I felt it again and swept round. Then I felt a full, large hand cupping my ass. There was a boy - a boy I couldn't deny was good looking - smiling a winning smile of cute white teeth. As I looked into his blue eyes he kept his hand on my curves. I cannot begin to explain how I felt. It was like I was an object and there was nothing I could do. I was frail, weak, curved but hindered. He was muscular, pumped, tall and in control. It was a very humbling experience. As I looked, scared into those deep, deep eyes I felt his hands stroking those damned tiny bikini bottoms. The more I looked at him and felt worried, the more I thought how cute he was. I didn't want to, I was panicked, but the chiseled definition of his jaw, the way his small, shaved hairs defined the curve of his neck made me excited. I hated myself for it, but he stood there in tight lycra swimming costume, those legs stretching to just above his knees but outlining his package and the curves of his muscular thighs I simply felt protected by him. I wanted him to make me feel even less in control. I admired those pecs that made me want to push myself into his embrace and I wanted to kiss those defined muscles in his arms. What was happening?
Then I shrieked. He jerked his hand away just as people turned round and released his fingers from the most intimate part of my body he'd touched as his hand wandered between my legs. I felt violated, and wanted to cry, but at the same time I was excited someone as beautiful as this All American boy was so self-confident he knew what I thought, what I wanted and would dominate me like that.