Welcome to Summer Camp

Summer Camp Swingers: Susan Series Book 1

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Chapter 2

The next two days passed quickly, and even though I paid close attention, I didn’t catch my mom staring at my penis again. Each morning, I made sure I got out of bed before my morning erection had fully subsided. I guess I was kind of showing off, but she kept her eyes firmly averted. I don’t know why I’d thrown caution (not to mention modesty) to the wind, but I’d done it. Mom didn’t say anything to me, though I know she must have noticed.

✧ ✧ ✧

Three days after my father left, a late-afternoon storm was brewing. The skies were getting dark and the wind had whipped up. The first fat raindrops began pelting the roof of the clubhouse shortly after dinner. The clubhouse was crowded that night, since it was raining, and there was a lot to do. I was starting to get tired, however, and was trying to decide if I wanted to go to bed or play another game of ping-pong. Mom came up to me about then and said that she and Erin were going up to the cabin to get ready for bed. I decided to join them, and we went to the screen door to look out into the storm.

The wind had abated somewhat, but it was still raining steadily. We waited for a few minutes, to see if it would slack off, but it didn’t. Finally, we decided to go ahead and run for it, and the three of us streaked off into the rainy night. There were a few streetlights up the sandy road, so we could see where we were going, but in the storm, their light reached only so far. So we had to move carefully, and the rain beat down on our unprotected skin as we ran up the hill.

With a last sprint, Erin surged ahead of me (I had already passed Mom) and bounded up the cabin stairs. I came up shortly, winded, and turned to watch Mom run the last bit. When she reached the stairs, we all stood in the light of the single bulb on the porch, panting with exertion and grinning at each other.

Mom stepped back out onto the porch steps and held first her right foot, then her left, under the water sheeting off the cabin roof. The cascading water washed the wet sand off her feet and calves, and Erin and I quickly followed suit.

Mom, still dripping, stepped into the cabin to get our bath towels—our beach towels were soaked from where we’d left them on the railing earlier in the day. When she stepped back out into the light of the porch, she handed us towels and began to dry herself. We toweled off quietly and listened to the sound of the raindrops hitting the roof above us and the pine forest all around us.

Erin finished drying off and went inside without a word. I was vigorously rubbing my head, drying my hair, when Mom threw her hair forward over her head and bent at the waist to dry it.

She had been facing away from me when she bent over, and in the light of the single bulb, I could clearly make out her pussy lips. The hair around her pussy was sparse between her legs, and her plump labia were plainly visible. She ran the towel over her hair as I stared at her exposed sex. I was so transfixed by the sight, I had stopped drying my own hair.

With a wave of near panic, I realized that my penis was quickly becoming erect. With a strangled squeak, I dropped the towel to cover my nearly erect dick, pretending to dry my pubic hair.

With a lurch, I pulled open the screen door and ran inside. As I entered the cabin, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom standing up with a quizzical expression. The screen door shut with a bang as I quickly rushed to the bathroom to hang up my towel and then turned, headed for the safety of my top bunk. My heart sank as I came out of the bathroom and saw Mom just stepping through the screen door.

I decided there was nothing I could do, and quickened my pace toward the ladder, my cock leading the way. I kept my gaze focused on the ladder, and once again, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom look at me curiously. She didn’t say anything though, and I climbed the ladder in relief, slipping under the sheet and rolling to my stomach to hide my erection. I knew she had seen the divining rod that was my hard-on, however, and I was once again overcome with a feeling of embarrassment mixed with exhilaration.

✧ ✧ ✧

That next morning, I woke early. I don’t know what woke me, but the cabin was bathed in the same half-light as the world outside, and it was still raining lightly. I lay awake for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the rain and breathing in the smell of the damp pine forest around us.

I heard a low sound, almost like a moan, and I realized what had woken me. Very quietly, very slowly, I rolled over so I could look over the edge of the top bunk. I looked down at Mom’s bed and what I saw there made me pause.

The sheets were still covering her, but as she lay on her back, I could see the outline of her form quite clearly. She had her eyes closed, and as her head gently rolled from side to side, I saw the sheet moving at the junction of her legs. As I watched, I realized that she had her right hand pressed against her pussy and was moving it in small circles. Her left hand was at her left breast, and she was squeezing her nipple.

With a start, I realized she was masturbating, and I once again felt a familiar hardness between my own legs. I gazed down in wonder, watching my mother pleasure herself. With her left hand, she would alternate cupping her breast and kneading her nipple. Her right hand never let up its relentless motion as she moved her fingers in little circles.

I watched for perhaps five minutes, gently stroking my erection with my right hand, as Mom brought herself closer and closer to her climax. Suddenly, she tensed up and her right hand froze. Her legs stiffened and she rolled her head to the side to bite into the pillow, stifling any sound she might have made. She brought both legs up, with her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth for ten or fifteen seconds. She did all this in complete silence. Once her orgasm subsided, she quietly rolled to the side, her legs still drawn up. I could see her softly panting with the exertion and pleasure of the moment.

She lay like that for quite a while, unmoving, as she slowly regained her normal breathing rhythm. I don’t know how many minutes passed before she straightened her legs and rolled back onto her back. When she did, I saw that her right hand was still pressed against her pussy. She slowly pulled it away from her sex and cupped her breasts with both hands. I watched as she languidly kneaded them, caressing her nipples with the tips of her fingers. Finally, to my disappointment, she put her hands back down by her hips and took a deep breath.

From my perch on the top bunk, in the slowly lightening morning, I had just watched my mother pleasure herself. As she lay motionless on her bed, I rolled over as quietly as I could, putting my back to the exposed edge of the bunk bed. I wanted to stroke my erection, to bring myself to orgasm as my mother had just done, but I couldn’t. I knew Mom would see or hear me if I tried.

By the time I heard her quietly get up and begin to move about the cabin, the sun had come up fully and its light had began to filter through the fragrant pine trees behind the cabin. The rain had also stopped entirely, though a fine mist still hung in the air, almost aglow with the sun’s light. When I stopped stroking myself, my erection slowly shrank. It was still tumescent, however, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt for the ladder rung with my toes.

Outside, birds had begun singing after the rain. The storm had knocked a few degrees off the temperature and the normally cool morning was downright chilly. Without a word, Mom and I left Erin sleeping and walked down to the clubhouse in companionable silence.

Earlier, in the cabin, when she had bent over to brush her hair out, I had noticed that her labia were swollen and dark pink. It excited me thinking about her masturbating, but I ruthlessly kept my thoughts and emotions in check, and we made it to the clubhouse without me getting an erection.

As we neared the clubhouse, we saw that the storm gusts had done a lot of superficial damage. There were smaller, as well as some larger branches down all along the road to the clubhouse. When we approached the side door, there was a big branch, six or eight inches in diameter, almost touching the back corner of the building.

Once inside, through the screened windows on the far side of the clubhouse, we saw that many of the lighter lawn chairs on the side porch had been blown about and scattered by the force of the storm.

As Mom and I headed to the kitchen area to fix some breakfast, we saw Aunt Susan drinking a glass of juice at one of the tables.

One of the odd things about Aunt Susan was that she always wore bikini bottoms. That wasn’t unusual, in and of itself. Women and girls at the camp wore shorts or bikini bottoms during their period. So seeing a woman partially clothed wasn’t surprising. What was odd, at least to my mind, was that Aunt Susan always wore bikini bottoms. I’d seen her in several different pairs, but she was always clad in something. They weren’t prim either, like she was simply old-fashioned; they were usually trendy bikini bottoms. She just always wore them.

I had always thought that maybe she was just self-conscious. I didn’t think much more about it, however, as Mom headed for Aunt Susan’s table and I offered to fix breakfast.

“Thank you, Paul. I’d like just a piece of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice,” Mom said as she sat down across from Aunt Susan.

“Would you like me to fix you anything, Aunt Susan?” I asked, trying to show off how polite I was.

“No thank you, Paul,” she said. I headed for the kitchen to toast some bread and fix myself a bowl of cereal.

When I returned with Mom’s toast and juice, and my own bowl of Froot Loops, Mom and Aunt Susan were talking. Mom had a concerned look on her face, and as I seated myself, she recounted their conversation to me.

“Aunt Susan’s house suffered quite a bit of minor damage in last night’s storm,” Mom said. Susan’s house was surrounded by a lot of pine trees, and was set away from the rest of the buildings at the camp. “She’s got branches, including several large ones, on her roof and in her courtyard. She was also telling me that the fiberglass roof over her back patio had many pieces simply missing.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I covered up by digging into my cereal with gusto.

“It’ll take several days to clean it up,” Aunt Susan said, “and with the boys away for the summer, I’m on my own.”

Mom knew a set-up for an enterprising young man when she heard one. “Paul would be happy to help you, if you need him.”

I froze, mid-bite, and lifted my head to look at each of the older women at the table. Words cannot express how much I desperately wanted to avoid schlepping around picking up branches, or anything else that smacked of volunteer work.

“I could pay you, Paul,” she said, looking at me. “Three dollars an hour.”

That got my attention. Three dollars was better than minimum wage! For a cash-strapped fifteen-year-old, it was good money. I chewed the mouthful of Froot Loops I had just scooped up and raised my eyebrows in interest.

“It’s a couple days’ worth of work,” she cautioned. “But I’ll feed you breakfast and lunch.”

“Oh, Susan, you don’t have to do that,” Mom said.

“It’ll be nice,” Aunt Susan replied. “With both the boys away with college, the house is too quiet. It’ll be nice having someone around to fix a meal for. Besides,” she said with mock severity, “I insist.”

“I’m sure Paul would love to do it,” Mom said, neatly volunteering me. “Just make sure he’s back in time for dinner at six.”

I was a bit peeved at being summarily volunteered, but the money took the wind out of any resentment that I might have felt.

I quickly did the math in my head and thought to myself, “I could make more than fifty dollars!” That was a princely sum, and I eagerly nodded.

“It’s settled then,” Aunt Susan said. “There’s nothing pressing that needs to be done today, Paul, so why don’t you come ’round tomorrow morning and we’ll make a clean start of it?”

I scooped another spoonful of cereal into my mouth and nodded with enthusiasm.

The next morning, Mom made sure I was up on time, and I headed down the hill toward Aunt Susan’s house.

At thirty-eight, Aunt Susan was only two years older than my parents. She also looked quite a lot like my mom. Her hair was brunette and her breasts were different, but otherwise, they had very similar figures.

The differences between their breasts were mostly cosmetic—they were roughly the same size and shape, although Aunt Susan’s were a little rounder than Mom’s. But where my mother was tanned a golden bronze, Aunt Susan was fair. She had dark pink areolas, a little larger than Mom’s, that were perfectly round. Her nipples, however, were less pronounced than Mom’s. She had the same hourglass figure and blue eyes that my mother had. I realized with a start that the two of them could have been sisters.

As I strode purposefully toward her house, set about a hundred feet away from anything else, I saw that the thick stand of pines had taken a beating from the previous night’s storm. There were branches, some larger around than my arm, littering the ground underneath the pines. Before I got to the trees, I could see only glimpses of the house itself, but as I imagined the work in front of me, I cringed inwardly, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

As I approached the house, I saw branches large and small on the low roof too. When I got closer, I could also see that the corrugated fiberglass panels that had covered half the back patio had also been blown about quite a bit. Once I got to the entrance to the walled courtyard, I found plenty of storm damage and debris there too. I would have my work cut out for me over the next several days. Thoughts of easy money fled my mind: I would earn what I got paid.

Oh well, it was easier than spending the summer working at McDonalds!

✧ ✧ ✧

I walked through the debris-littered courtyard and approached the screen door. I didn’t see a bell, so I simply opened the screen door and knocked on the kitchen door itself. I waited a minute or so and knocked again, louder this time, and let the screen door close. When the kitchen door finally opened, I saw Aunt Susan through the screen door. With a white towel wrapped around her head, she greeted me with a smile.

“I’m so sorry, Paul,” she said. “I was just getting out of the shower. I didn’t expect you this early.”

“I can come back later, if you like,” I said by way of apology.

“No, no. Now’s just fine.” She pushed the screen door open. “C’mon in.”

She stepped back as I grasped the screen door myself and swung it wide. I stepped past her, into the kitchen, and immediately moved to the left toward the corner where two counters met. The kitchen was dim, since Aunt Susan had apparently rushed straight from the bathroom to the back door without turning on the lights.

As I leaned back in the corner, the cool Formica chilled my bare skin, and I realized with a start that her house was air-conditioned. After enough time without air conditioning, I had gotten used to the heat of South Carolina, and my skin raised goose bumps in the cool, dry air.

Aunt Susan stepped forward to shut the door, and then flipped the light switch next to it. The kitchen light came on and she turned toward me. What I saw then is one of my fondest memories. What happened next is one of my most embarrassing, yet humorous, memories.

As she turned, I saw she had only the towel around her hair. In the light of the kitchen, I saw what the screen door and the dimness had prevented me from seeing earlier. Aunt Susan was not deeply tanned (I knew she didn’t lay out in the sun by the lake) although she did have a slight bronze color to her skin. She was a very pale alabaster where her bikini bottoms blocked out the sun, with sharply defined tan lines. And suddenly, I realized why she always wore a pair of bikini bottoms. As my eyes quickly flicked over her body, they stopped and I suddenly stood transfixed by the sight before me.

She had no pubic hair, and I could clearly see the smooth skin of her lips. My penis betrayed me, and I got an erection so quickly that I’m amazed I didn’t pass out from lack of blood to my brain!

It happened so fast that I didn’t know what to do; I couldn’t very well stand there with my cock standing at right angles to my body. I did the only thing my panic-stricken brain could think of, I spun around and faced the counter, hiding my erection in the corner.

“Are you okay, Paul?” Aunt Susan asked, her voice suddenly very concerned.

I knew she probably hadn’t seen my erection, since I’d spun around so quickly, but I’m sure she easily deduced what the problem must have been.

I mumbled something incoherent and stared into the corner.

“Are you okay?” she repeated, still concerned at my lack of coherent response.

I mutely nodded, willing my erection to subside. I could feel the flush of embarrassment on my neck and face, but I simply didn’t know what to do. In the end, Aunt Susan’s gentle voice came to my rescue.

“You got an erection, didn’t you,” she said soothingly, reasonably, in the same tone of voice that she might’ve used to say “you have blue eyes.”

I didn’t respond for several moments, and she let the silence draw out. Embarrassed as I was, I couldn’t deny the obvious, especially since she’d put it out in the open so plainly. I felt my neck and face heat further and nodded jerkily.

“It’s okay, Paul. It’s natural. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she continued in the same reasonable tone. “You can turn around, your erection won’t offend my sensibilities.”

I couldn’t! My traitorous penis was still as hard as steel. I shook my head, still not trusting myself to speak.

“Paul, I’ve run the camp for a long time. Besides, I have two sons of my own. I’ve seen a young man with an erection before,” she said soothingly. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I shook my head again, not daring to move.

Her tone took on a firmer quality, “Paul, an erection is a natural thing. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. If you stand in the corner all day, we won’t get much work done.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Turn around, I’ll cook us some breakfast, and before you know it, you’ll be fine.”

She was so reasonable. She was so matter-of-fact. Embarrassment or not, I decided it was stupid to stay with my nose, not to mention my erection, stuck in the corner. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t know what the problem was.

Reluctantly, I turned around to face her. For the first time in my young life, I stood in full view of another person with my dick as hard as a steel rod. I hung my head in shame, not daring to look at her.

“Paul,” she said, her voice brooking no objection, “look at me.”

I slowly raised my face, but wouldn’t make eye contact with her.

“Paul.” The one word was tantamount to an order.

When my eyes finally met hers, I could see that she was neither embarrassed nor surprised. In fact, she seemed completely at ease.

She looked me in the eyes and said, “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

At her choice of words, I blushed furiously… all evidence to the contrary. She saw the expression on my face, realized what she had said, and let a short burst of laughter escape her lips before covering her mouth with a hand. Her eyes were smiling, and I could tell she was trying very hard not to giggle. It was equally obvious that she was laughing at her own poor choice of words, and not at me. Her mirth was infectious, and I found myself grinning like an idiot in return. Her self-control finally deserted her, and she began laughing helplessly. I couldn’t resist, and despite the absurdity of the situation, I laughed right along with her.

The tension banished, she took a step back to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and gestured for me to sit.

“I’ll fix us some breakfast,” she said, her laughter having subsided enough to speak.

✧ ✧ ✧

Aunt Susan fixed eggs, link sausage, and toast, and poured us glasses of orange juice. The whole time she was fixing breakfast, I silently watched her. She bustled about the kitchen, the awkwardness of earlier completely forgotten. Every time I could, I sneaked glances at her smooth pubis and wondered why she had no pubic hair. My erection, hidden by the kitchen table, swelled almost uncomfortably as I sat in the chair.

The only conclusion my young mind could come to was that she had cancer. People with cancer lost their hair, right? I was profoundly ashamed of the fact that I was so aroused by something as deadly as cancer. At the time, it never occurred to me that she still had a full head of hair, and that cancer itself doesn’t cause people’s hair to fall out. Cancer treatment causes people’s hair to fall out, and if I’d thought about it, I’d have known that she wasn’t driving into town for regular cancer treatments. But my thoughts were awhirl, and I didn’t think that far ahead, as enthralled as I was by the sight of her beautiful, smooth pussy.

As she turned around to set the breakfast plates on the table, my curiosity finally got the better of me and I blurted out, “Do you have cancer?”

“Cancer?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. She looked confused. “What in the world makes you think that?”

“Um… well… uh…,” I stammered. “When people have cancer… um… doesn’t their… um… hair fall out?”

To my complete chagrin, she laughed. Her laughter was tolerant and unconcerned, and directed at me as much as herself. She pointed to her towel-wrapped head and raised her eyebrows. I mentally slapped myself in the forehead. Of course her hair hadn’t fallen out! At my look of recognition and then subsequent confusion, she laughed again. It was a bright, musical laugh that didn’t embarrass me more than I’d already embarrassed myself.

Without thinking, I forged ahead, “Then why do you… I mean… uh… why is your… um…” I darted my eyes toward the junction of her legs as words finally—and thankfully—failed me.

Looking down at herself and finally realizing what I was blathering about, she rescued me from my stumbling almost-questions.

“No, Paul, I don’t have cancer.” She gave me a searching look, and I could see her come to a silent decision. “I shave my pubic hair,” she said gently, still smiling at me to ease my obvious distress.

The look of astonishment on my face couldn’t have been plainer. Why in the world would someone shave their pubic hair? I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Why in the world would you do that?” I can’t believe I said that out loud!

It was her turn to blush as her comforting smile transformed into a wry grin. I watched her try to decide how to answer my abrupt and awkwardly forthright question. Finally, I guess she settled on the truth.

“My husband liked me…,” she said, then paused to marshal her thoughts. “He liked it that way,” she said simply. “I discovered that I liked it better too, so I’ve kept… things…,” she said with a smile of avoidance, “smooth ever since he died.”

“So that’s why you wear bikini bottoms!”

“That’s why I wear bikini bottoms,” she said simply. “At least, when I’m away from the house. Around here, I don’t bother much. Although,” she said with a teasing grin that punctured my hard-won self-control, “if the erections continue, I might have to rethink that policy.” With that, she pulled out her own chair and sat down.

Once again, I blushed furiously, but she laughed gently to take the sting out of it. I began to seriously apply myself to eating breakfast, thankful for the welcome diversion.

“When did your husband die?” I asked, washing a bite of eggs down with a swig of juice.

As long as we’d been coming to the camp, I’d never known Aunt Susan to have a husband. She had two sons, three and five years older than me, and I guess I’d known she must’ve been married. But I hadn’t thought much about it. I had been too young to hang around with Kirk, her older son, before he left for college. And while I knew Doug, her younger son, I didn’t know him well. And now that he was also away for the summer, she was all alone in the house.

At my question, she set her fork down and took a sip of her own orange juice, apparently composing her thoughts. I belatedly realized that I might’ve brought up a painful subject.

“He was killed in Vietnam,” she said simply, without emotion.

Though as I looked at her, I realized that her emotions were very tightly controlled.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s been almost ten years,” she said, and picked up her fork again. “He was a pilot in the Navy.”

“Oh?” I asked, suddenly interested.

“His plane was shot down in 1968,” she said with the same tight emotional control.

“What did he fly?” I asked, trying to change the subject, but still intensely interested.


“Really? My Dad flew A-4s too!”

“Mmm hmm.”

Her look prompted me for more, but I was at a loss for what she wanted me to say. Then it hit me!

“Did my dad know your husband?”

She smiled at my sudden understanding. “Why do you think your family started coming here?”

“Oh,” I said simply, chagrined again.

She smiled at me again. “Jack and your father were very good friends. Your mom and I met when we were all stationed in California. We’ve kept in touch ever since Jack was killed.”

I blinked at her. Dad never talked much about his time in Vietnam, so I knew very little about that part of his life. I was as clueless about things outside of my immediate interest. Besides, I was too young at the time to remember much about when we lived in California.

“We’d better get to work, though, so we can get as much done as we can, while it’s still cool,” she said, standing and collecting her plate and glass.

During our conversation about her husband, my erection had abated a bit, but when she stood and I saw the slit of her smooth pussy, it returned full force. I gulped as she looked down at me. I was too embarrassed to stand up and reveal the fact that I was still erect.

“Do you still have an erection?” she asked with gentle sympathy.

I swallowed hard and nodded at her, blushing again.

She smiled and shook her head in wonder. “The stamina of the young,” she teased me. She got serious quickly, though. “It’s okay. Once we get to work, it’ll go down.” She nodded to reassure me. “Now, bring your dishes over to the sink and let’s get to work.”

Her tone said she would suffer no objections, and I complied. But when I stood up, the tip of my penis caught on the edge of the table. When I pulled back slightly to free it, it flipped up and then bobbed gently. Aunt Susan saw the motion and dropped her eyes to my dick. I blushed again (I had been doing that a lot) and she stifled a giggle. With a pained and forlorn expression, I looked up at her and she burst out laughing. Her laughter was too contagious, and too sympathetic—I couldn’t help but laugh at my own predicament as I began gathering up my breakfast dishes.

Still smiling, she looked at me across the table. “I guess I should be flattered. It’s not every woman who has such a…,” she nodded to indicate my penis, pausing to consider her words, “loyal… admirer.” Susan smiled at me mischievously, taking the punch out of her words, and turned toward the sink.

As I walked toward her with my dishes in hand, she turned.

“You rinse off the dishes while I go dry my hair.”

I nodded wordlessly and she turned to go into the back of the house.

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When she returned, she carried two pairs of work gloves. She tossed me the larger pair as we headed toward the door to the courtyard.

We worked hard all morning long. There was lots of storm debris to pick up, sweep up, and pile up to be burned later. By lunchtime, we had managed to clean out the entire courtyard, righting tipped-over and damaged flowerpots, dragging off pine branches, and generally picking up.

The entire time, my erection never completely subsided. When I was concentrating on something, it would shrink a little. But then I’d catch a glimpse of Aunt Susan’s shaved pussy and my penis would surge to life again, seemingly with a will of its own.

I could also tell that she was stealing glances at my penis. How could she not, when it was swelling and bouncing every time I looked her way? Whenever I looked her direction, I saw her quickly avert her eyes. Her earlier protests to the contrary, perhaps she hadn’t spent much time around a horny teenager with a constant, and very visible, erection.

For my part, I tried to ignore it as best I could. And I tried like hell not to scrape it with anything like the rough bark of a pine bough.

I was also surreptitiously admiring her body as much as I could. Constantly seeing the flawless alabaster skin of her ass and her smooth-shaven pussy slit was almost too much. I began to appreciate how attractive Aunt Susan was. Her breasts were similar to Mom’s, and were very appealing. I laughed to myself at the thought. All breasts were appealing! I was mesmerized, watching as they swayed when she bent over to work on her flowerpots.

It was the constant glimpses of her body, and her exotic shaved pussy, that kept me in a constant state of excitement.

When it was time for lunch, she brought out a clean towel and a spray bottle of Formula 409. At her instruction, I cleaned the glass top of the wrought-iron table and wiped down each of the chairs as she was fixing lunch.

In a few minutes, she came out with a tray of ham sandwiches, potato chips, and tall glasses of lemonade already beginning to bead with sweat in the heat. We ate in comfortable silence, my erection visible through the glass of the table the whole time. I had sort of gotten used to the fact that it wasn’t going to oblige me any time soon (at least until I was finished for the day and could find someplace quiet to masturbate like a fiend).

Aunt Susan seemed to be squirming in her seat a little, but she stopped when she saw that I’d noticed. At the time, I remember thinking that she must have an itch. As it turned out, I was right.

✧ ✧ ✧

The rest of the afternoon was spent dragging branches from the area surrounding the house. By the time we were done, we had quite a pile of them. Aunt Susan said we’d just leave them behind the house to dry, and then use them for a bonfire next week for the Fourth of July.

True to form, all the rest of the afternoon, my erection eased very little. My poor young balls had begun to ache at their lack of release, and I couldn’t wait to leave for the day. I was thinking about where I could go to find some privacy, but I was drawing a blank. Oh, I could simply wander off into the woods and find someplace to jerk off, but I’d have to go far enough to avoid any casual observer. And that would mean I’d be late for dinner. Besides, I wanted to get back to our cabin to shower before I met Mom and my sister at the clubhouse.

Aunt Susan knew I had to be back for dinner with them at six, and by the large clock hanging under the eave of the house, we quit a little after five. We each collapsed into a wrought-iron chair, tired from our exertions.

“Are you… okay?” she asked as we sat across from each other at the table.

I was oblivious to what she was really asking, and I nodded.

She realized that I didn’t Get It and pressed the question. “No. I mean… are you… okay?” she asked, nodding toward my erection, which she could clearly see through the glass top of the table. “You’ve been,” she paused and I could see her come to an internal decision to be direct, “hard almost all day. That can’t be comfortable.”

I looked at her helplessly, at a loss for words.

She realized my predicament and rescued me, a sympathetic and knowing expression on her face. “You can use the bathroom in the hall if you’d like to…,” she chose her euphemism with care, “…wash up… before dinner.”

I was confused for a moment. One corner of the courtyard, by the house, was covered with rich red terra-cotta tiles under a shower spigot that stuck out of the wall. The shower had no drain, and the water would simply run off to be soaked up by the sandy soil of the courtyard. There was a concrete bench to the side of the showerhead, but otherwise, there were no surrounding walls. There were pegs along the house, to hold towels or other gear, but nothing in the way of cover. I could just as easily have “washed up” in the courtyard shower. But I would have no privacy. And for the kind of “washing up” that Aunt Susan had suggested, I wanted the privacy the hall bathroom would provide. So I nodded blankly and headed for the door to the house.

In the hall bathroom, the door was barely shut and locked before I wrapped my right hand around my erection and began to stroke. After the day’s constant stimulation, I quickly felt the surge of my rising come as I frantically pumped. I felt my release approaching quickly. In a near panic, I realized that I didn’t have anything to catch my come.

I madly searched for something, anything. By the time I spotted the Kleenex on the back of the toilet, it was too late—a white geyser of come spurted out, arching upwards, and I squeezed my eyes shut in ecstasy. I felt the next surge shoot from my cock as I rhythmically pumped the base. All the day’s pent-up semen came gushing out in a torrent.

My legs, buttocks, and back were taut as I thrust my hips forward, basking in the warmth and pleasure emanating from my penis. When my spurting finally diminished to a dribble, I relaxed and let my breath out explosively. My chin dropped against my chest as I opened my eyes. Glistening white droplets of semen coated the sink and vanity.

When I finally did extract a few tissues from the box of Kleenex, I gently wiped my come-covered hand and penis. I then began to wipe my seed from the counter. When I finished cleaning up all the come droplets I could find, I realized with a grimace that I was still hard. The insistent pressure in my balls had eased with my release, but my dick evidently hadn’t gotten the message that enough was enough.

I waited for several minutes, but my erection didn’t subside the least bit. The problem was that the whole time I was waiting, I was thinking of Aunt Susan and her beautiful pussy. In my mind, I replayed scenes from the day spent working together. I reluctantly decided that my erection wasn’t going away until I did something about it. So I wrapped my fingers around my shaft and began to stroke. Again.

The second time I came, I was ready. I had a wad of Kleenex clutched in my left hand as I felt the first surge coursing up my shaft. When I finished coming, I cleaned off the head of my penis and it finally began to shrink. My poor, abused cock was red and shiny, but it wasn’t sticking out at right angles to my body. It wasn’t all the way soft yet, but it was close enough.

I suddenly realized that after my release, I had to pee. I stepped over to the toilet, and no sooner had I raised the lid and seat than I felt the stream of urine begin to flow. I leaned my head back and luxuriated in the feeling of release, so closely following my earlier releases of an entirely different kind. When I was done, I shook the remaining droplets, put the seat and lid back down (my mother trained me well), and flushed.

By that time, I imagined I’d spent the better part of half an hour in the bathroom. I hastily washed my hands in the sink, dried them on the towel by the light switch, and rushed out into the hall, without even looking at myself in the mirror.

As I emerged from the living room into the kitchen, I saw Aunt Susan blithely sitting at the table, counting out dollar bills. When she looked up and saw me, her smile was bright but tired. Her eyes dropped to my crotch, taking in the sight of my abused cock. She smiled again, this time with wry humor, and looked back up at me.

“I’m glad to see that everything… came out… okay,” she said mock seriously, her eyes laughing with her gentle teasing.

I blushed furiously and could only nod.

She collected the bills she’d laid out on the table and stood up, extending her arm to me.

“Here’s your first day’s pay,” she said, holding the money out.

“That’s okay. You can just pay me when we’ve finished everything.” I knew there were at least two more days’ work, perhaps three.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Besides, what am I going to spend it on here?” I said, waving my hand to encompass the entire camp.

“You’ve got a point there,” she conceded and shifted the money to her left hand. She held her right hand out to me. “You worked very hard today, Paul,” she said seriously, as I stepped forward and shook her hand.

I could tell she was trying to bolster my ego, and even though I knew that’s what she was doing, it worked. I blushed again and thanked her.

Her tone immediately lightened as she said, “See you tomorrow morning for breakfast?”


“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

I nodded and headed out the door to the courtyard with a wave. As soon as I was out of the courtyard, I broke into a trot as I headed back to our cabin. I had fifteen minutes or so before I was supposed to be at the clubhouse, and I still wanted to shower.

✧ ✧ ✧

The Complete Series

Summer Camp Swingers: Susan

E-book cover for Welcome to Summer Camp by Nick Scipio
E-book cover for Learning the Ins & Outs by Nick Scipio
E-book cover for Hot Summer Nights by Nick Scipio

Meet the women of Summer Camp


Susan MacLean – Owner of the Pines, Paul's first lover and mentor


Gina Coulter – Paul's first girlfriend at camp, pledges ΧΩ at UT


Kendall Payton – Paul's second girlfriend at camp, later in college


Wren Hilliard – Christy's best friend and roommate, Trip's girlfriend


Christy Carmichael – Paul's friend and later girlfriend, Wren's best friend

...and the rest!

A beautiful bevy of models from the Summer Camp Swingers Universe