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.