writhing bodies. I realized that I was dangerously close to coming the second time. In order to draw out this experience I reached down to pull my nudger out of FloJo’s crack, hoping to lessen the stimulation by holding my dick off of her perpetual motion machine. I started looking around at the crowd while trying to calm down. To my right, I picked up a couple of feminine voices raised in protest. Any frequenter of general admission concerts would recognize the sound. Someone was forcing his way through the crowd during the performance. I was determined that, no matter how big or aggressive, no interloper was going to move me off of this hump. My resolve lasted until the moment that I saw exactly who the intruder was. The first thing that struck me about the person who materialized behind Sweatsuit was a pair of flashing, laughing, liquid brown eyes. I was able to see the rest of the package because the owner, a lithe, lean, lovely Latina was vigorously pogo sticking into the air to the beat, like many girls in the crowd. During the preceding hour Suit had moved half step ahead of me; because of this I had a great view of this little chiclets trampolining. She wore a flared pale yellow miniskirt and a low cut gold blouse, which all her struggling through the crowd had disheveled enough to show a hint of her generous c-cup boobies restrained by a lacey beige bra. This girl was no shrinking violet. Sweatsuit turned to glare at her when she put one hand one his shoulder and one on mine to facilitate her bouncing. Her only response was a roll of her eyes, a toss of her hair and a widening of her devilish smile. While Nadia’s thrashing was enjoyable having this set of tits slide up and down my arm was a higher level of fun. I think I’m in love, okay okay I know it’s really just lust but if you had seen this little doll you’d understand. Olive skinned, high cheek boned, and those amazing eyes! I was trying to decide if it would be worthwhile to attempt to trade FloJo for Muñequita, when she wedged herself closer to me and away from Suit. Muñequita was now shoulder to shoulder with me and still bouncing. Then it happened, she bounced and the flaring hem of her skirt hung up on my hip and she made no move to adjust it. There was suddenly just silky bare thigh and hip pressed into the back of my hand. We were so close that I couldn’t see anything, but the decision of whether to trade her for FloJo was made. Realizing immediately that she was still trying to get closer to the stage I squeezed myself back into whoever was behind me to make the small space in front of me more inviting.
Mission accomplished! The little doll slid in front of me and immediately resumed her pogoing. I know a lot of guys are partial to the really big curvaceous butts, but there is some thing to be said for the smaller tighter well toned posterior. I didn’t have to move a muscle to experience carnal bliss. We were in what Shogun calls the “hotdog in the bun position” with my erection pointed to the ceiling and wedged tightly between her cheeks. Every jump stroked the entire length of my dick from base to tip. I initiated a subtle rocking, side to side motion in time to the music to heighten the sensation. I then brought my hands to the front so that each descent would allow me to stroke the backs of her bare upper thighs as she came down. After her second or third jump with me simultaneously humping and stroking Muñequita turned slightly and smirked at me, just enough to let me know that she knew what I was up to. I got the vibe from her that unlike Flojo, she wasn’t looking to turn me on. She was turned on by the experience and the show. She would allow me to have my jollies as long as I didn’t go crazy with it. You may wonder how I could presume to read all of that into a single look. The answer that is I didn’t rely on the look alone. You don’t do this shit for 30 years without developing a sense of what’s going on once you initiate contact. As I mentioned in the 1st installment of this story I start evaluating well before contact, often before I’m even directly behind them. More on my theories and strategies later when I’m in “Windbag” mode. The song changed and Black Thought, the voice of the Roots, went into a syncopated soliloquy. The crowd, almost in unison extended one arm in the air and kept time by making a forward chopping motion with the beat. Muñequita was one of the seeming hundreds who were chanting along word for word. She was throwing her whole body into it as were a great number of the girls leaning forward at the waist then straightening up sharply in perfect rhythm. When I say perfect I mean perfect because my Johnson was receiving the massage of its life from her rocking glutes. I wasn’t doing the tomahawk maneuver. I never go to these things pretending to be one of the kids. Another reason is that my hands were otherwise engaged. I had given up all pretenses of nonchalance, and was lightly gripping both cheeks of her ass as the head of my cock prodded deeper with every bend and thrust she performed. She turned her head to deliver a radiant smile of pure pleasure to the rest of her group, who hadn’t been as bold and assertive as she was. She even spared a slight grin to the old perv whose dick she knew was wedged a couple of inches into her crack and now twitching and throbbing away. At the conclusion of the track, Thought announced to the cheering swaying throng that they were about to play their last song. Muñequita twisted half around to her right and extended her arm back 2 rows toward one of her girlfriends. This move pressed her into me more than all the previous motion had. Dripping and throbbing my dick was half out of my briefs with the head still solidly covered but the right side completely bare. Bracing all her weight against me she practically pulled her girlfriend up alongside her amid muttered protests. The few seconds it took her to do this felt like she was on the verge of breaking my boner off at the root. By the time her grinning girlfriend had arrived at her side the few drops of cum I had left in my body were spurting into my briefs. If she knew I came Muñequita gave no sign. Taking her girlfriend by the hand she disappeared toward the front to complete her concert experience, without a backward glance, leaving me exhausted but happy in her wake. The press of the still eager crowd pushed me once again onto the still gyrating ass of Flojo. . I would love to say that the delicious attention supplied by Flojo got me ready to reenter the game but no dice. Even the vigorous massage supplied by her well toned hiney was unable to rejuvenate my thoroughly spent flopper. I may have to come up with a new classification for that stage something below flopper status. I think only an application of mouth to mouth resuscitation, maybe from Muñequita’s laughing scarlet lips, would have done the job. I was so wrung out that I don’t think I heard a word or note of the final track. After the band left the stage to futile pleas from the crowd for an encore Flojo brushed past me chattering to her mugwump friend about how great the show was. We shared a smile as she disappeared into the press. I won’t dwell on the time and effort required to exit the venue. There were numerous bottlenecks. The DJ was still spinning, and my eager hands were the only part of my anatomy still interested in molesting the undulating girl flesh. I stroked, caressed and fondled to my hearts content for the 15 minutes it took to reach the outer exit. Through it all, including a dozen bumps, pokes, and outright collisions with humping female curves, my exhausted cock just drooped and dangled unstirred by any stimulation. On reaching the sidewalk, feeling closer to eighty than forty, I finally succumbed to a well earned and total fatigue and tottered off to my car.

Happy Humpin'

It’s a good thing that this experience was so memorable because it kicked of a span of over a month of surprisingly disappointing shows and missed opportunities. It was over a month before I pulled off another successful wet hump.

Adios Perveman , PGH et al.

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