Summer Camping Ch. 02

"Want a drink?" I asked Claire, hopping off the table. She had her nose in the book but her face was flushed and I could see her nipples pressing against her tee shirt. Maybe she had found one of the "good parts" in the book or maybe her eyes hadn't been entirely on the book.

"No thanks."

I walked to the end of the table and filled my cup. I unzipped the flap of my tent and retrieved my own book. Cindy lay atop her sleeping bag, one arm over her eyes. I stopped to refill my cup and then sat back down on the tabletop, this time on Claire's left.

I held the cup out as I sat down. "Sure?"

"I'm good."

I thumbed through the book, glanced at the table of contents before beginning to read. I pulled my left leg up and rested it on the table. I tried to lose myself in the book, a simple task most of the time. I didn't want to appear nonchalant; I wanted to be nonchalant.

The breeze I could feel on my cock wasn't making it easy either. I turned a page but gave up on actually reading. I forced myself to not look at Claire, listening instead for the sound of turning pages. After a moment I turned another page, pretended to read, listened.

Her book was silent. I felt a familiar feeling of fullness growing in my cock. I wasn't hard, not yet, but my dick was awake and paying attention.

I flipped another page and turned to pick up the cup of water, glancing at Claire as I twisted. Her eyes dart back to her book. I repressed a smile and went back to "reading."

My head wasn't in the book, it was reliving the look on Claire's face when she watched me jerk off in the old farmhouse. I could feel my heart pounding and with each beat, my dick expanded, inching its way down my thigh. I could feel when it reached its full length, now each heartbeat added to its rigidity and girth.

I felt Claire's eyes as well. I could see no reason to continue playing coy and looked at Claire over the top of my book. I reminded myself to keep an eye, and an ear, on Cindy's tent.

As I had hoped, Claire's eyes were glued to my crotch. She was not even aware I was looking at her. I flipped over another page, partly for Cindy's benefit if she was listening, and partly as a pretext to move the book to my left hand.

I looked past Claire but Cindy's tent was too dark to see much. I could see a slightly darker shape atop the sleeping bag but little else. Wary that unseen eyes were watching, I did my best imitation of a distracted reader unconsciously scratching an itch, an itch that happened to be on my left thigh. I scratched and then tugged the leg of my shorts to one side.

My intention had been to pull the leg of my shorts over to give Claire a better view. My cock had ideas of its own. Once the head was outside my shorts, the shaft pushed the fabric aside, needing no further assistance from me. My balls slipped free at a more leisurely pace. My erection pointed skyward. It rose above my thigh. Claire's body was my only shield should Cindy choose to look out of her tent.

I watched Claire over the top of my book. She held her paperback open with both hands, forearms resting on the table. Her face was only a few inches from my cock. I tried to read her expression and failed.

She looked up. I limited myself to a half grin and a discretely raised eyebrow.

"You're crazy," she mouthed at me. I dipped my head in acknowledgement and turned another page.

Her eyes drifted back to her own book. Momentarily, she wet a fingertip and turned a page in her own book. She shifted position, holding the book from the bottom with her right hand.

The left she let casually rest atop my left leg. Her fingers began to roam over up and down my thigh. From the tent Cindy would see nothing more than her sister rubbing my leg, if she could see anything. I had to stifle a moan when her fingers wrapped around my cock.

I longed for her to jerk me off but that was impossible. One, there would be no way to hide my ejaculation if I came. Second, the arm and shoulder motions associated with jerking someone off are stereotypical and not subtle. No matter, Claire traced her fingers over my cock, stopping to squeeze it once more.

Every once in a while she would let go of me and turn a page of her book, maybe she really was reading. I sure wasn't. Waiting for her hand to return was agony. Sometimes it returned immediately, sometimes she would turn two or three pages before resting her arm on my leg again. It dawned on me that she was teasing me.

We would glance at each other but made a point of not gazing blissfully into each other's eyes, not wishing to arouse her sister's suspicions. The next time I caught her eye I risked mouthing, "tease" at her. The grin that split her face made it clear that that was exactly what she was doing.

When she touched me again, she ran one fingertip over the crown of my cock. When she licked the same finger, pretending to wet it to turn a page, I nearly gave the game away by moaning. I covered my indiscretion by pretending to sneeze. Claire smirked into her book.

Claire heard the rustling from the tent first. She stayed cool. She didn't jump and scramble making it obvious something was going on. She calmly pulled my shorts back over my boner. Claire looked over her shoulder at the sound of the tent zipper. As she did, I reached down and tugged the bottom of the leg, tucking my balls back in.

I was covered but there was no way to hide my boner.

"Hey sleepy head," Claire called to her sister. I lowered my book to my lap to hide the tent in my shorts. Cindy sat beside her sister.

"I wasn't sleeping. It's too hot to sleep." When she whined she sounded much younger than Claire. "I'm starved. When are we going to eat?"

Claire laid her head on her shoulder. She was smirking but only I could see it. "What do you think Sam? Too early to start a fire?"

I shook my head, both in answer and in wonder at the game she was playing. Surely she didn't want me to hop off the table and get a fire started, not with my shorts tented from my own wood?

"No open fires remember," I answered, not looking up from the book I was not reading. "It's too dry. I can get the camp stove started if you want. We should go with the burgers first don't you think? The hot dogs will probably keep longer." I looked up. "You want me to get the stove going now or wait a bit?

"I'm pretty hunger, too. Do you mind getting it set up now?" Her eyes danced with glee.

I shrugged. "As m'ladies wish."

I made no effort to hide the bulge in my shorts; I couldn't have if I wanted. I wasn't sure what Claire was up to or had she assumed I wouldn't rise to the occasion? Claire returned to her book. Cindy's eyes widened perceptibly but otherwise didn't respond.

My dick got the message its services would not be immediately required and had begun to deflate by the time I had wrestled the two burner stove out of its box and filled it with fuel. For the first time ever, it didn't demand muttered curses before lighting. The small pan could accommodate only two burgers, ever the gentleman, I gave the girls the first two. Cindy wolfed hers down before I even started mine. Chips and almost cold Cokes rounded out the meal. We didn't even bother with paper plates.

After, we sat at the table and argued over the sort of meaningless shit only young people have time for. Who was the better Beatle, John or Paul? Was Wings as good as the Beatles? "Band on the Run" is better than "Sgt Pepper's." No it fucking is not. Disco sucks. No punk sucks.

Alliances coalesced, only to dissolve minutes later, Claire and I versus Cindy, Cindy and Claire versus me, Cindy and me against Claire. When even arguing grew dull we dug out a deck of cards and played rummy. I suggested strip rummy but the girls acted like they thought I was joking. I wasn't. I didn't even care that all I was wearing was a pair of shorts and ratty old sneakers.

Cindy was a fucking beast at cards. Claire and I would have been bare-assed after a few hands, which would have been perfectly okay by me. The light bled from the day and it grew too dark to see the cards. I didn't feel like messing with the lantern. It didn't seem reasonable to me that the universe would allow both the stove and lantern to light easily on the same day. A glance confirmed it needed new mantles and I had zero desire to fuck around trying to tie them on by flashlight.

We retired to the girls' tent, both tents were small but theirs held two sleeping bags to sit on. We tried telling ghost stories, flashlight under the chin, the whole works, but what had seemed truly spooky as a twelve year-old at summer camp was just totally lame at eighteen or nineteen. Besides, no one had a new story to tell. We fell back into arguing. I maintained that in its way "Friday the 13th" was as good as "Halloween" and that to compare the two was just silly. One startled more than frightened but so what? It was meant to startle. It was true to itself.

In retrospect, it might have been a bad idea to bring up two movies that, in their essence, punished people for having sex.

Somehow Claire ended up lying with her head in my lap. Having the back of her head separated from my dick by a thin layer of cotton was -- distracting. I contented myself with rubbing her hip and side.

The hand that stroked Claire's hip managed to slip underneath her top but I made sure I never went above the line of her ribs. Cindy suggested we get a room. I seconded the motion but Claire only snorted.

The conversation lagged. I hinted I was tired, thinking Claire would come over to my tent for at least a little while. When I scooted from under her head she raised up to give me a quick kiss goodnight but that was it.

"What the hell," I muttered to myself as I crawled out of the tent. Once it was clear there would be no trip without Cindy, I had reconciled myself to the fact that the passionate necking time would be severely curtailed but I had expected there would be some. I convinced myself that Claire was just waiting until Cindy fell asleep.

I lay there in the dark, listening to the cicadas warming up, listening as the soft voices and giggles grew less frequent and finally ceased altogether. Claire must be lying low, making sure her sister was asleep. That had to be it.

I occupied myself by replaying the afternoon in my head, stretching reality to fit my needs. Images of Claire and I diving into the tent and making love gave way to images of her sitting in the passenger seat of my car, shirt pushed over her magnificent white boobs, one foot in the car, the other on the ground, naked from the waist down, her fingers spreading her pussy wide, beckoning my mouth - me sitting on the table, cock poking out of my shorts - Claire turning and swallowing my cock without saying a word, sucking me while behind her Cindy crouches in the tent, her fingers digging frantically at her pussy - I'm lying back on the table with two pairs of hands and two mouths playing with my dick, two girls begging to be fucked, telling me it's okay, this is what they want, what they need. The constant in all the images is me and my cock and a lot of cum.

I woke with a raging set of blue balls. I had no idea what time it was or how long I had been asleep. I didn't feel like groping around trying to find my watch and realizing it didn't matter. The only flashlight was with the girls. I listened, trying to pitch my hearing below the whir of the cicadas, the very same cicadas I had hoped would hide the sounds of our love making from Cindy's ears. I was a fucking idiot. This whole trip was a gigantic fucking mistake. Claire had made it clear that as much as we might fool around, even to the point of masturbating, she would not let my cock into her sacred fortress where ever we were.

I dropped a hand to my hard and aching cock, intending to jerk off but stopped. How would I clean up after? Given the day's excitements I predicted a prodigious load. Come morning, I didn't want to have to trudge to the shower with dried cum all over my belly and chest.

The shower? That was an idea. I didn't even need to shower. I just needed a place to jerk off. My towel was pinned to a clothesline a dozen yards away. I had an extra but I didn't want to use it on the first day. Beyond the tent flaps, the night looked pitch black. At least there was a wide path to the showers. I thought I could manage that even without a flashlight.

That was how I came to be standing in the dark, trying not to scream in frustration and attempting to rub the pinesap off my hands and knees.

I considered surrendering. The universe clearly had a mind to butt fuck me that night. Well fuck the universe. I set off, shuffling to avoid tripping, wondering what the fuck had happened to the moon. Even on an overcast night, the clouds should be backlit, providing enough pale light to keep you from walking into a fucking tree.

I found myself wishing the loggers had stripped the place bare. No trees, no stumbling over roots, no trees, no national forest, no national forest, no camping, and no camping meant no fantasizing about finally losing my cherry. No camping meant sleeping in my own bed in my air conditioned room with the luxury of beating off a half dozen times with a hamper full of tee shirts, socks and towels to blot away the residue of my self-abuse. Fuck! I managed to keep the shout inside, letting it reverberate inside my skull, amplifying and intensifying until my silent shout was, in itself, sufficient to justify my rage. Fuck!

I was almost at the service building before I realized I could see. The place was lit with yellow lights, the kind billed as not attracting bugs. The lights were wildly successful if one defined success as not working worth a shit.

The place was deserted. I looked around, hoping perhaps I would spot Jason lurking in the shadows. The hockey mask wearing fuck wouldn't have a chance in the mood as I was in. Plus, he couldn't fucking touch me. I wasn't having sex while he drowned his stupid ass. I was -- hallelujah and praise Jesus -- a card carrying virgin. My cock, at least as far as pussy was concerned, was pristine. Beyond hands and spit it had barely been used at all.

No Jason. Nobody. Just me, yellow lights and a forest worth of flitting bugs, endlessly slamming their heads into the glass that denied them access to what must appear to them as bugdom's Promised Land. I wasn't making fun of the mindless doomed little fuckers. I embraced them as kindred spirits.

There were no mirrors in the bathroom, not glass ones anyway. Above each sink a scoured rectangle of stainless steel provide enough of a reflection to allow you to comb your hair. My hair was buzzed. I didn't need to comb it.

The steel was warped. I was staring at a fun house image of myself. The yellow lights made me look as demonic as I felt. The more I stared, the more I wondered if perhaps the imaged wasn't distorted after all, perhaps I had wandered into the Twilight Zone or Outer Limits and the twisted image was the real me. The fucking nose was bulbous enough anyway.

I tried to rip it off the wall. It was screwed on with those goofy screws with two dimples instead of a slot or a Philips cross. The edges were sealed with silicone caulk. I ripped a fingernail half way off trying to pry up an edge. The pain was sudden and overwhelming. I shook my hand, trying to fling the pain away without success. I drew back my arm and punched the steel mirror.

Over the course of my teen years I had been forced to buy two doors. My mom seemed to imagine that doing so would teach me not to hit things when angry. At the last second a part of my brain, the part that always watches me with cool contempt, reminded me that punching a piece of steel bolted to a cement wall was in no way whatsoever similar to punching a cheap hollow core door.

I pulled the punch, but not quickly enough. This time when I tried to fling the pain away, dark droplets flew through the air, splattering the stainless steel basin and tile floor. At first all I could do was squeeze my hand underneath my other arm and hop around bent over at the waist. As I performed the dance of the smashed thumb, or in this case busted hand, I saw Claire staring at me.

When the pain subsided enough for me to think halfway clearly, I pulled my hand out of my armpit and studied it under the dim lights. The skin over the first two knuckles was split. As I flexed my fingers, grateful I could move them, the splits started bleeding again. The back of my hand looked as if it were already swelling. I felt along the bones. There was no one spot that hurt more than the rest and I had already discovered I could move my fingers.

The taps were the kind you had to hold to keep them turned on. I understood the need to save water but having to touch a dirty handle in order to get water to wash your hands sort of defeated the purpose. I held my hand under the cold-water tap and let it run.

The throbbing slowly gave way to the deeper gnaw of really cold water. Claire stood, unspeaking and unmoving. For a fleeting moment the ridiculous childish part of my mind offered up the suggestion that this was all her fault. Every other part of my brain threatened to beat my inner child to death if he didn't crawl back under the bed.

The water eased the pain or replaced it with a different, more tolerable ache, but it washed away the blood before it had a chance to clot. I let go of the spigot and the water promptly shut off. I let my hand drip for a moment. The bathroom was devoid of paper towels. I pushed open one of the stalls with my hip and tore off some toilet paper. I stuck a couple of wads atop each knuckle and tried to wrap more around my hand. Of course I had punched the wall with my right hand. I had nearly given up when Claire appeared at the door of the stall.

She reached past me and tore off a long strip of paper. I held out my hand without being asked and she wrapped the flimsy stuff around my hand. The cold was wearing off and the pain began to creep back into my hand. In a cruel parody of getting a boner, every heartbeat squeezed a little more pain into my knuckles.

I tucked my hand back into my left armpit and with a quick glance to ensure the seat was down, let my body plop onto the toilet. I spare another glance at the stall's wall. Seeing no obvious drying boogers, smears of shit or dried trails of jizz, I leaned my head against the cool metal and closed my eyes.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing Claire. Just me being me, being stupid. Thanks for helping," I waved my papered hand at her briefly by way of clarifying what I was thanking her for, then re-holstered my hand in my armpit. "I'm fine. You should head back before Cindy worries."

"Cindy is out like a light. It would take a tornado to wake her."

The bugs plinked against the lights and the cicadas roared but neither Claire nor I contributed to the hubbub. I was wondering if it would be possible to sleep here, propped up in a toilet stall. I didn't know what Claire wondered but if it was about me I was sure it wasn't good.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, long enough for my legs to start to go to sleep. Claire leaned against the door, fascinated by something on the wall behind me, just above my head.

"What were you doing up here?" My voice echoed in the empty room, sounding much louder than I had intended. "Do you need to use the john? If you need to go, go, I'm fine."

"I was looking for you."

"Why? Did I wake you?" I thought I had extricated myself from the tent without making a sound.

"I wasn't asleep."

I looked up at her but her eyes were still fixed above my head. "It sounded pretty quiet next door. I figured you and Cindy were sleeping."

"No. I was waiting for her to go to sleep, really go to sleep. I could tell she was faking."