In my last blog post I told a story of manual sex. Here’s another one in the same vein; reader discretion again advised.
As a counselor at a summer camp, I met a young female counselor (actually 11 years younger than me) whom I found myself very attracted to. Apparently she felt the same, because one evening, on a walk, we sat on the picnic table outside the theatre and began kissing. A while into this very hot make-out session, she began to reach down into my pants. Clearly she intended to satisfy me with her hand. I stopped her, though—I wanted her to, of course, but I was concerned about being seen or interrupted. (And a few minutes later, the drumming instructor came wandering by on a solo walk of his own.)
We continued to find alone time in more private places (one being the trailer that served as the headquarters for teaching computing). One night we were in there, in complete darkness (so no one would suspect we were there), and she was doing very well with what she had started at the picnic table. And then suddenly someone was right outside the door, making a phone call on the pay phone mounted on one of the beams that held up the overhanging porch attached to the trailer. But we were very patient (not wanting to be caught) and waited until the caller was finished. And then so was I.
Being a typical male, I didn’t take care about where things ended up. Did she catch it in her other hand? Did it go on the floor? On me, or her? I just sat/laid back and enjoyed it, unconcerned about making a mess.
She also never seemed to want me to reciprocate, but was content to take care of me. We eventually progressed to more mutual activities; after she changed her day off to coincide with mine, we spent those nights together. And I must say I enjoyed her and our time together very much.
Then camp ended and we went back to our separate lives—in fact I left for California and grad school days later. We exchanged a few letters, but eventually lost touch—until reunited by Facebook. I discovered she was now married with kids, so I stayed off the topic of our camp-era activities.
But I do sometimes think back wistfully to those stolen moments.
MUSOFYR 