Initiation at Pretty Marsh

Louetta here. Everyone in this story is at least eighteen.

Just seven AM on my eighteenth birthday. I go for a run. They're waiting for me at Pretty Marsh Campground. Five minutes later I'm staked out in the woods a quarter-mile from the parking lot. Naked. Four boys I don't know draw lots for my body. Somewhere I hear a clock chime eight.

"Go ahead, if you're going to!" I dare him and he does. By 8:05 I'm no longer a virgin. By 8:06 I'm alone, still staked out. Still naked. In the morning sun. I struggle mightily to get free. By the time I am my wrists are raw. I sit up, legs still spread wide, ankles still tied to the stakes, bloody down below. I'm exhausted from the effort of getting free, but glowing. Glowing from having been fucked. I have to look forward and I do. There will be lots of boys to whom I'll give my body, and I know they'll be grateful. Usually, they tell me so. Usually, they tell other boys too, so I get lots of dates.

After a time I untie my ankles, get up, and dust myself off. My bra and panties have disappeared. So have my running shoes. I find my shirt and my shorts, but want to wash off before I dress. I walk to the parking lot, a cruel endeavor walking barefoot along the rough trail. There is no one around, so I walk naked down the hill to the water.

There are three guys in kayaks there, college types. They stare at me wild-eyed, at my nakedness. I make no move to cover myself, and tell them I have not been assaulted, though I'm sure it looks like I have. I go into the water and wash the memory of him off my body. The water is freezing, but it feels good to me. I sit on the shore and accept trail mix and water from the kayakers and feel better for it. Except to give me the food and water they never come near me. As if they fear I am some kind of water sprite or fairy who might seduce them or turn them into mice.

Finally, one of them asks to photograph me, thus naked, and I let him, walking back into the water and out again as if I were emerging from the sea. He is a couple years older than me and I find posing there in my birthday suit a tremendous turn-on, like I always do for someone in my age group, except this is bigger because it is so unexpected.

He never tries to come nearer, just watches me, drinking in the sight of my naked body. Or maybe devouring it is better. At least that's what I hope. Even now my nipples get hard thinking about it, and I am wet the minute I stand up to go in the water to let him take his pictures. I love it, the guys watching, me being naked, the sun on my body, the breeze on my bare breasts, and my own inner engine churning away.

I don't mind the pictures. I think most girls send pictures to their boyfriends, or friends with benefits, and love the idea of just these guys being able to see their bodies. Guys like nude pictures of cute women, and especially if that cute woman is someone they know and can see and talk to and whatever more. They think if a girl gives them pictures it shows trust and commitment. This helps them relax so they aren't jealous boyfriends. And why not? If my boyfriend or some other boy I know wants my pictures and enjoys them and they make him happy, well, it's just the body God gave me. And if he's looking at MY nudes, it's less likely he'll be looking at some other girl's.

After a while, the kayak guys row me back to the boat launch near the picnic area, which saves me the long walk on my wounded feet. The guy who photographed me asks for my number and he calls me and we go to Sand Beach and then to dinner. And then I fuck him. At the Blue Nose. And I hope he reads this because I lost his information and it doesn't do to not know the name of the first guy who fucks you. Because I don't count the other guy. And now Harry knows he wasn't the first guy to photograph me in the nude, but one day later.