Please remember, as with all my stories, should you be looking for 'Realism', just move on. I aim for 'Ridiculously Plausible'. All named characters in this story are eighteen or much older.
This is the second in a four-part series. I hope you like it.
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My third summer as a counselor at Camp Dickinger proceeded well. The first session of three had ended with a great deal of satisfaction for all the staff, as the session's crop of worms (campers) had been better than most. Weekend camping trips had all managed to avoid things like poison ivy, the play the drama types put on each session had been almost not horrible (a true rarity), and the game of Capture the Flag involving the whole camp had been rain-soaked, but a huge success. That last item had been especially great, as running around in the pouring rain with half the competitors being young women mostly wearing t-shirts was
exceptional
fun, even if my team, the orange one, had lost.
The session had been especially good for me since it had included a night of fabulous oral sex, topped off by a titfucking I would never forget, with Lisa, hands-down the hottest of the first year counselors. The fact that she had some weird agreement with her boyfriend that limited either of them while they spent the summer apart to having sex only once with any given person had limited my bliss, but since that one night had effectively tripled the number of orgasms I had had at Camp Dickinger in three years as a camper and two previous as a counselor, I was more than content.
But I was still as horny as any guy my age, and if anything, my appetite had been whetted. Lisa might be off-limits henceforth, but she was not the only female counselor I rated an "Oh, Please" on the hotness scale.
You would think that the forty-eight hours between the first and second sessions would have been a good time to expand my horizons and develop some future opportunities, but the camp works us all really hard in that time, cleaning and resetting for the next group of campers.
Worse, I was assigned the responsibility of check-in coordinator for second session's welcome day, which meant I spent the whole break working with the camp director, stuffing welcome packets, cross-checking vaccination records, and printing name tags. It should have been a great gig. I mean, I didn't have to scrub latrines, sweep cabins, or swap out soiled mattresses that had had an unfortunate session. But I was the only counselor working the job, and it took more time than most, so I had no real chance to work on setting up opportunities with any girls, especially not the ones that I was interested in.
Of course, working all day with the camp director Carol was not really a hardship, if I'm being honest. Even at forty-one, she filled out the same orange shorts and white Camp Dickinger t-shirts that all the regular counselors wore really well, even if she didn't wear hers as tight as most of the girls did. So yeah, let me be clear: if she actually had been a mom, her picture should have been on the Wikipedia entry for MILF.
But Carol was married, her husband Bob worked at the camp too, and besides, she was such a sweet woman and great boss it always felt pretty skeezy to drool over her bod.
I still had to hide the occasional erection over those two days.
Honestly, a woman with that much charisma and such an outstanding bod would have a hard time
not
teasing young guys, even if only unintentionally. And I could swear that it wasn't always unintentional. She sure liked to bend over a lot, whether facing me and other guys, or facing away...
Things took an immediate turn for the better the night before we began second session, when our assignments for the next four weeks were posted. The Camp Dickinger day goes as follows: Reveille (yes, we have an actual USMC veteran bugler among our small senior staff), breakfast, three one hour and ten minute periods, and hour and a half for lunch, three more periods, then dinner, evening stuff, and Taps. After Taps, power is cut and everybody mostly just conks out for the night.
Each period, campers go do a different activity, like canoeing, archery, rock climbing, tennis, pottery, swimming. You know, camp stuff. Each week, the worms choose six new activities. We counselors are assigned a single activity for the entire session, usually with one other counselor, depending on the number of campers that can participate at a time. You get a different assignment each session. A few are specialized, and you only get assigned if you have outside training, like horseback. Most activities just require a willing mind and hands to run.
My own personal specialization is riflery, even though as a counselor, I don't actually get to shoot much more than demonstrations. But I'm a really good shot, and I admit to being a show-off. The actual instruction and range safety is handled by a senior staff member named Craig, an Army vet who has about every certification in safety and instruction either the military or the NRA can give. He is fifty-something and looks like he takes a ten mile hike each morning before breakfast. He is a good teacher, hyper safety conscious, and pretty funny when he wants to be... which is seldom.
The group of campers during each period of the day will usually contain both boys and girls, unless it makes sense for it to be a segregated activity, like tennis or volleyball, where there will be periods of boys followed by girls or vice versa. Because of this, counselor pairs are always a guy and a girl. Each session, your activity partner will be the only girl with whom a guy will spend really significant time. Hopefully, you get along. Almost all the time, that happens... and that is all that happens. You are randomly assigned, so chances are, your partner will not be all that attractive to you.
But every so often, you get lucky. You get a partner that you find hot, and that can get interesting. Hopefully, she finds you hot too. My first year as a counselor, I found how frustrating it was when she didn't. My partner for tennis one session had been a second year counselor named Yvette. She was actually French and her family had just immigrated to America. Her English was flawless, but her accent was hopelessly sexy. Oh, she also had really nice, perky tits and didn't feel like she needed a bra, even when coaching tennis. I thought I was in heaven.
But she was thoroughly
not
attracted to me. She never laughed at my jokes, even the good ones that everyone else thought were funny. She hardly ever even looked at me. It was excruciating. And of course, as arrogant dudes do when they get that completely stonewalled, I decided that she had to be a lesbian. I can be a jerk sometimes. Sue me.
Needless to say, I was in agony the following year when another counselor named Duane, who had ended up attending the same university as she did that fall, came back the next year and described to me in horrifying detail just exactly how
not
lesbian Yvette was... I may have cried when I heard what she had done to Duane with those lips.
All three sessions my second year as counselor, my female partners were all not only not Oh Please Yeses, they were each an outright No. That is actually rare at Camp Dickinger. As I said before, Carol seems to make a direct effort to ensure her staff are all pretty attractive. It looks good in the brochures, I guess. And to be honest, all three of those girls being Nos was a matter of taste. You might have found any or all of them to eminently doable. They just weren't giving me the instinct to chase.
But the second session of this year, I finally hit the jackpot. It was my turn to do riflery as my activity, and lo and behold, my partner was going to be Elaine Another third year counselor like myself, I'd been drooling over thoughts of her ever since we met. She wore her dirty blonde hair cut very short in back above her neck, and still pretty short over the rest of her head, though with a sexy little sweep down over her left brow. She had dark blue eyes and a dazzling smile that lit them up often. Her body was fit and toned nicely from all the work she put in as a distance runner. She had smallish, but perfectly shaped breasts. I thought they were nice, but she evidently wasn't that proud of them, since she was not a member of the camp's too-tight t-shirt brigade. On the other hand, she did wear her shorts tight, very tight in fact, and very short. I considered this to be a public service, as the girl had amazingly long, softly muscular, and smoothly shaped legs, topped by one of the best asses I had ever beheld. It was actually pretty petite, but in comparison to the rest of her greyhound frame, it was deliciously curvy. And you could tell just by looking at it move in her shorts that it was firm as could be. Like I said, she was a third year counselor, and I swear her ass had gotten significantly better each year I'd known her. If it got any hotter in the future, she might set the woods on fire should she simply take a hike.
I only discovered that she was to be my partner at Riflery when I saw her walking ahead of me along the deeply wooded path to the remote corner of the camp where the range was located. Ordinarily, I'd have rushed to catch up and get re-acquainted, but I liked the view so much, I let the gap close very slowly. Elaine and I had never worked together before, but we had at least said hi a few times, and I had danced with her on Fridays a time or two. I'd have asked her to dance more often, but, well, she was always in demand.
When I finally did catch up, she seemed gratifyingly pleased to see that I would be her partner and we immediately fell into a conversation about who among the campers we might expect to see come out to shoot.
We reached the range a good twenty minutes before the campers would arrive. Craig knew us both, and was glad that he did not have to teach us the safety orientation all over again. Her then proceeded to teach us the safety orientation all over again anyway, because dude is serious about this stuff. I'm okay with that. Then he unlocked the safe and Elaine and I took out the rifles and laid them at the firing positions.
The guns we use are just small-caliber target rifles, bolt-action, with traditional iron sights (no scopes). They would be almost useless for hunting anything bigger than a possum, but they are fun, well-maintained, and extremely accurate. If you miss your target at Camp Dickinger, it is not the gun's fault.
Each period went the same way on each day. Craig would explain the shooting position the campers would use that day, then either Elaine or I would demonstrate it by punching a five round set of holes in a paper target down range, while Craig critiqued our form and our efforts brutally. Then the kids would each get to take a firing position, pick up its respective rifle, and start shooting. They would shoot five rounds, down rifles, open the bolt and ensure that weapons were empty. (How they could be anything but was always a mystery, as we only ever gave them five rounds at a time.) Then Elaine for I would check each one to ensure again that it was empty. Then the campers would all stand up and take a fresh target down to the end of the range to check their used targets and replace them, and return to go another round, repeating until an hour was up. Craig would keep track of the targets that showed a high enough score. If a camper scored high enough, on enough targets in a row, they could earn medals or certifications.
Elaine got to demonstrate for the first period group, a bunch of girls, and I quickly realized that we were going to be competitive between ourselves, because she was quite the shot.
The only real surprise the first week was a freshman female camper who was in the first group after lunch. She was a machine, one of those natural crack shots that just did not miss. I'm pretty sure no camper has ever earned such impressive scores their first week at camp. I think Craig was in love.
Overall, Elaine and I made a great team. We joked around, had fun, watched the worms like hawks to ensure their safety and ours, and I got to enjoy watching Elaine's beautiful form every chance I could steal. By the end of the week, I was pretty sure that I had caught her checking me out too, so things were looking very good.
That weekend, I got a call from my father. It was nothing bad, Mom hadn't relapsed or anything. She and he had stumbled on a business opportunity they thought I would be interested in. It would only take about two million bucks, and I could have afforded it on my own, even without the help they were offering. (I was also a camper, remember? I'm a bit rich myself.)
I wasn't going to say yes without a visit and a good examination of the books, but I knew in my heart that there was a good chance I was going to try to make this work.
Carol had given me privacy for the call and asked me if all was okay when I stepped out of her office. I told her it was, but added, "You know how we talked about me maybe coming back for a fourth year next summer?"
"I'm going to have to fill another counselor slot, aren't I?" Carol asked glumly.
"Yeah."
