“Don’t call the worms, ‘worms’, Casper,” corrected Bob automatically, but with a grin. “And yes, while we have a brief break from teenagers around whom we can’t swear, I like to fucking swear up a goddamned storm!”
Just then, Van missed with his hammer and started jumping around, indulging freely in the no repercussion swearing opportunity as he squeezed his outraged thumb. Bob and I laughed evilly at his expense.
When Van’s little floor show was over, and we moved on to another cabin, I started thinking about Elaine some more.
Don’t think with your mouth, kids.
“Still…” I mused out loud as Bob was cutting a new sheet of screen, “I do have all of this last session to see if I can fix things with Elaine.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” groaned Van. “Give it up already!”
“I have to agree with Van,” sighed Bob. He hesitated. “Look, you know I’m always a big one for encouraging kids to not give up, so I applaud you in principle. But the life lesson I think you need to concentrate on here is: When and how to Move On. I hear that this will definitely be your last summer working here. Don’t waste the rest of it chasing after a girl who does not want to be caught. Chase the next girl.”
“It really isn’t that easy to find the time to spend with the girls you are interested in around here, Bob,” I almost snapped.
“Pull that tighter, Casper,” said Bob, “and lift your side, Van, so the grain will run straight… There.” He fretted a bit with the staple gun, then as he began fastening the screen panel in place he said to me, “Look, assuming we get all this done by six, I will be the one finishing the activity assignments for next session, not Carol. I’ll do you a solid. Who do you want to work with for your last few weeks?” Van whistled low. That would be a solid. The assignments were randomly drawn, or were supposed to be, precisely to keep counselors from badgering the senior staff with requests. Bob then hastened to add, “Other than Elaine, obviously. How about the new girl, Lisa? It would be inappropriate for me to notice, or I’d add that she is extremely hot.”
It was tempting. Lisa was indeed hot as blazes, but I had been there and done that already, and, while for different reasons than Elaine, the opportunity for further adventures with her was also closed. I paused, and I don’t really know why. As I’ve said, I think rating women on a one to ten scale is silly and unproductive. I just classify them as NOs, YESes, and OH GOD PLEASEs. There were only three OH GOD PLEASEs among my fellow counselors. Elaine and Lisa off the list meant only…
“Wendy?” I asked hesitantly.
Bob laughed, “Yeah, I can see how she might encourage you to move your attention on.” He paused a moment. “Done. Now, hold the damned screen still!”
We were done by four thirty. The next morning, the assignments were posted, and true to his word, there I was, teamed with Wendy on Ceramics… Fucking. Pottery.
Shit.
Then, I caught myself grumping and laughed. I thought of Wendy’s tits and realized that I’d have happily taken goddamned macrame to spend four weeks around Wendy.
I found my mind racing as I walked over toward the ceramics shed the first morning. It is a small, open-fronted building near the chow hall. It occurred to me that about all I knew about Wendy was that she had a sleekly curvy body, surmounted by an outstanding rack. We had danced once or twice, but I could not think of a single conversation I had ever had with her.
Please don’t let her be stupid.
Please don’t let her have a boyfriend.
Please let her like me.
I saw her approaching our workplace at the same time as I did. We smiled, waved, met, and shook hands at the entrance.
“So, Pottery, huh?” Wendy said with a grimace that told me we at least had our feelings about how dull this particular activity was in common.
I suppressed an undeserved feeling of guilt that she was stuck here. I had only asked for her, not Pottery, after all. “Yeah,” I replied. “And here I thought I had dodged this bullet for another year.” We laughed in commiseration and went in to await the arrival of the worms.
All worries I had had about Wendy vanished in that first morning. She was anything but stupid. She did not drop that mention of a boyfriend that girls always do if they have one (at least one that they intend to be faithful to). And she appeared to like me well enough that we were soon laughing and trading jokes with each other and the worms as they got started producing laughably awful pieces of clay art.
I did get a new worry. Working with kids in the pottery shed involved a lot of bending over by Wendy and me as we worked with the sitting worms and their projects. When she was facing away, it was hard to keep my eyes off her tight, curvy ass. (It wasn’t the work of art that Elaine boasted, but it was danced nice.) And when Wendy was facing toward me, it was fucking impossible to keep my eyes out of her magnificent cleavage. I resolved that I was going to wear my shirt untucked the rest of the summer, to provide at least a little bit of cover for all the unauthorized boners I was going to experience.
Honestly, the bending over was just the cherry on top. Wendy was a total dime-piece. She had dirty blonde hair, seemingly genuine in color, with bangs in front and shoulder length in back, framing a cute round face with wide blue eyes. She had some meat on her bones, but it was all smooth and sleek, with not a bump or lump to be observed… other than the two magnificent, swelling, softball-sized lumps in front. Her hips and ass were rounded and generous, but not enough to keep up with her torso, leaving her with a slightly top-heavy hourglass of a figure.
Our first period after lunchtime, we had a batch of junior boys that first week. On Wednesday, one made himself my new favorite by creating a batarang. He grumped about how its edges didn’t look sharp enough and I got into it with him. “Look, I think batarangs should be blunt,” I argued. “Otherwise, it would be too hard for Batman to keep to his no killing policy.”
To my surprise, Wendy piped up from a couple of benches away. “Oh, come on. Batman has a no guns policy. Superman is the one with the no killing policy!”
“Unless you are Zach Snyder!” shot back my new favorite camper.
“Don’t get me started on Snyder,” scoffed Wendy, rolling her eyes.
“Hey! I like those movies,” I said automatically.
“Easy there,” said Wendy. “I like them too. And I’d totally drink Henry Cavill’s bathwater. But I prefer my Supes and Bats to be on brand, that’s all.”
At least I didn’t have to worry about boring her.