I like sex. I do. I’ve just never felt overcome by it. I want to feel that.
Ever since I admitted to Max this fantasy that I have—what, maybe four years ago?—she’s been begging me to get involved in this community and, above all, to come to camp.
I tried to tell my ex about my fantasy a couple months ago, which led him to break up with me. It knocked me flat on my ass. Then Mom’s doc had the audacity to agree with Mom when she mentioned that I looked tired and stressed and needed a vacation.
So, here I am. Ready to give it a try. It’s probably not exactly what Mom—or the nosy doctor—meant byvacation, but hey. I’m here, right?
“You know what?” I tell Max. “I’m just gonna go.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“No.” I lift a hand, giving her a smile to soften the refusal. “I need to do this on my own. Like, you know, to get into it, I guess.”
“Oh, right. I can see that. Like, walk alone and get all…”
What’s she gonna say? Creeped out? Scared? Horny? I don’t think any of those are right, but I do know I need a transition of some sort between this real life I’ve always lived and the fantasy I’m finally diving into. “Acclimated,” I finally tell her. From her knowing smile, I can tell the therapist in her loves that. “Later, gator.”
“Whatever, crocodile.”
I wave and smile and start down the path that leads into the quickly darkening woods and the designated spot. It’s my second time heading over there today. The first gave me a chance to check out the scene, sort of envision it, and also make sure I could run around without, you know, tripping on branches, or falling into a pile of poison ivy. What I noticed was, though the spot he’s selected is wooded, it’s been entirely cleared of underbrush. There’s not a single poison ivy leaf, much less a stone to trip on or a low-hanging branch to run into. Whoever’s in charge here really knows what they’re doing.
That attention to detail, probably more than anything else, calms me as I walk past a group of people singing show tunes around a campfire that provides my last glimmer of artificial light.
There’s no moon tonight to light my way through the trees. When the sun sets entirely, it’ll be pitch black.
That’s what he wants.
I force myself to take deep, measured breaths and slow my pace. It smells like campfires out here. Like safety.
Turning around, I remind myself, is still an option. It’s always an option.
Still, I go forward, placing one foot, then the other. Marching towards this fate I’ve chosen.
The sound of spanking and laughter and singing fades into the background, replaced by the chirping of insects and the crunch of my feet on leaves. It smells different here. Like pine needles and rot. I pass a person wearing an orange arm band, who nods and then ignores me. Security.
This is it.
I get the wildest urge to call out, like the first one to die in a horror movie, and then, because this is it—this ismyfantasy, dammit—I open my mouth and do it. “Hello?” My voice is lost to the night sky, soaked up by rough bark and damp ground and the calls of a million little creatures. I don’t know why, but suddenly, I need to be heard, byhim. “Anybody here?” I make the shaky words carry this time and, God, it’s weird, but I think he hears me. I think he likes it.
A stick breaks to my right and I jump, not quite holding in a squeak.
He’s heard me.
Oh, shit. I can’t breathe. I’m going to hyperventilate. My belly’s a mess of right and wrong and what the fuck am I doing? Forcing myself to stop, I shut my eyes and slow it all down—the fear and excitement blasting through my veins, the chaotic mess in my mind.
Another footfall, closer this time. The sound so definite, so clear that it centers me.
I have one job here. One. It’s to run. Run and get caught and—
No, just run. He’ll do the rest.
Ready…Set…
I take off like my life depends on it, like there’s nothing but the rhythm of thrumming blood in my veins, the slap of my feet to the uneven ground, the harsh scrub of air over my dry, tight throat.
The dark’s closing in. Branches come out of nowhere, roots trip me up. My lungs burn way too fast.
He’s back there, his footfalls loud and careless. This monster’s not sneaking around, trying to be quiet. He thrashes and pounds, breaks through whatever’s in his way.
