Content Warning: Although it isn't a major focus in this chapter, this series will include male characters who are gay or bi as well as other forms of LGBTQ representation. There will be plenty of hetero content, but if you can't stand the thought of someone with a penis having sex with someone who also has a penis, then this story may not be for you. But fear not! There are literally thousands of other stories in this category that should meet your needs.
All that said, if you're a fan of my other writing, I'd encourage you to give this one a try. I promise not to tell anyone if you end up liking it more than you thought you would ;)
Without any further ado, I hope you enjoy Camp Hideaway!
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I could barely contain my excitement as my Dad pulled off the highway and onto the familiar, unmarked country road that led to Camp Hideaway. My family had been making this journey every summer for generations. My grandparents (on both sides) were early patrons of the camp, and my parents had met and fallen in love there. Our annual pilgrimages were almost more of a tradition for our family than Thanksgiving or Christmas.
For me, though, this trip was special. I'd turned eighteen back in the fall, and this would be my first summer spent with my parents at the Adult's Retreat.
Let me explain...
First of all, the name, "Camp Hideaway" was sort of a misnomer since it was really two separate camps: one for the kids and teenagers, and another for their parents. The two camps were situated on opposite sides of Corey's Pond, which was also poorly named.
Located about twenty miles southwest of Asheville, North Carolina, the 'pond' had originally been a tributary of the French Broad River before being dammed up by the Works Projects Administration in the thirties. The resulting "pond" was a large, winding reservoir surrounded by 1500 acres of forested campground. Looked at from above, it resembled an off-kilter 'S' that bulged in the middle. The youth camp lay along the northern curve, while the so-called 'Adult's Retreat' lined the southern loop. It's unique size and shape gave each camp a private, secluded atmosphere, and from the northern youth camp, it was easy to forget that the Adult's Retreat even existed — not that we ever did, of course.
For reasons that were never made entirely clear to us, the adult's retreat was off-limits to anyone below the age of eighteen. Our parents came up to visit fairly often throughout the summer, but we were never allowed to return the favor. Whenever we asked about this strange restriction, we were told that the whole point of the adult camp was to give our parents a break from being parents and that many of the older campers came for the sole reason that kids weren't allowed.
Naturally, this explanation only fueled our intense curiosity. Along with hiking, crafts, and ghost stories told around the campfire, we also spent our time discussing the ever-present swirl of rumor and speculation that surrounded the mysterious southern half of Corey's Pond.
One summer, there was a particularly persistent rumor that a camper had snuck out at night and made the two-mile walk through the forest to see for himself. Supposedly, he'd managed to snap some photos of the adults swimming naked in the pond. As far as I could tell, no one knew the origin of the story, and I never saw the pictures, if they ever existed in the first place.
Before long, the entire youth camp was buzzing with rumors that the adult's retreat was actually a nudist camp. As exciting as it was to imagine a camp full of women who pranced around all night with their breasts and pussies out for the world to see, I had my doubts about the truthfulness of that particular rumor. The idea that my straight-laced, conservative parents (or my grandparents, for that matter) would spend time at a nude beach was just too outlandish to be believed.
Despite my skepticism on that particular point, I was just as curious about the adult side of camp. There were so many aspects of the whole situation that just didn't make any sense. For instance, if the whole point of giving our parents their own private campsite was to give them a break from the responsibilities of parenthood, couldn't that be accomplished just as easily by staying home? Or better yet, by going on a vacation to somewhere much more exciting than an isolated lake in the middle of nowhere?
Whenever I brought up these points to my parents, they would only say that they went to Camp Hideaway because it was a family tradition and that it was a good excuse to stay in touch with old friends, some of whom lived on the other side of the country. It was a reasonable enough explanation, but it still didn't explain why everything that happened there was surrounded such an intense aura of secrecy.
My thirst for knowledge about the adult's camp had reached its peak in the fall, after my older sister, Cindy, returned from her first summer there.
Before that summer, Cindy and I had shared a fairly typical brother-sister relationship. I was her pesky little brother, always getting in the way, and she was the bratty princess who was never stopped trying to boss me around. We played our roles well, but after her first summer at the adult camp, I could sense that something had changed. She stopped picking fights with me and even started inviting me to social gatherings with some of her older friends. The sister that had entered the adult camp back in June was not the same person I now knew, and I was determined to discover why.
Unfortunately for me, Cindy, much like my parents, steadfastly refused to give me any of the information I sought. All she would say was that it had been the best summer of her life, and she couldn't wait until next summer when I would be old enough to go too.
Now that the summer had finally arrived.
Glancing to my left, I caught Cindy's eyes for a brief moment before she looked away. I could have sworn she was staring at me. That would have been weird enough, but what really struck me was that she looked just as nervous as I felt.
"We're almost there," Dad said, his voice snapping me out of my reverie as we pulled past the camp's sign.
The freshly painted wooden sign showed the camp's logo: the silhouette of a family as they stood in profile, watching the sunrise over Corey's Pond. The words, "Welcome to Camp Hideaway: A Fun Place for the Whole Family!" were emblazoned in bright yellow script right below the logo.
Below that sign sat another far less welcoming one that read, "Members Only, Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted to the Fullest Extent of the Law." It had always seemed to me that the second sign somewhat contradicted the sentiment of the first, but I'd always just filed it away as another one of Camp Hideaway's strange quirks.
Ahead, there was a fork in the road. The path to the right lead north, to the youth camp, while the adults' retreat was to the left. As Dad took the left turn, I stared longingly out of the window. Despite my curiosity and excitement, there was something sad about the fact that my summers at the youth camp were over. As the northern path faded from my view, I remembered that nearly all of the counselors at the youth camp were former campers themselves. I consoled myself with the thought that, maybe one day, I'd be a camp counselor one day, too.
I noticed that my mom was also staring off in that direction. She seemed to realize that we'd both been thinking the same thing and said, "It feels strange, doesn't it? We've gone up that path almost every summer for the last ten years... Time sure does fly." She seemed a bit sad at the thought that her children were finally grown, but her expression broke into a wide grin when the entrance to the adults' retreat finally came into view.
I was surprised to see a sturdy metal gate and fence with two uniformed security guards standing on either side of the entrance. The youth camp didn't have anything like this.
What are they hiding in here
? I asked myself.
"That's Steve and Kenny," Dad said, anticipating my question. "They make sure the retreat stays private." The two men clearly recognized our SUV and gave Dad a friendly wave as we drove past. The road continued for another mile or so before we finally pulled into camp.
After so many years of building curiosity, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when I saw that the adults' retreat looked almost exactly the same as the youth camp. The forest and shoreline were dotted with the same single room bungalows I'd shared with four other boys in summers past. The bungalows were arranged in clusters of four, each of which shared a small central building with a kitchen, bathrooms, and showers. Being the opening day for the season, most of the bungalows were still empty, but I did see a few families unpacking their cars as we drove past. It was all rather anticlimactic, but at the same time, I had to admit that there was something comforting about the familiarity of it all.
"Home sweet home," Dad said as he pulled into what I assumed was our family's bungalow. It lay on the edge of the forest, very close to the shoreline of the pond.
