This actually happened to Lenore years ago, in haste, in the woods, on
the ground in a thicket, on a national holiday. It happened at a picnic
in a public campground. We had recently reconciled after an unpleasant
separation during which she sallied forth in the then new fashion of the
liberated woman, to define herself in the serial admiration of various
men, much to my helpless rage and pitiable dismay. She still favored the
kind of form-fitting slut-ranger garb she used to prowl in. In fact, she
looks Today she was wearing form-fitting (she had no other kind) dark
blue corduroy slacks over a sheer light blue flower patterned, long
sleeved leotard with buttons to the navel and a snap crotch. I forgot to
ask if she was braless under it. She didn’t need one then, and she still
doesn’t but it’s possible she wore one of those little no-bras that did
nothing but conceal--barely. There’s a lot of sentiment attached to that
leotard, so I got it out of her stuff and dropped it on the scanner with
some Polaroids of her wearing it during show and tell and a couple of
others and scanned the whole thing to post with this when I figure out
how. Not very artistic, but it goes with the story, as they say, down to
the missing snap which was torn out by a young stranger passionately
taking advantage of the extraordinary opportunity to take down and fuck
the very sexy fortyish women woman he’d been staring at since she
arrived at the picnic with her friends.
 He was very young, I hope not TOO young (for the record), and rather
boyish and slim, fair and smooth and good-looking in a pretty way, with
long blonde hair to his shoulders after the lingering but quickly fading
fashion of Aquarius. She thinks she spoke first because she had become
aware that every time she turned to look at him, he was staring back at
her with  open admiration. That approach used to really get to Lenore.
After a while she excused herself and found a semi-concealed area in the
woods about  a hundred feet from the others and toked on a roach she’d
sneaked into the county. They found each other again soon after she
returned to the picnic area, and the next time she went off for another
hit she says she felt obliged to invite him to accompany her, in spite
of being quite aware that he was already over-stimulated. Yeah, right.
They sat together on a log and shared a joint and talked. Two stoned
people sitting very close, hidden in a thicket; a lovely, but spaced
redhead and a very horny young guy. When he leaned to kiss her she
responded with a little mock resistance and then allowed him to fondle
her breasts and reach between her legs to feel her cunt and find a way
to open  her pants but these had a zipper on one side which she lowered
while he groped, and with a couple of hops she dropped her slacks and
tossed them over a low branch and undid the buttons on the front of the
leotard so he could put his hand under it. He’d been wearing a light
jacket which he shrugged off and spread on the ground for her to lie on.
He dropped his pants to his ankles and knelt between her open legs and
reached for the chrome snaps fastening the crotch and tore the first one
from the fabric in his haste. The next two unsnapped easily and she
helped him pull it up, all the way up under her arms to expose her
breasts completely to him. As Lenore tells it, she was anxious to get
this rather willful and reckless act of public congress over with. He
was between her legs, kneeling and already hard and indicating earnestly
that youth shall be served, so she reached for his cock to guide him
into her, but he brushed her hand away and pushed hard, accurately but
roughly. She remembers his long, blonde hair swinging over her and
brushing her face as he fucked her. A couple of times he softened and
slipped out, she thinks because she wasn’t sufficiently lubricated, but
each time he immediately got hard again and went on for five minutes or
so, short, hard quick plunges alternating with slow dragging pulls until
he came in her in a great rush and with what Lenore remembers as enough
passion to cause her to bleed a little. She was touched when he lay next
to her and brushed out  the fragments of twigs and leaves that had
gotten in her hair. She was less than touched when she noticed him take
a furtive whiff of his fingers when he thought she wasn’t looking. They
dressed, brushed each other off and returned to the picnic area trying
to look casual and failing badly. A loud female voice sang out to no one
and everyone in a persnickety, blue-nosed whine, “I SURE HOPE SHE HAD A
GOOD TIME!”
 So that’s the story as far as my almost professionally discreet probing
has taken it. Somewhere out there is a forty year old guy who knows it’s
true, if not entirely complete. I imagine his eye falling on the scan
of the leotard with the missing snap and the pictures and I wonder what
HE could add. I wonder if he’d recall what a fierce hurry he was in,
kneeling on the dirt in a thicket between Lenore’s open legs, just out
of hearing distance of the revelers, with a rigid, impatient cock
bobbing in a shaft of the afternoon sun, fumbling at three tiny chromed
snaps, and in his hurry, ripping one out of the fabric? Does he look
back on that day with just a little of the appreciation that I do? I
wasn’t even there, but I sure was an adolescent once, and in a large way I still am.
Regards,Quelkin