Summer Camp Memories

Donna M.

Jill had never been any more than a school acquaintance of mine when our folks shipped us off to girls’ summer camp. Jill was my bunkmate. I wanted to bunk with my best friend Jeannine but the camp gods deemed otherwise. To be honest, one reason I’d never got friendlier with Jill was because she was by far the prettiest girl in my class. And she had breasts, too. I was too envious and felt out of her league besides. She had long, blond hair, and for a 12-year-old, an actual curvy body, unlike the rest of us who were either skinny as rails or adorned with baby fat some of us would never grow out of. I hadn’t known much about puberty and sex at that age, but I did know all the boys in school sniffed around Jill when at the same time they wouldn’t look at me twice. Looking back, I can imagine many a pubescent dick had been jerked off to thoughts of her.

The first week at camp had been uneventful—if you didn’t call all the bullshit games and crafts “events.” Mischief for a few of the girls amounted to sneaking into the woods to smoke. I didn’t join them—I wasn’t much for mischief.

The communal shower took some getting used to. For some reason beyond modesty I didn’t like the idea other girls would be seeing me naked. I had to get over it fast since that was how it was going to be for the duration of camp (and school gym classes going forward). Showering with Jill was an eye opener. Like I said, she didn’t have the body of a 12-year-old. Her breasts weren’t round like my mom’s (or like I imagined all women’s to look like). Jill’s were pointy. They looked like upswept cones, topped by big, puffy nipples. My tits and those of the other girls were either flat or tiny bumps, and nothing close to her size. Her pubic hair was almost as blond as the hair on her head, little curly tufts of light hair that was amazing for its contrast with the rest of us, ours being dark and coarse.

Day One shower, and Jill was right next to me, bellyaching under the tepid spray, “Did you see Jeannine checking out my boobs? I mean, like she’s a lez.” Huh? Lez? She continued, “Like, she’s your friend, Donna. Have you two fooled around or anything?”

“Fooled around?” I said, dumbfounded.

“You know…” She looked at my expression, I guess, and said, “Maybe you don’t,” dismissing me with a wave of her hand. That didn’t stop her from going on to the others and me, “Sometimes I hate these things,” placing a hand on each breast and giving them a wiggle. “All the stupid boys wanna do is touch ‘em. It’s disgusting.” She went back to soaping up and washing the aforementioned touchable objects, and I didn’t think the idea was disgusting at all. I must have been blushing since my face felt hot and it wasn’t from the shower water either.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I said, “At least you have ‘em, not like me.”

She looked at my chest and said, “C’mon, girl, yours will grow and probably be a lot bigger than mine. I can tell.”

“How?”

Without any hesitation she reached over and touched one of my bumps. “See, like right here you can feel the outlines of how they will be in a while. Yours are gonna be big ones.”

I knew I was blushing then, my breath caught in my chest that remained hot from her touch.

During the remainder of the day, I was in other activity groups so I didn’t see Jill until it was bedtime. When I said bunkmates, I really meant it—good old-fashioned bunk beds. Jill had the top bunk and I had the bottom. I had on full pajamas and she wore a nightdress.

At lights out, she leaned over the edge of her bed and spoke to me. “Hey Donna, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in the shower…you know, like touching you.” She chuckled a little and said, “I have to admit you did look cute with that baffled look on your face. You ever kiss a boy?”

“Never,” I answered. And I never had a boy want to touch my tits either, I forlornly thought.

“It’s a shame…kissing is so neat,” she said, before saying goodnight.

The following day was dumb activity after dumber activity. The best part was swimming in the nearby lake. I figured Jill would have the skimpiest bikini of us all but her suit was a one-piece not much different than mine.

That night in our beds, Jill leaned over the edge as she had the night before. “Goodnight. You having fun here at Camp Dumpy?” Using the perversion of the camp’s actual name everyone used there.

“Yeah, I think so. The lake is nice, isn’t it?” She agreed. I asked the question that had been haunting me all day. “Why did you ask me if I ever kissed a boy?”

“I dunno, you seem kinda innocent, like you don’t know about sex and all.”

“I, er, don’t know a lot, I guess,” I said. Shit, I knew NOTHING about sex.

“She smiled, and whispered, “Kissing is the best, at least so far that I’ve learned. I mean, when I kiss boys I get all weird, you know, down there.”

What was she talking about? My face must have betrayed my puzzlement.

She made a sound like “Urgh” and sort of rolled her eyes, and then whispered, “In a bit when the rest are asleep, climb up here and we’ll…ah…talk, OK?”

I was still clueless of what she wanted to talk about, however I warmed to the adventure so when it grew quiet around our bunkhouse I scampered in the darkness up to her bed. Jill was acting very animated, so I was sure she would talk too loudly and wake the others. But she didn’t.

Whispering, she said, “Why don’t I teach you how to kiss?”

“What?”

“Shush…you don’t know how to kiss a boy so I think I can teach you. I mean, it’s pretty cool the way you feel after, and it’s kinda like getting you ready for sex.”

She lost me in connecting kissing to sex. I didn’t know what to say. She must have known all along how clueless I was and at some level I was happy she took interest in me and was teaching me things. All I knew was that I felt really funny (in a good way) laying this close to her. Even in the near blackness, she looked so pretty, her golden hair shining in the filtered moonlight.

In her conspiratorial whisper, she said, “You know, boys will always mash their lips against yours like they’re hungry or something. You have to kinda take charge, what I mean is you have to open your lips so they get the hint and put their tongue in.”

“Tongue? That’s not kissing,” I interrupted.

“Shhhh,” she scolded. “We gotta be quiet.” She placed a hand at my cheek, and whispered, “Oh yeah, tongues are the best part. Let me show you…I’ll be like the boy.”

She slid her hand from my cheek to the nape of my neck and used it to pull my head closer. When her lips met mine I thought I would faint. They were soft and warm and electric. She wormed her tongue between my lips and began rubbing its tip against mine. She slowly moved her lips against my lips, which were surprisingly wet from saliva. Was I drooling, I thought in horror? While the one hand remained at the nape of my neck, her other slowly ran up my side until the combination of kiss and touch made me shudder involuntarily. That’s when I became aware her breasts were pressed into me with only our nightclothes between us. Her heat somehow transferred into my chest; I felt my nipples pucker tight. Altogether a fantastic feeling, as she predicted.

Jill soon whispered, “See how nice kissing is?”

“Yeah, it felt good.”

“Did you feel anything in your vagina?”

“Huh?” Still clueless, but soon to be educated some more.

“When a boy kisses me I get all kinda, er, fluttery down there…and wet like I peed…but it’s not like that, I know…it’s better…way better. Did you feel that way?”

“I dunno, I sorta felt funny in my stomach, like butterflies or something.” I don’t know why I felt like I HAD to, but I did—I slid my hand into my panties and touched myself. “Yeah, I’m kinda wet, maybe a little.”

“See? It’s cool.” She was silent for a moment, then asked in her hushed voice, “Wanna do it again?”

I nodded but in the darkness I doubted she saw me. She must have taken silence as a yes anyway, for she moved her lips to mine once more. This one was better, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the heat of her lips (more saliva?) or maybe it was the greater intensity of my butterflies. I lost track of how long we kept our lips and tongues together. After a long while Jill whispered that I better get back to my bed before we fell asleep, or “they’ll all be talking in the morning.”

I clambered back down to the lower bunk. Before sleep took me, I felt between my legs again. Oh yeah, much wetter this time; such a nice feeling I thought. My dream that night was of puddles and fluttering butterfly wings.

Following breakfast the next day I didn’t see Jill until we went swimming in the afternoon heat. She seemed glad to see me, which was a surprise of sorts since the ‘popular’ girls weren’t usually that friendly to me. Seeing her smile, I remembered our kissing last night and I’m sure I blushed bright red. She went so far as to compliment me on how I looked in my bathing suit. I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Yeah, it looks great ‘cause it’s tight and you have a nice butt. When those boobs of yours really sprout you’ll look really good in a bikini.” She laughed. “I’ve got a bikini but my mom said there was no way I was gonna wear it here. I think she had ideas of male counselors raping me or something. Jeez!”

I said, “You look so good in that one-piece, ‘specially up top, I can only imagine what you look like in a bikini.”

“Wow! Talk like that and I’ll be your friend for life!” She giggled lightly, with a hint of throatiness.

“I’d like to be your friend.” I really meant it too—a whole new realm for me to be in. I was supremely happy the rest of the day thinking about her.

At lights out, Jill whispered from the top bunk, “Psst, hey, you. C’mon up here,” sounding as if she were suppressing a giggle.

I climbed up in the darkness and was immediately shocked. She was naked except for her panties! She whispered to me that she never wore pajamas or anything to bed at home and was tired of having to wear the nightdress in the summer heat of our cabin.

“You wanna kiss again?”

I answered her with action, not words, brushing my lips against hers. This one lasted longer than the one the night before. I was itchier and wetter than the night before too. I found I liked kissing very much.

Jill moaned “Mmmmmm,” her lips vibrating, and at the same time her tongue grew more frantic as it darted all around my mouth. Her hand went under my pajama top and touched one of my nipples. I pulled away.

“Don’t do that,” I whispered.

She took a deep breath and then said, “Donna, I’m so sorry. Whew, I got carried away for a minute.” Another deep breath; “Wow, like you’re a great kisser for a rookie.”

“You touched me,” was all I could say, more out of confusion than accusation.

Just then a girl in another bed coughed and stirred. Jill said “Shhhh.” After several minutes of renewed silence, she whispered, “You know, you can touch me if you want. We’ve been talking about tits seems like every day, so if you want to, like, see what they feel like, I won’t mind.”

The surprising thing to me was that I really did want to see what they felt like. I reached my hand out and lightly cupped one breast and squeezed it a little. She moaned. I thought she likes it, and that intrigued me for sure. Did I like it when she touched my nipple? It got goosepimply and I shivered a little, so the answer seemed to be yes. I fondled her and soon our lips were locked together again in another long, juicy kiss.

When we finally came up for air, she whispered, “Omigod, I’m really wet now. I can feel it.”

I knew how wet I was then, but I shocked myself by asking in a hushed voice, “Can I feel it?”

I got a too-loud, croaking reply, “Yes, oh yes.” I slid my hand tentatively into her panties and discovered her arousal. She was indeed wet, maybe a lot more than me. The crotch of her panties was so wet it did feel like she’d peed herself.

She moaned softly, then whispered, “You better get down into your bed. I’m gonna do myself, and I don’t want you as temptation so close, OK?”

I truly didn’t know what she meant, but I dutifully climbed down from the top bunk. In a minute I felt the bunk bed rock a bit and I heard her moan and whimper. I was beginning to understand what she meant by ‘temptation’ and what she had just done.

The next morning before breakfast, Jill whispered in my ear, “Today when we go to the lake, we’ll sneak off into the woods…to do some, ah, exploring. OK?”

Exploring with Jill sounded like a grand idea. All I could think of all day was kissing her, and the sounds she made after I left her bed. At lakeside, we conspired. Since this time was ours and not for any organized camp activity, we could do anything as long as we weren’t conspicuous by our absence. On the lake was one of those floating wooden rafts to swim out to. Jill and I swam out to it when we knew no one else would be out there. On the raft, she pointed out a cabin that was a short way around the perimeter of the lake from our camp. She said the cabin seemed uninhabited, which she thought was strange given the season.

“Let’s swim over there and check it out,” she said excitedly. Off we went into the water.

When we got there, we found that the unusual building on the shore was a boathouse. We walked up the tiny beach to the cabin. The small house wasn’t as rustic as it looked from afar, but was empty nonetheless. We looked in windows and tried the doors but they were securely locked.

“Owners must have hit bad times, or maybe they’re dead or something,” I said. “It’s a shame, looks like a nice place.”

“Let’s look in the boathouse,” Jill proclaimed before grabbing my hand and practically dragging me along.

The one door was padlocked. We looked in through the door’s window to see there wasn’t a boat in there. The small building, much like a garage of sorts, had a floor ledge on one side with the rest being water. An overhead door was at the water’s end.

Jill grew excited, and said, “We can go in there and check it out. The garage-door-thing doesn’t go all the way down so we can swim under it. Let’s go.”

I thought it was a neat adventure so I didn’t protest. We swam under the door and found ourselves in the cool yet damp boathouse. We scrambled up on the wooden side ledge and sat down. No sooner were we sitting and drip-drying, then she leaned toward me and said she wanted to kiss. Yeah, I liked this kissing stuff and I guess I was secretly hoping she would want to. We weren’t simply kissing though; our hands were also joining in the fun, touching each other’s recently learned tender spots, ignoring our wet suits.

I was surprised yet not totally so when Jill stood up and began taking off her bathing suit, saying, “C’mon, it’ll be like we’re lost on an island or something.”

When hers was off, I couldn’t help but stare. To my eyes she was the epitome of young beauty with her wet, mussed, golden hair and her lithe curvy body. She implored me to do the same, but I was reluctant, even though she’d already seen my nakedness in the camp shower. She jumped into the water and bobbed up and down, still hounding me to take off my suit. Maybe I just didn’t want to disappoint her, seeing she was becoming my unlikely friend. I stood and stripped off my suit, and before I could chicken out, jumped in with her. We playfully splashed each other in the shallow water. At some point we ended up holding each other. Our impromptu embrace spawned more kissing. I was a collection of charged nerve endings; with the excess sparks concentrated at the point my wet breasts touched hers.

Without saying much we got out of the water and lay out on the boathouse’s wooden ledge, close to each other. I hardly knew what was going through her mind. I barely knew what was going threw my mind. I was lying naked with another girl, one I had kissed many times so far—and enjoying it all.

“Oh Donna, this is like heaven. I’m so glad you came with me,” she said in a dreamy voice. “This is like we’re the only two people in the world…like the Garden of Eden or something.” She reached over and touched me. She was touching me THERE. She lazily traced fingertips around my suddenly hot and buzzing labia before finding a magic spot—one I didn’t know much about then but later grew to understand fully, as all women eventually do.

I moaned, “Ohhhhhh,” that fluttery feeling in my stomach I felt when we kissed back, and this time with a vengeance. At the sound of my voice, Jill looked at me and smiled angelically.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She murmured.

She kept at that spot and all sorts of vibrations overwhelmed my body. I’d never felt those sensations before but I wanted them to go on forever. I had my eyes closed and was surprised to realize Jill had gotten between my legs. She was kissing my pussy! I was all ready to push her away in disgust when her tongue found the magic spot and all revulsion was forgotten in a swell of fluttering stomach-butterfly wings.

Before I knew it, I made a loud noise that echoed and careened around the small space. My body heaved and twitched. I was having my first orgasm. My cherry was still intact (I would lose that in a few years) but I was no longer a virgin. She hugged me again, heat radiating from both of us. She confessed that since the first day in the shower she wanted to do that to me.

“Y-you like girls?” I sputtered, still awash in my climax.

“I like boys too, don’t get me wrong, but yeah I look at girls.” She leaned over me as I lay on my back, one of her warm breasts against me—I loved it. “You might not have thought of it but I saw how you looked at me in the shower, and how much you like kissing me,” she said. “I just made love to you…will you do the same to me?”

She lowered her face to me and we kissed. It was so hot all of a sudden in the boathouse. Make love, I thought. Sex. With a girl, no less!

She laid on her back and closed her eyes as I explored her body. I touched and caressed every curve. I played with her breasts, squeezing them in rapt study, first one then the other. I ran a fingertip over and around her nipples; she moaned as I did so, the only sound she’d made so far. I looked at her face to find her eyes closed and a smile on her lips. I kissed one of her nipples, soliciting another soft moan. My hand went back to exploring the soft texture of her preteen skin. As I lightly touched her lower abdomen she spread her legs. Or did they naturally spread on their own for me? I scrutinized her pubis and vulva (of course, I didn’t know those names then as I do now). Her pubic hair wasn’t quite as blond as that on her head but light nonetheless, wispy curls feeling not nearly as course as mine were. Her lips were open like a flower’s petals, and they were as dewy as a morning lawn. I moved between those inviting thighs. I thought of what she did to me minutes ago and tried to emulate her. If I ‘missed’ she coached me on finding the right spots. I soon forgot the apprehension of having my face in the crotch of another girl as my tongue explored and learned.

“Yes, oh yes! Right there! Yes!” She groaned.

Her pussy grew so wet and I knew it wasn’t saliva this time, or dew. Wow! Her body quivered as I licked. I remembered (very fondly!) the blissful contractions of my own orgasm a short while ago, so I was prepared for hers.

“YES, DONNA, YES!!!!” She screamed as her hips bucked and her legs kicked and clamped onto me. My lips and chin were covered with her pussy juice.

We hopped back into the cool boathouse water. We kissed and touched and hugged some more, until we realized the sunshine had almost disappeared from the building’s only window.

“Holy shit!” Jill yelled. “We gotta get back! Shit, are we gonna be in trouble.”

We hastily put our suits back on. Figuring how far camp was by way of the road (and without shoes) we decided it was prudent to swim back the way we came, first to the raft then to the camp’s tiny beach. The swim was tiring but we got there. When we walked up to the compound, counselors and campers alike yelled and ran to greet us. In unison they all said how they thought we were lost, or worse, drowned. They were in fact just getting ready to call the State Police. We were first hugged, then hollered at, then scolded some more. Demanding to know what happened, we told how we swam off to explore another part of the lake and got lost. Jill embellished the story by saying she had gotten a stitch in her side and was afraid to swim more until it went away. They seemed to buy it.

Of course later that night I joined her again in the top bunk. We kissed and fondled each other, taking turns bringing each other to orgasm. We made noise, not loud, but we knew other girls in other bunks could hear us making love. The following night while we repeated our lovemaking and sang our songs of climax, we overheard a couple of other girls cumming, probably having masturbated to our orgasmic soundtrack.

The remainder of summer camp was like that; we were loose friends by day and lovers by night. Because of us being ‘lost’ on that amazing day, they wouldn’t let us out of their sight so we never had another chance to moisten the ledge in the empty boathouse, instead moistening the sheets of Jill’s bunk.

In the fall, back in school, Jill would say hi and we’d talk and laugh whenever we ran into each other, still friends. It wasn’t often since we sort of ran in different circles. She was, of course, one of the ‘popular’ girls. I wasn’t. We never talked about our summertime sexual liaison—my sex education. My best friend Jeannine gave me a hard time for ignoring her during summer camp.

“You spent all your time with that Jill girl, like you knew she wouldn’t be friends with you like I am,” Jeannine bellyached.

Little did Jeannine know what kind of friend Jill had become during those precious few weeks.

It took a few more years before I had sex again, stupidly losing my cherry in high school. I really hadn’t been that experienced when I met my future husband, but I considered myself securely rooted on the side of heterosexuality. It would be some thirty years or so before I made love to another woman when my friend Shannon invited me between her thighs at Millie’s beach house. I seriously don’t think of myself as bisexual, but I know I’ll never forget Jill. I lost track of her after school. I’m sure she became the woman she wanted to be. Maybe she’s a lesbian now. Who knows?

All I know is what she taught me that beautiful summer. Since then I’ve never quite looked at boathouses the same way.

Donna

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