Camp Counselors Ch. 03: Wendy

Please remember, as with all my stories, should you be looking for 'Realism', just move on. I aim for 'Ridiculously Plausible'. All named characters in this story are eighteen or much older.

This is the third in a four-part series. I hope you like it.

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Elaine and I had a marvelous time fucking our way through the end of the second session of Camp Dickinger that summer. I mean, we didn't screw every day. I think we'd have both been up for it, but we couldn't both miss lunch together every day. We only stayed on the range and screwed, like, six more times over the remaining weeks. I even managed to take my shirt off before having sex a time or two...

But while we limited our actual sexcapades enough that no one knew that we were doing it, it still became clear from other indications that she and I were becoming 'an Item'." Couples among the counselors were not unheard of, but rare enough that we could both see everyone talking about how often we ate lunch together, how we mostly only danced with each other during Friday dances, that sort of thing. We talked a lot, just like good couples do, I thought. My world was great, and the only real hitch was that the second session was ending and we would no longer have the opportunities presented by working together on riflery the next session.

Then, on the way out to the last Campfire of the session, Elaine stopped me on the path in the dark.

"Listen, Caspar, I'm just going to say this," she spoke quickly. I might not have been that old, but I knew an ominous opening line when I heard it. "This has been great, but I think we should just call it quits now, here at the end of this session."

"What?" I almost cried. I was floored. "I thought... wait, I know that you have been having as much fun as I have. What gives?"

She looked around to make sure that all the nearby people were headed smoothly on toward the Campfire clearing and not eavesdropping. "It's just... we won't have the rifle range to go to any more."

"I know. It sucks. But we can still hang..."

"Casper," she interrupted. "Listen. You are a god damned amazing lay. Memories of fucking you will keep me warm at night all winter. But as for you and me, here, without the sex..." she said suddenly hesitant. "Without the sex, I just cannot stand one more of your dissertations on Batman, or the Avengers, or the fucking Green Bay Packers." She squeezed my hand. "If we ever have another opportunity for sex, believe me, I am down. But we just don't have enough in common to be together in an abstinence situation."

I was speechless and she was suddenly rescued by another of the counselors calling her name as they passed us toward Campfire. Elaine smiled sheepishly at me and strode off to join her.

The quick break between the second and third sessions was not much of an improvement. The prior break, I had been on Check-In prep, with it's low-energy stuffing of envelopes inside with the air-conditioning, along with the side benefit of checking out the camp director Carol's rack whenever she wasn't looking. I know it sounds like I was hung up on Carol, but I really wasn't. She was much older, married, and my boss. It was like she was an alien as far as I was concerned... an alien with really nice forty year-old tits and ass. But this break, I got a different special assignment. My cabin team-mate Van and I got detailed to work with Carol's husband Bob, the camp's facilities manager, on repairing screens. Bob is pretty cool, just like Carol, but screen work entails a lot of sweat, fairly long hours, and lots of pricked fingertips. And while none of us wore shirts while we worked, and Bob is every bit as good-looking as his wife, my interests do not swing in that direction. Still, Van was my buddy as well as my cabin-mate, and Bob is both cool and funny.

The upper half of all four walls of each cabin at Camp Dickinger are nothing but screen. That makes for a lot of screens which have to try to stand up to a camp full of rambunctious teenagers with no phones or other electronics. After every summer at camp with no electronics, I'm surprised anew that any building on Earth over fifty years old is still standing, since kids back then had no screens to tranquilize them. Shit gets thrown around the cabins every day, and the screens take a beating. We had more than enough stapling and nailing to keep us busy before the last session of the summer.

It is pretty mindless work though, once you get going, so the three of us had plenty of time to jaw the day away. Once Van and I had exhausted all our war stories about first and second sessions... that we were willing to share with Bob anyway, the next subject caught me off guard.

"So, Casper," Bob asked as he ripped loose a window frame so we could tighten up a screen torn almost completely free by a stray volleyball a sixteen year-old girl had hurled at her cabin-mate, "I understand that yours and Elaine's turned out not to be a romance destined to stand the test of time."

"No," I replied curtly. I was not wanting to talk about Elaine.

"Yeah," put in Van, the world-champion cocksucker, "she dumped his ass. I guess that without guns, the two maniacs had nothing in common."

"Oh yeah," Bob replied casually. "You two were working under Craig last session, weren't you? Don't take it too hard, kid. Camp romances never last."

"You and Carol do okay," I replied in attempt at humor.

"We are a workplace romance," replied Bob fondly, hammering the frame back into place. "Workplace romances are all fraught and forbidden and shit. They are awesome," he said firmly. He emphasized again, "You will be fine, Casper."

"Yeah, right."

"Aw, fuck Elaine," Van added sagely.

'Already did that,' I thought inwardly with grim but immense satisfaction. I had done that indeed. What I said out loud was, "Geez you two! Is it Swearapalooza with the worms gone?"

"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.

Monday after lunch of the second week, we got into comic books again when a junior girl was trying to make a Black Widow logo/belt buckle. Wendy, I, and most of the campers in the hut got into a spirited discussion of how it should look. It was fun in general, and particularly so because Wendy kept bending over the table to sketch her arguments out.

When the period was over, I asked her enthusiastically, "So, do you like comic books in general or just Batman and Superman?"

Wendy smiled and replied that she was Team DC, but the Marvel movies were fun. "But I have bad news for you," she said playfully.

"Oh no!" I smiled.

"The Packers suck ass. Cowboys all the way!"

Uh. Oh.

I wasn't crushed that she liked another team, but that she brought that subject up in this context was...

Wendy laughed at my alarmed expression. "Oh calm down. You look hilarious," she said, still smiling good-naturedly. "You had to have known that Elaine and I have been friends for years, right? Girls talk."

My shoulders slumped. "Hey, we can get along, right?" I asked, implored really. "I mean, we have the rest of the session working together..."

"Easy, Casper," Wendy said, actually laying a hand reassuringly on my forearm for just an instant. "Elaine has hardly been running you down or poisoning my opinion of you." She grinned. "In fact, she is mostly pretty complimentary."

"Complimentary? She just dumped me!" I exclaimed, old wounds melding with fresh anxiety.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I mean sure, you bored her way too much with the comics and the football, but beyond that..." Wendy went on. She turned away from me, clasping her hands together behind herself, resting on her yummy ass. She looked back over her shoulder with a suddenly impish smile as she took a step away, "Beyond that, she was really, really, complimentary."

I gulped. "Wait. You mean she..."

"I told you. Girls talk. I have to say, it was interesting."

Well, things were suddenly looking up. I stepped after her. "How interesting?" I asked, my voice reflecting my suddenly renewed confidence.

Wendy turned toward me and held up a hand. "Hold on! You should know, I am not looking for a camp boyfriend of my own."

Damn.

She grinned. "I would be interested in an occasional, high-quality dicking however, if I can find the right supplier."

I stared at her, then I almost croaked, "Um, do you have an application I can fill out?"

That got an outright laugh. "I don't think that will be necessary. If you want the position, it is yours. Elaine was extremely complimentary."

After the last period, when our last batch of freshmen boys and girls had left, Wendy and I were doing a quick cleanup before heading out ourselves. As the chattering voices of the kids faded away, I noticed how quiet it got.

"You know," I mused, "for a place so close to the chow hall, this little building is pretty out of the way..."

Wendy looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. She actually put down her rag and walked out to the front of the hut. While the hut was only a hundred yards or so from the chow hall, it was turned away from the rest of the camp to afford a view of one of the small streams that fed the swimming pond. This stream was narrow enough to jump over, but it was pretty, so the building was pointed toward it. On the other side of the stream was just deep woods. A path ran up from one side of the cabin, between it and the stream, and then back around the other side. But in reality, we were on an effective dead end.

Bob, you magnificent bastard.

Wendy looked back and forth out front of the cabin, then turned back to walk toward me. She stopped nearby, leaning forward against a bench between us, hunching her shoulders forward so that her scoop-necked t-shirt showed off the maximum cleavage. "You are right, Casper! No one is going to set foot on that path before tomorrow morning but us."

My eyes were locked onto the featured view before me, and I took an involuntary step toward her.

Her nostrils flared for a moment, but she laughed, straightened and said, "Hold on there! I didn't mean today! I have to finish here and go run change into my swimsuit. I've got Swim Duty this evening."

Swimming was perhaps the favorite activity at camp, and certainly the most universally enjoyed. It got hot in the summer. Swimming and diving were regular activities, like Riflery, Rock Climbing, Ceramics, and Kayaking, that went on each period all day. But starting half an hour after last period, from five to six in the afternoon, there was swim time in the pond. Every counselor at Camp Dickinger is a certified lifeguard, and a little more than half of us are assigned to be on Swim Duty each evening, Monday through Friday. And even when we weren't on lifeguard duty, we all usually showed up, cooled off, and had fun just swimming with the crowd.

I nodded in agreement. "I actually have duty this afternoon, too. I haven't bothered to look at my duty schedule going forward, have you?" She shook her head. Under most circumstances, no one cared. You went to the pond regardless, you didn't really need to know if you were lifeguarding, or just having fun until you got there. I only ever looked at my schedule if I need to take time to write letters to kids' parents. But Wendy and I wordlessly both realized that if we found an evening where we both were off on the same day...

I stared at Wendy hungrily. If we had a day where we were both off, that would mean an hour and a half of potential privacy with this amazing girl.

Tuesday, I showed up a little early, puzzled but excited. My duty schedule was like nothing I had seen before. Wendy actually beat me there, and before I could speak, she said, "My duty schedule is weird."

My immediate thought was that if hers was weird in a similar way to my own, it would be either awesome or disastrous. "Mine is too," I replied. "My lifeguard schedule has always been random as hell from week to week, but this session it is the same every week: Monday, Tuesday, Thursday."

Wendy's eyes widened. "That is the same for me! What the fuck?"

Bob, you sneaky, magnificent bastard. You are my favorite human being.

"Bob usually does the swim schedule, doesn't he?" I observed idly. "I'll bet he just got lazy and did some of us in a regular pattern. That has to be easier."

"We," said Wendy, her eyes bright, "are going to have a lot of privacy."

The rest of Tuesday, knowing we both had to go be lifeguards at the end of the day was torture for me. And Wendy was enjoying making it even more torturous. She was definitely a member of the Uniform a Size Too Small Brigade all the time, but on that day, I am dead certain that she borrowed her cabin-mate's shirt. It pulled crazy tight, and the scoop neck collar tugged deliciously low. She had clearly made it her mission to torture me that day.

Second period in the morning was all girls, with two-thirds of the signups being Seniors. A couple of the older girls were damned cute themselves, which made it easier to keep my eyes off Wendy, but it made my overall horniness worse. Usually, I can ignore the sometimes outrageously displayed charms of the girl worms, but Wendy had me worked up already by that point.