“Start talking. Who are you and why are you here?”.I was scared and could see no point in trying to make up a story to bluff my way out. “I’m a cyclist, out for some exercise, that’s all,” I said, making eye contact with Bill so he could see how sincere I was. “I saw that sign, “Backstage Pass”, and took the trail just to see where it led. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just scared when I heard you coming so I took cover.”“Why didn’t you just keep riding when you heard us?” one asked roughly.It was a good question, and again I felt that honesty was the only way I was going to get out of this. I dug deep into my psyche, took a breath, and said, “Out here in the woods, away from prying eyes, I get turned on. My libido goes into overdrive. I have all these depraved and orgiastic sex fantasies about what I would do to a woman in a little cabin like that.” I nodded to the cabin across the fence.Bill stared at me for a long moment, then lowered his weapon as he raised his. Vince was the kind of guy who didn’t care if you got off. He’d cum on your belly then literally jump up and run to the shower. If you tried to say something sexy he would literally groan and tell you to shut the fuck up and keep sucking. After a while Vince’s novelty wore off and I was over it. The only time I ever saw any kind of genuine emotion from him is when I broke up with him. He actually cried. We had been dating for 6 weeks. And he cried when I told him it was over. I felt a little bad for him until, in between sobs, he started telling me I was a stupid, butter-faced whore. I spit in his face and walked away. I was done. Apparently, he was not.Vince spent the next couple of weeks bad-mouthing me to anyone who would listen. I got at least two reports a day from friends of mine ... and his ... that he wouldn’t stop running me down to anyone who would listen. Which, thankfully, wasn’t very many people. But one did. One person listened. My now ex best friend, “Lorry”. Lorry felt.
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