Crazy Camping Neighbor

I felt scummy doing it, but she was naked, kneeling in her tent with the door open. I couldn't resist taking a peek. With binoculars. Through a tiny flap I'd unzipped in the rear window of my own tent. There was no way she'd know.

My campsite was opposite hers, directly across the dusty lane that separated the 20 or so campsites on that loop. She was hard to miss when I first rolled onto my site. For one, she was slender, with long straight black hair and a pleasant figure filling out her yoga shorts and spandex halter top. I didn't see her face since she was fooling around with the stays of her tent. And instead of a car, she had a motorcycle—a small beat-up old thing.

I was on a touring bicycle. I'd never done cycle camping before, so it was an adventure to cycle five hours to the campground, laden with packs front and rear. Thankfully, the countryside was flat or I never would have made it.

I sat cross-legged hidden in my tent, spying through my peephole with the binoculars. Sitting on the floor of her tent, face half-hidden by the low door, she peeled off her top, then her clinging shorts. She got on hands and knees and rummage towards the back of her tent, presenting a spectacular view of her shapely ass and pussy lips.

When she sat back, she pulled a red sundress over her head then looked directly at me and squinted. I ducked, dropping the binoculars. When I peeked again, she was storming across the lane.

"Come out of there, you fucking pervert. You're taking pictures of me, aren't you?"

Shit.

There was nothing to do but face her. I unzipped my door and crawled out, ready to apologize and explain however I could.

"You!" she yelled. "Of all people, it's you?"

Oh, fuck. It was Sasha.

Scrambling to my feet, I faced her.

"I wasn't taking pictures." I held out the binoculars. "And I didn't know it was you, Sasha. I know it was wrong. But it only gotten a glimpse of a pretty girl when I rolled in. I was bored. I thought I'd take a closer look."

She glared. "While I was changing, you pervert. You asshole!"

I held up a hand. "You're absolutely right. It was an asshole thing to do. But come on, your door was unzipped. Who changes with their tent door unzipped? I figured maybe you wanted me to look. Anyway, it was wrong. I apologize."

Sasha scowled. She was very good at it.

"So," I said, looking down and digging a toe into the ground. "What a surprise to see you here. How have you been?"

"You mean since you fired me and ruined my life, asshole?"

"You know I had to fire you, Sasha. Besides everything else you did, you showed up that day not wearing any underwear."

~~~~

Six years before, one of my first jobs after high school was manager of 'Dairy Duck Drive-In,' the ice cream and burger stand on the highway out of town. It hadn't changed since the fifties: angular roof, walk-up order windows under buzzing orange lights, and round concrete tables and benches on the patio hovered over by metal parasols caked with white and red rust paint. An endless stream of teenagers, families and the occasional tour bus came and went from the gravel parking lot.

Employees had to wear retro uniforms: candy-striped shirts and "soda jerk" caps made of paper that turned to sweaty mush before the end of your shift. Guys wore white polyester slacks with red piping down the sides and girls wore red-and-white skirts that hung to about mid-thigh.

Sasha had joined at the beginning of summer. Her application said she was two years younger than me. She was cute, outgoing and cheerful and worked hard, but she was weird from the start: polite questions like "how are you today?" were sometimes met by bizarre responses like "my hair hurts," or "a butterfly followed me here. It might be evil. Watch out for it."

No one knew what to expect. When it was especially hot, some of us lingered in the walk-in freezer when we needed something. Once, I found Sasha sitting on a pallet of frozen french fries, singing and painting her toenails.

Me and the other managers had spoken to her about her odd behavior. Each time, she nodded, but nothing changed.

The final straw came when one of the other girls reported she wasn't wearing underwear. The skirts weren't that short, but a gust of wind or bending over too far when delivering a tray to a customer could reveal what was underneath. Most of the girls wore spandex shorts under them.

That day, Sasha wore nothing. It seemed she hadn't worn a bra either, judging from the sway of her breasts under her shirt and protruding nipples.

In the back office all she said was, "Oops. Forgot." No promise it wouldn't happen again, no apology, nothing. Was she trying to attract one of the bad boys with the muscle cars who showed up regularly? Or who knows, maybe she wanted to interest a father of one of the families. Maybe she was so nuts she really did forget.

I hated to lose such a hard worker, and she certainly had made the place interesting.

~~~~

"Obviously I didn't ruin your life, Sasha," I said. "And you left me no choice. What if one of the families saw your bare ass?"

"You had a choice. You could've sent me home. Or lent me your underwear. Or let me use that rust paint out back to paint my bum white. No one would've known the difference."

I sighed. Yep, Sasha was still nuts. And she was going to be my camping neighbor all weekend?

She spied my bike. "You cycled here? All the way from town? Don't you have a car?"

"Sure I have a car. I'm trying something new. Trying to be more active. Do more interesting things."

Sasha looked me up and down. "Hmm. You have lost your gut. You were a little porky back then. Hey, you know who you remind me of? That guy on that show."

"Uh..."

"You know. That comedy show. He was pudgy too. Then he got super buff and starred in those dinosaur movies. And one with a raccoon or something."

"Oh," I said. "That guy. Well, thanks. I've worked at it. You're looking great as ever."

Her face darkened instantly. "Yeah? And you got a real eyeful didn't you, you creepy fuck."

Actually, I had. Sasha had a killer body. She was what some call a 'snow white': pale creamy skin with raven-black hair, jet black eyebrows and lashes. Her eyes were a piercing hazel.

Six years ago, she wore her hair in a short pixie cut, cute as hell. Now her hair was long and straight. It suited her better. Back then, she was skinny with bad acne. Now she had filled out wonderfully and her skin was flawless and smooth.

"It was a scummy thing to do," I said. "I'm really sorry. But you know me. I'm not a bad guy."

"Whatever, creep," she said. "Just stay away from me. If you even glance at me again, I'll fucking set you on fire."

She turned to go.

I said, "Hey, Sasha? How did you even know I was looking?"

She pointed to the sun touching the trees behind her camp site.

"I saw the lens reflecting the sunlight, creep. Next time, invest in binoculars with coated lenses. Creep."

~~~~

Once my gear was set up, I cooked a meal on my tiny hiking stove and started a fire with the wood I'd bought at the gatehouse on the way in. Overall, I was feeling pretty good about my first cycle camping trip.

A young family tenting with small kids had the camp site next to me. Sites at that campground were small with only scraggly brush and struggling young trees separating each one. Across the lane, the site next to Sasha's was empty.

I dragged my site's picnic table closer to the fire and sat, warming myself against the cooling evening air.

Sasha appeared.

"Hi, creep," she said pleasantly, "Got any newspaper?"

I stared. Her cheery held no anger or derision, like nothing had happened and 'creep' was my given name. What happened to me staying away?

She said, "I burned through all the paper I brought, and my fire is still not going."

"I don't have newspaper. I use these." I pointed to my package of fire starter cubes. "They'll get anything going. I'll show you, but only if you stop calling me creep."

"Oh, okay. Thanks! Come on over."

Together, we balanced her firewood into a little tepee, placing a fire starter cube under each log. Soon, a cheery blaze leaped from the fire pit.

"Awesome," she said with a smile. "Want some ice cream?"

"Uh, what?"

She gestured to the tiny cooler by her tent. "You know... ice cream. I have a tub of chocolate, a tub of mint chocolate and a tub of double chocolate paradise. Though I ate half of that for dinner."

We sat at her picnic table licking cones of ice cream and watching her fire. Sasha had drizzled chocolate syrup onto her plain chocolate. She offered to put some on my mint chocolate, but I declined.

It was almost dusk. Most of the other campsites had started their own fires, casting a veil of smoke over the ground like an evening fog. At the site next to mine, a young girl who had been peddling in tight circles fell off her bike. Her father tended to her scraped leg as she howled.

"I really am sorry for spying on you earlier," I said.

"Huh? Oh. Want some more? You didn't try the chocolate paradise."

"Thanks, but I'm trying to cut down on sugar these days." I the studied the green streaks in my ice cream. "This is much better than the stuff we sold at Dairy Duck."

"They only ever had two types of chocolate. Can you believe it? But the police said their hands were tied."

I decided to let that one slide.

"That was a wild summer," I said. "The big grease fire, the drunk driver who plowed into the duck statue. Were you there when the three tour buses showed up?"

"Oh, what a nightmare," she said. "It was a Tuesday. Trish and Melanie were off that night. And why not? Who comes on Tuesday?"

"Exactly," I said. "One hundred and sixty-two senior citizens, plus drivers and tour guides. Jeff and Andre were going nuts on the grill. I dropped more baskets of fries and rings that night than I had all month. I called Adrian to come help."

"Who?"

"The owner. The big guy with the haircut?"

Sasha grinned. "Hair like an electrocuted Pomeranian? Needed to shower more?"

"Yeah, that's the guy." I popped the last of my ice cream cone into my mouth. "It was a crazy place, but I loved it. Every day I barely kept things under control."

Sasha bit the end off her cone, sucked the remaining ice cream through the hole then tossed the cone into the fire.

"It seemed fine to me," she said. "You were a wonderful manager. The others always yelled at us. You were calm. Supportive. An asshole about rules, though. No one could ever do anything the right way."

"Yeah," I said. "I was an anal know-it-all. But I've been trying to change. I think I'm better now. My staff seem to think I'm okay. As much as any boss can be, I mean."

"So where are you bossing now?"

"At the medical supply. I thought it would be really dull, but there's a lot of competition, sales targets to meet, new products, counterfeit products to watch for, shortages, logistics issues. Lots happening all the time. And I know it's a business to make money, but I think we help people a little. How about you?"

Sasha shrugged. "Well, not many places want to hire someone who got fired from the Dairy Duck. I lived in my car for a while. Worked at the second-hand clothes store. Worked for a landscaper, then at the shopping plaza. You know... bummed around."

We looked at the fire. Somewhere a baby cried, music thumped softly at some far-off campsite, and a car alarm went off and was silenced.

"I'm sorry it was so hard for you," I said, "You were the first person I ever fired. I felt like throwing up when Adrian ordered me to do it. And it sure didn't help that you cried so much. You did more work than two people and I liked you."

"You did? I... I liked you too."

She looked at me strangely then brightened.

"Anyway," she chirped, "now I'm at the call center. It's much better." She flashed me an evil grin. "Can I talk to you about your car's extended warranty? Have you thought about term life insurance? How about duct cleaning?"

I laughed. "So that's what they do there. I don't understand how that makes any money."

"Telemarketing is only part of it. Most of the time, I handle customer support for electronic gadgets or small appliances or whatever shitty company they contract with next."

We chatted more about that summer at the Dairy Duck, our work, and idle gossip about happenings in town. She said it was her first time camping.

"I'm trying something new, like you," she said. "I love getting out of town into the countryside, so I should like this too."

Soon, she turned quiet, staring into the fire and only responding with uninterested grunts and shrugs. Looking over, I saw my own campfire was almost dead, so I thanked her and returned to my site.

~~~~

I had tossed the last chunk of wood into my fire when the scumbags roared in.

Two rattly rusted-out pickup trucks screeched to a stop in the lane beside the empty site next to Sasha, headlights and rooftop light bars blazing. After some confusion, they nosed onto the site, though one truck they left with it's rear jutting into the lane.

Out poured eight guys, cartoonish in their scumbaggery: wife-beater shirts with offensive slogans, soiled ball caps or fraying shit-kicker cowboy hats, and scraggly facial hair.

They whooped and roared, twanging music blaring from one truck. Cases of beer rattled and bottles of liquor clunked as they loaded them on their picnic table.

While two of them heaped masses for wood into their fire pit and struggled to light it, four others set to assembling two worn canvas tents. Both groups bickered and sparred while two older guys with immense bellies and beards sat barking instructions as they swigged from a square bottle they shared.

After half an hour of putting up with the commotion, the father from the campsite next to me went over.

"Hey, fellas," he said. "My kids are just getting to sleep. I think everyone would really appreciate it if you'd be good neighbors and tone it down a little."

A younger guy stormed up to him, stabbing a finger at his chest and cursing. One of the older guys ordered him to back off.

"All right, mister," the older guy said. "We'll keep it down."

The music lowered, voices were hushed, but the bickering and chaos continued. They poured something into the fire pit and a ball of flame roared upwards, followed by hoots and cheers quickly shushed.

I feared the worst for Sasha. Her site was beside the hooligans. Her fire smoldered, but otherwise her campsite was dark. Maybe she was hiding in her tent.

As the party progressed, the guys got drunker and the music and voices crept louder. The skunky stink of weed soon overpowered the wood smoke hanging in the air.

An argument started. Two of the scumbags pulled off their shirts and traded blows, cheered on by their friends. Soon they were wrestling in the dusty lane, punching and scrabbling, yelling profanities.

Someone must have called, because camp security appeared, lights flashing atop their pristine truck, voices scratching from their radio.

The music cut off. The security officers spoke in firm tones as the older guys nodded. One partier drove away the truck that had been sticking into the lane over to the guest parking. After several promises and a shake of hands, security left.

Subdued, the party stretched on. Soon, most of the guys were too drunk or stoned to stand. A few crawled into tents, others sat mesmerized by the fire. One guy curled on the ground.

A light came on in Sasha's tent. She emerged to throw wood on her fire, then sat at her picnic table, hunched over, flicking at her phone.

Seeing her was red meat to two of the more alert guys. They called to her with offers of beer, booze, and weed. She ignored them. They persisted, inviting her to party, calling her honey and darling, and promising 'a real great time.'

The pair exchanged words, summoning courage, then stumbled over and loomed over Sasha, competing for her attention. She concentrated on her phone as if they weren't there. They pleaded and cajoled, pouring on the sweet talk, getting more insistent every minute she ignored them.

I couldn't just sit and watch.

Walking over, I said, "Guys, come on. She's really not interested. You can see that, right?"

Sasha turned and glared furiously at me.

"I didn't ask you to rescue me!" she spat. "Leave me the fuck alone." She scowled like I was a stranger.

"Yeah," said the scruffier of the guys, "Fuck off, faggot. Mind your own fucking business."

A match would have set his breath on fire.

"She's my friend," I said. "Stop harassing her. Everyone just wants to camp in peace."

Scruffy stepped forward, ready to hit me, but Sasha yelled, "Stop it!"

To me she said, "Go away."

Fine. I trudged back to my site and sat.

Sasha returned to concentrating on her phone like nothing had happened and I had never been there. Scruffy and his friend seemed to think her rejecting me meant accepting them. They started asking which of them she wanted to do her first.

She turned around and asked them to leave. That got replies like "aww, baby, don't be like that." She asked again, with the same response.

Sasha stood and looked one of them up and down. He grinned when she stepped toward him, but she pushed on his chest and swept her leg behind his. He landed backwards on the ground.

"Ow! What the fuck, bitch?"

He tried to get up, but Sasha pressed him down with her foot on his chest. She pointed a finger in his face, scowling. "Bad dog. Bad."

His friend went to grab her. In a whirl of motion, she had him on the ground too.

Both looked up, angry, confused, and shocked.

Sasha pointed to their camp site while glaring down.

"Git," she growled. "Now." Her tone was so menacing that even from across the lane I shivered.

The pair stumbled to their feet and fled, looking back in fear.

~~~~

Afterwards, Sasha stared at her fire, then leaned back to look at the stars. When the last lick of flame disappeared, she crawled into her tent.

I did the same. I stripped to my underwear and t-shirt, then bundled into my sleeping bag. Summer was almost over and the night air was chilly. There were so many things I still wanted to do: one more camping trip, a few day-hikes in the hills, meet a great girl, have wild sex, fall in love...

Sasha dominated my thoughts. She had steered our chat away from her past and I didn't want to pry, but I wanted to know more about her. Like where did she learn how to handle those idiots? One minute they were harassing her, the next they were flat on the ground. No doubt she could have done a lot more if she wanted.

She was strangely beautiful with her contrasting black hair and pale skin. And Sasha was strange in every other way. She seemed intelligent, thoughtful and almost normal, though her thoughts flitted and raced. Then she said or did something totally bananas.

Throwing her ice cream cone into the fire bugged me. I mean, when the ice cream is done, the cone is the best part!

None of that stopped me from imagining being with her. I stroked my cock, thinking about running my hands over her smooth skin and kissing those pink lips. I wondered if fucking her would be as chaotic as talking to her.

Yet, it felt dirty thinking about Sasha like that, like I was violating her privacy again. I'd only ever had one-night stands, or a casual friend with benefits for a while. With Sasha, it felt like that wouldn't be enough. I hoped she wasn't still angry with me in the morning. I hoped we could spend more time together.

I kept trying to build myself to some much-needed relief thinking of her, but it stayed just out of reach. Frustrated, I gave up, pulled my sleeping bag up around me, and slept.

~~~~

I woke to the sound of someone outside. My watch said it was way past midnight, and the only light came from the moon filtering through the trees. If those yahoos were trying to damage my bike, I'd absolutely kill them.