I needed to be fucked. But none of the boys I knew, would ever make a move and I was really afraid of looking like a slut. I couldn't talk to anyone I...knew about my sex obsession. My friends were all virgins, and would probably think I was weird if I told them how much I needed to be fucked. So every day I suffered, almost feeling like I was going completely mad with this burning need to have a dick inside me.In my time in summer school I met this pothead girl. Her name was Sarah. She had red. There were a lot of desperate people aboutand the last thing we wanted was to call attention to our location. Whenwe'd eaten, Helmut strung a spool of fishing line at low level aroundnearby trees, the end of which was attached to a small cow bell in thetent. If anyone tried to creep up on us while we slept this wouldhopefully wake us. The tent was military green rather than white, one ofthose single-person ones that two people can only sleep in together ifthey cuddle up close under their. More

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