John Romero - Coed camp

He parked under a tall, leafy maple tree and went into the building. His head was aching and his vision was still a bit blurred from the glare of the sunlight, so he didn't notice the girl wiping off one of the long wooden tables with a dishcloth.

"Hi there!"

He turned to look, blinked, and stared, his headache momentarily forgotten. The girl who had spoken to him was facing him now, the dishcloth hanging from her hand. He saw the big smile first and the friendly deep brown eyes, her short nose and rather wide cheeks. Then he took in the rest of her. Her black, very wavy hair was cut close to her head like a helmet. The white T-shirt with the Camp Arrowhead insignia on the front made her dark skin appear even darker. Her legs, too, extending long and fully packed from a pair of light green shorts, were dark. His eyes roamed back up again, to the two prominent bulges pushing out the front of her T-shirt which proclaimed her very much a woman, although she appeared to be very young.

"Hi," he said with a smile. "I'm Dan Acres. I'm one of the counselors. What's your name?"

"Norma Medina." Her voice was throaty, with just a trace of huskiness. "I'm one of the galley slaves. Welcome aboard." She waved the dishcloth in a wide gesture and smiled again.

"Jerry Stein said maybe I could get a glass of milk and a bite to eat," he said.

"Oh. The boss. Well, if he said it, it's true. Mrs. Rogers is in there." She pointed toward the kitchen at the far end of the long hall. "Just tell her what you want."

"Thanks." He started back toward the kitchen. "I sure hope to see you around."

He looked back at her, again sizing up her lushly curving body and her white teeth gleaming in a warm smile.

"You will," he grinned.

Mrs. Rogers was a late-middle-aged woman, stocky and cheerful. While he ate the bowl of soup which she had quickly heated for him, she chatted freely, telling him about her children, all grown up and away, and herself, a widow and alone most of the year. That was why she enjoyed working as straw-boss at the dining hall in the summer when the camp was open. She was a very nice woman, Dan told himself, but she didn't help his headache with all her chattering.

He thanked her and went back through the dining hall. Norma was not in sight. His head was throbbing steadily and painfully when he went into the main office.

"Coach," he told Stein, "I've got a ripper of a headache. Do you have some aspirin?"

"You do look under the weather," said Stein, staring up at him keenly. "Go on over to the infirmary. Marsha Wilson is there. She's the nurse. We can take care of your quarters later."

Leaving the MG parked in front of the main office, he walked the fifty yards or so to the building with a huge red cross painted on the side. He stepped up on the porch and knocked at the screen door.

"Come in," a voice called.

He pushed the door open and went in. A woman with carefully arranged platinum blonde hair sat at a desk, writing on a piece of paper. Instead of a nurse's uniform, she had on a pair of white shorts and a blue polka-dot halter. Dan noticed immediately that the halter was well filled and straining, and the halter wasn't large enough to conceal the deep cleavage down the front. She put down her pen and turned around in her chair to face him.

"Hello," she said with a pleasant smile. "What can I do for you?" Her blue eyes swept up and down the tall, wide-shouldered young man standing before her, and an extra interest flamed in them for an instant, to be quickly replaced by a more professional look.

"I've got a splitting headache, nurse," Dan said, running his hand through his shaggy black hair. "Could you let me have a couple of aspirins? Oh," he caught himself, "this damn thing's hurting so bad, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Dan Acres. I'm the tennis counselor-or coach-or whatever you call it."

She laughed, a light, pleasing laugh. "Whatever you call it. Okay. What caused your headache?" She gestured to a chair next to the desk.

He told her about not getting much sleep the night before-though he didn't go into detail as to why. And about the long drive in his open sports car, the tire blowout, no lunch.

She got up and stood by him, placing a cool hand across his forehead. "Pretty feverish," she commented. He caught a slight whiff of an exciting musky perfume, but it was tantalizingly faint. "Come on in the other room and relax. The main ward isn't ready yet, but you can relax in my place."

He got up and followed her through a door that led into a simple but comfortable efficiency apartment. She motioned for him to lie back on a chaise lounge; mean- while she went into her bathroom, returning quickly with two white tablets and a glass of water. He swallowed the tablets and drank the water and lay back. She put the glass away, then came back and sat on the foot of her large double bed, a few feet from the chaise lounge.

Through half-closed eyes he looked her over more closely as she sat facing him. He guessed Marsha must be in her late twenties, but she was certainly a well-kept woman. Every blonde hair was in place, her brief clothes fit perfectly, her fingernails were smoothly manicured and polished, her eyebrows were full but delicately arched. Her smooth, milky-white thighs were as firm and shapely as Angie's. At the thought of Angie, he recalled the little episode of the night before, and a light smile touched the comers of his lips.

"You must be getting better already, Dan," Marsha said. She had been looking him over as intently as he had her. "What do you study in college?"

"I'm going to be a doctor," said Dan. "I'll be going down to New York this fall to go into pre-med."

"Great. Maybe we can swap some professional notes, Doctor," she said.

"Dh, I've got a long way to go yet," he said, opening his eyes and looking into hers. "You can probably teach me a lot."

She studied him sharply for a second, to see if his words had a double meaning. But Dan kept his face completely innocent. "We'll see about that," she promised. "Maybe you'll have time to give me some lessons in tennis."

He grinned. "Frankly, you're so pretty and so-unruffled looking-I can't imagine you running after a ball and puffing and sweating."

"I might surprise you," she said, a little smile on her smooth lips. She got up and came over to press her hand against his forehead again.

"That feels good," Dan said. "Your hand is so cool. And it's nice and cool in here."

"Then just relax, Dan," she said, keeping her hand on his forehead.

He caught the scent of her perfume again, a musky scent that excited him as no flowery perfume ever did. He wondered what it was. He felt a pressure against his shoulder, and without moving his head he turned his eyes. She was closer now, her rounded hip touching his shoulder. He moved his eyes upward to see the out-thrust bottom of her halter, rounded by the big tits it contained. They jutted so far out he could only see part of her face.

His headache was gone. He wasn't sure, but the pressure of her hip against his shoulder seemed to be increasing just a bit. He reached his hand up and placed it over hers, against his forehead.

"You're a great doctor," he said, "You've made my headache go away."

She turned her hand about, grasping his and lowering it so that the back of it pressed against her bare thigh. He leaned his head over until it rested lightly against her halter. Her other hand came up and clasped the back of his head, pressing it closer into her springy boobs.

"I think you're probably a great coach," she said. "Does this feel good?"

"It sure does."

"Then just relax," she said. She began to massage his neck and his shoulder muscles. "You've got a fine set of shoulders for a young man, Dan. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," he said.