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Welcome to Summer Camp - Summer Camp Swingers: Susan Series Book 1

Nick Scipio


Welcome to Summer Camp

Summer Camp Swingers: Susan Series Book 1

Nick Scipio

Free Dessert Publishing





Book 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9


About the Author

More Summer Camp Swingers

Also by Nick Scipio


Hello and welcome to Camp! If you’ve been here before, let’s talk about some changes.

First, the book titles. They’re new. Duh. But why? For starters, they’re more descriptive now. The old Volume X titles didn’t tell you a thing about the books, other than their order in the series.

The new titles are mostly for new readers. If you’re a fan from before, you probably don’t care what the books are called. But new readers don’t know me or my stories, and titles are an important part of the sales pitch.

Next, the series and universe, Summer Camp Swingers. Why the change? Amazon. Specifically, their search and recommendation algorithms. I don’t want my books to appear beside ones about regular summer camps. Adding Swingers should make it clear that mine are for grown-ups.

Okay, that’s enough about the changes. If you’re new to Camp, let me tell you how this all began.

Back in the summer of 2002, I had a story growing in my imagination. It started as a simple fantasy that sprang from events in my real life.

My family vacationed at a nudist camp in the seventies and early eighties. My parents were swingers at the time, although I didn’t figure it out until much later. And when I was a teenager, I knew a woman who was similar to Susan. As an adult, I always wondered what would’ve happened if she’d been more like the woman in my imagination.

So this “what if…?” story was growing in my head, and I kept remembering things and adding new details. It quickly became too much to keep track of, so I decided to write it down. I finished the first few chapters and posted them online. People liked them, so I kept writing.

In the process, my coming-of-age story evolved into something far bigger than I’d ever imagined. I added an overall plot: Who died? Who’s the wife? Then I sketched out the people and events in several more stories. Other writers wanted to play in my world, so I created the universe, Summer Camp Swingers. My own stories grew into books, and the books became series—five of them, as it turned out.

So, where are we now, with this book? Christy is the fifth and final series in the main Summer Camp Swingers saga. You don’t need to read the first four series to enjoy this one, but they add a lot of background for the people and events here. If you’re interested, the earlier series are available on my website.

Whew! That was a lot of introduction. Yeah, sorry. I’ve been writing Summer Camp Swingers since that fateful day back in 2002, so we’re talking about 30 books, nearly 2.5 million words. In any event, I’m sure you’re ready to start reading. You bought the book, after all, so let’s get to it!

Nick Scipio

August 1, 2020



Summer Camp Swingers has always been a serial, published a chapter at a time. So the books in this series don’t begin and end like normal ones do. They’re meant to be read as a complete story, one after the other. When you reach the end of this book, pick up the next one and keep going.

And when you reach the end of this series, start the next one. Keep going until you finish the Christy series. That’s 26 books in total, more than two million words.

The Epilogue in So Long, Summer Camp (book 8 in the Christy series) will wrap up the whole saga and answer the two big questions from the very beginning—who’s the wife and who died?


I hung up the receiver and sat in silence for several moments, looking at the note I’d written on the pad next to the phone.

“Who was on the phone, honey?” my wife asked from the door to my office.

“Hmm?” I shook my head, lost in thought. “Sorry, dear. What did you say?”

“I asked who was on the phone,” she said again, indulgently.


“Oh? You didn’t talk long.”


Seeing the expression on my face, my wife grew concerned.

“Is everything all right?”

Looking up at her, I drew myself back to the present, shaking my head again to clear my thoughts.

“Yes… well… yes and no.”

She raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“Mom’s fine,” I reassured her. “She was calling to tell me that a friend had died.”

My eyes were drawn back to the notepad and my hastily scrawled note. I thought back to a summer… a summer many years ago. But perhaps not so many, the memories were so fresh and clear.

Sensing that I was lost in thought, and knowing she could ask me about it later, my wife quietly shut the door and left me to myself.

Book 1


My story really begins when I was twelve and my family lived in Savannah, Georgia. My father was a pilot for an air charter company, and my mother was what would now be called a stay-at-home mom. The summer after I finished sixth grade, we went on a vacation that would change my life forever.

My mother and father had always been very open raising my sister, Erin, and me. They didn’t flaunt themselves in front of us, but they didn’t hide their bodies when we’d come into their room, or any other time we might see them without their clothes.

My sister and I knew our parents slept in the nude, and they’d sometimes sunbathe nude in our fenced-in back yard. On family vacations, or at my grandparents’ lake, we’d all skinny-dip occasionally. But while nudity wasn’t a taboo in our family, there weren’t any times when we spent a long time in the nude.

In the summer of 1975, that was about to change.

That summer, our parents asked Erin and me what we thought about the family going to a nudist camp for our summer vacation.

I hated the idea immediately.

Mom and Dad told us that the camp (called simply The Pines Resort) was in South Carolina, and was run by a woman named Susan. If we decided to go, we were supposed to tell our friends from school that we were going to spend the summer at “Aunt Susan’s.” She wasn’t our real aunt, of course, but it was a useful fiction.

Our parents were fairly open with both of us, and we talked about the trip before we made a final decision. My mom and dad certainly seemed enthusiastic, and Erin was all in favor of the trip, especially when they started telling her about the camp.

They told us about the big spring-fed lake, the playground, the games, the sports, and all the other fun things to do there. When they told us that the camp was a “family camp,” and that there would be other kids our age, that seemed to cinch it for Erin.

She was two and a half years younger than me, and hadn’t entered puberty yet. Of course she would love to go; she didn’t have an awkward and slightly pudgy body just beginning to sprout all the usual hair.

At twelve, my body had just started changing, and the last thing that I wanted to do was take my clothes off for a month at a nudist camp! I was embarrassed enough at the changes my body was undergoing; I didn’t want the added embarrassment of everyone else knowing, too.

I sulked, in the self-centered way only a twelve-year-old can, and my parents wisely let me stew about things for a few days. Erin, on the other hand, constantly wheedled me. She obviously couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to go to such a fun place.


A few days later, my mom brought the subject up again, when we were alone in the kitchen. I guess she knew she’d have a better chance if Erin weren’t around to pester me.

When Mom asked why I wasn’t enthusiastic about going to the nudist camp, I shrugged and mumbled, “I dunno.”

I was worried about people—especially any girls my age—seeing my awkward body, and making me feel embarrassed. But I couldn’t tell her that. Nonetheless, I think she sensed that that was the problem. So she pointed out to me that there would be other boys my age there.


“Well, you can meet other kids your age and make new friends.”

“I don’t want any new friends my age,” I said sullenly.

“You can meet older boys then… or girls.”

Then, I Got It! I was so worried about girls my age seeing me that I completely overlooked the fact that if girls my age would be at the camp, then I could see them too.

I may have been a petulant twelve-year-old, embarrassed by my changing body and being a little on the chubby side, but I wasn’t stupid. A nudist camp meant naked teenaged girls! And at age twelve, I had discovered that girls weren’t as bad as I’d thought only a year before. My younger sister got on my nerves often enough, but older girls… Now, older girls had boobs, and pubic hair, and other things that I knew I liked.

But even at twelve, I knew I couldn’t cave in as quickly as I wanted; at least, not without looking like an idiot. So I gloomily agreed.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said in my best faux-sullen voice.

Mom smiled at my change of heart. “You’ll have fun, honey. You’ll see.”

I’d like to say that my life changed dramatically during the summer of 1975, but the truth is much more mundane. The experience opened my eyes quite a bit, and set me on the road to a monumental series of events, but in the summer of 1975 those events were still in my future.

Despite my original reluctance, I really liked the camp. It was everything that my parents had promised; there were all sorts of things to do there, and enough kids my age that I always had someone to do things with. Once I got over my initial self-consciousness, I guess I forgot to be embarrassed. And after I got over my first day’s sunburn (having to wear a t-shirt in the lake so I didn’t get burned even worse is not my idea of a fun time), I enjoyed our time at the camp.

“Aunt Susan,” as it turned out, was about my parents’ age, and had two sons who were a few years older than me. In addition, there were many other families with kids. Some would stay for a week or two and then leave, some families stayed longer, and still others seemed to spend the entire summer there.

I certainly got my fill of looking at tanned and naked teenage girls. When you’re around nudity all the time, however, the naughty aspect of it all kinda wears off. I certainly had to hide my share of painful and unwieldy erections, but I got used to it. And it did provide me with some wonderful fantasy material for masturbating, whenever I could find the time alone; which was as often as I could, those first couple of weeks.

The four weeks that my family spent at the camp seemed to race by, and it was all too soon that we had to return to “the real world” in Savannah.

Every summer after that, we spent several weeks at “Aunt Susan’s.”

There was only one hiccup in our family routine over the next few years. In early 1977, my father was hired by a major airline in Atlanta, and my family moved. We were further away from the camp, but we stayed a full six weeks during the summer of ’77. My father had to return to Atlanta a few times, to fly for several days at a time, but Erin and I largely enjoyed ourselves. I could tell that Mom missed Dad when he had to fly, but at fourteen, noticing things outside your own little world isn’t really a common occurrence.

The next year, 1978, Mom and Dad asked us if we’d like to spend the entire summer at Aunt Susan’s. We could get one of the small cabins for the summer, and whenever Dad needed to fly a trip, he could drive into Columbia, and then catch a flight to Atlanta.

Dad told us that he’d bid lines which had all their trips jammed into ten or twelve days at a time, and that he should be able to spend more time with us. When he was gone, he’d be gone for about two weeks at a time, but he’d only have to leave three or four times over the entire summer.

We thought it was a great idea, and decided to leave the day after school ended, which coincided with my fifteenth birthday. Happy Birthday to me! I looked forward to the camp like only a perpetually horny fifteen-year-old could.

By that summer, I’d survived the “awkward phase” of puberty. I’d had a growth spurt the year before, and I was currently a half-inch over 5’7”. At fifteen, that extra half-inch is important! But I was still a little pudgy. Mom and Dad both said it was just “baby fat” (a phrase I patently despised) and that I’d grow out of it. I’m sure that all sounds very comforting when you’re not the one who’s pudgy. But while I was no longer incredibly self-conscious about my body, I certainly wasn’t all that sure of myself yet. I don’t think a self-possessed fifteen-year-old exists.

By then, however, Erin had begun to develop. She had smallish breasts and a downy tuft of pubic hair, but she was still boyishly slim. She didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious, however (much to my consternation). After all, she had already spent several summers at Aunt Susan’s, and she and her friends seemed to take undue enjoyment in comparing their developing bodies.

I guess that’s just one of the many major differences between men and women.

But I digress…

Even though she was not quite thirteen, I could already see that Erin would look a lot like Mom. At thirty-six, I had always thought of my mom as old, but I was slowly realizing that she was a very attractive woman. She was attractive in a Mom-ish sort of way, that is. (And of course, as I write this, older than that age myself, I realize how very young thirty-six actually is.)

Mom, whose name was Beth, had dark blond hair and a well-proportioned, compact body. With the past year’s growth spurt, I’d finally surpassed her 5’4” height. While I didn’t know what size bra she wore, I did admire her nice, well-rounded breasts, which were topped by small brown areolas with pronounced nipples. I’d seen a lot of bare breasts over the past few years and realized that Mom’s were very nice.

In addition, she had an hourglass figure with a neat patch of darker pubic hair covering her sex. In retrospect, I realize that Mom must have trimmed her bush, but at the tender (and somewhat naïve) age of fifteen, I simply thought her pussy was neater and more attractive than those of other women. Mom also tanned easily, and was always a rich bronze color. Erin was the same way, and her lithe young body was always darker than mine.

Where Mom was ash blond with a dark tan, my father was dark-haired and fair. My dad, David, was big. At six feet tall, he towered over me. He was also powerfully built, and far stronger than I ever thought I’d ever be. And while my fifteen-year-old penis wasn’t as small as some of my friends from camp, I hoped that I would grow to be more like my Dad in that regard as well.

While I may have more of my Mom’s height, I’d certainly gotten my father’s dark brown hair and fair skin. Ever since our first year at camp, I’d had to make sure I didn’t burn my skin badly in the blazing South Carolina sun. All in all, I guess I looked more like Dad. In time, I would develop a build more like my father’s powerful frame, but in 1978, I was still short and had more than my fair share of “baby fat.”

So my family, in early June of 1978, was looking forward to the end of school and our imminent departure for Aunt Susan’s.

At Aunt Susan’s, we usually stayed in one of the motel-type rooms just up from the clubhouse. The “motel-type rooms” were actually a couple of rows of cinder-block buildings with rooms along both sides. Most of them had a queen-sized bed and either a twin bed or a set of bunk beds, with a dresser or small chest of drawers for storing personal items. Since it was a nudist camp, there wasn’t much need for clothes storage. Some rooms were bigger, some were smaller, but the contents were generally the same.

In 1978, since my family was staying the entire summer, we got one of the stand-alone cabins further back, up the hill from the clubhouse. When we got to the camp, things started out mostly the same. Little changed from year to year at Aunt Susan’s, and the camp was just as I’d remembered it.

The entire center of the camp was on top of a very large hill (more like a ridge). The crest of the hill was several hundred yards behind, and about eighty feet above the clubhouse, with a sandy road leading down the gentle slope into the camp proper. The sandy track led all the way—several miles—back out to the padlocked chain gate that protected the property. But once you crested the little rise behind the camp, South Carolina pines and sandy soil gave way to one-room cabins and small mobile-home trailers permanently parked on blocks and wired for electricity.

Down the hill, the cinder-block motel-type buildings were off to the left, and the clubhouse was on the right. The road continued for several hundred yards around to the left, down a bit from the clubhouse, toward a few of the permanent, regular-style houses occupied by the camp’s full-time residents, like Aunt Susan.

Where the road bent gently to the left to follow the brow of the hill toward the houses, the ground sloped off to the right more steeply until it leveled out before the large freshwater lake. While the lake was spring-fed, it was actually man-made. There was a natural—and much larger—feeder lake to the left. An earthen dam with a concrete spillway let water overflow from the feeder lake into the man-made swimming lake. The swimming lake even had a brick coping around the entire circumference, complete with wide concrete steps down into the deepest, tree-shaded end. The lake also sported a canvas-covered raft of Styrofoam and wood; being spring-fed, the lake was cold even in the heat of summer.

Down the hill from the clubhouse, on the side opposite the road, were shuffleboard courts and a sand volleyball court. Behind all that was a playground for the younger kids. The entire camp and surrounding woods were bigger than I’ve ever been able to explore, given over mostly to the pine tree forests and sandy soil that are dominant in that part of the country.

The clubhouse itself was often the center of life for the camp. There were several screen doors into the clubhouse, but I almost always used the side door next to the sandy road. Inside the cool confines of the large building, there were a few ping-pong tables, an old pool-hall-style pool table with the coin slots removed, and an air-hockey table (that always seemed to need repairing).

Toward the back of the building and to the right of the game tables, there was a big bathroom area with a wall of sinks and an open shower area. I know it sounds strange, but this was a nudist camp, so there really was no need for privacy in the showers. There was, however, a door off the shower area that led to a room containing several stalls and toilets.

Past the game tables and the wall holding the sinks and containing the bathing area, the bulk of the clubhouse unfolded. Off to the left, in the front part of the building, there was a large fireplace with almost a dozen couches to the sides and in front of it. None of the couches matched each other, and must’ve all been donated to the camp. Behind the couches and past the game tables—on the other side of the wall next to the bathing area—were all sorts of tables and chairs.

On the far side of the back wall was the kitchen. The kitchen area was fronted by a long counter, with curtained-off storage space underneath it. Behind the counter, on the back wall, there was a row of stoves, followed by several sinks, each separated by about a foot of counter. On the back of the bathroom sink wall, there were refrigerators. All told, there were probably a dozen stoves and half as many large sinks, as well as at least eight refrigerators.

Each family brought a couple of baskets (we used laundry baskets) full of food and drinks. Everyone picked out their own area under the counter and in the refrigerators, and it was mostly on the honor system. There were no names on stuff in the refrigerators, but most everyone had their family name on the food baskets stored under the counters. You just knew where your stuff was, and anything that wasn’t your stuff, you left alone.

Out the far side door of the clubhouse, the one opposite the side door near the road, was a large patio with steps leading down to the shuffleboard and volleyball areas. Out the “front” door of the clubhouse, in the wall opposite the kitchen area, there was a grassy lawn that stretched all the way down the hill to the lake.

That was the world of Aunt Susan’s camp, and my family was there for the entire summer. We pulled up to our new home away from home and all of us got out to stretch, stiff from the long drive from Atlanta. We also wanted to look at the cabin’s accommodations.

The cabin that we’d gotten was quite a bit larger than the motel-style room we usually stayed in, but it was still small. It still had the bunk beds, and one queen-sized bed, but it also had a cloth-covered couch and a pair of easy chairs. And best of all, it had a small but private bathroom, complete with a bathtub and hot water (courtesy of a small water heater in a closet on the back wall). The front of the cabin was a covered porch, with a pair of rocking chairs flanking the entrance. Inside, it was really one big room; the bunk beds were immediately on the left, the larger bed in the left rear corner, the bathroom in the right rear corner, and the sitting area off to the right of the door.

Once we’d scouted out the inside of the cabin—a tour that took all of thirty seconds—we began to unload Mom’s station wagon. We unloaded our folding lawn chairs and loungers first, and stacked them up on the front porch of the cabin. Next came the two large bags with bedding and pillows, bath towels, and the family’s beach towels. And finally, we unloaded our travel bags stuffed with flip-flops, bathroom stuff and other vacation items every nudist family needs (Frisbees, swim fins, masks and snorkels, and various other goodies).

Dad then drove us all down to the clubhouse to unload the food and drinks. When we got there, it was late in the afternoon, and there were few people around; mostly older couples who were year-round residents. Mom and Dad said hello to most of them as Erin and I began lugging in the baskets of food and drinks.

Her greetings finished, Mom came over to the kitchen area to supervise our unloading, and to claim an area under the counter and in one of the refrigerators. Mom would periodically have to drive back into town to shop for more groceries, but for the time being, we were set.

Once all the unloading was completed at the clubhouse, we all piled back into the car and drove back up the hill to the cabin. Dad parked the car around behind the cabin while Mom, Erin, and I all went inside to unpack.

Erin and I opened our suitcases and simply dumped the contents on our bunk beds. By long tradition, I took the top bunk, and I simply slung my suitcase up there after extracting my towel and flip-flops. Erin was doing much the same thing.

The unpacking completed finally, we all shed our clothes. After we’d gotten our clothes off, Erin and I made a beeline for the screen door. Mom called out from across the room, where she was unpacking on the larger bed.

“Whoa! Stop!”

Erin and I pulled up short of the door and looked back at Mom.

“Paul, come here,” she said, extracting the sunblock from one of her bags. “You go on, Erin.”

I sighed and started walking toward her. It was a familiar routine, and while I hated getting a sunburn, I also really wanted to get down to play in the lake. When I got to her, I turned around to present my back and shoulders. Erin gave me a triumphant, nasty-little-sister smirk and bolted through the screen door.

She always tanned better than I did, and never got sunburned. Sometimes, there ain’t no justice!

Mom squirted the cool cream on my back and shoulders and began to rub it in. She rubbed down the tops of my arms as I obediently stood before her. When she was done, she closed the top of the brown bottle and swatted me on the behind.

“Go on, have fun!”

I raced out the screen door with a quick “thanks Mom,” thrown over my shoulder as I went.

The first week of summer went by quickly as Erin and I swam in the lake, played volleyball with the grown-ups, and generally had fun. While there were a fair number of people at the camp, not many of our friends’ families had shown up yet. We decided that things would pick up in a week or so, and the year-round residents confirmed our suspicions.

About that time, my father had to take the car and drive into Columbia so he could catch a flight back to Atlanta and fly two weeks’ worth of trips. Mom put on her clothes and drove to town to pick up enough groceries to tide us over for a week. She’d have to go to the grocery store again before Dad returned with the station wagon, but she could make the trip with one of the other women from the camp.

When she returned, Dad was almost ready to leave. He’d brought along his travel suitcase, his Jepps case—the case with all his airport maps, flight patterns, and radio frequency information—and his uniform. Erin and I got there right as Mom pulled up, just as Dad was getting dressed and ready to go.

Erin hugged him goodbye, and when she released him, Dad held out his hand to me. I reached out and took it, his larger hand enfolding my own. Dad tightened his grip as he shook my hand, but then he pulled me close and wrapped his other arm around me in a hug. He released me and gently pushed me back with a hand on my shoulder.

Dad looked down at me with a serious expression. “Take care of your mom and your sister.”

“I will, Dad.” I blushed and smiled, lowering my head in embarrassment.

“I know you will, Paul,” he said as he squeezed my shoulder. “You and Erin run along now. Your mom’s going to help me finish packing.”

I heard Erin escape out the screen door behind me, surely headed for the lake, and I turned to leave myself. I ran down the sandy track toward the clubhouse, having already lost sight of Erin. I decided to detour through the clubhouse to get a cold Coke first.

While I was walking back toward “our” refrigerator, I noticed a cap and sunglasses on one of the tables. They looked a lot like the ball cap and glasses my Dad wore, and as I got closer to them, I realized that they were indeed his. I knew he’d need his sunglasses for when he was flying, so I scooped them up and raced back up the hill to catch him before he left.

On the way up the hill, I slowed down and approached the back corner of the cabin. The station wagon was parked behind the cabin, and I pulled up just short of the corner. There were a fair number of bushes growing around the back of the cabin, so I couldn’t see the car yet, but I could hear my mom and dad talking. I paused for a second to listen, before going around the corner. I don’t know what made me stop, but I’m glad I did.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Mom asked.

I knew Dad must have been looking at his watch, since I heard him pause before answering.

“It’ll take me three hours to get to Columbia, and I’ve got a 4:18 show-time for the flight to Atlanta, so I’m pretty tight as things stand,” Dad replied.

“You can spare a few minutes.”

I decided to peek around the corner at this point. Normally, I didn’t spy on my parents, but I heard something in my mom’s voice. At fifteen, I couldn’t tell what it was, but it tickled the back of my brain and my curiosity rode roughshod over my manners.

While the bushes and the shadow of the cabin screened me from view, I had a decent view of the two of them through the branches. The front door of the station wagon was open, and Dad was standing next to it. Mom had her arms around him, and was looking up at him as she talked.

They were an interesting sight; my tall father in his dark blue uniform trousers and white uniform shirt, and my much-shorter mother, with her already bronze-tanned and nude body pressed against him, her breasts flattened against his stomach.

“Beth, I can’t miss the flight to Atlanta. I’ve got to go,” my father insisted.

“You can make the time up on the road,” Mom said as I watched her slowly sink to her knees.

I’d never before witnessed a blowjob, but as I watched Mom unzip Dad’s trousers, I felt my penis stiffen instantly at the realization of what she was going to do.

“Beth, I need to go, honey,” my father protested. Despite his verbal protests, however, he didn’t make a move to stop her.

Mom’s face was level with his crotch; she had gotten his zipper down and was reaching her right hand into his pants. In a second, she withdrew my father’s flaccid penis, and released it to hang limply from the fly of his pants. She looked up into his eyes and I could see her smile. Then she ducked her head slightly to come up from underneath, opened her mouth, and engulfed the head of his soft dick.

She sucked gently on the head for a few seconds, and I saw her cheeks cave in as she applied suction to him. Dad’s penis stiffened rapidly and Mom put her hands on his hips as she released his manhood. My own penis throbbed in reminder as I watched the scene in front of me. I shifted the ball cap and sunglasses to my left hand, knelt on my right knee, and grasped my own erection.

I turned my attention back to my kneeling mother as she tilted her head to the side and ran her tongue along the underside of Dad’s hard dick. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth as she nipped at the underside of the crown of his cock and then quickly wrapped her lips around the tip.

Mom then opened her mouth further and impaled herself on Dad’s erection. Her lips closed halfway down his length, and she made eye contact with him again. I could swear she was smiling, wickedly, as she slowly drew her lips back along the length of his shaft.

Once her lips came to the crown of his dick, she opened them wide again and thrust her head forward, taking him deeper this time. Dad lolled his head back and groaned as she sucked back along his length again.

When she pulled back again, she let his entire saliva-coated dick spring free of her grasping lips. She kissed the tip of his penis and then began planting kisses down the length of the underside. Once she reached his trousers and the limit of his exposed manhood, she kissed her way back to the tip.

I watched as she tightened her grip on his hips and opened her mouth to receive his cock again. She spread her lips and pulled his hips forward, thrusting my dad’s stiff prick into her hungry mouth.

I was stroking my erection gently, trying to keep quiet so as not to give myself away. I knelt, transfixed by the sight of her sucking his dick, and quietly rubbed my own dick in time to Mom’s motions.

I watched as she began to bob her head back and forth in earnest, concentrating on making him come. As she sucked him furiously, I sped up the pace of my stroking as well. Mom moved her hands back to grasp my father’s trouser-covered ass cheeks as she repeatedly impaled her mouth on his glistening shaft. She had her eyes closed as she concentrated fully on making him come.

My hand was a blur of motion, stroking my young penis furiously. I watched, hypnotized by the sight of Mom’s cheeks and lips as she bobbed her head back and forth. She would suck back until just the head of his cock was in her mouth, then open her lips slightly and thrust her head forward until he was more than halfway in her mouth. When she stopped moving forward she would clamp her lips about his shaft and repeat the motion.

As she rocked back and forth, sucking his cock, her breasts swayed from side to side with the rhythmic motion, and I was fascinated by the entire scene. She stroked his hard cock like that with her lips and tongue for what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a few minutes.

Suddenly, Dad leaned forward and put both hands on the back of Mom’s head. He held her still as he thrust his hips forward, hard, and forced still more of his erection into her mouth. Then he stiffened and held very still, groaning deep in his chest. I could tell he was pumping his seed down her throat; she was taking it, her lips locked around the shaft of his manhood so that only a few inches remained outside her mouth. She held on to his ass tightly, holding him deep in her throat as he spurted.

As I felt my come rising, I nearly panicked for a moment, wondering where to shoot. With a barely stifled groan of my own, I simply aimed my cock away from the cabin as I felt my balls finally boil over. My young cock spurted so hard that I thought the glistening, pearly drops must have hit the back of the station wagon from where I knelt in the bushes.

Wonderful, intense pleasure surged up my shaft and through my groin, into my belly, as I ejaculated powerfully. I watched, rapt, as Mom slowly withdrew his penis from her mouth, swallowing as his length slipped from the back of her throat.

My father’s spurts had subsided, as had my own, and Mom let his slowly deflating cock slip from her lips entirely. She swallowed again and breathed a deep sigh, breathing heavily from the intensity of having his prick buried so deeply.

My own gushing penis had spewed my semen all over the leaves of the bush I knelt behind, and I realized with a start that I had better vacate my hidey-hole or risk discovery. I cleaned off the head of my still-erect penis as best I could and slowly, quietly, I backed away from the corner where I had witnessed (and experienced) such pleasure.

As I approached the front corner of the cabin, I realized that I still had my father’s ball cap and aviator’s sunglasses clutched in my left hand. I quickly decided to run down the hill a little ways, and then come back up, as if I had just returned.

As I was coming back up the hill toward the cabin, I called out to them, to give them some warning that I was coming. When I rounded the corner of the cabin, my mom had just gotten to her feet. I saw fleeting guilty-but-don’t-let-it-show looks cross both my parents’ faces. Thankfully, Dad’s trousers were zipped up, but I noticed Mom’s lips and face were still red with exertion, and both her knees were sandy from where she’d knelt before my dad only a minute before. I saw my Mom’s eyes drop questioningly to my own recently abused (but now thankfully flaccid) penis. She quickly drew her eyes back up, but I’d caught the curious look on her face before she suppressed it.

I ran up to my Dad, and handed him his glasses and cap.

“You forgot these, Dad. Gotta go! Have a good trip!”

Then I bolted.

As I turned the corner and started to jog down the hill, I heard my mother say, “What’s gotten into him?”

I didn’t hear my father’s reply as I broke into a run, headed for the clubhouse.

I wanted the Coke that I’d gone in there to get in the first place.

That night, I lay on the top bunk with a million thoughts running through my mind. In my mind’s eye, I kept replaying scenes of Mom sucking Dad’s dick. As I lay on my back and thought of my beautiful mom on her knees, my prick quickly became erect and made a tent under the sheet.

I had always thought my mother was pretty, but until today I’d never really thought of her in a sexual way. I was embarrassed and excited at the same time. I replayed the whole series of events in my mind; the sight of Mom’s lips locked around his shaft, her cheeks bulging as she swallowed his length, the sway of her breasts as she bobbed back and forth, the lust-filled expression on her face as she made eye contact with him. All these sights and more filled my adolescent mind, and I slowly slid my hand under the covers to grasp my swollen manhood.

As I wrapped my fingers around my cock and began to stroke slowly and quietly, I imagined what Mom would look like kneeling in front of me, looking up at me, her mouth open to accept my penis. My arousal had overcome my shame at my incestuous thoughts, and my hand built speed and increased the pressure on my young dick.

Thankfully, the bunk beds were sturdy and well built, and didn’t creak or sway with my furious motion. In the dark of our little cabin, with my sister asleep on the lower bunk and my mother in the bed in the corner, I masturbated furiously, all the while thinking of my mother’s lips wrapped around my erection.

I knew I was about to come, and frantically searched for somewhere to shoot. At home, I had a box of tissues next to my bed, but there was nothing within reach here, except the sheets. I didn’t want to come on my sheets (and have to sleep the rest of the night in my own semen), so I stripped the top sheet off my body as I finally ran out of time.

With a rush of pleasure and a stifled groan, I came. I felt my hot seed geyser into the air and land on my bare chest and stomach. Spurt after spurt coursed through my penis as droplets landed on my stomach. With one final thrust of my hips, the spurting dwindled to a trickling and I relaxed my tensed leg and back muscles. I lay there quietly, clutching my erection in the dark, my own semen slowly cooling on my chest and stomach.

I listened for any sign of movement in the cabin. My blood was pounding in my ears, and my chest was heaving as I tried to gulp air as quietly as I could; I strained to pick out any sign that I’d been caught. When I heard none, I quietly rolled toward the ladder, being careful not to get any of my sperm on the sheets. I climbed down and quietly padded on bare feet toward the bathroom.

Thank goodness for having a cabin with a private bathroom! I shut the door as quietly as I could—holding the knob turned so the latch wouldn’t click—and flicked on the overhead light. Looking at myself in the mirror over the basin, I saw the white semen where it had begun to run down my hairless chest and stomach. There were pearly drops of my seed in my dark pubic hair as well, and I pulled a washcloth from the towel bar and began the task of cleaning myself.

After I was done, I rinsed the washcloth in the sink and hung it back on the bar to dry. I turned out the light, and opened the door as quietly as I could. As I crept back to the ladder to the top bunk, my mother’s sleepy voice startled me.

“Are you okay, honey?”

I was so keyed up that I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of her voice. My eyes hadn’t adjusted from the brightness of the light in the bathroom, but I could imagine her leaning up on one elbow, the sheet having slipped from her shoulders, with her tanned breasts gleaming in the pale moonlight streaming through the window. Despite the fact that I’d just come once, I felt my penis quickly fill with blood and stand out at right angles to my body.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just wanted a drink of water,” I lied.

I heard her catch her breath, and I knew she must’ve seen my erection. “Okay, honey, sleep tight,” she said quietly, not saying anything about my sudden hard-on.

“Thanks Mom,” I said as I turned half away from her to find the ladder and climb up to my bunk.

I lay awake for a little while longer, while my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering in from the outside. My erection had subsided a little, but not much, and I tried to think about anything but sex. But every time I’d try not to think about it, I’d picture my mom kneeling before my dad with his dick in her mouth. And I imagined the expression of lust on her face as she sucked him. I knew Mom wasn’t fully asleep yet, so I dared not masturbate again.

I rolled over on my side and looked down at the bed that my mother occupied alone. In the moonlight, now that my eyes had adjusted, I could clearly see her; the covers had indeed slipped from her chest, and I looked down at her breasts where they had flattened and bulged to her sides as she lay on her back. I knew that if I could see that well, Mom certainly could’ve seen my erection as I passed only a few feet in front of her on the way back from the bathroom.

In time, I heard her turn over in bed. I looked down and saw that she had pulled her sheets up over her bare shoulders. My thoughts finally turned from sex as I got drowsy, and my erection subsided enough that I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up before Mom and Erin, and rolled to the side of the top bunk. During the warm South Carolina night, Mom had kicked her covers free, and from my vantage point, I had an excellent view of her nude body. I blinked my sleep-crusted eyes a few times to clear them and took in the sight below me.

Of course, I had seen my mother nude before. But I’d never really looked at her. Now, I looked at her body with a new appreciation, and once again I was both excited and ashamed. Her body was the same body that I’d seen nude almost every day for the past three summers. But now I saw her in a new way. A sexual way.

Consciously, I knew my parents had sex, but I’d never thought much about it. Now, I did. I wondered how else they did it. A million fantasy images flashed through my overactive teenage imagination. My experience with sex, until the day before, had been a few Playboy magazines I’d seen with a friend from my neighborhood, crouched in the woods behind our house.

Of course, I knew about what a blowjob was. But knowing what it was and seeing it done, especially with the enthusiasm my mom displayed, were two entirely different matters. Those thoughts faded, however, as I felt my penis stiffen and I turned my attention back to my mom’s nude body.

The light from the rising sun filtered through the pine trees, and even though the inside of the cabin was still dim, I could see her body quite clearly. Knowing she couldn’t bust me for staring, I did just that. My glance lingered on her breasts—her nipples crinkly and erect in the morning air—and then slowly slid lower toward her dark tuft of pubic hair.

Her legs were spread slightly, and I got a good look at her exposed pussy. Her pubic hair was very sparse around her labia and I could tell that her lips were a dark pink color. I marveled at the slit of her pussy from where it peeked out at me.

I had just moved my hand down to grasp my erection when the silence of the cabin was broken by my mother yawning. She raised one of her arms and laid it on her forehead as her other hand groped for the sheet tangled under her. I watched in dismay as she freed the sheet and pulled it over her. Then, yawning again, her eyes blinked open. I quietly rolled over, onto my stomach, my erection pressed up against my abdomen, and looked over the side of the bed.

I watched as my mom brought her other hand up and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. I could see her staring at the ceiling of the cabin as she took another deep breath and sat up. The sheet slipped from her breasts as her eyes met mine.

“Morning, sweet pea,” she said quietly, and smiled.

I just nodded, returning the smile.

“Did you get back to sleep okay last night?”

I nodded again.

“You okay?” she asked, concern at my lack of speech tingeing her voice.

I nodded again and smiled.

“Just don’t feel like talking this morning?” she asked with a touch of amused sympathy.

I shook my head.

“You know what you want for breakfast?” She lowered the sheet and levered her legs over the edge of the bed, still looking at me.

I shook my head again, enjoying not talking, and enjoying the laughter in my mom’s eyes as she played my little game with me.

“How about pancakes?”

I nodded enthusiastically, smiling at her reaction.

Talking about breakfast, I realized how hungry I was. Additionally, the thought of breakfast banished all thoughts of sex from my head, and my erection shrank. I rolled over, kicked my feet to the ladder, and began to climb down. While my penis was no longer fully erect, it was still semi-hard. As I climbed down the ladder front-ways, it swayed from side to side with each rung. When I got to the cabin floor, I looked up at mom. She was still sitting on the side of her bed, and she was staring at my penis! When I reached the bottom of the ladder, however, she quickly looked away and stood.

“Let Erin sleep, and I’ll be down to the clubhouse to fix breakfast in a few minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she headed across the small cabin toward the bathroom.

I opened the cabin door and pushed open the screen door. My dick was still tumescent as I scooped up my towel from where it was hanging on the porch rail, let the screen door slam shut (so much for sleeping late, my pesky little sister), and trotted down the hill toward the clubhouse.


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.”


That was a preview of Welcome to Summer Camp - Summer Camp Swingers: Susan Series Book 1. To read the rest purchase the book.

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