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.”
As I walked back to the event, excited about the sudden opportunity, but a little melancholy about essentially handing in my notice on the spur of the moment, I realized that the next two months would be my last at Camp Dickinger. I resolved to make the most of them.