As I began my senior year at the university, the relationship with my Uncle Bill was deteriorating noticeably.
We seemed to be fighting a lot, about everything. I was chafing under his authoritarian rule over my life, at least that part of it that affected him and his business, and he resented my increasingly independent attitude. I also think he was frightened of my educated status as a university student.
As a result, he kept giving me jobs that were degrading and humiliating, pushing me into more and more gangbang-style parties on weekends, and I was getting to where I hated them. I also didn't like the nightly parade of redneck drunks who trooped up the stairs to the apartment to use me in whatever way they wanted.
Such a life was stifling me, forcing me to limit my perspective to that little part of Missouri where I'd lived for the previous seven years. Exposure to the university setting had opened my eyes to the wider world, and I wanted to experience it.
But more and more, Uncle Bill was talking like he thought I was going to stay with him and be his whore indefinitely, and I was more determined than ever to prevent that from happening.
Critically, for me, in the fall semester of 1991, I took a class that opened my eyes to just how destructive prostitution was to the world in general.
By my fourth year of college, I was actually ahead of the game as far as my requirements for my degree in computer sciences. I actually had enough credits in the course of study to graduate early, in December, except that there was a senior projects class that I couldn't take until the spring semester.
So I had some free hours to fill with whatever classes struck my fancy, and Janelle talked me into joining her in taking a sociology class on feminist affairs. This was the notorious Lesbos 101, as the derogatory whispers called it, and there were quite a few lesbians in the class.
Yes, it turned out that the class did hit on several aspects of lesbianism, but really the class was a general history of women's affairs in Western society, and an overview of current issues specific to women in all societies.
And an early part of the curriculum was a study of prostitution throughout history, from Biblical times to the present, and the ways that it enslaved women. What it meant to me was that I was seeing my life with Uncle Bill in a whole new light, and I wasn't happy with what I saw.
Of course, no one on the Mizzou campus knew I had first-hand knowledge of the ins and outs of prostitution as it applied to rural America in 1991. Even Janelle didn't know what the job was that I always had to leave campus and go back home for.
At any rate, I think Uncle Bill could see his grip on me slipping away, so for the Labor Day holiday, he made a real bid to rewin my affection, and maybe regain his mastery over me.
Of course, his idea was that if he fucked me real good over a period of several days that I would be magically transported back to the naive, wide-eyed little girl of 18 who needed a man like him to take care of her.
By then, I was way beyond that point in my life, and he was the one who was naive if he thought that could resecure my dependence on him. Still, I went along, because it was a chance to get away from the monotony of fucking for my supper, to get away from the store for a few days.
Believe it or not, for all of the money that we'd made - and spent - we'd somehow never bothered to take any time off, never had taken a real vacation.
Uncle Bill was too driven to run the store and the bar and the prostitution business to take a vacation, so I was a little surprised when he started talking about a few days off.
He suggested that we leave the running of the store and the bar for the long weekend to Bertie, who was still faithfully coming in to work the store five days a week, and go off on a little fishing and camping expedition.
That actually didn't sound like a bad idea to me. I liked getting out in the woods, getting close to nature. Whenever I could, I had always liked to wander the wooded areas around the store, just losing myself and talking to God. It was one of my escape valves from the pressures of school and work.
Uncle Bill had a little johnboat with a couple of paddles and a trolling motor, and he'd often go out on the rivers and creeks to fish, which was his way of relaxing, I guess.
So it was that a little after noon on the Friday before Labor Day, we loaded up his pickup truck with camping and fishing gear, and headed south. Our destination was a river he knew about that he said was pretty secluded, where we could, "fish and fuck to our heart's content."
I should explain that over the three years that I'd been working as Uncle Bill's whore, our sexual relationship had continued, though not on a daily basis. But two or three times a month, usually on nights when I didn't work, he would call me over, we'd watch a porn video, then we'd fuck.
It usually had all of the passion of masturbation, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't still enjoy sex with my uncle. Although his was far from the biggest cock in my repertoire, he was bigger than most and he was always a very good fuck. He had a great deal of stamina, and on occasion, he was still good for seconds.
Like I said, there were a lot of deep-seated psychological reasons why I stayed with him, and why I submitted to him and the way he used me, and his ability to make me come was one of them.
Of course, I was still in thrall to sexual pleasure of every sort, even as I was starting to feel some unease at what I had to do.
So when he told me to strip and dance by the light of the bonfire we had going in our camp along the riverbank, I didn't hesitate. Fact is, by then, I was more than ready for Uncle Bill's hard cock.
We had driven a couple of hours to the spot he'd picked out, and it was indeed quite secluded, way back on a dirt road in National Forest land not far from Fort Leonard Wood, where I'd been born.
We'd set up the tent, gathered firewood, set up the camp table and fixed a big pot of camp stew, and the whole time we knocked back a steady flow of Buds. So we were both in, um, good spirits as night descended and we got the fire going.
It was a dark night, because it was a late-rising moon, so once we shut the lantern off, the flickering light of the fire was the only thing illuminating our camp site, and that gave everything a kind of other-worldly glow.
Uncle Bill was just sitting in a lawn chair, his eyes blazing as I tossed my tank top and shorts to the side and danced naked by the firelight. I had found a radio station that was playing contemporary dance hits - not necessarily my favorite kind of music - but it suited what we had in mind.