Woodstock 1969

The following is an excerpt from Sex, Drugs and Bipolar and takes place at the Woodstock festival when Will is 14. At this point in the story he is tripping and has gone off for a walk.

… A cute girl, probably about my age, with tight curly black hair and iridescent green eyes comes up and puts a lei over my head and smiles sweetly as she walks away. I say “Hey!” and she turns back around and there’s that smile again. I’m not sure what to do — I’m too high to really trust my judgment but she starts walking backwards, keeping her eyes on me. Then she turns around and I follow her. She is putting leis on everyone she passes, and in exchange a few people have given her flowers, which she puts in her hair or in her blouse. She is wearing a loose-fitting Indian print top, shorts like I am, but she has sandals on, where I have sneakers. After a few minutes she turns around and says “Are you following me?” 

I stammer, “Yes, I mean no, I mean sort of.” She laughs and comes back to me and takes my hand. We walk together and she gives out leis with her right hand while holding my hand in her left. She doesn’t say much for a while and then she says “how’s the acid?” 

“How did you know?” I ask. 

“Oh man, I could pin you from a block away. First, your pupils are big enough for me to walk through. Second, you have that goofy LSD grin and you keep stopping to look at your hands. I figure it must be pretty good stuff if you’d rather look at your hands than look at me.” 

“Oh God,” I say, “I’d much rather — I mean…” Then I blush and she laughs.  She tells me she came here with a bunch of other people, and their van is parked not far away. Do I want to go there? I do, very much. 

We walk over and she introduces me to everyone. I forget each name as she tells me the next. They all greet me with “hey man” or “welcome dude” or “hey, cool, Misty has a boyfriend.” That last one makes me a bit nervous, because I don’t want Misty to get embarrassed, but she just smiles and nods.  She leads me by the hand into the van, and once we sit, she lights a joint. She takes a long toke and tries to pass it to me. “No, ” I say, “I don’t like pot when I’m tripping.” Her laughter is like tiny bells echoing off the walls of the van.

 She then leans over and kisses me. A long sweet kiss. The floor of the van is covered in pillows. We lie down and continue kissing. I’m incredibly turned on by her but when I put my hand on her breast, she moves it away and says “no man, just kiss me. I really dig kissing you.”  Tripping makes this fantastic, her tongue entwines with mine and I love the taste and texture. Her lips are incredibly soft; I do not want this to end.

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