Camp Sutton Pt. 07

CHAPTER FIVE: Shades of Green

Summer rounded the corner toward fall. I wished I'd be able to stay around through September and October to watch the leaves change into flaming yellows and oranges amid the evergreen needles. But, at the end of August, only a week after sending the last batch of campers home, I'd have to go back to Drexel one last time. I wasn't ready to face the reality of this summer romance coming to an end -- or, maybe worse, not coming to an end -- so I dug in my heels for the remainder of July.

On the last Friday with this round of girls, we'd have our annual talent show -- one for campers, one for staff. I always wrote and performed a song, usually with Jackie manning the boombox or playing the pink ukulele she used to amuse the younger campers. This year, though, I had the guitar Olive gifted me, which meant I had the opportunity to write a real song, not just some little ditty to make the girls smile.

Of course, there were two things to consider: 1) I had to keep the song itself from Olive, and 2) I had to keep our relationship secret within said song. The first half was easy, the second half not-so-easy. Every time I went to write a line, it came out cheesy and poetic, the kind of thing that would embarrass me equally in private as in public. So I worked out the melody on the guitar first, humming alongside the chords. I had to steal away between lessons and activities and kisses and moments, but it was coming along by Friday morning.

The kids' talent show was first, mostly so they'd calm down from being upset about losing before bed. Their show kicking off just before sunset meant most of my day was spent watching the girls and helping them with all sorts of things from reciting lines to finishing costumes. There were sequins to reattach, hair to be braided, and knees to be bandaged when dance moves went wrong. It was a flurry of giggles, arguments, songs, dances, and messes that made the whole July rotation worthwhile.

Watching the girls perform for each other in whatever ways they'd decided over the past few weeks was always a highlight for me. No matter who won and lost, it mattered that they gained confidence or improved a skill or learned something new during their time at Camp Sutton. And any small part of that that came from me meant something. I still remembered the counselors I had growing up who helped me learn guitar in the first place, refining my skills each year until I was good enough to win for a couple years. It wasn't about winning, of course, but just getting up on a stage and being vulnerable for a minute or two.

The day turned to afternoon and, soon enough, I had the girls backstage -- which meant behind some makeshift curtains at the outdoor amphitheater, but still -- shaking out their final nerves as they finished preparing. Finally, I left them alone with Mary, who would run the show, and went out to the crowd lining the rows of stone benches carved into the earth.

I found my place between Olive and Jackie, the rest of the counselors on the same row. We waited patiently for the sun to find its own purchase behind the bandshell. At that perfect golden hour moment, sun rays spread out behind the rounded roof like a halo. Enough light was blocked out that the warm stage lights could compete against the sun.

The first girls came out on stage, a duo performing a duet. One of them played ukulele -- the instrument of choice for youth summer camps -- while they both sang an upbeat, sweet song from a musical I didn't know. Another girl had somehow taught herself to juggle over the last few weeks and was able to do it while delivering a medium-funny comedy routine. Between the songs and monologues and special skills, Olive's hand brushed mine. The outsides of our thighs tentatively kissed. Our smiles and laughs were entangled.

Juggling girl won and, in a rare turn of events, everyone seemed happy for her. There weren't any frustrated tears. Maybe because they all knew they couldn't do the same thing, so it's not like someone was a better singer or a prettier face. It was nice to know I wouldn't have to spend the night reassuring them that they were good enough, at least.

When the girls' show was finished, they replaced us in the crowd, giddy for the chance to gossip about the people who'd been in charge of them the past month. Honestly, I think that's part of why Mary always had us perform, too. Camaraderie for the kids. They got to rally together behind or against their own counselors. I remember doing it myself.

I was up last. Behind the curtains, I tuned the guitar by ear, hoping it was close enough to sound right. As Jackie belted out a song from "Wicked", my heart beat fast. I was never nervous before performing -- I went to open mics near Drexel all the time to unwind, in fact -- but Olive's presence in the audience made it feel important. Special.

I walked out to the middle of the stage, where there was a chair and a microphone on a stand, the usual setup for anyone who wanted to play something and sing. I sat down, balanced the old guitar on my lap, strap around my back, and said, "I wrote this because this summer has been special to me. You girls inspire me every day, and I'm lucky enough to work with some of the best staff in the world. This place is special."

With a few whoops from my campers, I began to pluck and strum. My voice -- a breathy alto that rarely belted -- wasn't nearly as strong as my guitar-playing skills, but the words were honest and I hoped they would resonate not just with Olive but with everyone to a certain extent.

in the city, everything is gray

snowy white on the best of days

and when I sit alone in my dorm

watching those rain clouds form

I dream of months spent here

with the fish, the seals, the deer

these Maine summers may not be home

but at least I never feel alone

and here, everything is green

and green is the smell of pine

it's crashing water on the coastline

green is lily pads across the lake

and green is what makes my heart wake

when I come home to this place

where I've found nothing but grace

the forest air is clean

I've loved it since I was fourteen

but this year, this year, I feel seen

because I've learned to embrace the green

The song ended and claps waved through the air like the flapping of a thousand birds' wings. I smiled, eyes searching the audience for Olive's bright smile. She was gone -- or at least I couldn't spot her by Jackie anymore -- so I gave a quick bow before scurrying off the stage.

And she was waiting for me. I'd been up last, so the space behind the opaque curtains was empty save for her. I practically leaped into her arms. I felt high on her. She spun me around and, against my ear, said, "You have a beautiful voice."

She put me back down. I smiled wide and earnest.

Then she teased, "Green...like olives."

I rolled my eyes, wanting to kiss her a million times, everywhere on her body, anywhere we could go, all the time. I replied through an undeniable grin, "You're so clever for figuring out my incredibly subtle ode to you."

"And you're so, so sweet. And beautiful. And...just come back to my cabin in a few hours," Olive said, her fingers tracing down my forearms. "Please."

I knew I should protest -- something about my job or whatever -- but I didn't want to. The girls would be exhausted from the day anyway, so they'd sleep soundly all night. So I just kissed her softly, quickly, and said, "Okay."

I didn't win that year, but I did, too.

After the talent show, the energy in the camp seemed to crescendo. The campfire was the grand finale of the evening, a tradition that brought everyone together under the starlit sky. We gathered around a large fire pit, logs crackling, flames dancing, and the scent of burning wood mingling with the faint aroma of toasted marshmallows. The girls sat in a circle, roasting marshmallows on sticks, and singing campfire songs while I strummed the guitar for them.

As the campfire songs continued, I couldn't help stealing glances at Olive across the fire. Her eyes held a warmth and admiration that made my heart flutter. We maintained eye contact for longer than was discreet, communicating in silent, secret messages that only we could understand.

Finally, when the campfire began to die down, Mary led the group in a heartfelt rendition of "Leaving on a Jet Plane," a fitting farewell song for the girls who would be departing with their parents in the morning. Tears welled up in some of their eyes, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. I still had one more rotation of girls -- the teenagers -- but this summer was coming to a close and I knew it.

After the campfire, I got the girls through the bedtime routine, ensuring they were settled for the night. They were exhausted from the day's festivities, and sleep claimed them quickly. I changed into more comfortable clothes, trying to calm the racing of my heart. I waited for maybe half an hour in the darkness until I heard the soft snores and saw the twitches of deeper, dreamier sleep.

The moon was high in the sky when I slipped out of the cabin, careful not to wake them up with a creaking door or errant footstep. The path to Olive's cabin was a familiar one, and my heart pounded with each step. The night was cool, and the soft hush of the forest surrounded me. It felt like something out of a dream, a world where only Olive and I existed.

Finally, I arrived at Olive's cabin, its quaint wooden structure nestled among the trees. With a heart full of anticipation, I approached the cabin and rapped gently on the door, my knuckles creating a soft, rhythmic melody that seemed in tune with the gentle rustling of leaves above. The door swung open gracefully, revealing the enchanting sight of Olive, bathed in the soft glow of the cabin's interior. She stood there, her presence a magnetic force that drew me in, a playful and inviting smile curving her lips, like a secret promise of the enchanting night that lay ahead.

"Come in," she whispered, pulling me inside.

CHAPTER SIX: The Orchestra

"You," Olive said between kisses, "are perfect."

I giggled and kissed her back. We were already in each other's arms, just standing together, embracing, kissing, being. "I'm not perfect. Just...happy."

"Then you're perfect for now," she replied with a little, slightly nervous smile. "You can go back to being flawed and fucked up in a few hours. But now?"

"Now what?"

"Get on the bed."

It didn't take much convincing for me. It was a nice change of pace for her to want me here, in the privacy of a building, in the comfort of a bed. I loved our adventures outside, of course, loved them more than anything I'd had back in Philly, but this was simple and intimate and I didn't have to be on alert every second. It didn't heighten my nerves in the same way as the risk of being caught, but it heightened the pounding of my heart and the fluttering in my stomach.

As I got comfortable on her bed, Olive undressed. She stripped off her clothes and I watched like her body was my personal addition. Her full breasts bounced out of her shirt, dark nipples soft and inviting, begging to be touched and hardened. The light caught on her silvery stretch marks, some horizontal from getting taller when she was a kid and some vertical from filling out into the woman she was now.

I watched as she approached me, her naked hips swaying and her silhouette beautiful. She knelt on the bed next to me. Then Olive took my clothes off reverently, without any hurry. Savoring each inch of skin exposed by her methodical movement. The fabric tickled against my thighs, my stomach, my breasts. I'd taken off my bra while getting ready for bed, and Olive looked at my tits, even falling to the side toward my armpits, as if it was the first time she'd seen

any breasts at all.

The way she always looked at them.

No matter how many times Olive saw me naked, it made my chest feel full in the best way to know how badly she wanted me. She went to straddle me, to kiss me, but I grabbed her hips and slid downward so my head was flat on the bed. When I looked up at her with lustful eyes, she knew what I wanted. Her.

Olive positioned herself above my face, knees strong on either side of my head. I looped my arms around her thighs to help support her and to keep in more control. I lowered her just slightly so that my mouth was millimeters from her beautiful, fragrant, inviting pussy. Olive braced herself with her forearms against the wall behind her headboard.

Once we were both comfortable, I licked her pussy up and down lazily. She tasted clean and new, freshly showered, a natural mix of tang and salt. I couldn't resist dipping my tongue into her cunt a few times before moving to her clit. With her taste coating my mouth, I flicked my tongue up just underneath the hood of her clit. The moment I made contact, she squirmed with need. I increased the pressure.

Every time she started to grind, I slapped her ass hard so she'd stay still. Olive liked to be in control, and taking some of that away was fun. With each stinging spank, she groaned in pleasure. Her cunt clenched, hard enough that I could feel its shockwaves even from my timeshare at her clit. Still, she promised, "I'll make you pay for those later."

If I could speak, I would've said "you better." Instead, not wanting to take my mouth off of her pussy for even a moment, I just smacked her again. I let my eyes close completely and focused on her pleasure. Each of her moans guided me, explaining how much pressure she needed. I eased off her and then revved back up based on her whimpers, her gasps, her twitches. Eating her out was simple. It didn't feel like an exploration, like I was fighting to get her off, like I didn't know what I was doing. It felt like coming home; I knew just where to drop my keys, where to kick off my shoes, what to set the thermostat to.

When Olive's thighs started to quiver from not only the pleasure but the position she was maintaining without shifting, I finally sped up. I dug my nails into her ass, hard enough to leave little half-moons that wouldn't bleed but would stick around for a few hours. That extra ache in her muscles and sharpness on her skin would only make her cum harder.

And god, she did.

First, the twitching in her thighs turned to spasming, strong and constant. Her breath caught in her throat, small and high-pitched. Her taste got milder and sweeter as a fresh round of arousal coated my tongue. Finally, I let Olive rock her hips back and forth on my mouth as she exploded into an orgasm. I kept my tongue medium firm as her clit slid across it over and over and over. It was a divine massage for us both. Olive's breaths turned to loud, unashamed moans. She slapped the wall with one of her hands against the wall as it overtook her, making her wobbly on her knees.

Olive collapsed backward, sitting on my lap. I sat up and wrapped her in my arms, kissing her neck as she panted and caught her breath. "You," I said against her ear, "are perfect. And I won't hear any arguments about it."

She giggled and touched the side of my face to guide me into a kiss. With her own orgasm subsided, Olive looked at me with clear eyes. Now that she'd gotten off, I knew she wouldn't rush. So she kissed me again. Not on my lips. Everywhere. She started with my neck. Then she trailed to my shoulders, dragged her lips over my arms, and moved to my hips. She sucked a line from one hip to the other. My skin bristled and a breathy gasp left my lips. My cunt pulsed as Olive made it to my other hip and bit down gently.

Her hands roved all over my body. Her thumbs were firm and her fingers soft as she worked over my calves and my thighs -- deliberately avoiding what lay between them -- and my hips and my stomach and...fuck, she was hot. When she touched my neck, it was like she was controlling the beat of my heart beneath her fingertips.

Then Olive finally moved lower, her mouth hovering dangerously close to my pussy but not close enough. And when I moved to knot my fingers in her hair and draw her closer, Olive pinned my hand down on the bed. I sucked in a sharp breath. Then she breathed on my inner thighs, on my clit, and my toes curled.

My voice came out as a whisper. "Please."

"Please what?" She chuckled darkly. "What do you want?"

"Anything," I replied from a deep, honest place. "Just touch my cunt. Touch me. Do anything you want to me."

A smirk toyed on her full lips. "Needy, needy."

It must've worked, though, because Olive's hand dragged from my hip toward my pussy. Her fingers entered my wet cunt before she even touched my clit. I couldn't help how wet I was; nothing made me horny like a girl sitting on my face. Her middle two fingers slipped inside of me effortlessly. My body was wound up in a million knots that she was undoing moment by moment with her expert touch.

She curled her fingers in and out for a minute, watching my reactions with a mix of curiosity, desire, and calculation. Always learning, always growing. Whenever we made eye contact, we clicked into place like puzzle pieces. Everything fit. My muscles clenched around her fingers which pushed up against them in return. I could tell she was deciding when to go down on me, so I rolled my hips forward, silently begging, then not so silently begging with a series of hurried moans for her to touch me.

Finally, Olive's tongue found my clit. As her fingers curled toward herself, I leaned my head back on the pillow and groaned. Olive's tongue circled my clit at a perfect, urgent pace, as fast as I needed but slow enough that my pleasure didn't smash itself to pieces at the slightest movement. Her fingers, the constant drumbeat beneath, were perfect within me. They sped up moment by moment, working in tandem with her relentless tongue.

From that point, it didn't take long for me to know my orgasm was approaching. Olive sped up until I was on the edge. My cunt begged to release into pulsing pleasure and my whole body was tensing up.

But then, right before the moment I could let myself go, Olive slowed down to a stop. I was squirming beneath her, on the verge of begging, and she laughed. Laughed. So sexy and so evil and so awful and so delicious. She looked at me with fire in her eyes and said, "Now flip over."

I whined and my cheeks flushed red at the noise. It was so slutty and pathetic and needy. I'd never needed to cum so bad in my life, but all I could do was flip onto my knees, staring down at the wet spot I'd already left on her comforter. I missed the contact of her mouth and, even more, I missed the fullness of her fingers inside of me.

And as soon as I was on my knees with my ass facing her, Olive was spanking me. The revenge she'd promised. My ass stung with the quick, intense pain of her palm. With how turned on I was, the pain turned instantly into pleasure. Each spank had me bucking backward. I hadn't even heard or processed her putting on the harness until I felt the fake cock's tip at my entrance. I squirmed, begging to be filled in the absence of her fingers.

As the cock thrust slowly, easily, fully inside of me, a satisfied groan rumbled out of my throat, primal and animalistic. Olive responded to the needy sound by fucking me slow and deep. She held my waist tight. Her strong hands and arms guided me on and off the cock so that I was a fucktoy, built for my own pleasure and for her amusement. Without her guiding hands getting me off, treating me like a fleshlight, I'd barely be able to move from the heady horny fog filling up my brain. My thighs shook and my back arched.

Olive's right arm snaked around my hips. Her fingers found my clit as she thrust in and out, in and out, in and out. Our hips smacked together. Her pace increased. Light sparked out from my clit and filled up the rest of my body. My fingers gripped her comforter hard and my toes curled against it too. The sound of her thudding against me was a drumbeat against the violin of her fingers lightly, expertly on my clit.