John Romero - Coed camp

"You're a big boy," she said, massaging slowly and deeply.

"I could go to sleep like this," he said after a while.

"You'd better not," she said with a pleasant chuckle. "If Jerry Stein or anybody else came in and found you sleeping in my bedroom, they'd kick us both out of this camp. You must have missed out on C-C's lecture on purity and morality at lunch. Of course. You hadn't come in yet."

"Who's C-C?"

"That's Charles Culpeper, owner and grand mogul of Camp Arrowhead. Also, the one-man watch and ward committee. Oh, you should have heard him, Dan. Like an old Puritan preacher, warning us of the devil in the flesh." She laughed again. Dan liked her laugh, a light musical sound, more like that of a young girl than a-well, an older woman. He wanted to ask her how old she was, but was afraid that it might get off on the wrong foot.

He laughed, "And what was the main theme? Don't seduce the twelve-year-olds?" He moved an arm up and about her hips, his hand pressing lightly on the plump cheek of her firm ass. He felt like clutching it, but he didn't want her to think he was just an impatient young punk.

She didn't seem to mind. Her right hand continued expertly massaging his neck and shoulders, while her left held his free hand, still against her thigh. I've got all summer, he thought. I'd better play this cool.

"Well, yes, it was something like that," she said. "But he went into such a lurid discussion of what not to do, I've got a sneaking suspicion that our white-haired C-C is really a dirty old man."

"Then a beautiful woman like you had better be careful around him," said Dan.

She stopped massaging his neck and sat down on the edge of the chaise lounge. Still holding his other hand, she looked steadily and openly into his eyes. "I'll be very careful around him, Dan," she said. "But I might appreciate the attentions of a healthy, clean-cut young man like you."

A pleasant sensation shot up through his groin and through his guts. He looked back at her, his dark brown eyes fixed steadily on her shadowed blue eyes. "I might have a relapse this evening," he said. "Your massage really works miracles and I might need another."

Her slightly pouting lips curved in a wide smile. "For a young man, Dan," she said, "your head is on remarkably straight. I'll be in all evening, and here in the good clean outdoors we don't lock doors."

After Stein had assigned him to a cabin, Dan moved his luggage in, took a shower, and lay down to loaf until dinner time, only a few minutes away. He dozed off, to be awakened by Stein roaring at him from the open doorway of the cabin.

"Come on, dream boy. Soup's on. Let's go."

Dan slipped on a pair of slacks and a clean sport shirt, shoved his feet into a pair of comfortable moccasins and joined his boss. They walked down together.

The table nearest the kitchen was set up for Stein and the counselors. Dan noticed that Norma and a skinny young sandy-haired boy with adolescent pimples were waiting on the table, and through the open door to the kitchen he saw two more young girls helping Mrs. Rogers.

Stein introduced Dan to the others at the table. Except for a married couple who seemed to be in their late thirties, the other counselors were like himself, college students. Their names slid right out of his memory, but he figured that they would all be well acquainted in a few days. He glanced about for Marsha, the nurse.

At that instant she came in, looking fresh and cool in a simple light frock and a pair of sandals. "Hello, everybody," she greeted them. "I hope I haven't held up dinner."

"Not a chance, Marsha," the older woman, the married counselor, laughed. "We're just waiting for the food."

The two girls in the kitchen came out then, carrying plates and bowls of food. Behind them came the young boy with bread and other things on a tray. Dan raised his eyes and looked across the table and into the kitchen and saw Norma standing facing him. When she saw him looking, she flashed him a cute smile and a long wink. Then she moved out of his range of vision. Now what was that supposed to mean? he asked himself.

"Would you pass the salt, please, Dan?"

He looked diagonally across at Marsha, who had directed the request at him. The salt shaker was right in front of him. "Of course." He picked it up and handed it to her. Their fingers met lightly, but the smile she gave him was purely impersonal. He could hardly believe this was the same luscious female who had so recently caressed him and made a date for that night. She was a cool chick, all right.

After dinner he went down to the lake with Buddy Young, the short, muscular swimming instructor. Buddy was a pleasant-seeming man, about his own age, heavily tanned and with short dark-brown hair. "Feel like a dip, Dan?" he asked.

"Sounds like a good idea," Dan said. "I'll have to go back to my cabin and break out a pair of swimming shorts."

"Don't bother," said Buddy. "It's past sunset, and it'll be dark pretty soon. We can just go out to the end of the dock and swim in our skivvies."

They went out on the wooden boardwalk which extended about thirty-five yards into the lake, ending in a large square float. They stripped down to their underwear and dived in.

Dusk had settled in when they swam back to the ladder and pulled themselves up on the float.

"Skinny dippin' already! I declare, you all are just the most."

"Come join us, Annabelle," Buddy said to the tall, slim blonde with the mint-julep accent who stood on the float, looking down at them.

"Unh, unh. No way. That's just too much exercise for me," she drawled.

Dan wondered if the accent was for real. The girl certainly was. She looked very slim in her hip-hugging jeans and bare midriff blouse, but even in the growing darkness he could see that she had a pair of fair-sized tits. The blouse was extremely thin and she had on no bra. Her nipples showed plainly against the sheer material. She brushed her long straight hair back from her face and surveyed the two wet men calmly. They both had on jock shorts and they were dripping water on the float. Buddy looked at her, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his shorts.

She caught the hint. "I'd best get myself out of here before you embarrass me," she said, and turning around she strolled casually and gracefully back over the boardwalk.

"I'll bet you'd be embarrassed," Buddy muttered.

"What's her name?" Dan asked.

"That's Annabelle Faulkner, our riding instructor. Jerry Stein calls her 'Miz Magnolia.' "

Dan laughed. "Looks interesting."

They peeled off their sopping underwear and got back into their slacks and shirts and shoes and went back up to the camp.

Dan went to his cabin and dried down and put on some more clothes. His wet body had made the others uncomfortably damp. He looked at his watch. It was past eight o'clock, and quite dark outside. He turned out the light in the cabin and went out, leaving the door open. The camp was far enough away from any neighbors that there was no fear of prowlers. A large forest surrounded it, except for the lake front, and Arrowhead Lake was miles wide.

In the darkness he made his way toward the infirmary. As he went past the main office, he could see through the lighted window Jerry Stein and the married couple sitting around drinking coffee. Dan went on past.

The infirmary was in darkness, but he remembered what Marsha had said about being in, and the door being unlocked. He stepped carefully up on the porch and felt his way to the door. It was unlocked. He pushed in and entered, closing the door behind him. The office was dark, but he remembered the layout. Still feeling his way, he crossed the office and came to the door on the far side, which was also unlocked. And when he opened it, there was light in the room inside.

Marsha lay against a stack of pillows on her bed, reading a book under the shaded light of a bed lamp. She had on a thin, cream-colored caftan that came almost to her ankles. Without moving her body, she raised her eyes to him and smiled.