The Feast Of The Hunters Moon

I was a girl who matured early. By the time I turned 18 during my senior year in high school, I was very accustomed to the lecherous looks of men and also boys. Mostly I figured it was my breasts. I was told, many times, that I have the best breasts in the county. But I also had an hourglass figure with a tiny waist, long and shapely legs, and beautiful auburn hair. I was the entire package.

If you are into conquests, it seems I am the prize. This is not a great way to be an adolescent. Add to that parents who are controlling, old fashioned in their attitudes about premarital sex, and vicariously ambitious, and you can see the delicate position I navigated throughout my high school years.

Having been influenced by my parents' ideas, I was fairly sure that boys wanted sex and to see me naked. It was clear to me on my own however that most girls hated me, since they were not like me. They were jealous, basically. All I wanted was to be left alone.

When I graduated high school at the age 18, I had fooled around with a few boys my senior year, but until just before graduation I was still a virgin. Nobody had got anywhere with me below the waist. Boys were happy with my boobs alone. My boobs were still objects of serious desire. All the boys raved about my boobs. One asshole took a cell phone picture of my naked boobs, and every boy in the high school had seen it, I'm sure.

Seeing a picture versus playing yourself with my naked boobs are two different things, so the picture of my boobs that was circulating only increased the frenzy among the boys to get at my boobs. I was living in hell.

There was one episode however, which portended an aspect of my personality of which I was unaware. Shortly before graduation, I was on a date with a boy and he had driven me out to the little town named Battleground, Indiana, where the American forces had defeated the armies of Tecumseh, a long, long time ago. It's about 5 miles north of Lafayette, along the river. There is a pretty memorial park there. It was closed for the night. But we went only to the deserted parking area.

He took me there of course to make out with some privacy. This guy, named Mike, was the first guy I really liked. I mean, the first guy I liked in a sexual way. Being hormone fueled teenagers, it took only minutes for our kissing to become hot and heavy. I had prepared for this make out session by wearing clothes that would give him easy access to my body, should he want it. As I said, I am shy, and I was not sure he wanted me the way I wanted him. Maybe in retrospect I should not say I was shy: naïve might be a better word.

He did. He wanted all he could get from me. He began by undressing me above the waist. We kissed, and he removed my blouse. I helped him take it off; I wanted nothing to happen to it that I would have to explain to my mother. Now I was in my bra and we resumed kissing. I found that I was happy to have him see me naked above the waist. I was shy, but not shy about showing off my body, it seems.

He was a bit awkward, but he managed to unhook my bra and then I took it off. I suspect my bra was the first one he had ever unhooked. Now I was naked above the waist, and we resumed kissing.

It took at least another half hour before Mike found the courage to make tentative steps to remove my skirt. I think he was shocked when not only did I not protest or try to hit him, but simply took it off for him, once his desire had been expressed. Now he had me in just my panties; what was he going to do with me?

I did not realize it at the time, but as I look back, it seems clear that Mike was terrified. He was in over his head. He must have thought I would not be such an easy conquest. He was mentally unprepared to exploit me and my body, even though he had fantasized about doing just that. I was amused, and I enjoyed being in control. I said, "Mike, let's go for a walk." Mike nodded, dumbly.

We got out of the car, Mike fully dressed, and me wearing only my panties. "Mike, you should undress, too," I said. Mike blushed, but he undressed down to his briefs. His briefs had a large tent caused by his erection. He should have been proud of it, but instead I think he was embarrassed. Boys are so strange.

I took him by the hand and led him into the cemetery, where the American soldiers who died in the Battle of Tippecanoe of 1811 were buried. None of the Native Americans who died in that battle (and many did) are buried there. Looking back, with today's values, that seems outrageous. But we were not there for the park's historical value.

We found a nice, grassy spot, and we lay down on the ground and continued to make out. Mike never got the courage to take my panties off, or even to slip his fingers inside them. In return, I left alone and untouched his cock in his briefs. We had lots of fun anyway, I assure you.

Finally, we walked back towards his car, and we discovered that two other couples had come to the same parking lot to make out in privacy. They were all still in their cars, their cars being parked at opposite ends. Ours was in the middle, and it contained our clothes. All four of the lovers saw us walking back, almost naked, towards our car.

One of the two cars got a little light from a lamp post. Plus, there was a full moon. I could see inside the car, and I recognized one of the couples: Stephanie and Kevin, both friends from our high school. Kevin had Stephanie's blouse off. She still had her bra on. That was all I could see. There was a full moon, so Mike and I were highly visible in the moonlight. Mike got scared. I did not.

I actually liked being on display, completely by accident. This shocked me. It's not normal, you know. Most people, especially girls, would be horrified. Not that their boyfriend had seen them of course, but that others had. But for reasons that escape me, I was not only not freaked out, I was happy showing off, displaying my body.

For as long as I can remember, I was annoyed about how everyone focused on my body. Nobody cared about me, Michelle, it seemed. It was always my boobs, my legs, and my curves. I also have good skin, lovely hair, and smooth, soft skin. Inside I'm a woman with thoughts, emotions, and needs, but who cares?

This seemed to me to be an opportunity for revenge against the universe. You want to see my body, everyone? Well, here it is.

To everyone's surprise, including mine, I said to Mike, "Stand behind me, Mike." I faced the two cars, so they could see my nudity. "Run your hands over my boobs and as much of my body as you want." Mike was doubtless puzzled, but he happily complied.

I really shocked Mike when I said, "Stay behind me, but pull down my panties to my ankles." He again complied, and I stepped out of them. (I'm sure he thought removing my panties was way, way out of bounds, off limits, but now to his shock I was telling him to do it!) Now all of my charms were exposed to the four people in the two cars, plus of course to Mike. This got me highly aroused.

I was wet, even soaking wet. I know, because I told Mike, "Mike, massage my pussy and stick a finger or two inside me. Pump your fingers in and out, okay?" Now Mike happily complied, and I began to groan. I heard squishy noises as soon as his fingers entered, so I knew I was very wet. He was the first person to do that. Even I myself had never fingered myself.

It was at that moment that one of the cars turned on its headlights. We were in the spotlight as if we were actors on stage. I gave a big smile. Mike gasped.

I reached around behind myself and found Mike's cock through his briefs. I pushed down his briefs and got his cock in my hand, and he almost instantly ejaculated all over my ass and back. My plans to lose my virginity and to fuck for the four voyeurs died just then.

Mike was embarrassed, and we turned around and walked back into the park, away from the voyeurs. They did enjoy a nice view of my ass, I suppose. Some men like women's asses, I'm told. We hid until we heard their cars pull away.

Once the voyeurs were gone, I mysteriously lost the urge to fuck and to lose my virginity, so we went back and found his briefs and my panties, and then returned to the car. There was a note on the windshield. It said, "Loved the show! Awesome." It was signed, "K & S." The penmanship was feminine, so I knew it was Stephanie who wrote it. Mike was horrified. I smiled.

My mother, whose concept of privacy for me was to afford me none at all, and my Dad, who was Victorian about his daughter remaining pure, were not pleased. My Mom had found traces of Mike's cum on my blouse. I had not wiped all of Mike's cum off my back enough when I had put on my blouse, I guess. My Mom also found dirt and a grass stain on my panties, from when we were writhing around on the ground.

After that, I was grounded. I was forbidden to see Mike again, or any boy for that matter. I had to be home by 9pm on school nights. Put simply, I lived in a state of hell. I was angry.

Teenagers rebel in several ways. Some do drugs. That was not for me. Some become wild, sex crazed sluts, especially if they have controlling parents like I do. That too was not for me. My parents had great plans for me: College, an MBA, joining a multinational, making lots of money, marrying a banker or a lawyer or something, making grandchildren, and, basically, being like them.

I decided to drop out for a while. I went off the grid. I postponed college and decided to become a potter. I joined a small collective of counter culture people who live north of Lafayette, Indiana, near Brookston. They have a kind of commune.

They were accepting, and non-judgmental. They shared none of the values of my parents, nor most of my schoolmates. I had no money, either, since my parents cut me off, so I was off the grid. No Facebook, no texts, no email, no snapchat, no nothing. The Collective supported me for the time being.

The men in the collective noticed my body. Shit, even the women did. I'm sure a lot of sex transpired within the collective; it's natural. But if you did not want to see it, you did not have to see it. I did not want to see it.

I made it clear I was not interested, and after I did that, nobody hit on me. I'm pretty sure, for example, that Joyce had the hots for me, but she respected my wishes. It took me a little longer to convince the senior man Bob that I was off limits, but I did, and then all was fine.

What happened with Bob, who must have been close to 30 (which seemed very old to my 18-year-old eyes), began one night after dinner when I had drunk some wine. I was not used to alcohol, and even the small amount I had drunk made me tipsy. I was sitting next to Bob, and he put his arm around me. I thought nothing of it.

Bob said he wanted to check on the chickens. We kept chickens, and sometimes the foxes would get to them. Did I want to come along? I said sure. When he got to the chicken coop, he said it was pretty dirty and we should remove out clothes. We both stripped down to our underwear.

Instead of leading me inside the chicken coops, he led me into his arms. He put his arms around me and kissed me. I was flattered by the attention and the desire of an older man, and I looked up to Bob. Plus, he had a nice body, all muscular and not too hairy. I got wet just from the kiss. The best part was that I could feel his erection as our bodies melded together. I love it when a man gets an erection just for me.

Bob might have had more success with me if he had gone slower, even much slower, but during that first kiss he stuck his hands in my panties, and his fingers entered my snatch. He said, "Wow, Michelle. You're already wet," and he pushed my panties down to my ankles.

It was inconceivable to me that a man would go for the gold before playing a long time with my boobs. I said to myself, 'Michelle, you're not in high school anymore.' I freaked out, and ran back to the collective, mildly hysterical, naked except for my bra. I went right to Joyce, and cried in her arms.

Bob was persona non grata for Joyce for a few weeks after that. She collected my clothes and helped me to get dressed, but it was not before most of the collective had seen me naked, except for my boobs. The idea that I had exposed myself inadvertently, turned me on ferociously. I confessed that only to Joyce. She explained to me that it was possible that I was an exhibitionist. She also explained the difference between an exhibitionist and a slut.

Everyone's pottery was better than mine, but I was still an okay potter. I had studied pottery in school, and I had practiced every chance I got. I love pottery. I find it calming, reassuring.

The Collective sold pottery at fairs; that was a primary source of income. There were some big events, and one of them was The Feast of the Hunter's Moon, out at Fort Ouiatenon, on the banks of the Wabash River. This was in early fall, and we prepared all summer for it.

I was assigned to help to sell the pottery, by manning a booth at the fair. The first day I did okay, but not great. Joyce came to me with an idea. "The Collective rejects the dominant paradigm, and a lot of us women don't wear bras. You do."

"I know. It's the way I was raised," I said.

"It's the way we all were raised. Look, this is going to sound bad, but sex is what sells pottery," she said.

"That makes no sense, Joyce," I said.

"Listen. If you look sexy, men will come over. Their women will follow. While the men drool over you, trying to get a peek at your nipples, the women will look at the pottery. Unless the woman has good taste, like me. Then she'll drool over you, too," she said.

I giggled. "I understand. How about I model some things for you?" I said. Joyce smiled.

Back at the Collective that night I removed my bra in front of Joyce. She gave me three things to try. We decided on a wife beater T shirt, belted tight around my waist. The arm holes were so big you could see my entire boobs from the side, but because of the belt, it was not too bad. You had to be a little lucky to see the entire boob. I had to move just the right away to get the shirt to gap. Without the belt, I would have been totally on display.

I practiced the maneuver of giving a little peek at my boobs over and over again, while Joyce watched, until I had mastered it. You could also see them from head on if I bent over deeply from the waist. That was the best view: You got to see my entire boobs, nipples and all, as long as I stayed bent over. We planned to put the money box low down so I could flash people when I made change.

The next day every male voyeur visiting the fair came to my booth. It was really crowded. There were quite a few women, too, who loved getting peeks at me. That surprised me a little, but it sure did not surprise Joyce. Joyce had always told me that people underestimate the number of secret lesbians and bisexuals there are around and about. Many lesbians are married and have children, too.

She also explained that you can be a straight man or woman, and be a voyeur, and like to see anyone, man or woman, when he or she flashes you. Seeing naked flesh illicitly is a turn on for many people.

I was having a lot of fun showing off my boobs. Mentally I kept traveling back to my time in the Battleground Park when Mike and I showed off to four teenagers making out. Or at least I had always assumed they were teenagers! Well, I knew Kevin and Stephanie certainly were.

I loved giving tantalizing little peeks. You give a man a 3 second peek, and he becomes desperate for a second one. I give him the big reward if he buys something, because then he gets to have a good long look at my boobs when I bend forward deeply to gain access to the cash box.

If it's a large purchase, I take a good long time getting the change, giving a lingering look to the lucky lecher. Once the men figured this out, and it did not take them long, they would slowly decide to buy another piece of pottery. Sex really does sell. I was enjoying myself.

Towards the end of the day, a group of young men came over to my booth. I had gone to high school with all of them. Mike was not in the group. They began to chat me up, asking how I was, where had I been, and then when I told them they would ask lots of details. They just wanted to be there, near me, and I was both flattered and charmed. They also no doubt were hoping for some peeks. They were not disappointed.

I decided to be brazen. I said, "If you buy some pottery, I will flash you my boobs." Then I did the maneuver where they got a glimpse of my boobs from the side. It was the maneuver I had practiced over and over again with Joyce.

Kevin said, "How about we have a lottery? Each of us who buys a pottery piece gets a lottery ticket. The winner gets to make out with you behind the fort over there," and he pointed toward the reconstruction of Fort Ouiatenon.

Kevin added, "Did you get the note Stephanie and I left on your car out at Battleground last Spring?" It was his way of letting me know he had seen and enjoyed my display of all of my charms.

I smiled, and nodded. "Thank you for that. It was much appreciated."

I felt randy, so I agreed with Kevin's idea. I said, "One lottery ticket for each $10 spent." I used our receipt sheets as lottery tickets. Kevin immediately bought the most expensive piece on my table. He got ten tickets. I sold everything. They cleared me out.

Kevin won the lottery. "Let's meet there at 8 tonight," I said. "The place will be cleaned up by then, and deserted. No chance of little kids stumbling upon us."

"We'll be there," Kevin said.

"We?" I asked.

"Well, I'll be there, of course. I've always liked you, Michelle. But you were taken, and then you just vanished. But all the guys will want to watch. That's okay, right? I assumed it's part of the deal."

I blushed, "If that's what you want, Kevin, it's okay with me. You won; you will get whatever you want," I said.

"Really?" Kevin asked. "Whatever I want?"

I blushed. Looking at my feet, I said, and it was barely audible, "Yes." I got so aroused just by saying the word 'yes.' Was I a submissive, too? I made a mental note to ask Joyce. (She told me later no, I was just one hell of a horny teenager.)

"Can I get an advance of one kiss now?" he asked.

I asked Joyce to watch the stand. I took Kevin's hand and led him to the back of the fort. It was getting late, and all the little boys who had been playing around the fort were gone. I stood facing him, and he held my head in his two hands. He held it gently as if it were made of highly breakable china, and he gently kissed my lips.

Chills went down my spine with the kiss, and I kissed back with the pent-up passion of an 18-year-old chaste girl. His hands went under my T shirt and zipped up to my boobs and fondled them. I made no effort to stop his hands, and I just kept kissing him. When one of his hands went down my shorts, however, I pulled away.

"You'll get there, big boy, but this is enough of an advance, don't you think? See you at 8pm, okay?" It was unclear to me who was more turned on at that point: Kevin, me, or Tom, who was watching us from behind a tree.

Joyce was amazed that my table was cleaned out and that we had made so much money. "Well, you were right: Sex sells," I said.

Joyce said, "I saw at one point you were giving out tickets to that large group of young men?"

I told Joyce the whole story, beginning with the Battleground exhibitionist episode, and ending with what was going to happen at 8pm, tonight.

"Can I come, too?" Joyce asked.

"There will be a group of guys there, Joyce. They may get the wrong idea. I know them and I am sure I can control them. They can watch me and Kevin, but that's all. But if you were there, it's like a wild card and well, I may not be able to control them," I said.