Please remember, as with all my stories, should you be looking for ‘Realism’, just move on. I aim for ‘Ridiculously Plausible’. All named characters in this story are eighteen or much older.
This is the fourth and last in this series, though I may come back to Casper in a different setting. I hope you have liked reading it as much as I did writing it.
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It was the last Wednesday of the camp session, the last session of the summer, and in all likelihood, the last Wednesday I would ever be on the grounds of Camp Dickinger. In the distance, the huge splashes and happy shouts of afternoon swim time could just be heard. The heat of the day had not yet broken and it was still quite hot, even in the shade.
Wendy knelt before me in the deserted pottery hut while I braced my ass against one of the work tables, my knees bent a little. She had her wondrous tits wrapped around my desperately hard shaft, the movement of those sweat-slick mounds driving spikes of pleasure through my lower body. I looked down at her with a wide grin, my mouth and face still slick and sticky with her pussy juices from when, just minutes ago, I had eaten her so relentlessly that she had had to forcefully shove my head from between her legs to keep from passing out. She looked up at me and answered my grin with her own pretty smile.
“I fucking love it, unh, when you do this,” I moaned to Wendy. “It is so goddamned hot!”
“And I love putting that fucking goofy expression on your face,” laughed Wendy quietly. Smoothly, she shifted from bobbing her torso up and down along my cock to holding her body still while she squeezed one boob upward while tugging the other down, then vice versa. She began seesawing her rack around me and I threw back my head, closed my eyes, and uttered something articulate like, “Urrgh!”
But I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and swiftly tilted my head back to look down at her as she worked those genuinely amazing mounds around my dick. The head of that extremely happy member surfaced occasionally as she drowned it in her bosom. My hips writhed gently but unrestrainably as Wendy worked.
“I just want to give you something to remember me by,” chuckled the blonde as she stopped bobbling her tits and pressed them harder against me, now rising and falling again. She was starting to get serious about fucking me hard with those mounds.
“Oh, believe… me,” I gasped down at her through a toothy grin, “I have burned this and so many more memories of you in my brain, uhnnnh, permanently.” I paused to moan a little. “They will come in handy someday when I’m old, fat, and married… and my wife… just isn’t into it that night.”
Wendy laughed derisively but slid up and down my shaft even harder. “Pig,” she grinned.
“What?” I objected, tilting my hips so my cock slid even easier between her sweaty boobs. “Wherever and whoever she is, I hope my future wife is getting absolutely railed right now by some hot stud that she will be able to hearken back to on nights when I can’t get it up and we are out of Viagra.”
“You are bad,” Wendy scoffed at me. “But I do love the few of this big, hard, no Viagra needed cock,” she panted as she absolutely tortured it with her breasts.
Wendy and I had gotten pretty relaxed about using the L word a lot, but it was always in the context of what the other was doing to or for us, or what we were doing to or for the other. We did not love each other, and we both comfortably knew it. Aside from when we were having sex, we were really just friendly co-workers. When we were apart, we certainly didn’t occupy each other’s minds. During Friday night dances, when we chaperoned, we hardly danced with each other at all, though we both danced a lot. When we were apart, we did what everyone else who was unattached did: We independently hung out and bullshitted with our respective friends and, mostly, worked with and took care of the campers who were our jobs in the first place.
But.
We were two attractive, chronically horny, young people who found themselves together a lot, with an unusual amount of privacy. Some buddies play chess, or go running, or shoot memes to each others’ phones whenever they hang out. Wendy and I gave each other orgasms.
And speaking of orgasms, I began to feel a pretty earth-shattering one coming on me. I reached down to grab Wendy’s boobs and she let me hold them against my cock, releasing her own grip to circle her hands around to tickle my ass. But she didn’t stop humping up and down on me and the stimulation of her slick, warm flesh stroking my dick finally hurled me over the cliff. I shuddered and groaned in ecstasy as I felt my toes curl, my fingers dig harder into her soft tits, and my cock start pumping out white, sticky cum.
Wendy kept humping up and down me as I came. This orgasm was no thunderous explosion of monstrous proportions, but a long, rapid fire series of small spurts that just kept coming. Some burst Ankara escort out when my cock head was free atop her sliding boobs, and fountaining on her chest and lower throat. Most flowed out when I was trapped between her considerable confines, and her continued movements coated both my entire dick and the inner surfaces of her tits with my jizz.
My body slumped as I stopped producing, but I felt little electric sparks of aftershocks as Wendy kept running her chest softly against my dick. At last, she leaned back and we surveyed the mess. My shrinking cock was shiny and slick, and her chest was an absolute mess. Wendy leaned forward swiftly sucked me clean, my softening cock fitting easily now in her mouth as she made quick work of squeegeeing me clean. When my cock popped free of her mouth for what we both knew would be the last time, Wendy wiped up a few of the larger drops of my offering with a finger and sucked on it while I grabbed us both cleaning towels from the shed’s supplies. She cleaned up her chest while I ran some water and wiped my face free of her deliciously fragrant juices.
We still technically had Friday, the last day of activities, to be together, but swim time was being replaced with a huge, camp-wide game of dodgeball, and neither of us wanted to miss that.
There was a late night Campfire after the dodgeball was over on Friday. Suddenly, it was Saturday and the long stream of parent’s cars arrived to pick up the worms. Departure day is always a sort of sweet bummer. Everyone gets their electronics back and there is a mass exchange of phone numbers, and Instagram and TikTok handles. The girls, counselors and campers alike, all hug and kiss and cry with each other. We guys all trade handshakes and long slaps on each other’s back that are totally not hugs. Counselors and worms alike who are going to return the following year make loud plans to see each other again, while the Seniors and counselors like me who won’t be coming back kind of stand around and listen to them with a bit of melancholy.
Dickinger is a great camp. If you have the means, I highly recommend sending your spawn.
At last, the straggling last parental vehicles drove off down the road, and the final vans full of kids who lived too far away for parental pickup came back empty from the airport. All of us counselors found ourselves just sort of standing around in the parking lot at the center of camp, by the chow hall and overlooking the pond, not sure what to do with ourselves without worms to oversee. We just talked together, watching the final, lone car sitting in the lot. Trey Beckwith’s mom was insisting on saying goodbye and thank you to all his counselors.
Trey Beckwith’s mom had it going on, if you catch my drift. And she insisted on asking the name of, and giving a hug to, Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Most of guys were totally fine with that hug, and happy to watch her go around hugging everybody else, although it did take a lot of time.
Trey Beckwith’s dad just stood there with his son and pretended to be exasperated and bored, but mostly just checked out all the female counselors.
Trey, who was in my cabin and was a genuinely cool kid, was fucking mortified. When he caught site of Van getting in line for a second goodbye hug, he begged his mom to go, and she relented, but not before giving Van a second hug. A sly grin on her face told me that she knew exactly what my cabin-mate was doing.
Before the dust settled behind the Beckwith’s retreating Escalade, Bob rolled up in one of the camp’s Gator utility vehicles. In the back was a huge tub filled with ice and beer. “Okay, everybody!” he called. “Another summer down with no campers drowned or eaten by bears. I call that a win. There is beer and soda for everybody!”
We all swarmed the cart, grabbing our favorites. I was slow to get there, but Van emerged from the scrum with a Tecaté for me along with his own. We popped the tops.
Carol approached from the checkout tent and gave Bob a quick kiss and then a high five before climbing into the front of the Gator and standing on the seat above us.
“You all did great this summer, guys! Thank you,” she shouted, and we all cheered. “Now, go get packed. We have burgers tonight, then the last Campfire, for just us. You will all be happy to hear,” she added, “that despite what happened with the bacon this morning,” (it had run out distressingly early) “I did hold some back the burgers tonight.”
A cheer began, but then we all heard Bob’s voice. “Wait! You held back bacon? I held back bacon too! I guess we all get double bacon burgers tonight!” The cheer got much louder. No wonder the bacon had run out so fast that morning.
The night went great. The burgers were good and the bacon plentiful. Campfire was amazing. I love singing together in the dark.
But I knew it was to be my very last time, and I… well, I cried a little in the Ankara escort bayan dark.
On the path back to our now mostly empty cabins, Lisa, with whom I’d had a one night encounter back during first session, grabbed my ass as she caught up with me from behind. “So you really aren’t coming back next year?” she asked. “Oh, well. Let’s keep tabs on each other anyway, hmm?”
I smiled as she slid past me with promise in her body language, and headed back to the cabins at a faster rate than I. Damn, but she had a great figure. The complete package.
It was nice to get a special goodbye from Lisa. I just wished I got the same from Elaine. Or anything from Elaine for that matter. We had been an item for most of the second session, but she hadn’t said word one to me here at the end of the year. I know that she had been the one who dumped me, but I had thought it had been on good terms, at least.
The next morning, we awoke to a cold breakfast. Virtually all the senior staff beside Carol and Bob had left. Before breakfast was even over, Bob was loading up a van with the first group of us who had early flights. He and another driver would spend the whole day shuttling two to five of us at a time to the airport.
Wendy was on the 10:15 van that a guy named Stan from the nearby town was driving. I stood next to her, off to the side as he played Tetris with the luggage in back of the vehicle. On the third try, Stan got the doors to the back to close, to good-naturedly derisive applause from those waving to go.
Wendy turned to me and gave me a quick but treasurable goodbye kiss, right on the lips. That was nice.
But then I heard from behind me, “Hey! What the hell? Where did that come from?” Elaine had apparently been standing around somewhere behind me. Great. She dumped me, and suddenly she is going to get jealous with a hour to go in the summer?
But Wendy just grinned and we both turned toward Elaine.
Immediately I relaxed. Her expression was not mad, or jealous, or anything bad. What it exactly it was, I wasn’t sure, to be honest. It was surprised, and maybe amused, and maybe… releived? Has she been staying away from me because she felt guilty? I hoped not. Whatever residual irritation I had at her prematurely ending (a little hurtfully) our not-going-anywhere-anyway relationship had long passed.
Elaine kept her yes mostly on me but her question was for Wendy. “Girl, did you two…?”
Wendy and I shared an amused look. Our efforts to keep our activities on the down low must have been more successful than we thought. Wendy looked at Elaine and lowered her head in a show of embarrassment. “We did it Wednesday,” she blurted, an answer that was 100% true… and about 15% complete. She looked at me with an Oscar-worthy imitation of embarrassment and shyness. “Elaine told me you were good,” she said, then turned to Elaine, “and boy howdy, you were right!” With that, Wendy turned and sashayed over to the van.
Elaine and I looked at each other. I grinned tentatively. She still looked like she knew less than I how to handle our situation and muttered something about how she was glad that Wendy and I had had a little fun. Whatever else she wanted to say, it kind of died on her lips. Implicitly, we each understood that talking right now was too uncomfortable for either of us, and we each turned away.
I instantly ran into Van. He was on the same shuttle as Wendy, but he had of course wandered off while the luggage was loaded. The little bastard had also seen our kiss. “What the fuck man, did you two hook up at some point?” Van asked. “When?”
I looked at him and decided to be cruel. “Most of this session,” I answered. “Now, get in the van, Van. They are waiting on you!”
I smiled as my clearly burning with curiosity friend had to leave. Worse for him, I saw that he would be sitting right next to Wendy in the van for the next forty-five minutes with a thousand questions, and absolutely insufficient guts to ask them of her. Worse for him, Wendy was leaning out of the van, looking at us. She had clearly seen him talking to me. Her gaze told me that she knew what we’d been talking about, and what I’d done to Van. I wondered whether she would play it cool and innocent, or torture the fuck out of him on the ride.
Either way, my friend’s imagination was going to make him delightfully miserable for a while.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Wendy: Van is acting like he is covered in bees.
I laughed, and walked back over to the check-out tent. It was a beautiful day to just hang out in the sun with everyone else who had later flights. We mostly gathered near the checkout tent. It made it easier to say goodbye as people left. And Carol, who was checking each of us out as it was time to go, had a huge tub of sodas and seltzers in the shade with her.
Ten minutes after Wendy’s first text, my phone buzzed again. I checked Escort Ankara it again to see what she was going to do to Van and his swarming curiosity.
I did not laugh.
American Airlines: FLIGHT STATUS UPDATE. Due to mechanical difficulties, your flight has been cancelled. You have been automatically been re-booked on our next flight at 9:25PM flight this evening. No further action is required at this time. Thank you for your patience.
Not only did I not laugh, I believe that I expressed my total lack of patience with American’s shit in loud and colorful detail. Everybody around me was staring, but it was Carol who spoke to try to calm me down. “Easy, Casper. It will be all right. You said they already have you rescheduled. When is the flight, so I can figure out which van you should go on.”
“Nine. Twenty. Five. Tonight.” I ground out between my teeth, in no mood for sympathy from anyone, least of all, Carol. I would not dream of yelling at her, but I wanted to yell at somebody besides the far distant and uncaring, unhearing corporate entity that was AA. “Anyone else have a flight that late?” I asked Carol.
“Oh, I am sorry,” said Carol, “but no. The latest flight anyone else is on is United at 5:57.”
Then Tripp Phelps, a second year counselor who I would not regret never seeing again answered my prayers. “Oh man, Wilson. You are so fucked.”
“Fuck off, Thor,” I snapped, using the nickname he had tried to affix to himself, and which we had all made him regret thinking of. “I am in no mood to hear your absolute truth.”
He laughed and walked away, which was good, because I did not need my last afternoon at Camp Dickinger marred by my beating the shit out of him. I turned back to Carol with a pleading look. “What time is the last van, and is there still room?”
I wanted no part of a longer wait than absolutely needed in that podunk little airport. The only source of either sustenance or entertainment was a pair of vending machines that were so unreliable that they were more like playing the slots.
Carol looked pained. “Um, Stan goes home after he takes the 2:30 run, and Bob is going out the last time a little before four,” she said quietly.
“Oh God,” I gasped, no longer loud and angry, just filled with dread at the thought of five, or possibly six and a half hours in that airport with its shitty wifi. “Please tell me Bob has room and I don’t have to go with Stan.”
Carol looked pained. “Bob is full.” The look of pain on my face must have been eloquent. “Please relax,” she said as she scratched ‘Casper Wilson’ off the list for the noon van. “I won’t have your last memory of Camp Dickinger being a re-enactment of Waiting for Godot in that damned quonset hut of an airport,” she said reassuringly. It wasn’t a joke. The terminal actually was a renovated quonset hut from WWII. “Just hang out here and relax this afternoon. I’ll drive you to the plane myself later this evening.”
“Oh God! Thank you,” I breathed, the weight of hours of staring at corrugated tin lifting from my mind. Weirdly, I was suddenly almost happy about a seven hour delay, now thatI didn’t have to spend most of it in that damned airport.
I could have kissed Carol, I was so happy, but somehow, I did not think that would go over well.
Instead, I let out a deep, relieved breath and went to go play hackey sack, then corn hole with the dwindling group of counselors. The afternoon went wonderfully, actually. I had never departed late before, and found the lazy afternoon to be a really pleasant experience. Bob would hang out with us between trips and crush all comers at corn hole. Carol ran out of things to do as well and played a little hackey sack, though not very well. None of us guys minded that whenever the sack went in her direction we had to usually start over. Carol looked great just moving, much less lunging. She and Bob were still in their camp uniforms of orange shorts and logo tees, and Carol looked just great bouncing around. I had had about eighty times more sexual activity, of infinitely higher quality, than I had expected for this summer, and my testosterone was still running freely. I may or may not have knocked the sack Carol’s way more than was strictly necessary.
And then, just like that, Bob had changed into nice clothes and was shepherding the last group of counselors into the van. When they were all loaded, Bob waved at Carol, who was over by the checkout tent, and took off down the winding road.
Suddenly, it felt a little sad and lonely, even a little creepy. I felt the need to busy myself, so I collected the corn hole equipment and carried it over to the lockers. Professional workmen would come in as early as the next day to pack the big stuff off to a warehouse, and bring in other equipment for the luxury roughing-it corporate retreats that over the winter would supplement the camp’s ledgers, but I wanted to see things tidy before I left forever.
When I closed the locker, Carol called me over. “Let me finish your check-out paperwork, Casper,” she said. “That way I can close up this box and be done with work.”
I happily set to signing the last forms, and my final reports. My mood was pretty damned awesome, actually.