Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries

Edited by NaughtyMike

The summer I turned 18, I decided to earn myself a little extra spending money for college in the fall by working as a counselor at Camp Haluwasa, located between the sin palaces of Atlantic City and the city of Philadelphia with its notoriously noxious drinking water. It was to be a five-week hitch, and while the money wasn't all that much, it would be enough to keep me well-supplied with the college-girl necessities of pizza, beer and vending-machine cuisine.

I'd worked previous summers at an old-folks' home and figured that after that, minding a collection of 6-to-14-year-old rugrats as they played on the beach, made crafts, picked scabs, scratched poison ivy and did all the other summer-camp activities would be a snap. And just think, there'd be no toothless bald guys in striped pajamas patting my ass and calling me Sugarplum.

That five-week job turned into a little piece of hell. The problem was that I hadn't counted on the fact that most of the snot-gobblers were city kids from Baltimore and Philly, sassy and streetwise and many possessed of a roiling disgust for authority. They seemed to have never been told no in their lives and were not happy being the first.

I was assigned a cabin of six girls between the ages of about 12 and 14. Also assigned to this cabin was a senior counselor named Karen, who was supposed to be like my mentor, help with the kids and generally make things run smoothly. Only trouble was, Karen had apparently decided early on, for reasons known only to herself, that I, Amy Rae counselor with the country-girl accent and hips to match, was beneath contempt.

Karen was a very tall slim redhead with blue eyes and she was the only blue-eyed redhead I have ever known, then or since, who actually tanned instead of burned. She obviously took great pride in her looks, and every morning she'd be up early, hogging the cabin's bathroom while she showered, styled her hair and painted her face and nails. She dressed to show off her body, always in skimpy shorts with butt cheeks hanging out and a bikini top with ample cleavage showing.

I won't try to analyze why we did not get along, but I will say the bitch made my life as a counselor a hellish nightmare. She was always offering unsolicited "beauty tips" and offering them in a tone that suggested she knew they wouldn't help me much but maybe, just maybe, I'd surprise her by improving a little. I just brushed off those little jabs, but something else the bitch did was far more annoying. Karen liked to criticize my methods of dealing with or disciplining the campers, and she did so in their presence. Anybody who knows anything at all about child psychology will tell you that if kids hear an "authority figure" being criticized by another "authority figure" then soon they will lose any respect for the one being cut down and will not obey her again. This is exactly what happened. I'd tell a child to do something, or not do something, and they would automatically appeal to Karen, who would often overrule me, except the one memorable time we told them it was okay to play in the poison ivy.

I had two bright spots in this unpleasant situation. Their names were Chiffon and Brad and they were both SC's. Chiffon was a black girl, but an albino, something I had never seen before. She had light skin and blue eyes and her hair, though it was as kinky-curly as any black person's, was a funny shade of yellow. Karen called her Lemon Chiffon behind her back, yet another reason to hate her.

Chiffon may have looked pretty strange, but that girl had eyes in the back of her head and the hearing of a good bird dog. Whenever the tension between me and Karen got to the point where I was afraid I'd lose my temper and say something I might be sorry for, Chiffon would stroll by, as if purely by chance, and diffuse things. She was always very polite and friendly when she sent the Bitch of the Beach off to tend some other camper or get some piece of equipment, and that made Karen crazy. She knew she was being punished but she could never prove it.

Brad was a counselor in one of the boys' cabins. He was about twenty-one, your typical tall, dark and handsome football player type, but with a ponytail nearly as long as mine. Ask anybody, I've always been a sucker for a guy with a ponytail. Brad and I had met and exchanged banalities a few times, but it was Billy that brought us together in a different way.

One morning, Karen and I were supposed to be presiding over a very haphazard volleyball game between two teams of boys, some of whom were Brad's charges. More accurately, I was sort of trying to preside and Karen was lying in the sun, working on her enviable tan and sulking because Chiffon had been by to rescue me and she'd been unexpectedly sharp when speaking to Beach Bitch. So there I was, trying to coach a game I know jack about and here was this brat Billy bawling and clinging to my leg like a puppy.

Billy was about nine, but small for his age and very immature. He cried at the drop of a hat and kept it up longer than any child should ever be allowed. The issue this morning was the fact I wouldn't let him blow my whistle, and then he had refused to go back and the play the game. I quickly gave up trying to coax him and just hauled him around on my leg and didn't pay him any more attention; except for the fact I wanted to smack him.

That's when savior Brad showed up. He walked by, took in the scene and then stepped up, put his head close to mine and asked softly "Want some help here?”

"Please, yes!" I exclaimed, with profound relief.

Whereupon, Brad knelt down next to Billy Brat and said "Okay, Billy, enough. Get up and get back in the game." Billy of course continued to cling and make those not so endearing hurt-puppy whimpers.

Brad took hold of the kid's wrist and said "Act your age and get back in the game." And what do you know; Billy got up and went snuffling off to join the other boys.

"Oh, thank you so much! How'd you do that?" I asked. Brad hemmed and hawed a little, then said he'd show me a trick if I wouldn't tell anybody, since it was not strictly within the camp's rules. I agreed and he took my wrist as if to pull me after him, but instead he pinched the soft skin on the inside of my wrist, and hard. Water came into my eyes and I slapped my free hand over my mouth to keep in “the ouch” I wanted to let loose.

Brad let my hand go and told me to look at the pinched place. I did, expecting to see a big black bruise. But all I saw was a little red mark that even now was fading to pink. The pain was going away just as fast. "That doesn't work all the time," Brad said. "But for the Billies of this world, it's very effective."

After that, Brad and I started chatting together in the evenings. He'd walk me back to my cabin and even kiss me good-night on the doorstep. He was a fairly good kisser too. I love a good kisser. Finally, we arranged to have our night off on the same date so we could go out for real. We were planning on going out for dinner and maybe a movie or a club, whichever was handy.

The Big Night was hot but breezy. I spent a long time in the bathroom getting ready. I decided to wear a short pink floral-print sundress and sandals. Not really dressy, but I thought the dress did a good job of showing off my own tan and it was both cute and comfortable. I stood in front of the sink and examined myself.

I am not a 10, but I do have my good points. I'm on the tall side, about five seven, and have a decent figure (even if the hips are a little wide) with a very small waist and long legs that I try to keep toned by skating and biking as often as possible. My breasts are only about a 32A, and I debated with myself over whether I should wear my push-up bra and look like a 32B. I decided to go braless because of the heat and besides, I was hoping for some good making-out later with Mr. Good Kisser and a bra would just be in the way.

I left my long straight dark-blonde hair loose except for a barrette in the top of it. I didn't put on much makeup. My tan was as nice as Karen's, thanks to the Algonquians in my ancestry. The dress's low neck showed the white places on the top and sides of my breasts where my modest swimsuit had kept the sun out. I thought it looked kind of sexy that glimpse of creamy white against the dark brown.

I painted my nails Pink Lemonade polish I borrowed from Bitch Karen, even though I had the very same shade in my makeup bag-just for luck. I am sure she wouldn’t mind for a camp sister.

Our date started out to be totally ordinary. We ate at Friendly's, which was the nicest we could afford, and then drove around looking for entertainments and not finding any. Brad had his own car, a 1988 Escort that I think was supposed to be blue but it was difficult to tell now. It could pick up a radio station if we drove past the tower slowly. The pillow on my seat kept the broken spring out of my ass. Whenever he would apply the brakes I would subconsciously look for something “soft” to hit. It was the kind of car I would later term “a beater”. But right now it was a cream puff with character.

We passed several liquor stores as we drove around. We ended up on the beach near Ventnor. Brad had a valid ID and could've gotten us some booze, but we didn't dare risk going back to camp with alcohol on our breath, so we just drank Snapples. I love their peach soda.

Along about eleven PM, we ended up in the back of the Escort making out. This time it went farther than the simple French-kissing we'd enjoyed outside the cabin. First, Brad tried to put his tongue in my ear, but I jumped and banged my head on the car door window. Wet and ears didn’t go together in my book. So he settled for kissing the side of my neck, which felt really nice. I could feel warm tingles all over me. I could tell he was taking some care not to give me a hickey. I appreciated that.

By and by, I felt Brad's hand at my back, fumbling through my dress. "What?" I said.

He stopped fumbling and said "I can't find where to undo your bra strap."

I laughed and slid the dress off my shoulders, saying "I not wearing one." He ran his hands over my tits lightly; just enough to give me goose bumps and make the nipples stand up hard. I didn’t want him to stop.

We kissed a few more times and then suddenly Brad pushed me back into a half-lying down position and put his mouth on my left nipple. This was the first time I'd let any guy do that and it felt absolutely fabulous. I arched my back up to push my tit farther into his mouth, so he switched sides and sucked on the right one and back and forth like that for several minutes, far better than what his windshield wipers could move.

I suddenly got the feeling I ought to be doing my share of the pleasuring here, so I reached down between us and unzipped Brad's baggy blue jeans. Oh yes, he was hard enough. Our positions were such that it was hard for me to get a grip on him. He sat up and unexpectedly pushed my head down toward his crotch. What was a girl to do?

The moon was full and shining into the car, so there was plenty of lightfor me to examine his dick. Because Brad himself was around six feet and muscular, I guess I just naturally assumed he'd be well-hung below too. I was disappointed. I'd be very surprised if his little guy was even five inches. I stayed hunched over staring at it so long he asked me what was wrong. Thinking fast, I said "Nothing's wrong, Brad. It's just that, well, I never saw one so... big." It sounded fucking lame, even to me, but he lit up like a neon sign.

"Amy Rae, that's about the nicest thing you could ever say to me. Nobody has ever told me that," he said, with obvious delight.

Gee, I wonder why not? I thought.

"Do you think you can suck it?" he asked next. Uh-oh. I had only planned to give him a hand job, maybe let him fuck my tits (hell, small things should go together, right?) but I didn't really want to blow him, maybe just pick my teeth. I had never done that before, but I wasn't willing to admit it, same as I wasn't ready to admit I was still a virgin. Some flags you just don't wave, especially when are half naked face down eye to eye with a rock hard trouser worm.

But I liked Brad, he seemed nice, and I thought maybe if I sucked him off he'd reciprocate. So I bent to the task at hand. I started at the tip and kissed it like he had done to my nipple. This met with approval and also produced a dribble of pre-come. I wasn't so sure I liked it but it didn't seem polite to object. I kept my lips on the head of his dick and ran my hand up and down the shaft as I would when giving an ordinary hand job. I thought I was doing pretty damn great for a rookie. I think Brad thought so too, but he wanted more. Without warning he grabbed hold of two handfuls of my hair and pushed my face down on his cock. I guess that’s where the expression "going down" comes from.

I had no choice but to let more of his shaft into mouth now. This is one advantage of a guy with a small dick as I would later find out: it isn't such a gag-inducer as the larger kind. I did have a little gag trouble at first, but by breathing slowly through my nose and not rushing it, I was able to control it. At first I just sucked on the portion that was in my mouth, and then I got adventurous and started moving my head back and forth to let his cock slide in and out across my lips and over my tongue, adding a little suction on the outstroke. He loved the little popping noises I was making with my mouth. Then I put my hand underneath and rubbed his balls, which felt disproportionately big and hard compared with the dick.

In just a few minutes, Brad again pushed down on my head and made an aaarg sound and too late, I realized he was going to come in my mouth. Another first, this was becoming to be quite the night for firsts. I got down one final breath before the deluge started. Hot, salty sour fluid filled my mouth and I wanted to gag again, but more kept coming and I had to swallow it like a good little girl. Some of it got into the wrong pipe, up my nose and it burned like a son-of-a-bitch. Then as fast as it started it was done. I licked off a few last drops and suddenly found that the taste wasn't that bad after all. It was something I could get used to and maybe even like. It would be an acquired taste.

I sat up, hot and gasping for breath. Brad grinned at me and said "That was really something. You didn't choke, did you?" I shook my head then admitted that some had gotten into my nose. Brad offered me the last of a bottle of Snapple, which I took and drained gratefully.

I was feeling a little uncomfortable after the blow job, so to cover it, I said, putting down the empty bottle, "Snapple Spunk Punch, made from the best stuff on Earth" imitating Wendy the Snapple Lady's New York accent. Then I burped. I didn't mean to, it just slipped out. That got us laughing and the tension was broken.

Feeling bolder now, I lay back on the seat and pulled my panties down. Brad was slouched beside me and I nudged his head down toward my shaved-smooth pussy, which by this time was pretty wet. He resisted a little, I kept nudging, and he finally said in this prissy sort of voice "Don't be disgusting."

Huh? Disgusting? That's a new one on me. Here I was, I'd just given a blow job and I was wet and horny and wanting only to get the same thing in return, and he says I'm disgusting. Men.

Well, I was still wet and horny, and that burdensome thing called virginity was growing heavier and heavier between my legs, and it was high time to rid myself of the damn thing. It might as well be now. Besides I didn’t think Brad’s weapon could hurt me too badly.

"Brad," I said. "I understand and respect that you do not want to eat pussy (it's a wonder God doesn't reach right down and pull my tongue right out for the lies I tell) and I won't ask for that again. Would you like to have sexinstead?"

He sucked air in, puffed his chest out and said in an I-can't-believe-my-luck whisper, "Yes!" So we got out of the car, he got a ratty beach towel out of the trunk and we walked a little way down the moonlit beach to a spot near the deserted lifeguard stand. After we spread the towel out in the sand, I wasn't sure what I should do next. It was another awkward moment, which Brad smoothed over by making plain what he wanted to do next. He just dropped his pants and laid down flat, gesturing for me to suck him hard again. I knelt down between his legs and I was an expert now, I went down on him like a pro.

I stopped sucking him well before he was ready to come and asked "Are you ready?" He didn't answer in any words that made sense, just kind of gurgled and thrust his hips up at me. I stood up, pulled my dress off and stepped out of my panties. Then I took a deep breath and positioned myself directly over his cock. He reached down and rubbed his fingers over the plump shaved pussy lips and I slowly lowered myself onto him. At the first hint of penetration, I flinched; though I'd sworn to myself I would not.

"What's wrong, did you find a needle?" Brad asked, sounding concerned.

"What, what needle?" I demanded.

"Oh, they've found a few hypodermics washed up on this beach, all up and down the shore," he replied. He paused and thought a bit. "But not this summer, I don't think."

OH, thank you, Brad, I really needed to know that, and what a great time to bring that up! I was so annoyed I stayed straddling him but making no move to let him inside. So Brad helpfully took hold of my hips and set me down on his not-so-big stick. I was not prepared for the sharp tearing pain of it and this time I couldn't hold back my "Ouch!" I also added, for good measure, "Oh shit, that hurts!" If I didn't know different, I would've sworn his dick was ten inches long and thick as a beer can.

Of course the whole situation was now beyond my control, and mostly beyond Brad's too. I hung on while he bucked underneath me, driving himself further up inside. Gradually the pain lessened and I felt his hands on my hips, lifting me up and lowering me back down, so I started to get into the rhythm of it, moving up and down. It even began to feel kind of good, a nice warm friction.

Once I got in rhythm, Brad let go of my hips and reached up and took hold of my tits, squeezing them like he was trying to milk a cow. Then he added a few good firm nipple pinches. This had the desired effect and I moved faster, trying to get us both off. He just needed to know what buttons to push.

Brad gave both my nipples an extra-hard pinch at the same time and I went over the edge. As I was coming like a freight train, Brad shoved up into me and came himself. I felt the hot blast of spunk and I think I had another mini-orgasm, though my head wasn't quite clear.

After it was over, I got off and we lay on the towel catching our breath. Brad was the first to speak. "I didn't know you were a virgin."

"Well, you didn't ask and that's not really the kind of thing I'd brag about” I replied

"I don't mind if you were one, I thought it was really exciting. Are you bleeding?"

I spread my legs so he could look by the light of the moon. There was some blood, not very much, but mixed with the sperm it looked like a lot. It looked more like the fake blood we would make at Halloween by adding red vegetable dye to Karo syrup. My pussy wasn’t hurting much anymore.

Brad helped me up and made me walk into the water about knee deep. He dipped a corner of the towel in the water and wiped at the mess on the inside of my thighs while I covered my pussy with my hand to keep out the stinging salt water and tried not to think about sharks. When I was cleaned up, I put my dress back on but had to hunt around a little to find my panties. I would eventually figure out panties have legs and minds of their own. Then we drove back to camp.