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From: Erin.Halfelven@lsnewsr1.we.mediaone.net (joyce@qnez.com)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2001 21:58:48 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} Private Weather [ f-mast voy ]
Date: Tue, 17 Apr 2001 07:10:03 -0400
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Copyright 1998, 2000, 2001 by Erin Halfelven. All Rights Reserved.

----------------------

Private Weather

by Erin Halfelven



I was twelve. The family went on a camping trip to a county campground
by a lake with my Mom's sisters and some other families. Girl cousins
near my age had not come along as I had thought they would. The first
morning, all the guys went fishing. I hate fishing, so after
breakfast, I went back to bed in the little camper shell my dad had
built.

Mom and the other ladies bustled around the camp gossiping about
people who weren't there. I stayed in our camper. I was feeling weird,
my nipples had recently become very sensitive and Mom had told me I
would probably soon start bleeding. I wished Betty or Paula were
there, girl cousins my age, we might have talked about it. But Paula's
family had not come and Betty had stayed behind with friends.

I felt alone. We had recently moved after living for three years on
the edge of the desert. We had moved closer to town. I had switched
schools in the middle of the second semester of the seventh grade. I
knew a few kids in the new school -- I'd gone to school with some of
them in the first to fourth grade when we had lived in town.

I felt alone and different. I napped a little and woke up with one
hand inside my panties and the other across my chest. Playing with my
nipples and pussy felt good so I did some of that in the darkened
camper. I got more excited the more I did it. It just kept feeling
better and better. 

I'd done this before but it hadn't felt like this. I didn't want to
stop. Something felt different in my pussy, warm and damp and a little
hard spot near the top I didn't remember noticing before. 

I'd been warned about playing with myself. I wondered if I'd damaged
something so I kept investigating.  The wetness smelled interesting,
very interesting. I wanted to taste it but thought that was too
disgusting.

My excitement made my fingers move faster and faster. I was lying
there with just my panties around my thighs. My titties had a little
shape to them because I was chubby but the training bra I wasn't
wearing still had the padding in it. I kept rubbing one hand across my
chest, making the hard little nipples send shivers up my neck and down
my back while my fingers moved faster and faster.

I must have made some noise because Mom said, "If you're awake in
there, get up. We want you to walk down to the store and bring back
some things."

I froze, almost aching with the desire to continue. I knew if I said I
was sick, Mom would come to see about me. I'd gone back to bed after
breakfast when I found out all the guys were going fishing, even my
little brother, only four years old.

Other young cousins and the children of my parents' friends whooped
and hollered under the trees. I knew if I got up I'd be assigned the
task of watching the little ones as soon as someone thought of it.
This was late May, my thirteenth birthday was less than three months
away. 

I wanted to stay a kid a little while longer but I knew what I was
experiencing was part of what it meant to be  a grown- up. "I'm
getting up," I said. "I have to go to the bathroom." I gave myself a
few more quick strokes. The light of the sun seemed about to break in
through the walls of the home-made camper shell.

Whispering to myself warnings about getting caught doing what I was
doing, I pulled my panties up and pulled on jeans over them. The jeans
had gotten very tight in the last few months or so because my butt had
gotten bigger. When I zipped them up, my pussy was pressed firmly
against the seam in my crotch.

I liked that feeling. I pulled the jeans higher on my waist so they
felt even tighter then I added a belt even though I really didn't need
one. I wanted to keep the jeans riding high and the belt pulled the
top of them up to my waist, increasing the pressure on my pussy.

I shivered a little, pressing my thighs together and moving my hips
slowly in a circular motion. I picked the loosest blouse I'd brought
with me. A stiff cotton broadcloth that I knew would rub against my
nipples every time I moved. That sounded good right then, so I didn't
put on the little padded bra.

I took a washcloth, a towel, clean panties, a roll of toilet paper and
my hairbrush and nonchalantly climbed out of the pickup bed. I stuck
my feet into flip-flop sandals and walked past the ladies talking
about people who weren't there. The sun seemed so bright it made a
roaring noise in my ears.

Every movement excited me. The tightened jeans pressed on my pussy,
the rough shirt sawed on my nipples. I felt my breath catch in my
throat when my Mom spoke to me. "Hurry up. We need milk and bread and
eggs and butter. Are you going to take a bath? You had one last
night."

I thought they would surely know everything if I used my voice but I
turned back to Mom and said, "No, just a spit bath and I need to pee."
She nodded and I trudged on toward the bathroom.

With every step the seam of my jeans worked its way further into me.
The sun roared and the wind sighed in the trees. The rough cotton
against my little titties made me realize that they actually jiggled
when I walked. I stiffened my ankles to increase the effect.

A woman walked into the bathroom ahead of me. Someone from another
nearby camp. I didn't know her but the roundness of her ass in her
brown pedal-pushers seemed to increase the feelings in my groin and
chest. She was a bit heavy and her ass bounced a bit with each step.

She had a towel and soap and shampoo. She went into the shower room
unbuttoning her blouse as she went. She closed the door and I went
into a toilet stall.

I stood there for a moment. I squeezed my thighs together. I rubbed my
breasts through the blouse. I tried to press the seam of my jeans
against the little nubbin I had found earlier. I banged my elbows
against the sides of the stall as little explosions ripped through me
and my breath came in ragged gasps.

I really had to pee. I used toilet paper to cover the black plastic
seat. I undid the belt and pulled my jeans down. Peeing was a relief.

I lingered about cleaning myself. The rough paper sent little jolts
through me when I wiped dampness off my pussy. I felt the little hairs
I had recently grown there and I knew they meant I was growing up.

I took the old, nearly theadbare washcloth and rolled it into a tight
little bundle. I put it inside my panties, against my twat. The rough
texture made me want to squeal.

I pulled the panties tight, holding the little roll of terrycloth
against me through the soft white cotton. I pulled my jeans up. Then I
folded the clean panties into a little rectangle and pushed this down
into my crotch between the panties I already wore and the jeans. I
thought the padding would conceal the little roll of the terrycloth.

I pulled the jeans up, tight, to my waist. It took some adjusting to
get the little roll and the extra padding just right. I zipped the
jeans, forcing the rough terrycloth against me, almost into my cunt.
The extra padding definitely increased the feeling.

I pulled the jeans up, tightened the belt, pulled them up and
tightened it again. I used the last notch on the belt; it felt like it
would cut me in two. I wished I had a wide belt like my father used.

I stuck the towel up under my blouse and rubbed my breasts with its
roughness. I squeezed my thighs together, pressing my twat against the
roll I had concealed in my jeans. My knees locked. A really big bubble
seemed to swell up inside me and burst, again and again.

The white many-times-painted-and-re-painted wall of the stall felt
cool against my forehead and my arms as I leaned against it. I
recovered enough of my composure to consider whether I should remove
the little roll of washcloth and the padding. What if somebody could
see it? I bumped my head on the stall walls trying to get a good look
at my own crotch.

Someone else came into the bathroom. That decided me. I flushed the
toilet, folded the towel around my soap and hairbrush and stepped out
of the stall. Goosebumps chased each other down my arms and up my
back. The woman who had just entered opened the door to the shower
stall, saw that it was occupied, apologized and closed the door. 

I thought that was pretty dumb and rude, with the sounds of water
running she ought to have known the shower was in use. Maybe she
thought some dumb kid had left the water running.

She saw my towel. "Oh, are you next?" she asked. I nodded. "Well, I
guess I'll come back later then." She took her roll of shower things
and left.

I walked carefully to the sinks. I washed my hands and face, drying
them with the towel I had rubbed against my breasts. I used my
hairbrush. I listened to the shower.

Before I left the bathroom, I opened the shower stall door, looked
inside, apologized and closed the door again. The woman inside smiled
at me, puzzled and perhaps annoyed to be interrupted twice. She didn't
know me and I didn't know her. 

The water made beads on her face, her lips, her nipples. Her bush was
darkly stained with it. I had often seen other girls and women naked.
Betty and I had showered together here only last summer. But looking
at this naked woman now was different. Her breasts were heavy and lay
against her chest with a deep fold under them. She wasn't too old,
younger than my mother.

I wanted to feel her wet skin against me. I knew this was as wrong as
what I had been doing in the camper or what I had done with the roll
of washcloth in my jeans. But it felt right.

I used the room near the sinks to check the appearance of my jeans.
Nothing showed. Then I left, walking slowly back to our campsite,
thighs scissoring past each other as I placed one foot directly in
front of another. I wondered if this was why older girls wriggled
their hips so much. Sensation rippled through me and my nipples seemed
to glow right through the heavy blouse.

I put my towel and hairbrush away and took the shopping list from my
Mom when I got back. I walked the half-mile to the country store
outside the campground. All the way, the sun roared and the trees
sighed and tremors shook my body.

I bought eggs and milk and bread and butter from the lady in the
store. She smiled at me and treated me like a little girl. I thought
she was pretty and watched her for awhile. Her hair was long and
blonde and she wore it pulled back in a ponytail. I bought myself an
orange soda with the change and looked at the magazine rack. I drank
the soda and got the deposit back.

I walked back to our campsite through internal thunders and bright
flashes of my own very private weather. Outside the sun was warm and
the wind was cool in the shadows of the trees.  Everything had edges
like in an engraving.  Brown tree trunks, green needles, blue sky,
dirt-colored dirt; all the colors just like I invented them. The belt
began to chafe my waist, I didn't want to loosen it, though. My crotch
felt damp and hot but the jeans were still dry on the outside when I
felt of them.

I took the groceries to Mom and started helping to fix lunch. My
four-year-old brother had caught a fish but no one else had. We were
having hot dogs. No one seemed to notice anything odd about me. 

My brother was very excited, chattering about the fish he had caught.
"What happened to it?" I asked. 

"We 'froo it back. It was too little," he said. "Dad's gonna take me
back after lunch and I'm gonna catch a big one." Dad laughed, nodding.
All the guys were going back to try fishing again.

"Where'd you catch it? Did you have a special place? How come no one
else caught any?" I asked.

My brother giggled, impressed with his own prowess. "In the lake,
'cause I fished better."

"I know in the lake, silly. Where?"

"Over dere." He pointed across the end of the lake, about a mile
following the trail around the edge.

"Maybe I'll go with you this time," I said, half teasing.

"You wanna fish, too?"

"No, I'll just go out there with you and come right back." I said.  "I
need a nice long walk this afternoon."

------------------------------------------------------------ 
Copyright 1998, 2000, 2001 by Erin Halfelven. All Rights Reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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