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This is something of a dramatized version of my real life from the Summer of 1990, when I was 20. It certainly didn't all happen to me like I've written it, but many of the experiences were exactly as I describe. I found that by pushing things to their furthest limit of my imagination it is easier to write about experiences and what had been something of a therapeutic exploration of a very traumatic few days in Santa Cruz became, well, what you are about to read. (Mmb+/F, ped, nc, rp, exh, intr, v, exh, ws, orgy)

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The most important thing that I've learned since the time of my 'story', is that there is no such thing as a slut. There are just some very insecure women out there. I'm one of them...

PART ONE

I picked what looked like a black one-piece bathing suit out of a table of discount items, but it had a neon pink stripe, almost an arrow, running down the front to the crotch. It looked like one of those suits designed to make girls tits stand out more. I never wear color, my whole wardrobe is black, but I didn't care about that, since I didn't plan on wearing this in front of anyone.

Mickey, my fiancé, had taken me to Santa Cruz for the weekend, so we could boogie board on the beach, even though neither of us had ever done it before. He'd borrowed a couple of those thermal body suits that surfers wear because the water is so cold in Northern California, and since I almost never go swimming I didn't have anything to wear under it but my underwear. Going nude under it was not an option. I don't know why, but I just can't bear to have only one layer of clothing, and ever since I hit puberty I have always worn several layers of clothes. This whole trip was unusual for me, I mean how many Goth girls do you see at the beach.

I'd found this little shop right off the beach a little ways up the coast from the Boardwalk. It was nestled into a small strip mall, with a weather worn front end with a lot of "discount" signs in the window, so I thought it would be a good place to pick up a cheap suit to wear. Mickey dropped me off with his little brother, Evan, and left to go get his friend Arnold, who I don't like because he always stares at my boobs. Evan does the same thing, but he's thirteen and can't really help himself.

I know I have a large chest, but I hate my boobs because they hang down causing a fold that I can hide a cigarette under. Mickey says they're beautiful, and a lot of guys hit on me and can't take their eyes away from them, but I wish I had firmer breasts with small nipples like the models on those magazines. Mickey says that those are usually fake breasts and real ones, like mine, are better. In a bikini, or a one-piece they don't usually sag, but that's not why I avoid them.

My mom was a short, round Mexican lady. I didn't inherit her smooth brown skin, but her curly black hair and thick figure. I'm not obese, or even chubby. I take a lot of pride in the fact that my waist is so much thinner than my hips and my chest, but I don't have any muscle tone, and when I bend over my belly folds a bit showing these little pudgy rolls that you can pinch.

What's worse is that my butt does the same thing when I stand straight up, and it's not as if I can hold pencils in the folds of my ass, but let's just say that I get hit on by black men all the time. I exercise all the time, but that only keeps me from getting big, like my mom, and it doesn't do anything about me being so short. There's also nothing I can do about my face, which I think is plain, but a lot of men compliment me on my dark eyes and my thick full lips. I think that's mostly due to the gobs of make-up I cake on.

So I didn't really care much how the suit looked when I picked it out, since I'd never wear it in front of people. I looked around to make sure that Evan wasn't around. He was pretending to look though a rack of T- shirts while actually eyeballing a couple of girls walking by the window. They had trim bodies and walked past unembarrassed in their bikinis, with their perfect tans and smooth styled hair.

I brushed my hair back self-consciously. Not that I'm ashamed of it, it goes halfway down my back, and it's so kinky that I don't have to do anything with it when I get out of the shower. It dries full bodied, and I let it fall over one eye so it narrows my cheeks, and my lips, which pucker naturally, seem to stick out even more.. Guys tell me it makes me look demure. I don't have to die it black, like a lot of other Goth girls do, but then I could never get away with the bob haircut that was really popular with us back then, since it would frizz out.

At any rate, with Evan distracted I folded the suit carefully so no pink showed and went to find the dressing room. He had been giving me shit all the way to Santa Cruz about how funny it would be to see me not dressed up as a Goth, since I had agreed to wear one of the body suits Mickey had gotten. I didn't want him to make fun of me for the one-piece as well, since as far as I was concerned no one would ever see me in it.

I spotted a drawstring curtain in a corner of the room. I hoped that wasn't the only dressing room, since it not only opened to the whole room when drawn but it was almost a foot too short, and everyone would be able to see your feet if you undressed behind it. Aside from that the store was pretty busy, and there were about seven or eight guys and a couple of girls looking through the racks. I made my way to the dressing room, attracting a few stares, as I always do, because of my outfit, which was typical of me. A short black velvet stretch dress, tight with long sleeves, black stockings and black suede buckle boots.

When I got to the dressing room I realized that not only was it the only room but that the curtain didn't close all the way. It ran perpendicular from the wall and if you stood close enough you could just lean over and look right in. What was worse was that a rack of men's bathing trunks ran right up to the open edge of the curtain, and there was a mirror placed at such an angle that one wouldn't even have to lean, but find a good vantage point and just watch.

I suppose that this was all to discourage shoplifters, but I was being discouraged from buying there at all. But I needed the suit, and I wasn't about to pay ten dollars for a swim suit that didn't fit. I looked around and saw Evan looking around for me and decided to just do it. Ducking into the room before Evan could find me I knew I had to do this as quickly as possible otherwise I would just chicken out.

I dropped my purse, and pulled the dress up over my head, looking around for somewhere to hang it, but there were no hooks, so I let it fall. Then, leaving my panty hose on I started to pull on the suit, but realized that I wouldn't know If I could stand wearing the one-piece, since the hose would kept me from noticing if, say, the suit rode up on me, or chafed.

I pulled my leg out of the suit and yanked down my hose. Too quickly it seemed, since my panties went right down with them. Feeling the cool breeze between my thighs reminded me that never in my life had I been this exposed, even if I was behind a curtain. At that moment the curtain was the only thing keeping me from exposing myself to a room full of men. Trying to extract my panties from the hose I felt a warm, tight knot forming in my stomach, my fingers fumbled clumsily with the fabric as a faint craving to touch myself came up. I pulled up the panties, the smooth cloth rubbing over my skin, and the knot started to loosen.

Ever since I was twelve I had reacted to stressful situations by masturbating. When my mom would lose her temper and start raging, or when the other girls would make fun of me at school for dressing funny, I would run to my bedroom and touch myself. It was a way to take me away from myself, so I wouldn't have to wonder why I felt so different.

I never thought about suicide, for me there was always an escape that was purely physical. Sometimes I think that that was why I survived high school. Mickey complains a lot about me not wanting sex too often, but that's because it's always been a private thing for me. A place where I can go and not have to worry about what others think, or how fucked up the world can be.

I finally pulled on the suit, leaving my hose discarded in a small wad on the floor. I had to stuff my breasts into the tight fabric, and I could feel it pinching my butt cheeks and smashing my chest to the sides. I looked at the mirror but all I could see was a reflection of a row of swim trunks and a couple guys looking through them...