The Life of a Hoosier Farm Girl Ch. 01

We had a nice time, talking and laughing. We had a lot of things in common, and the same kind of sense of humor. I really liked Josh, almost right away. It was too early in the season for mosquitoes, so we lingered at the lake into the evening. Joshua made a fire as the sun began to set. We toasted marshmallows, and we began to make out. Joshua began to undress me.

I said, "People could see us, Joshua." I did not see anyone about, but you never know. A lot of people liked to frequent the lake, and it was a beautiful evening.

"You're too pretty to hide, Nancy. I need to enjoy your body, to gaze at the beauty of you naked," he said.

"Flatterer," I said as he kissed me and continued to undress me. When all I had on was my panties, I noticed some men were hiding nearby and watching us. I must have been quite the sight, almost naked and illuminated by the campfire.

Knowing there were several voyeurs, I kissed Joshua with more passion as we made out. Encouraged, he removed my panties, and I even raised my hips to help him. "Stand up," I said. I wanted to stand to give the voyeurs the full show of my entire nudity. I wanted them to see all of me. Of course, this I told to no one.

Josh stood up and I removed his shirt, unbuckled his belt and pants, and pushed down his pants and briefs, letting his hard cock spring out. "Yummy," I said, and I knelt down and took his appealing cock into my mouth. I gave him a blowjob, mostly to show off for the unknown voyeurs.

After a while, Josh stopped my ministrations. He lay me down and was about to fuck me. "I want to be on top," I said.

We had never fucked before, but Josh realized he had a live one here. He was not surprised, given what his friend Steve/Zachary had told him. Nevertheless, he was thrilled. He lay down, his cock sticking straight up into the air. I lowered myself down onto his cock, whooping and hollering as if I were riding a bull. As the fuck progressed, I got sexier, with less fun time whoops and more groaning and moaning. But I was still loud, as I was always aware of the voyeurs, and my desire to put on a show for them.

Near the end, I said, "Take me from behind." I got off him, and Josh enthusiastically took me rear entry, holding onto my hips. It was great: his cock went deeper inside me in this position, and he was doing the pumping, not me. But mostly, I wanted this position to give the voyeurs yet another view. Maybe they would like seeing my boobs dangling below me, bouncing around as Josh fucked me silly? I hoped so.

Indeed, I'm pretty sure it was my heightened awareness of the presence of the anonymous voyeurs that made it easy for me to climax, and boy: climax I did! I'm sure Josh thought he was Mr. Macho making this sexpot (me) cum. But really the credit is due to the presence of the voyeurs. They'll never know all they did to help Josh completely to possess me, I'm sure.

When Josh shot his load deep inside me, we both collapsed. As Josh lay on top of me, totally spent, we both heard distant applause from the voyeurs, and some laughing. Josh stood up, looked frantically around, but all he saw was some bushes rustling as the voyeurs walked or ran away. I just stayed on the ground, smiling inwardly. I was glad they enjoyed the show.

I was never the same after that. I was now a committed exhibitionist.

After my campfire fuck, men kept coming after me in, if anything, increased numbers. I guess Josh or the voyeurs spread the word about what had happened at that lake. Hell, some of the men coming after me may even have been the voyeurs themselves. I didn't know, but the idea aroused me that some of them could have been the voyeurs.

During this subsequent hectic period of male attention, I preferred one man at a time, but sometimes I was manipulated into taking on two men at once. Manipulating me to do things like that was much too easy. I was like an animal in heat. I lost all self-respect.

Eventually Clovis felt guilty for having diffused the compromising pictures and videos of me. He had discovered my meds during a follow-up fun time in the sack together. He saw the bottle of meds on my bathroom counter when he used the toilet at my place. Men always seem to use the toilet after sex. He was in med school, and he suspected what was going on. Bless his heart, he contacted my doctor.

I had to drop out of the study, and by four weeks later the side effect symptoms had disappeared, but sadly my depression returned. Still, the effects of the meds lingered in two ways: the first is that even though my depression returned, it was not nearly so bad. The second is that sexually I was not the same woman I had been with Bill. I never did regain the normal level of inhibitions a woman needs to be reasonable. I was no longer absurdly so, but I was still a much too easy lay.

Sexy Nancy, the Slut of Brown County, was no more. I was kind of back to my old reasonably conservative self, a nice, polite, and modest woman, unless a man seduced me. Then I was a wild woman. It was awkward, because it took quite a while for the men of Brown County to realize I would no longer easily spread my legs for any man that came along. They did not know about the meds. Quite naturally, they all assumed I became an amazing slut when I was drunk, and so they all tried to get me drunk.

One man became outraged when he took me to dinner, next to a movie, got me thoroughly drunk, but I nevertheless said no to sex. (He smelled, he was dirty [literally dirty: the man needed a shower] and he was gross.) But he was not going to take no for an answer.

That was my first time as a victim of date rape. Sadly, it was not my only time, as you shall learn if you read this entire story. He was a large man; I am a small woman. Some torn clothes, some rather bad bruises, and a lot of screaming later, and he left me. He had filled me with his cum and I was a broken woman, left alone, crying in my bed.

My dear departed husband Bill had beaten me when he was having a nasty drunk, but he had never raped me. Beating is bad enough, but rape, no matter how promiscuous I once was, is incomparably worse. I reported the rape. A woman claiming rape in Brown County is all too common, sadly, and it is not well enough received by the police. Given my reputation, it turned out to be pointless to have reported it.

The man was a classic Hoosier. He was white trash from way back. He was a bad hombre, that's for sure.

To my credit I guess, the rape slowed down my dating, but it did not stop it. Several more men succeeded to get me drunk, but their assumption was false: It was not booze that made me a slut. It had been the meds. The meds were gone now, and so was the slut. I had always been on the pill, due to severe menstrual cramps, so I did not get pregnant. But it was simply extraordinary good luck that I also did not get an STD.

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Nobody again tried to rape me. Granted, I was now more careful. Eventually I began again to trust men again. It's my nature to do so. Trusting the man Mike I met at the Women's March in DC, however, proved to be a near fatal mistake.