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The Cuban Missile Crisis lay a few months ahead, but we were still blissfully ignorant of those missile sites going up, Castro’s answer to the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion. It was a fun time to be nineteen and working at a summer camp. For the previous eight years, summers meant spending seven weeks at Camp Nanticoke in central Pennsylvania—first as a camper, then camper-waiter and then, going into my second year of college, as a counselor. The pay was lousy, but you got free room and board and a chance to pass on whatever wisdom or mentoring that you received as a camper. Sports oriented, the camp was an athlete’s haven, and not just for the campers, the counselors competed in their own intramural sports league. Most of the long-time Nanticokians, as we called ourselves, returned for the comradery, the friendships we made there, including the romantic liaisons, an inevitable consequence when girls and boys are thrown together for seven weeks. Well, not exactly together,. I glanced at Tom who had his arm around me and was subtly groping at my body as he spoke with his friend. I was getting turned on, quickly. In part I think it was mainly down to the alcohol in my system and the fact that I had next to nothing on in a room of what were mostly strangers. As his hand began touching my bare skin I knew we had to fuck. I gasped slightly and breathed in heavily, my tummy regressing into my stomach as his hand got dangerously close to my lady part. It was then that I turned to Tom and stopped them mid conversation. “Can you come to the toilet with me hun?” I asked. Caleb pausing. Tom smirked wryly. “Yeah of course, I’ll see you in a bit mate!” And with that I led him towards the hallway where he stopped me before we got to the stairs. “We’re not actually going to the bathroom, are we?” he asked. I gave a wink and began laughing. I held his hand and led the way up the stairs. I had completely forgotten where I was going, the upstairs bedrooms were split.
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