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This is Chapter 3 of my autobiography and it's titled A Cubbing We Will Go. Click on the book cover to purchase from Amazon.
I hated being around the Skipper now but put up with it for nearly five years before I got up enough courage to just go. By then I’d left school and was about to start Teacher Training College.
It was 1972, and I was eighteen.
But dammit, I missed the Sea Scouts. It had been part of my life for the past ten or eleven years, and now there was a void I needed to fill. A friend of my mothers, whom I’d always called Auntie Lil, had three boys, all of whom had been through the Boy Scout movement. In fact, one was still a Rover. “Why not,” said Auntie Lil one day, “become a Cub Scout leader?”
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Cam was half a head taller than me and must have outweighed me by at least twenty pounds, or about nine kilos. And leader or not, I was after all just a girl, so he was confident. I was hoping over confident. Two things that being in the Sea Scouts for more than ten years had given me, besides knowing how to sail and navigate, was a great sense of balance and being much stronger than I looked.
Even so, Cam’s speed and aggressiveness took me by surprise, and it was nearly over almost before it had started. If he’d just been content with hitting my shoulder with all his weight I probably would have gone down. But his lapdog had given him a challenge and he swiveled round awkwardly and he tried to get his shoulder into my chest. He connected alright and a jagged edge of pain went through my right breast. Then I was backpedaling as fast as I could go, with Cam after me and a look on his face that I can only describe in retrospect as lust.
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