Chapter 2: A Hot Body

I first met him by accident earlier that day. It was just after lunch and at the peak of the noonday sun. The campsite boiled in unbearably heat and humidity; hot enough to drive me towards to the cool water of the lake.

The lake was Lake Michigan, where the water's vast depth kept it cool and isolated from influence of the blazing sun above. Three miles of continuous beach hugged the state park, all of it covered with a gradual drop-off of sand that made it perfect for swimming. People to jump in anywhere along the 3 mile stretch, but a protected area stood roped off in the center of the park. It had locker rooms, showers, lemonade stands, ice cream fountains, and everything else associated with a public beach.

I stayed away from the public beach, deeming it too discomfiting to approach. My habitual morning walk showed me a more appropriate place. My walk took me along a hiking trail to a more private spot of sand. The trail came within sight of the lake, to a place where I figured I could cut through the forest, walk between the trees, and reach the water will little problem. That is where I hiked after lunch, and that is where HE first saw me.

I judged the bikini gave me good reason to be discrete. I originally bought it for William, my ex-boyfriend, or now more properly loathed as "The Bastard."

He originally came up with the idea to go camping.

"How about taking a trip up north to one of the state parks?" He suggested over our regular Thursday night pizza feast. "Couple times you mentioned camping with your family. How about a revival? I think I know someone who'll lend us the equipment."

I thought it a wonderful idea. Neither of us wanted to stick around a deserted campus over the long 4th of July holiday weekend. A camping trip sounded like a lot more fun. Just the two of us, alone up in the big north woods, going hiking, swimming, and whatever else caught our fancy. At night, we would sleep together in a small tent or maybe under the stars. It sounded so romantic; even kind-of daring and erotic. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to do it outdoors; under the stares. The thought of it sent a shiver of excitement down my spine every time I considered the possibility. I am sure it excited William too. I think that is why he suggested camping to begin with, but I didn't mind. I liked William. He was special-or at least I thought he was-and I thought he liked me too.

We had been dating now for a solid three months and not yet "done it." He wanted to, of course, as did every guy who ever took me out on a date. Men, I've noticed, like to stereotype. When they see a short girl with big boobs, they automatically type her as a bimbo and assume she is easy. That may often be true, but the assumption did not apply to me. Momma raised me to be a traditional girl. That meant a guy had to earn his reward. And with the threat of AIDS and all the other sexually transmitted diseases going around these days, the passage of time only served to increase the sensibility of her advice.

Now don't get me wrong! I'm not one of those fridged Catholic girls that Billy Joel sings about either; the type that remain virgin until marriage. I'm proud to admit I've had sex with a half-dozen guys over the years, and I really enjoyed it too. I fooled around with William too, but only with innocent games like titty feels. The furthest it ever got was when I once allowed him see me topless. Immediately after-and after he lifted his jaw back off the floor-I bid him good night. I allowed him nothing more.

With William, I waited a little longer than usual. I liked him well enough and didn't want to let him go, but there was just something about him ... I don't know what it was. I've tried to put my finger on it many times, but I can't quite pin down the issue. Part of it came from his drinking. He drinks a lot of beer and booze, but then the same can be said of most of the guys in college-and even a lot of girls. Drinking is part of the culture of college life. I think I maybe even liked William a little better because he drank. The guy became a hilarious comedian when he got drunk.

Another part of my caution, I know, came from his anxious attitude towards sex. He really worked at getting me into bed. All guys did, but William worked at it harder than most. He even got seriously physical with me once, holding my hands with one hand and grabbing one of my tits with the other. I screamed, but he just laughed and quickly let go as though it was all a joke. I'm pretty sure it was, but I still wonder. There is just something about him...

In the end, I decided to ignore my paranoid reservations. Three months of dating was long enough, so Sunday night I called to give him my answer. I told him I wanted to go.

The next day I went to see him. I walked up to his dorm room unannounced, anxious to tell him about the reservation I made that morning and to find out about his latest progress on the camping gear from some friend of his. And more importantly, I also wanted to show him a little present I bought myself for the trip. I anxiously wanted to show him the tiny article of clothing now wore cleverly disguised under my blouse; a present for me to wear but for William to see.

"But how will we know if you drilled Diane or not?" One of his friends asked from the other side of the partially opened door as I was about to push it open the rest of the way. I recognized the voice as Moog's, one of the rudest, biggest jerks on campus. The guy once grabbed one of my tits on a crowded dance floor.

"It's not as if we can go right up and ask her," Another voice spoke. This one I didn't recognize. "Say Diane, I have a question. You let William to fuck you on that little camping trip or not?"

I automatically stopped outside his door at the recognition of my name and the sound of four men laughing at the remark. I could tell they were drinking.

"Damn, you are so lucky," Moog spoke after he recovered enough to speak. "I can't believe that hot bitch even agreed to go along with your plan. Everyone I talked to says she's fridged as ice."

"She is," William agreed. "Why else do you think I've been going out with her this long? I'd drop that bitch a long time ago if she'd put out some. Her cunt just better be worth it."

"Worth a hundred bucks?"

"Worth a lot more than that," William countered. "The hundred bucks is just the fringe benefits. Her cunt is going to be the real prize."

It took me a moment to comprehend the words. I understood everything the moment I heard the words out of Moog's mouth, but it took several seconds longer for the idea to sink into my head. My boyfriend was taking bets on me. I caught him in the process of making a bet on weather I would let him fuck me or not.

It was terrible. I ran away crying. I cried all the way back to my room, and then cried for a long time into the night as I explained what happened first to my roommate and then to my best friend. William left me devastated, especially the way he called me a bitch, but at least I discovered the real man.

I slept little that night and lay in my room numb most of the next morning. The telephone rang a couple of times and there were two knocks on the door, but I refused answer any of them. I just wanted to think.

My roommate and best friend thought up a cruel, but very simple way to get back at him. They talked me into calling Moog the next night and simply telling him that he was a hundred bucks richer. Predictably, William tried to phone me immediately after. He called several times, but I hung up on him every time. Then even more predictably, he sneaked into the girl's dorm after hours and tried to apologize through the closed door. At this point, my roommate called Campus Security, lying to the police and telling them that William was some kind of pervert who she thought had been following her the last couple of weeks. I vouched for her validity, telling the police I thought I recognized the face from the one I caught looking into our window late the night before.

It was a mean, nasty little trick. But I have to admit, it bought me a tremendous sense of release. I felt a lot better after I heard the police try to question a confused William out in the hallway and then drag him off to jail. I wanted nothing more to do with the guy.

Meanwhile, the problem of the campsite reservation and the present remained. My first reaction was to return both, but the reservation was non-refundable. And as for his gift, well, I'm sure I could have returned it, but it seemed like such a waste. Growing up with five older brothers had always limited my options when it came to fashion. No words ever needed to be said; no directions given. I just knew what was expected. I always bought conservative clothing and made sure to hide all that might be of interest to a man. The most profound example of this was swimsuits. I just knew I was expected to wear a one-piece suite.

His present looked small and very hot. It was a two-piece string bikini made even smaller by my big boobs. I bought it because I thought it would be fun to get William a little excited and aroused. What did it matter if a man saw me wearing it at a campsite? So what if a stranger gazed down on me lying on the beach? The chance of meeting someone I knew at a campsite 300 miles from home had to be exceedingly rare. And besides, lots of girls wore string bikinis.

Well, maybe not too many young, good looking brunettes with a double-D cup size strolled along the beach every day, but I certainly was not going to be the first. So what if I happened to be one of them?

Glancing down at my own body illuminated by the fire, I almost feel sorry for William and at what he is missing- almost, but not quite. I see a tiny bikini package that seems to cover close to nothing. Two large orbs swell out of my chest, touching slightly in the middle, and then rounding around like two big melons to the outside. The only fabric is the strap that stretches down from behind my neck to the little white cups that serve to cover the furthest extent of my big boobs. The cups start so low I fear my nipples may become exposed, which they almost do. The top fails to cover perhaps half my boobs, and with boobs as big as mine, that is quite a lot.

This is what HE saw me in the first time we met. It is also the reason I chose to take the long way around to find a deserted stretch of beach. The public beach might have been okay if William was along, where I could use him as cover-like a safety blanket. But alone it was different. I knew my body well enough to realize I would get no rest. As soon as I sat down, every young guy on the beach would take turns trying to pick me up, and probably a few of the older men too. It happened whenever I wore a one-piece conservative suite, and I am sure this little bikini would amplify it a hundred fold. I looked easy, and that is exactly how the guys would treat me.

For this reason I took the hiking trail. For this reason I wanted to find a more isolated spot. And it was for this reason, luckily, I encountered HIM.