"Try it. You'll like it."
Have you ever heard those terrible words? They're the harbinger of some terrible ordeal you're about to go through. Parents are the worst offenders. They assume that because they like something their kids are bound to like it. Newsflash. We're individuals, with our own independent tastes.
I'll let you know this for free. Repetition of trying something doesn't mean you like it. It means you've been subjected to a terrible ordeal repeatedly. Take camping, for instance. (And I mean take it far away from me.) When I was eight, my parents got the camping bug. They loved camping and hiking in the hills. At eight, I hated it. I'm now eighteen and can look back over those camping holidays with a mature mind. I can now articulate why camping is a bad idea, starting with carnivorous mosquitoes, passing through carnivorous wolves and bears, and finishing up with flash floods and pouring rain. Well, I guess the rain isn't too bad. It puts out the bushfires that are generally burning all around the camp site like Dante's inferno brought to earth.
"You're such a drama queen," my father told me, dragging me along on the latest camping trip. I'd offered to stay home and look after the house but he just looked at me and laughed.
So once again I was out in the wilderness, surrounded by mile upon mile of trees and animals. I will admit that there were other campers around, but as far as I was concerned they were just another breed of strange animal, with the single advantage of not being carnivorous.
The first night of my personal hell was spent wide awake, fighting mosquitoes. I knew I was in trouble when a mosquito the size of a not very small bird flew into my tent and started dive-bombing me. My father said it was just a bat, but what would he know. All in all a very restless night.
My parents slept like hibernating bears, apparently, probably because they're old and tough and the mosquitoes like soft young flesh, like mine. They awoke bright and early, ready for a fun day hiking.
I put my foot down, and I didn't put it down on the hiking trail. My parents were free to traipse through the woods and I would remember them fondly after the bears and lions were through with them, but I was staying close to the camp. I would take a gentle stroll through the woods and might even take a swim in the lake, assuming I could get guarantees that there were no carnivorous fish in the lake.
I took my gentle stroll and I have to admit it was a bit of an eye-opener. I mean, here I am, just ambling along the path when I heard a woman squeal. Wondering if something is wrong I drifted in that general direction and came across this camp site.
Now, where I was standing, the couple at the camp couldn't see me but, unfortunately, I could see them. She was on hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him, squealing and carrying on. He was kneeling behind her and was busy pulling down her jeans and panties. The reason for this was sticking out a mile.
She started saying, "No, no, no, no, no," real fast. Even while I watched he lined up his cock and just pushed it into her. I was wondering if I should interfere, but I heard him saying, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."
The big difference between her no, and his yes, was that while she gabbled out no quickly, he took his time saying yes, pushing his cock firmly into her each time he said yes, while she squealed. After he finished saying yes he just stopped still, his cock right up inside the poor woman. She turned and looked at him.
"Well," she said, "if you're going to be like that about it, I suppose I could say yes to a quick one."
With that he started poking her again, moving in and out like a motorised piston. It took me a moment to work out what the difference was between his actions now and his actions earlier. He seemed to be moving the same as before but he was going into her a lot faster. Then it registered. Before she'd been crouched there, while he drove in, while now, she was still crouched, but when he pushed in her bottom was bobbing up and pushing towards him, so he went in a lot faster.
Thank god I didn't go busting in to see if there was a problem. It was bad enough that I could see them screwing right in front of me. How could they do such a thing in public? OK, they were camping and probably thought they were private, but if I heard others might have as well.
I backed quietly away, although I could probably have marched off accompanied by a brass band and they wouldn't have noticed. Even walking away I could hear his cock slapping into her and her squealing while he did it to her. I just couldn't understand how any women could let a man use her like that. Disgusting was what it was.
I have to admit that men had been chasing me for a while, wanting to have sex with me. A number of them had used that line, "Try it. You'll like it," but I'd always opted not to try. After seeing that little episode the next man to use try-it on me was going to get a punch right on the end of his nose.
I wandered on, saw the lake, thought it looked awfully cold, and wandered back to our camping site. I was, quite frankly, bushed. Up half the night fighting off mosquitoes does not make for a decent night's sleep. It was warm and sunny so I dragged my sleeping bag out of my tent, laid it down next to a bush, laid down and went to sleep. I mean, I totally zonked, getting that sleep I should have got overnight.
I'm not sure what woke me. I had been really out of it and when I'm like that you just about have to tip a bucket of water on me to wake me. Something, however, had woken me up. I opened my eyes and found I was staring at the bush next to me.
It took me a moment to focus properly as my eyes were slightly sleep-blurred, but I saw what was on the bush. Someone had placed a pair of women's panties on the bush. A brief, lacy pair, with a little cat on the front. Quite a nice pair of panties. I had some just like it. I'd put them on this morning.
They couldn't be mine. They just couldn't. I slowly turned my head and looked down at myself, thinking I'd just check under my dress, just in case. I'd never been subject to sleep-stripping that I knew of, but maybe. . .
It was a real live 'oh, my, god,' moment. My dress was lifted up over my waist and I was naked from the waist down. My shirt was undone and gaping wide and my bra was missing, displaying my breasts. Not missing, I realised, broken. I could see the cups, one on either side of me. What the hell had happened?
I gave a squeal and hurriedly sat up, intending to straighten my clothes and find out what was going on. I didn't get to sit up. I gave a sort of flip and finished up still flat on my back. When I went to sit up my legs hadn't moved. Startled I looked at them. My legs were spread quite wide, which is not my normal way of sleeping, and quite embarrassing considering my pantyless state. In addition to being spread wide they seemed to have some sort of band around the ankles, fastening them to the ground.
I'm like, what the hell, and started trying to sit up again, but missed out again. This time because a large masculine hand was pressing against my breasts. My bare breasts, I might add. Naturally enough I turned to see who the hell was there.
There was this big man sitting on the ground next to me. I'm not the smallest girl around but this guy made me feel positively petite.
"Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing?" I demanded.
"Call me Mike," he said, his voice rumbling like muted thunder. "I'm just being friendly."
His idea of being friendly apparently included him massaging my breasts. His hand was all over them, rubbing them. The feel of him touching them seemed to be sinking deep into me, heating me.