A walk on the moors

Recently I was having a conversation with Hail4Leather (yes the same Hailey who is the main character in the “always pull your curtains” series) and asked her about fantasies & dreams. She wrote back with a fantastic deion of being ravaged by a pack of werewolves.

With her permission and involvement I took her words and ‘topped & tailed” them to turn it into a story and therefore the result is very much a joint effort and she should take the main of the praise for the ‘interesting’ bits as all I did was the dull stuff round the outside.

*****

“Fucking men.” I swore out loud as I tried to work out what was the best way to walk back to the holiday homes where I was staying with my parents. Cursing myself for agreeing to take a free family holiday as I should have known better at 19 years of age to even remotely think that it might have been fun. The only thing that was a bit of a laugh was the local lads who hung about the camp hoping to get off with the female holiday makers. I had let a few have a fumble and a feel but no way was I going any further, after all I had a regular boyfriend back home.

It was one of the locals who had taken me out for a spin in his car and bought me a few drinks in a quaint old country pub in a place with the silliest name you had ever heard. Widecombe-in-the-moor indeed, should have been called Widecombe-in-the-dullest-shithole in the world. After a couple of drinks clearly the lad thought that this was his invitation to get inside my knickers, which he was sadly mistaken. On reflection, perhaps I should have let him take me home before I jumped out of the car giving him the full benefit of my Romford vocabulary using words that would have made a docker blush.

As the car lights faded into the distance I decided that as it was a full moon there was no reason I shouldn’t be able to walk, after all I was pretty fit and kept myself in good shape. Drawing myself up to my full 5’7″ I set my shoulders back to thrust out my 34B breasts and took a deep breath, flicking my curly brown hair away from my face as I took stock of the situation. Looking up and down the country road I knew from when I had studied the map that the camp was four or five miles away if I followed the stupid country roads but less than a mile across the fields What harm could there be apart from being savaged by a wild sheep I thought giggling to myself as I clambered over the gate and set off across the field.

Even though it was the summer as the mist started to drop causing a chill to enter the air and the damp seemed to permeate my bones through the thin summer cotton dress I wore.