Pig in Palm Springs - 2. Chapter 2

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 my desire for raunchy, kinky connections is overwhelming, especially while on vacation. Something about the protection slight anonymity in a new place provides - mostly foreign from my day-to-day community and the judgemental eyes that may be watching. 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 either. I’m usually with others who I have to hide my fetishes from, both at home and on vacation. I do try to sneak off when I can, but finding a like-minded guy I'm attracted to who doesn't scare me, doesn't flake, has the same free time I do, and is willing to host is difficult. Sometimes I'll spend hours playing out different situations or fantasies with strangers I chat with on different hookup apps, but rarely do they come to fruition. It's still fun to get into some really filthy chat and swap NSFW pictures, but it's no comparison to the real thing.

I am very open-minded when it comes to sex and trying new things, but I do have my limits and require a certain level of comfort to really let loose. A lot of the guys into what I am are also very into things I'm not turned on by, only like one specific part of it, or have no patience for my concerns. To be honest, I was getting kind of hopeless, the lack of experience and difficulty finding guys with kinky sexual commonality were making me really question myself. It was hard not to feel shame about what I lusted for and did everything I could to hide it from everyone who knew me.

It was about a year ago that my perception started to change. After a week in Provincetown with a group of friends and an encounter that never was, I knew I had to find a way to explore on my own terms. I met a kinky couple that owned a place on the north end, just off Commercial Street near the B&B I was staying at. It started with a hello while passing on the street, then them reaching out on an app and lots of dirty messaging. I made an excuse to not join my friends for drinks to their place for afternoon drinks while my friends were at Tea and they were charming, kind, and non-threatening. Both were attractive men in their early fifties one with a penchant for piss the other for pits, and both into many other things that turned me all the way on. Nothing happened that afternoon besides some heavy flirting, open, casual conversation, and a threeway makeout before I promised to find time to come back.

I remember feeling giddy when I left. Not only did I find men I was attracted to who wanted to get weird with me, but I was instantly comfortable with them. They were patient, open, communicative, and very much in love with each other. I had never thought I would be able to find a partner to share such dirty things with but I started to see it is possible and not something to hold so much shame around. A new life goal was forming already.

My excitement outweighed my nerves. I snuck away from my friends at the bar that night for a hot, wet, sweaty, drunken, play session. They had been so patient with my neurotic concerns and hesitations but by the end, I was so comfortable with them that I ended up falling asleep between the two, covered in all sorts of their mixed DNA. We made plans for another night together where we would get really wild on my last night in town but my friends wouldn’t let me “abandon” them. The couple understood and we promised to keep in touch. They even extended an offer for me to come back alone and stay with them for a naked weekend.

While on the ferry back to Boston the next day with renewed hope and a painfully full set of blue balls, I decided that in order to have the freedom to explore and indulge my burgeoning inner pig, I would have to plan a solo trip. A trip where I can let my freaky flag fly with no judgments, time restraints, or much soap.

A slutcation.

I took my time coming up with a plan over the following month. Trying to figure out how I could make it happen in the way that I wanted proved difficult at first. I couldn't imagine a way to get away without raising suspicion with my group of vanilla friends and going solo. They wouldn't understand my intentions and I feared if I even mentioned going out of town, they would want to tag along which would defeat the purpose of my slutty sojourn.

I contemplated taking up the Provincetown daddies on their offer but felt the need to go it alone. I didn't want to have any limitations on who else I could get wild with.

I settled on Palm Springs for a couple of reasons, mostly because it was close but also because there was always a carefree, sexual vibe in the air every time I visited. I loved the gay desert city and knew none of the other gays would dare go in the sweltering off-season, making it safe to sew my wild, kinky oats. Plus, the real pigs would be there to enjoy the heat and all the sweat it created. Originally I planned a short stay - a night or two at one of the clothing-optional hotels. I was too discreet and still felt ashamed 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 backyard to do as I pleased inside and outside. After diligent research, I found the absolute perfect place for my slutcation. As soon as I saw a particular home, I knew I had to have it. Images of myself having sex in every room came to mind as I scrolled through the pictures of the updated mid-century modern house with the essentials - a private yard, and a large, luxurious pool. I justified my spending by pretending the trip was a trial for whether or not I would one day invest in my own place there since I often thought about it and I got it for a steal since it was off-season.

I found myself obsessed with what this getaway would be, adding to my plans as I fantasized. I extended my stay 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 provides lots of time to have wild raunchy sex, but 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. Plus, coordinating the hookups I imagined while jerking off would take some downtime.

I wanted to take advantage of all Palm Springs has to offer, I loved the city for so many reasons; hiking, shopping, nightlife, restaurants, architecture... This trip though, I would make sure to add a kinky aspect to everything I did, like maybe go hiking in Joshua Tree naked, or go shopping in between swallowing loads.

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 for sex overtake my life. Who would ever want to marry such a depraved slut? Sure the couple in Provincetown found it but that seemed impossible to find for myself. I had enough of a hard time believing anyone could ever love me and this would certainly make that more difficult/

With Dr. Mayer's help, I realized it was an important step for me to take in my self-realization. This trip 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. I still felt like I was keeping a dirty little secret that I would never admit to, but at least I was allowing myself to do it. Who knows? Maybe I'd feel different during or after. Either way, it's a step I needed to take.

"People work harder to achieve the things they truly want than what they are told they are supposed to do," he reminded me over and over. 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. 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 was the submissive. I even came up with a tentative itinerary so I would have enough time to do everything I could possibly think of.

In the past, I always had to rush, compromise, find ways to hide what I did or pass up opportunities. This slutcation would allow me to really indulge and explore - I wouldn’t have to make any excuses to anyone as to where I went or who I went to see or what was dripping from my face. 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. I was too shy to admit to my hopeful indiscretions and would feel too guilty to choose fucking over friends.

There would be no deodorant, very little soap, if any, and no need to shower after a golden one 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 musky crotch all weekend. I wanted to have a sub worship me from head to toe and then be tied up from a hot dom. If anyone complained about how I smelled from all the sex and sweat in the hot desert weather, it wouldn’t make a difference to me. And if it was too much for me, the house had four showers, including one outside.

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 slutty outfits made up of short shorts and tiny tank tops/midriffs with bold and somewhat obscene logos. I ordered things I would normally never wear or use for fear of judgment. I loved to be naked, especially outdoors, so if I had to wear anything, it wouldn’t be much and it would help me advertise what I was in town for.

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 grid and even possibly host an event.

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 on my desk in my home 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 even requested to work from home for the following few days so as to have time to recover and reacclimate to real life.

I wanted as much cum on and in me as I could get and give as many of my loads to those wanting to take it. I wanted to mark as many guys as I could with my piss and have them mark me too. I wanted to kiss, suck, rim, lick, fuck, drink, dance, make some friends, and have the best time of my life. 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.

In my subconscious, I think there was a concern that this was my only chance and I would need to get these perverted experiences out of my system to be accepted by the rest of the world and find a husband. Although I wouldn't acknowledge the buried thought's influence, it must have been part of the reason I was doing everything I could to make it absolutely perfect.

I have done everything I can to prepare and push my insecurities and shame to the side. My body is in the best shape it's ever been and I feel the beginnings of confidence in myself.

So here I am in my Jeep on this hot and sunny Thursday morning in August. The first two of many, many loads drying on me, my balls full of spunk, and the car filling with my increasing musk and packed 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.