Chapter 1

I used to be like everyone else: nine-to-five job, crappy apartment, crippling mortgage payments; happy days.

That all changed with Covid. Not directly, although I did catch it in the first wave. I was quite lucky though, I felt shit for a week but after two weeks I was pretty much back to normal.

No, it was the effect on the company I worked for that was the problem; they went belly up after three months. We did websites for small companies and, when everyone was in survival mode, their first priority wasn’t a shiny, new site. It wasn’t the best time to find a new job either, and my mortgage payments were eating up my meager savings at an alarming rate.

I was considering various possibilities: primarily selling my apartment, moving in to rented, and living off the smallish amount of cash I would end up with. There were a lot of people in the same boat though, so prices were in the toilet; all in all it wasn’t looking too good.

Then somebody suggested van lifeing, I didn’t know what that was then really, and they explained you buy an RV, kit it out with the stuff you really need, and then live off-grid in it: no mortgage, no banks, no rent, no landlord.

At first, I was pretty negative about it. The idea of me, a twenty-five-year-old single woman, living alone in a van, was pretty scary. But I kept on coming back to it, so, in the end, I decided to find out more.

It turns out that it wouldn’t be quite as much of a leap in the dark as I first thought. There was quite a big, if loose-knit, community out there who were more than willing to help out a newbie.

I’m a software engineer and I put out some feelers to the people I’d done work for, to see if they’d be interested in me doing maintenance for them on a contract basis, and the feedback was mostly pretty good. Not good enough to make my mortgage payments, but it should be enough to keep me going while I was ‘off-grid’. It would be no problem working from an RV as long as I could hook up to the internet every now and then.

I joined several forums and got more and more excited by the idea. When I found a vehicle that seemed to be just what I needed, going at a very reasonable price, I went to check it out straight away.

It looked good: it already had a roof covered in solar panels and built-in storage for the sort of water capacity I was told I would need. A few phone calls later and I shook on a deal with the seller.

It took a week to sort it all out properly, at the end of which I was a free agent. No accommodation outgoings apart from fuel, maintenance, and maybe the occasional campsite fee. I made one other change in my life: I got a dog. I figured I would need the company, so I went to an animal rescue place. I fell for Betty as soon as I saw her. She was a white mongrel, but mostly highland terrier and I loved her to bits on sight.

It looked like one of the best states for van lifeing was Idaho so I planned a leisurely route that would take me about three days, aiming to end up at a place called Creekside Campground. I wanted to do some of the beautiful drives along the rivers and through the mountains up there.

It took me a while to get settled into my new life but I had loads of help online from my fellow van lifers.

After two weeks I had the van just how I wanted it and I needed to resupply. I headed into Meridian, a suburb of Boise, and parked the van in a quiet spot at the back of a parking lot. Then I took Betty for a walk in the direction of the nearest park, stopping off at a grocery store that I found along the way.

When I got there Betty ran off towards a nice looking young boy who was kicking a soccer ball around on his own. She was on a retractable lead and when she got to him she started sniffing around his feet, then stuck her nose in his groin, like dogs do sometimes.

“Betty, come here! I’m so sorry about her. She never normally does that.” And I gave him my best smile.

“That’s OK Miss,” he said, bending down to stroke her, “she’s lovely isn’t she?”

“And she knows it. I’m Sonya by the way. Pleased to meet you,” I said laughing as Betty allowed him to make a big fuss of her.

“I’m Danny,” he replied, “and likewise I’m sure.”

Then I bent down to stroke her too. we spent a few minutes chatting about Betty before I noticed that he was staring between my legs. It was then that I realized that I had been inadvertently flashing my panties at him. It actually gave me a little illicit thrill knowing that this young lad had liked looking up my skirt.

I stood up and, when he did too, I noticed the bulge in his trousers. I immediately felt even more aroused.

“I’d better be going,” I told him and bent down to pick up my shopping bags.

“Would you like some help with those?” he asked me.

“No. You’re very kind, but I’m fine.” I replied and headed off towards my van.

As I was walking back I thought over what had happened.

I have always had a secret thing for young boys. Not children, I’m not some kind of pervert, young men, old enough to have the equipment but young enough to still have the innocence that I found so attractive. I’d never had the nerve or opportunity to do anything about those desires, the risks were always just far too high.

When I was living in Oxenard I did date younger men, always at least eighteen, but when I was fucking them I often fantasized that they were much younger.

I know exactly when this obsession started: I was eighteen, living at home, and babysitting my little brother Grant, who was fourteen at the time, while my parents were away.

It was summer and really hot when I went into his room to make him get up one morning. He had thrown the covers off and was lying across the bed stark naked.

As I stood and stared at his body, all hairless and smooth, and his little penis, all soft and nestling in a sparse bed of fluffy pubes, I got incredibly turned on. I knew I shouldn’t be: he was my little brother, but I couldn’t deny the feelings in my pussy.

What I desperately wanted to do was to bend over, take that little penis in my mouth, suck on it until it was hard, and then sit on it ‘till I came. What I actually did was to stand there, and look, and get wetter and wetter.

Then I took a few steps closer and the smell hit me: earthy, musky, and a little sweaty. It went straight to my pussy and I clutched at it through my jeans. I didn’t dare rub it, I knew that might open the floodgates. I could see his little, virtually hairless balls below his cock and I was entranced.

As is by the power of my mind it started to get harder and harder until it was almost fully erect. There was absolutely no sign that he was awake and I knew that it was just a guy’s normal ‘morning wood’, but that knowledge didn’t help at all.

I knew enough about men and boys to know that if I touched him and woke him up he wouldn’t mind at all, far from it. If we fucked he would be delighted, and if I asked him not to tell, then he wouldn’t. But I also knew that it would change our relationship forever, and not in a good way.

I have no idea how long I stood there, with my heart thumping and my pussy virtually dripping, but it must have been at least fifteen minutes.

Eventually, I managed to walk away. I went to the toilet, locked the door behind me, took off my jeans and panties, and sat on the loo. Then I masturbated furiously, one hand clutching and kneading my breasts, the other thrusting two fingers deep inside and rubbing my clit for all I was worth. All the while seeing his beautiful body in my mind and still smelling his heady aroma. But I could find no release there either and tears ran down my face as I started to cry.

Eventually, I heard him moving around and tried to pull myself together; I washed my hands and face and met him in the corridor as I came out of the bathroom. He must have seen something in my face.

“Are you OK, sis?” he asked me, concern on his face, and he reached out to touch me.

“I’m fine!” I replied, way too harshly, and pulled back from him. I saw his expression change to one of confusion and his bottom lip trembled.

“Sorry, Grant. God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...” I told him as gently as I could. But I didn’t dare touch him.

That vision of him has been with me ever since. Sometimes, mostly when I’m drunk, I bitterly regret the decision that I made that morning. At other times, especially when we met up, I thanked God that I walked away.

As I went over all that in my mind again I suddenly realized that my new lifestyle presented me with some new opportunities. I was pretty sure that any young boy I seduced would be very unlikely to complain about it. But when I had a fixed address that small risk was still too high.

Since I could now move on at will, then, with a few basic precautions, I could have seduced him and that very small risk became minuscule. I was sorely tempted to go back to the park right there and then and find Danny, but I knew it would look weird and there were still those precautions to sort out.

I went to the back of my van and looked for what made it easily traceable. Obviously, the registration plate and the vehicle model and manufacturer stood out first. After a bit of thought, I fetched my clothes dryer rack and some towels from inside and arranged them so that they covered both.

I stood back to check, and it looked quite natural, for an RV that is. It was now a nondescript, silver, small RV like many thousands of others.

As long as I didn’t draw too much attention to myself and avoided CCTV cameras, which weren’t in abundance in this part of the world anyway, I should be pretty safe.

Ah, except for my name, I couldn’t go around telling people I was Sonya or that Betty was Betty. I decided that I would be Anna - my grandma’s name - and Betty would be Sally, for no real reason at all except that I liked it. I might end up with a neurotic dog but I hoped it would be worth it.