Hitchhiking is not my preferred form of transport but my best friend Becca says we can save money on train fare and have even more money to have fun at the festival. We have both got dressed in hippie chic clothing for fun which is definitely a mistake for hitching a lift. My long Gypsy skirt is flowing in the wind and I'm trying to hold onto my floppy hat as the traffic rushes past us. The orangey summer sun is beating down, dust is blown about us as the motorway traffic seems in no mood to stop for two helpless chicky chicks.
As I start to tire of waiting for someone to pull over to offer us a lift, I feel like giving up and going back home, I curse Becca under my breath for her silly free ride plan. I look up the motorway and I notice a big red old fashioned bus with the words Glynydrydd R.F.C. written in big gold letters on the front indicating to pull over onto the hard shoulder. Slowing down, it comes to a dusty diesel smelling halt. The lights on the bus are flashing at us eagerly to hurry us on. We both run with our tent and rucksacks and we are so relieved that someone has finally stopped for us. The airbrakes of the bus scream loudly as the door opens automatically.
As we climb the stairs, the driver welcomes us with a big grin, the smell of alcohol overtakes my flowery perfume as we jump on to a loud cheer. I look up the aisle and see that the bus is full of fit rugby players who are all obviously drinking and having a good time. My heart misses a beat for all the right reasons as I imagine them all to be naked. I raise an awkward smile as the bus door closes firmly behind us. The bus pulls off the hard shoulder slowly starts to re-join the busy motorway struggling to pull its occupants in the hazy summer's heat. I glance up the bus to see the men on board looking at us and undressing us with their eyes. As the bus re-joins the slow lane, we say our thanks to the bus driver. The older grey haired men are wearing suits and rugby ties are respectfully smiling back at us. As we attempt to walk up the aisle to the empty seats at the back of the bus, the bus jerks and we both fall forward.
"Whoops!" I say, as I'm caught by two strong arms, my tiny body feeling weakened by his sheer strength. My body is stretched across his lap and I feel slightly embarrassed as I feel myself start to melt in the arms of my new found saviour. As I drop my baggage I feel a hand going onto my ankle making its way up my leg, I try to help myself up but the strength of the man holding me tightens his grasp around my waist. I look at him with my big blue eyes wide open in panic and I recognise the horny look in eyes and I know this is going to end up messy for us all.
I manage to look over my shoulder and all I'm shocked see is Becca's tiny yellow t-shirt being lifted over her head by many hands as head, her long dark hair partially covers her pretty face as she tries desperately to get her captures to release their grip. Cheers go up around us as her firm small breasts are exposed to the touring rugby players. I can see her futile attempts of protest being ignored by the ravenous brutes who are preparing to devour us both.
Hands are now exploring my body as my floppy hat falls to the floor and I feel my long skirt being pulled down over my thighs, stretching the waistband to breaking point. I try to shout out in protest but I lose my breath in the struggle. I try to lift my head up to see what's going on as I feel a hard slap on my almost bare bum.
