Chapter 2

Drop Dead Mister

There’s very few problems around the camp, usually just the noisy drunk or someone that likes to play their fuckin’ music to wake the dead. Most can be calmed with a six-pack of shit beer and a gentle talkin’ to. If things look a little rough, then Da takes Baby with him. We trained Baby pretty well. He’ll follow right beside Da or me and come to attention with a snap of our fingers. It can be funny watchin’ an old drunk come out from his beat-up shit camper actin’ all mean and such. Da would offer him a beer if he’ll calm down, and they’d share one. (I say ‘him’ ‘cause it’s rarely belligerent drunk women folk campin’ here, though once-in-a-while... ).

Baby will just be sittin’ there by the road. But if things get dicey, SNAP, and Baby is at attention right beside us. I sometimes go with Da, if the store is closed, ‘cause most guys calm down ‘round young girls. But, if not, then there’s CLAP and bang, ole Baby is now in killer mode, growlin’ and teeth bare. Anyone fool enough to touch us and Baby show’s ‘em who’s boss. Even drunks and assholes aren’t that total stupid. Baby is better than any gun. Showin’ an asshole a gun just begs a gunfight. But BFD (Big Fuckin’ Dog) says shit-in-pants time.

Baby protects me. He seems to know everythin’ I do and where I’m at all the time. He’ll sit nice and quiet like by our trailer, but if he senses me panic, bam! That dog of mine is there. What’s funny, I can be all hot and bothered and makin’ out with some feller and Baby is happy as a clam, but that guy slaps me or somethin’, well, there’s Baby, sittin’, teeth bared, and waitin’ for a CLAP (or a scream!).

Anyway, the biggest problem we ever had was one day, I was keepin’ the store and this big dude came in. I mean really BIG dude. Maybe 400 pounds and six-five. Well, he just wobbles his ass up to the register with me sittin’ there, drops his fat boy blue jeans to show me his shit ass tiny dinky wink and sez to give him all our money, includin’ grabbin’ my tip jar and then he sez he’s then goin’ to fuck my eyes out.

Well, I just CLAP once, his expression was “WTF!” and next thing he knows is a 95-pound hunk of killer dog tackles him. It looks like a lion just hit a hippo. I halt Baby with a whistle. But, shit fire, the dude up and died of a heart attack right there in front of the register. The EMTs pronounced him DOA right there, and we had to call a fuckin’ wrecker to wench him out of the store. They had to drag that sick, dead bastard right across the floor and out into the parkin’ lot and then up a makeshift ramp into the back of a pickup truck to haul his ass away. The whole camp was there by that time. I cracked up so many times, Da sent me home. Da said he had to pay $200 to the wrecker guy to do this shit. The policeman congratulated Baby and said too bad the guy died. No charges, of course. Baby got steak that night.

There was only one other time Baby had to rescue me. There was this guy, kinda cute, tall, thin, in his 20’s. We were just talkin’ along, and he got all mad and crazy. I mean, I woulda fucked him, I wanted to, but then he went off the rails and shit. Maybe it was ‘cause he got all frustrated when I told him I was 15. I mean we were kissin’ and talkin’ and stuff, gettin’ going and then he just asks me how old I was. Shit, I didn’t think anythin’ about it. But he said stuff like bitch, whore, jailbaitin’ cunt. Well shit, whatever floats your boat, but then he hit me. Bang! I must have yelled, ‘cause Baby was right there in killer mode. Another clap or if he’d touched me again, and Baby would had some blood for dinner. The dude skedaddled. I went home and played with Baby.

Most guys, ‘specially old guys, never asked my age, at least not until my legs were open, and they got to see my peach fuzz pussy. And when I’d tell ‘em, well they usually got hotter. Sometimes I’d ask ‘em to eat me first, to get my juices goin’. They were enthusiastic about that, at least after they made sure no cops were lurkin’. They’d ask if I was undercover or psycho, I’d laugh, grab their dick and give it a good suckin’. Then I’d flip onto my back, let them pull my panties down, and eat me out. Then when I was good and wet, usually I had orgasmed at least once, I’d invite them up onto me and into me. I’d put a glove on them, always carried ‘em, unless they were obviously real married or I was just too heated to wait. They’d rub their hard-on against my wet pussy and slide themselves right on in. Most times, moanin’ and groanin’ over my tight little twat. I’d wrap myself around them and let them have at it. If they didn’t blow immediately, then it usually took long enough for me to cum again, too, ‘cause, see, I’m easy. Da could just touch me so with his fingertips, and I would crash over the falls. I love sex. Fuckin’ is the best thing ever, better than most drugs, ‘cause it’s pretty rare that you die from it.

I loved watchin’ their faces as they cum inside me. ‘course, they seem to really like watchin’ my face, too. When I hit my note, they almost always blow their wad, too. They all say I’m pretty, some get poetic, sayin’ I’m like a flower bud openin’ to their bee, or that I am like a ray of sunshine in their life and they will remember me always. The young ones almost always say they love me. And I get proposals pretty regular, particularly from the old ones. I’m sure I also messed up a lot of marriages ‘cause they likely went back to their wives either feelin’ guilty or bored now. They had tasted the nectar of the gods, and their mind was blown for anythin’ else. Nothin’ like fuckin’ a willin’ and horny old guy.

Before you think I’m some kind of screwed up, let me tell you. Are you happy? I am! Do you have fun? I do! Are you stuck up and want others to wallow in your misery? Not me! You might want to psychoanalyze me; my broken home, my uncle Da, my ways. Well, you better look at your own life first. You’re the one readin’ my story! Me? I’m fine. These things may have set me on a path, but it’s a path that I want and like. Ok, I’m a nympho. Hell yeah! You like Tomcattin’? I’m your Molly! You don’t think I have friends ‘cause every one is only around here for a few days or so? I have more friends than you will ever meet. And many will remember me for the rest of their lives, wherever they go. You don’t approve, or want to ‘Save’ me? Go fuck yourself!

I just happen to like sex, I also like readin’. Historical factual stuff. The Greats; “ History of the Ancient World,” “Over the Edge of the World,” “The Guns of August” ... Never heard of ‘em? HA! Now look who is the backwoods illiterate.

Now, this you CAN blame on my Da. He turned me on to these and more. Of course, the literary giants; Shakespeare, Tolstoy, et al. It helped that living in a campground along with two hours of bus ride every day, I have a lot of time to read. Hell, I’ve read the entire encyclopedia one book at a time from A to Z. You?

Ok, rant over. I’m horny, and our heatwave is still upon us. Let’s go skinny!

Now sometimes, it was hard to find a private spot. The loners were easy, they’d just lead me into their lair (usually an RV), and we’d fuck like bunnies. Don’t come knockin’ if the camper’s rockin’! But, married ones or teenies with their parents, well, we had to sneek. Sometimes if Da was tomcattin’, then I could use my place. Otherwise, well ... like I said earlier, woods is good. Or behind the bathhouse, or in the back of the store at night. Personally, I like the woods. You feel free and alive, almost dawn of time stuff. I know I was an injun, a native, at one time. Pickin’ berries, catchin’ fish, fuckin’. Hell, what else was there to do? Sometimes, when I’m bein’ pounded out in a meadow, I feel like I’m back there centuries ago. The world might be a better place if it’d stayed that way.

So, how’d I get started? Well, ok, blame Jane. She did it. Not Da, not my parents. Jane and I were friends in middle school, best friends, I guess. She was literate. Literate in the ways of that magical word, SEX. We were only 11 or 12, and all of us girls would gather around on the playground. While the boys were off beatin’ each other up, we sat around Jane. And she told us of amazin’ things. She taught us about the labia, mons veneris, uterus, ovaries, cervix, hymen, perineum, anus, and the two greats; vagina and clitoris. She was a great teacher. Her 12-year-old mouth could roll those names so easily.

But it was her descriptions of various actions that could be done, that was what captivated our young impressionable minds. School had brushed on the mechanics of sex the way an engineer describes an oil refinery. Place Male penis (A) into Female vagina (B), nine months later comes baby©. Wait what?

No, she described how fingertips touchin’ here and there, rub this clockwise, then counter. Lick fingers wet, then place at this point, move this way, search for this point. Press here ... you get my drift, so did we.

She said in order to fully appreciate the wonders of our bodies; we had to pierce that tiny barrier that is the cause of so much heartache of women throughout history. That thing that men believe separates a ‘Good’ girl from a ‘Bad’ woman. Yes, lil’ Miss Hymen. Once you pass through that, you are free as in free love, free to explore, free to pleasure, free to sex. She told us about hairbrush handles, finger diddles, rubbers, using our imaginations, and of this amazin’ thing called Vaseline. A little dab on handle or finger or banana, and the world was a much better place to live in. (hint girls; place banana, tip removed, into condom and then into ... you know... )

Beginner’s class was over, we graduated to lab work. While the teachers were busy breakin’ up fights, we would all sneak into the girl’s bathroom. We’d all sit on the floor, two girls against the door, and all of us with our school dresses hiked up around our waist, sans any panties. Jane pointed out the intricate details of each visible part. We saw how each of us varied, surprisingly so. Girl ‘A’ had a perfectly symmetrical layout, nothin’ but bare slit and puffy bare mound. Girl ‘B’ had a little lip stickin’ out. Girl ‘C’ had dark fuzzy hair surroundin’ hers.

Jane passed around a hand mirror so we could see ourselves better. We were in awe! We had always known it was there, but it was just pee-pee. Didn’t know this other stuff. She had us dab a drop of Vaseline onto our button, our clit she said. Rub it around and into that slit. Eyes wide, giggles suppressed, we explored with our Jane. One girl shook and moaned as she rubbed. Jane said that she came, she orgasmed. Oh, that was me! Jane said I was different. Most girls took a long time to get there. Me, BAM! And like that police drug class said, one hit and you’re hooked.

That orgasm was my first. There, on the floor of the girls’ bathroom in the middle of recess with five other girls ‘round me, and Jane, our dominie, our pedagogue, our mentor helpin’ guide us towards nirvana. I came. We all laughed and giggled and scrambled up as our teacher knocked and tried to come in.

The rest of the day, all five of us went bare-bottomed under our knee-length skirts.

Uncle

Da was my daddy, not father. He didn’t fuck my mother and make me, but he raised me as his own. He had never married and had no kids. After my parents split, martially and literally, he took me in. He raised me at his campground from the time I was 4 on to now, 17. I loved him as a father. I love him still. He was really my uncle like I said earlier. Now don’t blame him for the way I am. He didn’t do this. Me, I’m the sole owner of my fate. Thinkin’ back, I was always sexual, but until Jane, I was just a bud, hintin’ at becomin’ a flower. All the women thought I was as cute as a button, and men looked longingly at me. Ok, lustily.

I think with Da, things shifted when he caught me. On my 14^th birthday, I was givin’ myself a present; a new hairbrush, long smooth handle, knobby end, Vaseline already applied. My hymen long gone.

Let me back up a bit. After we had finished our first year of middle school and Jane’s sex-ed classes, I took it upon myself to pierce the veil. I was home in bed, fingertips wet and my slit moist, eyes closed, body naked, legs spread wide. I rubbed my little teacup breasts makin’ my nipples sensitive with one hand while the other was busy slidin’ through my trench. I got a bit carried away; luckily, Da wasn’t around to hear me moan. I think my fingers kinda slipped and pushed right into my tunnel. The sharp ouch of pain hit me, takin’ my breath for a bit. I froze, scared. Then rememberin’ my Jane; it was ok. I was now free to explore the world of my body fully.

My fingers were still inside me, just sittin’. I willed them to move, slowly, lightly. Tinges of pain mixed with amazin’ other feelin’s as I moved. The hand on my breasts moved to join its partner between my legs. I massaged my silky smooth mons as those two fingers rubbed my inner walls. My young brain exploded in ecstasy as my body shook in little fits, much stronger than that first time on the girl’s bathroom floor. My fingers were tinged with blood, and my body was glowin’. I didn’t move until I heard Da rattlin’ in our little kitchen.

Another thing Jane had delved into was that mysterious boy part of a thousand names. That penis, prick, dick, sticker, Mr happy, joe ... well, you should know! We found out a lot was missin’ between Part (A) insertin’ into (B) and makin’©. Wonderful things! Gifts we could give and receive.

Well, I was in the givin’ and gettin’ mood. Actually, as I said, it was my 14^th birthday, and my new hairbrush friend was gettin’ its first workout. I was already well heated, touchin’ myself all over my body. I had discovered that runnin’ fingertips around earlobes, down necks, across breasts, into navels and folding legs up then touchin’ bottoms of feet and up calves and along inner thighs endin’ in the magic garden only added to the burst that was soon to come. I was buildin’, slick hairbrush busy inside me, slidin’ in and out, fingertips drawin’ little circles on clit, right at the precipice of another beautiful orgasm, Da comes in.

Oh, I didn’t complete how we even got to this point. See, Da loved me, and I loved him. He played games with me all the time. He taught me history and science and appreciation of nature. We did long walks in the woods together, holding hands, touching the world around us with him teaching me to see the wondrous detail.

See, he had been a professor for a number of years in a big city. But he had gotten disillusioned by the rat race. He cashed out and bought this campground in the middle of the Colorado mountains. At the time, the place was dead. He rebuilt everythin’ over a couple years. Slowly buildin’ up business. That’s when I entered the picture. I was too young to remember much except strange people haulin’ me from place to place. But I remember him. My Da. Years went by, and I grew up at the campground eight months of the year and four at a little place in town 20 miles away. I had a happy childhood here with Da.

Well, ok, back to sex. Yes, sex with Da. How I became who I am. Before hairbrush, before Jane. Da would take me swimmin’. I was a stinker he said, ‘cause I hated clothes. I shed them fast and loved to skinny dip. We had our hidden spots, with no one to worry about, so he let me be. He, of course, kept his trunks on, but I was persistent if nothin’ else. Finally, we would swim and play and splash each other, both naked as a newborn. It was fun. Silly times.

At home, warmin’ by the little electric heater, I’d be in just a little top and panties. I loved runnin’ around outside at night dressed like that in the cold dark air, bare feet in moist grass and stars overhead. Nobody could see me, even though it felt like it. I liked showin’ off my new body. I would run back in, chilled to the bone, and have Da rub me warm and hold me in his arms.

We would do tickle puss games and horsey rides. I guess that was one of the turnin’ points. I loved Da to give me horsey rides on his knee. As I got older, I kept beggin’ for them. After Jane, at 12 and 13, I still made him give them. It was at 13 I think that somethin’ first happened. It was a cold day, a little snow had fallen. It was evenin’ after dinner. I was full and warm. I was dressed in short pajamas, no. I had shucked them. I was in just panties and my Winnie tee. I was rockin’ on Da’s knee. He wasn’t really doin’ anythin’.

I was the one rockin’ back and forth as he brushed my hair. I felt so good, so loved. I felt a need buildin’. My rockin’ increased slowly, easin’ into it. My hips told me to move a certain way. I felt Das hands on my waist. I found a rhythm. He whispered that I shouldn’t do this. But I leaned back into him, still tiltin’ my hips to my rhythm. My pelvis pushed into his leg, and I felt his arms wrap around me. My head leaned against him as I rocked. My hand rested on his leg as I bucked. Da whispered he loved me. Buildin’ faster, needed this. Wantin’ to feed this desire. Baby looked up with a little whimper, knowin’. Then settled down. I pushed Da’s hands up to my breasts. He was resistin’, but not resistin’. I felt his kiss on my neck and ear ticklin’ me. My breath was pantin’, eyes closed. I was dry humpin’ him. I came, HARD! Lettin’ out a moan and my body shook as I squeezed his hands against my little breasts.

“Oh, honey! I ... we ... shouldn’t do this.”

I just held tight against him. I loved him more than ever that evenin’. I ignored his desire to move me off him. So he just held me as my glow receded.

And he told me that was the most beautiful thin’ I had given him. Little did he know.

That 14^th birthday. He always felt bad that I really didn’t have a proper birthday party. So he would always make a party of two. Since my birthday fell right at the end of the season and few kids were around as school was back in session. I remember one year where he gave the whole camp, well, the dozen or so campers, mainly retirees, a party for me. We finished off the steaks and hamburgers and hot dogs from the store as well as the ice cream and snack cakes. See, we always ended up with stuff that had just passed its date. Understand, the stuff was perfectly good, I mean the day before it was fine, then the “Use By” day would come and magically, it wasn’t? NO! It doesn’t work like that.

Mostly, that date is to be sure you go buy another one, thank you for your money. Anyway, I got lots of candy and cookies and chips that way. Also, Da let me take pretty well anythin’ I wanted, within reason, of course. So I could get a Coke or a popsicle. I also got tampons and Advil. Yeah, periods. He also made sure I was stocked with condoms. That first time made me blush so! Not anymore. I just grab ‘em off the rack and go have fun.

Well, gosh, I digressed all over the place, sorry. Anyway, that 14^th birthday. I was naked as a jaybird, spread eagle over my bed, humpin’ away with my new hairbrush, see, I hadn’t had real sex yet. I mean, that boy (A) with girl (B). But I had plenty of personal action. Well, Da tapped on my door and opened it right as I was about to shoot my fireworks. I guess he was anxious to see me, bein’ my birthday and all.

Oh, back after that horsey ride, ok, dry hump orgasm of a 13-year-old girl, we kinda grew closer. No ... sex would come later. But I started sleepin’ in his bed. I had done so whenever I had a bad dream, or a storm came through, or when I felt down or lonely. I would just cuddle up to him, and we’d sleep. I loved wakin’ to him in the mornin’. He told me over and over that it really wasn’t a proper thing for a teen to sleep with her dad, well, uncle. Well, that went over like a lead balloon. Me? Proper? Never!

I loved him and loved bein’ snuggled with him. I guess it was harder on him than me. I mean young sexy teen, just buddin’, prancin’ around in her panties, complainin’ about periods and cramps, askin’ about love and sex and marriage. And no ‘Go ask your Mom!’ available. We had to learn together. My first period was a hoot! I got out of bed and screamed, “BLOOD!”. He came tumblin’ in, in boxer shorts hoppin’ on one foot. Baby jumped up growlin’, lookin’ for the intruder.

When he saw the spot on my sheets, “Fuck, girl! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Da! Language! I have my PERIOD!”

He stands there blinkin’ like I had said the most impossible word in the English language. His little girl was a woman? And worse, we had kissed, on the lips, and slept in the same bed (sometimes) and even watched me orgasm! Oh God, what wrath has thy brought in Woman!

It was funny because he immediately went to our store and brought back one of each type of feminine product and a box of condoms.

“Da! What do you think I am doin’ to need ... rubbers!”

He blushed and skittered out takin’ Baby with him. No males allowed here.

Sorry, back to the 14^th birthday. Well, here I was, lyin’ on my bed naked, spread wide as I could, pleasurin’ myself, no, workin’ myself into a frenzy. I mean, I hadn’t touched myself in nearly two weeks. It was the end of the season, and we had to batten down the hatches before we closed up for the winter. Snow gets too deep here for even RV campin’, so we close up and move back to town. I was layin’ there, heated; this was goin’ to be my birthday bang to myself. I’m hard at wigglin’ myself and had that brush touchin’ all the right places inside me, my eyes closed tight thinkin’ only of sex and orgasm. Thinking of what it would be like to have boy (A) fucking girl (B) ... Then just as my fireworks go off...