Offended

Every so often I like to get away by myself, camping and doing some fishing. I'd get to the camping grounds early on a Friday evening, pitch my camp, and rest for a while, getting an early night. To counter the early night I'd be up early the next morning, hunting for the elusive fish.

Depending on weather and my mood my fishing could be one of various methods. Get in a boat and dangle a worm, stand on the shore and toss out some flies (a very frustrating way to not catch a trout), or take out my spear gun and go in after the little bastards. This last was usually the best way to catch something but also the most energetic, so the least often undertaken.

This morning I was simply going to relax by the side of the river and toss out a line, hoping the fish were hungry. I sat back and relaxed, reading a book to pass the time. Then I was interrupted.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded a strident voice.

Slowly turning my head I confronted the loud voice. An attractive young woman stood there, glaring at me. I estimated that she was about twenty, slender, nicely shaped, a pleasant heart-shaped face, and an annoyed scowl.

"It's called reading," I explained. "You have what is called a book, which has a story printed in it. When you want to relax and fill in some time you take out the book and peruse the story. A lot of people do it."

"Not that. That!" She pointed rather indignantly at my rod. How you can look indignant pointing at a fishing rod is hard to imagine, but she pulled it off.

"Oh, that. It's called fishing," I explained. "I tie a worm to the hook and dangle it in the water, hoping that some nice fat fish will eat it and get fatter. If he's fat enough I will then cook and eat said fish, making myself fatter. The great cycle of nature, you understand?"

"You can't do that. You're murdering animals. I won't stand for it. You stop it or I'll report you."

"Do fish count as animals?" I asked, not sure what she considered to be an animal. "I'm sure the worms don't, but I drown them before I tie them to the hook. A humane killing, saving them from being savaged by the fish. Who will you report me to? It's a legal activity and I have a license."

"It's immoral and disgusting. I demand that you stop it. It offends me."

"You get offended easily, don't you? Why not take a sedative and have a lie down?"

"Don't you talk down to me. Are you going to stop or not?"

"That would be not," I said with a smile. "While you may be offended I am indifferent to your emotional state, especially as you are choosing to be offended. You could just as easily choose to be happy to be out communing with nature on a lovely day. It's a personal choice, you understand? Now run along and find someone else to annoy. Look, if you swim out there you'll find the men on the boats are also fishing. Maybe they'll stop if you ask. I wouldn't hold my breath waiting but you being young and attractive you may have a chance. And maybe not."

Without realizing it I'd made a mistake. My rod was propped up, waiting for a fish to strike. Any bites would give a tug and sound the alarm, giving me plenty of time to grab the rod. It didn't give me time to grab the rod when she bent down, grabbed up the rod, and pitched it into the river.

"What the fuck?" I yelled.

"Don't you yell at me," she snapped. "It serves you right for practicing such a vile and harmful activity. How would you like it if a fish hooked you?"

"I'd probably give the little bugger a prize. Let me inform you that if I don't recover that rod I'll charge you for it."

"I wouldn't pay. It was all your fault."

With that she turned and stalked away.

I returned to my camp, got changed, went back to the river and into the water. While the rod was light enough to float the reel was quite heavy, weighing the end of the rod down. I swam out to roughly where the rod hit the water and ducked down. It only took about five minutes to find the rod and I took it back to my camp. I don't think it was damaged but it would probably pay me to thoroughly clean it before I used it again. I'd clean it that evening. Meanwhile, seeing I was dressed for swimming I grabbed my spear gun and went back in the water.

I finished up with three fat trout, probably a better catch than I'd have obtained waiting for the fish to offer themselves up as voluntary sacrifices to my rod. Perhaps I should thank the nut-case. And perhaps not.

While I was cleaning my fish I found I could easily keep track of the rabid Social Justice Warrior. She was moving along the river bank, chastising any fishermen she found. They tended to mumble and move away, probably afraid she'd bite them. She also visited campsites, complaining if people had small campfires (wasting out national resources) and complaining if they had gas stoves (polluting the atmosphere).

She strolled along, happy as could be, leaving a trail of irritation behind her, spreading her version of truth.

I finished up putting my catch in my icebox, keeping my dinner fresh until that evening. After that I had a snack for lunch, cleaned my reel and untangling the line (thinking nasty thoughts about that idiot woman while I did so) and then trotted down to the river to see if I could catch something else.

I caught something else, all right. She came up from behind and screamed in my ear. That's what it felt like, anyway.

"What do you think you're doing? I told you earlier that fishing offends me. How dare you start doing it again? Have you no sensibilities for peoples' sensitivities?"

"No. None," I said cheerfully. "If you don't like to witness people fishing then don't come down to a camping spot where that is the main activity. Personally, I have to say that you offend me. You are deliberately trying to upset people who are engaging in a legitimate activity simply because you can, using the feeble excuse that it offends you. Now do us both a favour and piss off."

"I'll do no such thing. I have a right to protest activities that I consider detrimental to nature and you can't make me leave."

"Actually, the river is currently overstocked," I pointed out. "What I and the other fishermen are doing is culling the herd you might say, removing excess fish so that the remainder may thrive. Are you against natural selection? The dumb fish get caught and the smart fish don't. This means that the smart fish live to breed, improving the genus as a whole."

She spluttered a bit, trying to find the right name to call me. She promptly rejected my whole argument on the spot, which showed she had the rudiments of common sense.

"That's nonsense and you know it," she snarled. "You're just a vicious animal torturing those fish for no reason."

"My dinner is reason enough. Stick around for a few more minutes. I've just hooked a nice one. You can watch as it does a futile fight for its life."

She made a lunge for the rod but I was ready this time and easily fended her off. Was it my fault that she slipped and fell in the water? Well, yes, actually. I did trip her just a tiny bit and down she went. While she was spluttering and trying to get out of the water I moved a little further downstream, successfully landing a nice trout. She retired in high dudgeon, trailing curses as she went. She didn't bother me for the rest of the afternoon. (Others weren't so lucky.)

When dinner time rolled around I got out my camp-stove and grabbed some of my catch to fry. A little butter and some seasoning and the fish were staring to smell delicious. To me, anyway.

"You're cooking those fish!" she yelled at me. (Did she ever just talk normally, I wondered.)

"Indeed. Smell great, don't they."

"No, they don't. It smells repulsive. I'm offended that you should cook these when you know I'm camped here. I don't eat meat and the thought of someone else doing so makes me feel quite ill. You'll have to stop cooking them right now or I'll be lodging a complaint."

"For a start, they're not meat," I informed her. "They're fish. Meat lives on the land and eats vegetation or other meat. Fish live in the water and eat muck and other fish. These are definitely fish that used to eat muck. I know this because I had to clean out the muck when I cleaned them."

"Fish are still living creatures and you have no right to kill and eat them. You're a cannibal."

"Plants are living things. If you eat them you're eating something that's alive. How does killing a plant make you better than someone who kills a fish to eat it? All of nature works on an eat or be eaten basis."

"Plants aren't animals. Are you going to stop polluting the atmosphere with the smell of that fish?"

"After careful consideration my answer would have to be no. If I stop the fish will be spoiled and not only would be a waste but the smell of rotting fish would be disgusting. It's already dead, I assure you, and I don't think it cares what happens to its mortal remains. I care. I'm hungry."

She gave me a furious look and, not trusting her in the slightest, I hastily moved between her and the stove. Just in time, too, as she was already trying to kick the stove over. She missed the stove, mainly because my shin was in the way.

Things did not escalate past that as a park ranger was wandering past and he stopped to see what the problem was. The SJW explained loudly and clearly that she was offended and it was all my fault. I politely explained there was no law against offending someone as being offended was their personal choice.

The park ranger sided with me, ordering her to return to her camp and to stop bothering other campers. Apparently he'd had other complaints about the woman and he warned her that if there were any more she'd be asked to leave. She retired to her camp, I thanked the ranger, and then finished cooking my fish. Very tasty it was, too.

A while later it was rapidly getting darker. Not all that dark as there was a full moon that cast quite a strong light. Not that that was going to last. There were clouds gathering. Still, it was bright enough that I could see her camp but not light enough to show campsites further away. As most of the camps had some type of light I doubted any of them could see my camp.

"I suppose you're feeling real proud of yourself, complaining about me to the authorities," came her voice, not yelling for a change.

"I didn't," I pointed out. "I had no need to. Some of the other campers might have complained but where I'm concerned the ranger witnessed your ill-mannered behaviour for himself. You can be offended at him for seeing it and doing his duties but you can't be offended at me for his actions."

Actually, she probably could. Some people have a never ending capacity to be offended and I suspected that she was one of them.

"The whole thing was your fault," she said, her voice getting louder. "You deliberately went fishing after I asked you not to and then cooked that fish when you knew I was a vegan."

"You didn't ask, you tried to order, and how was I to know that you were vegan? I mean, you were wearing a leather belt and a leather top. Besides, vegans normally announce the sacrifice they are making by being vegan as soon as they meet someone."

"Excuse me but I asked politely. My belt is manmade material, by the way, and my top is suede, not leather."

"Point one. If the belt was manmade then it was probably a type of plastic. That makes it oil-based. Oil originates from decomposed animal bodies. Admittedly they died millions of years ago but they were animals. Point two. Suede is a type of leather. Generally made from the soft under-belly of goats, so your top was and is leather. You need to get your facts straight."

Perhaps I shouldn't have smiled when I told her that. It wasn't really her fault that she didn't know suede was a type of leather and the plastic equals oil equals animal was sketchy in the extreme. I only said it to offend her.

Was she offended? Was she what! She hauled off and slapped me across the face, hard. I was able to turn my head and miss most of the blow but it still hurt. I was now officially pissed at this trouble-maker.

There was the stump of a tree next to my tent. Felled sometime in the past the stump had historically provided me with a convenient seat several times, the latest being while I ate my dinner. It now did so once more. I sat down, catching her arm and dragging her across my lap. I held her in position quite effortlessly while my hand came down hard on her bottom with the first spank.

She took a deep breath but before she could scream I gave her a word of warning.

"If you scream other campers will probably come to see what's happening. When they realise it's you getting spanked I suspect that their most likely course of action will be to stay and watch, probably cheering me on. I think you've probably offended everyone here with your antics today."

I gave her another hard spank and she was making noises through a closed mouth. She wanted to scream but she didn't dare risk having other people come and watch. She was wearing tights or yoga pants. I didn't care which as they could both be treated the same way. I just took hold and dragged them down, exposing her bottom to the moonlight.

"Hey, what are you doing?" she wailed and I explained.

"With your tights out of the way I can see your bottom better. This will help me judge how hard I'm spanking you. We wouldn't want to bruise this cute bottom, now would we?"

I patted her bottom to indicate what we wouldn't want to bruise. Okay, so maybe I pulled her tights down a little further than necessary, and maybe the way she was bent over my knees meant that her mound was a bit more on display than intended. Not really my fault. (So many things weren't my fault today.) Patting her mound instead of her bottom was just one of those things. (Her horrified squeak indicated she didn't have quite the same blasé reaction to the patting.)

I resumed the spanking, letting her know all my little grievances. Being a conscientious worker I rubbed her bottom after each spank, just soothing her bottom a little. If my hand sometimes rubbed against her mound instead of her bottom, well, it was exposed, so that sort of thing could happen.

Things wound down to a finish with my hand resting lightly on her bottom. I just continued to rub the area lightly while I considered the situation. I had an erection that felt that it was going to rip its way out of my trousers. On the other hand there was sufficient light for me to see that her vulva was flushed and swollen, her lips protruding and seeming to want to kiss my hand.

I swung her to her feet, facing me. She made no effort to cover her groin, just standing there on display. I pushed her tights and panties further down, meeting no objection.

"Lift your feet," I told her, pushing her things right off as she lifted them one at a time.

"Now lift your arms," I prompted, lifting her top up.

"What? Why?" she wanted to know.

"Because I'm going to take your top off," I said reasonable. "I have to if I'm going to see you totally naked."

"But, but," she mumbled, apparently wanting to protest, but I ignored that, lifting her top higher, not really surprised when she lifted her arms to let me lift her top up over her head.

I turned her around and unhooked her bra, turning her back to face me as I slipped the straps off her shoulders and guided them down her arms. Just like that she was naked, blushing and trying not to look at me.

I stood and faced her, stripping off my own top as I did so. Then it was a simple matter to drop my trousers and step out of them. Now she was really blushing and looking away. I pulled her towards me so that her body was flush against mine. I could feel her body pressing against me, especially her lovely breasts. I had no doubt that for her part she could feel me pressing against her, especially the way my erection was wedged against her tummy.

She gave a sudden start and pushed against me, putting some room between us.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"I would have thought it was obvious," I said, reaching out and stroking one lovely breast. "You have a lovely body and right now it's in the mood for some loving attention." To emphasise the mood her body was in I let my other hand move between her legs, rubbing against her vulva. I could feel the heat and moistness there and there was no way she could deny it. Well, she could, but she'd have been lying.

"I'm not having sex with you and you can't make me. It offends me that you'd even try." she stated, trying to sound as though she meant it.

"It would probably offend you even more if I don't try. I'll tell you what I'm going to do so you can have all your offences lined up. In a moment or two I'm going to drag you into my tent, push you down onto my sleeping bag, and introduce you to my, ah, manly parts. I will appreciate your full cooperation."

"Not going to happen," she insisted.

"I see. How do you propose to stop me? I suppose you can go and hide in your own tent. It looks a little small for me to chase you into it. Are you going to run and hide?"

(While talking I was still stroking her breast and vulva and she didn't seem to be interested in stopping me. For someone who wasn't going to have sex she had an odd way of showing it.)

"It's offensive for you to imply that I'm the one who has to back off," she snapped at me.

"Is there anything that you don't find offensive?" I asked, genuinely curious. I suspected that she could find offence at just about anything she wanted. "What I find offensive is the way you've been leading me on all day and now you're suddenly suggesting that you want to back off. It's not nice for girls to do that sort of thing."

She looked rather shocked. "Leading you on? I've been doing no such thing," she denied. "I haven't led you on in any way whatsoever." She sounded rather indignant.

"Then how is it that you're standing in front of me nakedly flaunting your body? You enticed me into spanking you, knowing that would arouse me. You're letting me touch you intimately without the slightest protest and now you say you're not luring me on?"

"I'm not letting you touch me. You're just doing that. I can't stop you."

"You didn't even try. You just stood close to me and let me touch. What else am I expected to believe?"

"You're deliberately twisting things and you know it," she snapped.

"Maybe," I half admitted, moving my hand from her breast to her elbow and turning her towards my tent. "You, however, were advised to go back to your own camp or be pulled into my tent and here you are, waiting." I leaned down and snatched hold of our clothes. (They'd be needed later and I suspected that it was about to rain.)

"I'm not getting in your tent," she snapped, "and you can't make me."

"I fully realise that. Watch your head." I pressed my hand on her head, causing her to bob slightly as she entered.

"I said I'm not coming in here," she snapped, a little late in my opinion.

"Yes, I know," I agreed. "Ah, just get on your hands and knees on the sleeping bag."

A touch of my knee behind hers and her leg buckled and she found herself sinking down onto her knees. A little bit of pressure on her back and she leaned forward, finishing up on hands and knees as requested. I simply knelt behind her, one hand back massaging her pussy while the other was around her, stroking her breast.

"You stop this," she protested, speaking firmly but not very loudly.

I took the easiest expedient of simply ignoring her. I had no doubt that she could feel the length of me protruding between her legs with enough upwards kick to press me against her slit. I didn't even have to make any demands, her hand coming around to help steer and ensure I was properly lined up, all the time being offended at what I was doing and forcing her to do.