Lifeguard and Angel

Like many kids believe of themselves, I was an awkward teen. Big Coke bottle glasses over braces and sitting on a nose that was too big, hooked on ears that were floppy. Stringy, dirty blonde hair, and Ill-fitting clothes. In reality it probably wasn't that bad, but since perception is reality, that's what I'm going with.

So I felt awkward, kind of clumsy and not very athletic. I was book smart and could swim. And I was a loyal friend, or at least I believed that. So, a few good marks and a few negative ones is how I found myself headed off to a church camp in Central Minnesota the summer between my junior and senior years of high school when I was 17.

There I met Jake. Not "Jacob" since he hated that name. Just Jake. 17, a little awkward himself, but tall and skinny. If he ever grew into that body...mmm, he would be a lady killer. Not bad at basketball- he said he was about the second guy off the bench. He loved baseball and dominated at the coed softball games organized by the camp.

That was how I met him. We were teammates in softball. And in case I failed to mention earlier, I was uncoordinated, awkward and not too athletic.

But somehow, we hit it off. I think our shared shyness helped. Or maybe Fate, or Love at First Sight had something to do with it.

We thought we were being so sneaky, holding hands, stealing glances at each other. Our innocence was laughable by today's standards. Other kids had smartphones but neither one of us had one. We each had a popular pay as you go phone that charged you each time you even sent a text! Imagine that no Snapchat, no Instagram, no Facebook. It was almost like we had the same parents- Laura Ingalls Wilder's parents.

While at a summer camp as campers we were being watched all the time, so there never was an opportunity to do anything with Jake. I don't know if either of us would have even if they had given us a box of condoms and showed us to a private room, but needless to say, nothing happened. That's why we felt so sneaky and naughty if we got to hold hands. And as we were preparing to leave and our parents were coming that day to retrieve us, Jake stole a kiss! He gave me a peck on the cheek, and then I quickly- and sloppily- turned to kiss him back, and smacked his lip and probably gave him a fat lip.

Man, we were pathetic! But it was cute and sweet.

We kept in touch. We lived a couple hours apart, still had no tech to talk to each other with, and had to result to being penpals. We actually wrote and mailed letters to each other. No, this wasn't 1859, it was 2010. We sent school pictures, notes, letters; we shared hopes and dreams, all in longform handwritten glory. I loved getting those letters! And we both had decided that after we graduated, we would return to camp as counselors and both attend the same college in the fall.

Backing up a little, after I sent a senior picture of mine to Jake, I stopped sending current pictures. I started to feel self conscious. I started to develop. I mean, REALLY develop. I went from 32A to 34C almost overnight. I got curves. I filled out. I went from being the last kid picked in PE class to being one of the first because I became graceful. And boys that used to make fun of me all of a sudden wanted to date me- and my boobs.

But I had no interest in THEM. I was saving myself for Jake. And every day I kept those boys away was one day closer until Jake and I were camp counselors together.

When we finally made it to Camp Counselor Orientation, most people didn't recognize me at first. Jake, by the same token, had developed into his body also. His voice dropped and had hit the weights and running in a healthy way. Not huge, but just plain strong. And to go along with these new bodies, we also got hormones.

"My heavens Julia, you look fantastic!" he said as he picked me up and twirled me around. "I was disappointed when you stopped sending me pictures last year, but what a pleasant surprise! I am so happy to see you!"

"Jake, you really, uh, you look nice, too. I bet you can hit a baseball a thousand feet now."

"Nah, about 420 feet, but I did drive a golf ball 350 yards, which is over 1000 feet."

"Are those good?"

"Not bad. What about you? You look like you can dunk a basketball and spike a volleyball with ease! I can't wait to get you on my teams this summer! We will destroy all comers!"

I wasn't exactly sure why, but when he said "comers", my heart jumped up into my throat, which made me think of one other noticable side effect of my new body...my, shall I say, "desires"?

Seriously, I was THAT naive. I would get all tingly and touch myself from time to time, because it felt good. But if my parents found out I was doing the "M-word" I would have been so ashamed and embarrassed. So I never asked about it and didn't have anyone at school I trusted to ask. No school nurse and the guidance counselor was a man. I'm sure he would have loved to help me, watch me, and take pictures, but I was not going to ask him.

Getting back to our roles at camp, most of us were already certified lifeguards at pools but we still had to train up for a lake rescue. Jake and I teamed up, and on his first attempt to "rescue" me, our interest in each other hit a new level. He approached me from the front as I was flailing, dove under and came up behind me, and reached around to grab me-and cupped my left breast. He was so embarrassed and kept apologizing, but it was okay.

Actually, I don't know if he was apologizing for cupping- and continuing to hold my breast, or for the hard on that was poking out of the top of his swim trunks. But when he was able to put himself back in, he had to touch me again when he strapped me to the backboard. I am glad my swimsuit was wet so the wet spot near my pussy was not noticeable.

Now, we had more freedom as counselors. An evening off now and then since someone was always on duty. Since we each had a car we could drive into town, but we usually chose to paddle a canoe to our destinations.

On our first day off, we took a canoe to a little island about a mile away from the camp. We brought a picnic basket and a blanket. Today I had traded my modest one piece swimming suit for a scandalous bikini.

And Jake loved it!

We kissed, we explored each other in our ignorance and innocence. I could see the tip of his thing poking out the top of his swimsuit and I just had to reach out and touch it. When I did, he jumped. It startled him and when he saw it was exposed, he became embarrassed.

"Oh, Jake, it's okay. Please let me touch it."

He let me, and I played with it. He knew what was going to happen before it happened, but when it did he forgot to warn me and thick, white cream came flying out the end and got all over me. Mostly my hand, but some on my leg and breast. Yes, I knew what it was- we both had had parenting class and a basic sex ed class at school, but I was concerned that I hurt him because he was breathing hard and pulled away. I had never seen one in real life and had never even seen one do that on the internet.

Yes, I was that naive.

He pulled away, he explained, because afterwards it gets super sensitive. And since he had shown me his, he wanted to see mine. I was soaked by this point and I removed my bikini for him, becoming totally nude. He played with my breasts, and when he sucked on my rock hard nipples, I almost fainted! But when he moved down to my pubic hair and started playing with my most private part...

I had a small vagina. It is what you would call "an innie". Puffy lips, but the opening was not much more than a slit that was tight. I hate the "s-word" when referring to that body part- it's so vulgar, but that is what it resembled.

And Jake touched it. While he touched it, I scooped up some of his, frosting from my chest, and tasted it. Weird but strangely satisfying. And he took some from my leg and rubbed my clitoris with it. It felt...tingly, and wonderful. Then my little opening started to open wider and he asked if he could put a finger in it. I breathlessly shook my head.

He put a finger inside me. When I would touch myself before this, I barely ever did much more than part my outer lips. He parted my outer lips, then my inner lips and hit a wall.

"Julia, what's that?"

"My virtue. And I want you to take it."

"Are you sure, Julia? I mean, I'd love to, but..."

"Jake, I will never love anyone but you. You can wait if you want, but I am ready."

We lined up, not real sure of what we were doing, and just as I was going to tell him to go slow, he rammed his tool inside me in one giant hammer blowing push that tore through my virtue and made me scream.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Jules. Are you okay?"

Tears running down my cheeks, I nodded. He wanted to wait, to be done hurting mem, but I figured since we had gone this far, it could only get better.

And it did.

We were awkward, not surprisingly, and he quickly came inside me. We should have worried about the consequences, but didn't. But we did not get pregnant.

On our next day off, we headed back to "our island" with a box of condoms, planning on getting lots of practice. And we did. Condoms were not as fun as feeling our bare skin connecting, but we couldn't afford to get pregnant and it would be condoms until I could get on the pill.

And we got better over our 4 encounters that summer.

After we left camp, I got on The Pill, and when college started that August we eventually settled into our dorm rooms in the same dorm building but on different floors. We quickly figured out when our roommates were gone and when we could connect.

Our first time in his bed was much better than that first time on our island. My back was more comfortable and his thrusting into me didn't push me along an itchy blanket on top of rough ground. The worst part was that we generally had to be more quiet and couldn't usually snuggle naked for a long time afterwards.

Another favorite first was when he first came in me after I was on the pill. Our first time was our first time on the island, but after I was sure the pill was working, and I asked him to make love to me and leave his precious gift in me, it took our love and lust up a notch or two.

He was so gentle. He went down on me (we both loved that so much!) and got me ready, and when he entered me with no barrier between us, it was fantastic! That first time on our island, when we didn't really know, and it hurt me, honestly, it was not too good.

But this time! Oh, he felt so good, and when he felt me cum, he told me he was going to cum, and he filled me up. Then, looking into my eyes, he rubbed my left cheek with the back of his right hand fingers, and said, "Oh Jules, I love you so much."

He called me "Jules" after lovemaking. But never any other time.

He stayed inside me. I would clinch my Kegal muscles, griping him, and eventually he fell out with a plop and our shared juices ran out of me, all over my sheets. But we didn't care. We were still like that when my roommate came home from class and found us. "Gross, you guys, get a room!" She teased.

"We have one for now, until we get our own home," I replied, never taking my eyes off of Jake.

*****************************

We returned to camp the next few summers as counselors. We would always take our days off and go to our island and make love. Finally, on one trip between our junior and senior years of college- four years to the day after we first met, we went to our island, made love, and Jake proposed. I gladly accepted. We returned to camp, floating on the clouds, and I was full of him. I couldn't have been happier.

4 days later we had another day off and we returned to our island for lovemaking. After all afternoon of him being inside of me, we started back.

The guy in the speedboat pulling the skier was distracted watching the skier and the jet ski and never saw our canoe until just before impact. He tried to swerve but hit us hard. I remember up until that point.

This part comes only from witnesses telling me after the fact, but I will believe it. I had suffered pretty severe trauma- a broken collarbone, arm, skull fracture and two cracked vertebrae in my neck. I should have died, except for Jake.

Jake grabbed my life vest and supported my neck because he knew I could be hurt bad, and he swam almost half a mile that way until a sight seeing boat came over to help us. They had a backboard which Jake got me strapped to with the help of a couple people aboard the vessel. They lifted me up, and helped him aboard. A doctor on bosrd on his vacation started attending to me, and Jake asked how I was and if I would be okay.

"Son, she is seriously hurt, and she needs an ER. But you probably saved her life. She is lucky to have you."

"Oh thank God. Jules, I love you." Those were his last words. Witnesses said he wobbled, his knees buckled, and he dropped, hitting his head on the way down. Later they said it was a brain hemorrhage. They got us both to a hospital. I went into surgery, he went on life support until his folks could make it down to make some tough decisions.

I never got to thank him for saving my life. He passed while I was still in surgery.

********************

On a side note, the driver of the speedboat had been sober, but since witnesses saw Jake hit his head when he passed out, the boat driver got a $25 ticket and acquitted of manslaughter. The jury felt he was probably responsible, but his lawyers had cast enough doubt on the actual cause. And Jake wasn't punitive and wouldn't want him to suffer over an accident.

I wasn't punitive, either. I was dead inside.

I spent a lot of time in physical therapy for my injuries. Eventually I got my body healthy, but my mind and soul just couldn't get back to normal. My world had been taken from me. I couldn't find the drive or fire to go on. I had to drop out of college- my senior year of college- because of my injuries and I couldn't find the desire to return to an empty campus. The other 30,000 students might as well have not existed since Jake was gone. There was no point. The kids I was going to educate someday would either have to find someone else to teach them, or just be stupid. I know that is not what Jake would want, but I just couldn't care. I don't know how to describe the despair.

I kept in contact with Jake's parents, Jim and Sally. They lost their only son, and they knew we were engaged, and I didn't want them to lose a daughter also. But it was tough. We both had suffered the most unimaginable loss, and tried to support each other.

On the one year anniversary of the accident, I hit another low. I had a bottle of pain pills left over from my recovery, and was going to take them all, go to sleep and wake up with Jake, but I knew I shouldn't. And Sally called. "Dear, how are you doing today?"

"Not good," I croaked, barely above a whisper. "How are you, Sally?"

"Julia, I'm not going to lie, it's been a horrible year. I lost my only son and I had a dream I lost you, too. Talk to me, Dear."

"Sally, I'm sitting here..." and I started bawling. I told her about the pills, and my despair, and it all came out. I felt better, but it didn't fix everything. Actually, it fixed almost nothing, but it was a step in the right direction. So it was something.

We talked for hours, and she left me with the wisdom that life is a marathon. It's long, tough, full of uphills and downhills. It's a race, and others will beat us, and we will beat others, but never should we beat ourselves.

So I went to sleep. No drugs, just fatigue. And while I am not claiming I saw an angel, I did sense a brilliant light and sense of warmth. And while I never heard a voice or noise, I had a sensation of that light telling me, "Julia, your race is not over. Run YOUR race."

**********************************

I awoke refreshed. First time in a year. No nightmares and I noticed the birds chirping outside and the bright sun felt welcoming instead of intrusive.

Run MY race. What did it mean? Surely physical activity would be good for my continued recovery. My physical therapist encouraged it. Maybe competition would be good for my mind. I didn't know, so I joined a local running club. Maybe I would train for a marathon?

At the running club, I met a David, who was about my age. He said when he joined he couldn't walk one city block, but now a year later he was all set to run in his first 5K (3.1 miles) in a few months. He never pushed. He never tried to hit on me. He was just a friend. It was nice to have a friend again. Since I had dropped out of college I had lost contact with my friends. And we trained together.

We ran our race. Together. Finished together. We beat many people and got beat by many. Our race was not about victory or defeat but about teamwork and friendship. So we ran our race and I hugged him when we each got our tshirt for finishing.

I continued to talk with Sally. She knew I was running and feeling somewhat better, but next she encouraged me to finish my education since I only had a year left. I said I liked the idea, would talk to the university and think about it.

And she had one last bit for me. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Not sure, why?"

Come over for supper. No excuses. I know you don't have running club, and even though it's short notice, be here. 6pm."

I had no choice ot appeared, so I went to supper. At 6:30 the doorbell rang, and Jim went to answer it. I heard him greet someone in a friendly way, and I thought the voice sounded familiar.

And in walked David.

"David, how do you know the Duffys?"

He handed me a bouquet of flowers, and said, "Hello, Julia. Nice to see you. Sally said for you to read the card first."

The card said, "Run Your Race. And Listen to His Heart."

I looked up at David, who looks incredibly shy, and then I looked at Jim who looked away and pretended to be doing something, and I looked at Sally, who had tears in her eyes and said, "Let's sit down and have supper."

We sat down, to a table set for an evening meal, but no one ate.

"Julia, what do you remember about the accident?" Sally asked.

I started to get up from the table, suddenly mad about being blindsided. "Sally, I don't want to talk about it."

"Julia, this is important. Please sit down. You will want to hear this," she said.

I sat back down. "I don't remember anything. Everything I know is second hand."

Sally shifted in her chair. "David, what is your story." It was a statement, and not a question. She knew what his story was.

"Well," David began, "my parents were missionaries. Dad was a pastor, Mom was a teacher, and we traveled around the world building houses and schools and spreading The Word. I was born prematurely, was always small, and Dad named me 'David' because he knew I was going to be small but he still wanted me to slay the giants I would have to battle. While in Central America when I was 17, I caught a virus. It attacked my heart. I refused to die. My heart was weak, but my spirit is strong."

Was this an anti-suicide message? I was over that. David was a friend of mine, and I was upset that Sally would tell him something as personal the time I confided in her how close I was to ending my life.

"So, a year and a half ago, prayers were answered. Ireceived a heart transplant. My joy was someone else's tragedy, and I intended do the most with my new heart and life as I could. So I joined a running club. I started out barely able to walk a block. Then I walked two blocks. Then 3, 4, and so on. When I hit a mile walking, I started running. I started with one lap around the track. Then two. And so on. Then I met you. About that time- a year after I received My Gift, I petitioned to meet the donor's family."

"The Duffy's..." I barely croaked out.

"Yes, Jim and Sally. And as we were talking, she showed me a picture of Jake with his girlfriend- or fiance- and I said that I knew you."