Camp Conquest

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Camp Conquest

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Camp Conquest

Chapter 1 Free Sample

Brian Vaughn sat with his knees drawn up under his chin atop the roof of the maintenance shed, watching the road that wound down into the camp. His eyes filled with worry and anticipation, and he chewed his lower lip from anxiety. His mind is half on the car he expected to see any minute driving down the road and on the remains of the car shrouded by a paint-splattered sheet in a dark corner of the shed beneath him.

His heart skipped a beat as he saw the car for which he is waiting to turn the corner and burst into view, kicking up great clouds of brown dust in its wake. It passed the sign that read CAMP CONQUEST and disappeared behind a cluster of trees, then emerged again, closer and larger. Brian closed his eyes and uttered a futile prayer that it had never happened, but when he opened his eyes again, the car is pulling to a stop in front of the camp director's cabin, and the wreck is still in the shed beneath him.

Brian suddenly wished he was hiding someplace, that he never signed up to be the handicraft director at this godforsaken summer camp, that he is back in the city and had never heard of Sean Menzel or his damned dune buggy. However, none of that is possible. Sean had already stepped out of his sedan, gone around to the other side and opened the door for his wife of three days, Lisa. She stepped out, and Brian shortly forgot his worries. The woman is stunning, long blonde hair flowing down to the small of her back, forming curls in the front that framed an expressive, tanned face. She wore a t-shirt, and her breasts pushed against the material, hard enough to show their outline clearly. Her short pants hugged her thighs and directed one's attention to the long, tapering smoothness of her richly tanned legs.

That's Sean's new wife, Brian thought, then his mind returned to Sean. He and his new wife were breathing deeply of the fresh, clean mountain air, scent with pine and ice. Then Sean saw Brian and waved. Feebly, Brian waved back. Well, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest, it's now or never.

He stood and walked gingerly along the sloping roof of the maintenance shed, found the storm drain and shimmied down it. When he hit the ground, he turned to walk up the dirt path to the camp director's cabin but stopped when he saw Joe Rollins standing in front of him, blocking his path.

"You must be scared shitless," Rollins said.

Brian laughed nervously. "You could say that. It's not every day you get to confront an old friend and tell him you've totaled his favorite car."

However, Rollins didn't seem interested in Brian's problems. His eyes locked in the direction of the Menzel's cabin, and Brian noticed it after a minute.

"Cute, isn't she?" he asked Rollins.

"Cute isn't the word I had in mind. How does a jerk like Menzel rate a honey like that?"

"Sean's no moron," Brian said defensively. "But I did hear that they only met two weeks ago. It's a whirlwind romance, and all that. That's why he's three days late for the opening of camp. They needed some time for a honeymoon."

Rollins continued to drink in the sight of Mrs. Lisa Menzel with lascivious eyes. "I'm sure it wasn't enough time. How the hell does he expect to keep her here all summer, one gorgeous woman with all these horny men?"

"You're exaggerating," Brian scoffed. "Most of the guys up here aren't old enough to even think about it. I mean consider that I'm one of the oldest members of the staff this year, and I'm only nineteen."

"I'm thirty," Rollins said, his tongue flicking over his lips. "And I'm old enough to do more than think about it."

Brian had had enough of Joe Rollins. The husky maintenance director of Camp Conquest had always had a one-track mind, locked permanently on sex. Brian didn't mind the dirty jokes and the stories Rollins told, but when it came to slurring Sean Menzel and his new wife, Brian did take exception. Sean is one of the nicest people he'd ever known, and any woman he married is probably equally saint-like.

He hoped Sean would be saint-like when he learned about the fate of his dune buggy.

He passed several people on the way to the camp director's cabin, a route that took him down into a wide gully, through the camp parking lot and into the staff section of the camp. Most of them wore their official khaki uniforms, with short pants and boots made for mountain work. He knew several of them from summers spent at the camp in years gone by; others were there for their first summer, and he either didn't know them at all or had just met them recently. It's only the fourth day of camp, and only the staff is there, readying the place for the onslaught of young teens who would be there for another three days. They would stay a week, turning the place upside down, and then leave, making room for another round of campers. It would go on for twelve weeks, and Brian and the rest of them would be there for the whole experience.

He passed Todd Webster, a tall, muscular veteran staffer, the same age as Brian. He wore swim trunks and unlaced tennis shoes, but his uniform is appropriate since he is one of the waterfront crew. He is on his way from the staff's tent city to the lake, about a quarter of a mile away. "Hey, Brian," he said, "Attitude adjustment at Hacksaw Creek, nine o'clock."

Brian acknowledged the invitation. He is glad there is something happening today. After confronting Sean about the car, he'd probably need it.

He climbs out of the gully and is about twenty feet from the back of the camp director's cabin. Lisa Menzel is stretching, taking in the mountain air, and Brian had to look away to keep from staring at the perfect roundness of her firm breasts. Sean had done all right, he thought.

Sean noticed him then and waved again. "Just like you, Brian," he said, his clean, even teeth shining in the clear sunlight of the flawless afternoon, "Perched on top of the shed." Sean turned to his wife, who had dazzling green eyes. "Brian likes to sit. During staff meetings in the rec hall, he sits on top of the rafters, above everybody else. I think he should have been a bird."

Brian turned slightly red and looked down. "I'm sorry," Sean said. "I ought to introduce you. Brian Vaughn, an old friend of mine. This is my wife, Lisa."

Brian thrust his hand out, and Lisa accepted it. Her cool, dry touch made him shiver, and he did not hold her hand very long. "Sean exaggerates," Brian said. "We're good friends, but I'm only seventeen. He used to be one of my assistant scoutmasters."

"If Sean says you're a friend, then you're a friend. That's good enough for me," Lisa said, and her slightly high, soft voice raised goose pimples on his back. Shit, he thought, it's going to be a long summer.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm sure you're going to like it here, although I don't imagine when you got married you knew you'd be spending your first few months together with a bunch of teens in the mountains."

"I love the mountains," she said throatily, and Brian felt something inside of him stir.

However, he pushed it aside and turned to face Sean. "I've got some bad news," he said.

Sean's face fell. He knew instantly what it's. "My buggy---"

"I'm really sorry, Sean. I was coming around Fosters Creek when some asshole is coming the other way, taking up two lanes. I didn't have any choice but to go off the road."

"Are you all right?" Sean asked.

Just like him, Brian thought. I've ruined his car, and his first concern is for my welfare. "Yeah, sure," he said. "But your car—I rolled it, all the way down to the river. They had to use a crane to get it out."

Now Sean's face looked ashen. "How bad is it?"

Brian shrugged without meaning to. It's a bad habit of his, and it made him look like he didn't care when in fact he cared a lot. "Totaled," he said red-faced, "a complete loss. Fuck, Sean, I'm really sorry."

However, Sean wasn't listening. He is running his hand through his beautiful, sandy hair, mussing it from his consternation. He exhaled through thinly pursed lips, and the air sounded like a whistle. His pale blue eyes had glazed over, and his tall frame sagged a little.

"It wasn't even insured," he whispered, his voice cracking. Lisa put a hand on his arm to comfort him, and it succeeded a little. He looked at her, and she smiled.

"Why don't we go look at it?" she said. "Maybe it isn't all that bad."

The sight and sound of her lifted his spirits, and for a moment, he didn't even care if it's nasty. "Where is it?" he asked.

Brian pointed across the gully that separated the staff area from the rest of the camp. "In the maintenance shed," he said." God, Sean, I knew I shouldn't have driven it up here for you."

"It's my offer," Sean said, "Just as long as you're all right."

Arm in arm, Sean and Lisa began the brief trek to the shed, and Brian followed about ten paces behind. He wanted to be away from Sean, away from the torrent of shouting he knew would have to come, but the distance also gave him the advantage of viewing Lisa's sexily swiveling hips, wiggling through the short pants and above her creamy thighs and sloping legs. The faintest hint of her cheek bottoms peeked through the tight legs of the shorts, and again Brian felt himself getting excited.

Oh Lord, he thought suddenly. They're going to the maintenance shed, and Joe Rollins's there. Then he shrugged, meaning it this time. Oh well, he thought, they have to meet sometime so it might as well be now.

The path is fairly well deserted now, most of the staff have gone to their assigned areas. Brian's domain, handicraft, is set up on a concrete slab beside the long, modern commissary, and he had already covered it with tarps, moved out all the tables and equipment and put things in order. He had a lot of free time on his hands, most of which he spent helping other staffers in their areas, but today he spent waiting for Sean to arrive. He followed his camp director up the other side of the gully, and to the maintenance shed.

When they arrived, Brian continued to hang back until Sean crooked a finger at him, indicating he should come along. He moved up beside him and felt strangely calm under Lisa's innocent, beautiful gaze. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, Brian," she said. "An accident is an accident, that's all."

Sean peered into the darkness of the maintenance shed. "Joe?" he called.

Rollins's voice rang out of the pitch. "Yo!"

"Mind if we come in?" Sean shouted.

"You're the boss," Joe called back, and Brian recognized the cynicism in his words and the innocence in his voice. A crafty bastard, he thought.

Sean entered, followed by Lisa, and then Brian. Sean fumbled in the darkness for a light switch, but nine months had elapsed since he had been here last, and the maintenance shed had never been part of his domain. The camps dissected into two distinct functions, program, which Sean is responsible for, and maintenance, which is Joe Rollins's job.

In the darkness, Brian could smell Lisa. She's soft and sweet, without perfume-just her natural body scents wafted to his nostrils and sent his senses reeling.

Finally, Sean found the light and flipped it on, flooding the cavernous shed with light cast from naked, and dangling light bulbs. It's a dirty place, coils of rope piled here and there, machinery, tools, old pieces of stoves, wheels, tires, and anything that might possibly fit in a maintenance shed is there.

In one corner, under a paint-smeared tarp, is a looming shape that is once a dune buggy.

Joe Rollins is in the opposite corner, rocking back in an office-type chair, and his feet in cowteen boots resting on top of a sawhorse. An unlit, hand-rolled cigarette is resting carelessly in the corner of his mouth, and a straw cowteen hat pulled over his eyes.

"Something I can help you with?" he said.

"Just want to see what's left of my buggy," Sean said and flipped back the tarp. If he had held out any hope for his vehicle, it fled him now. The dune buggy is a complete wreck. Its smooth fiberglass sides, which had been finished with candy-colored flake paint, were mashed in and crumpled like paper bound for the wastebasket. The engine is a heap of twisted metal, and all the glass is shattered and smashed out of its framing. The steering wheel bent, squishing down into the driver's seat. The passenger seat rose a full two feet above the driver's seat, bent completely backward. The rear of the car virtually did not exist.

Sean studied the car, then whirled and walked briskly from the shed. From beneath the brim of his hat, Joe Rollins watched him, and after he left, a faint smile crossed his lips.

Garry started to go after his friend, but Lisa held his arm and pulled it at, keeping him from moving. Her grip made his throat go dry.

"Let him go," she said. "He spent two years building that thing from scratch; he told me all about it. You have to allow him to be upset and disappointed, but he won't blame you. He won't even get mad. I've only known him a couple of weeks, but I know he's a wonderful man, and he's very fair."

"I know that," Brian said, shaking off her grip. He didn't care for the sensations he is feeling from her touch. Sean is one of the men in the world he admired most, and the last thing in the world he wanted is too much time for his wife.

Wife, it sounded funny, the word wife in association with Sean Menzel. However, here she's, he felt Rollins's gaze on them, and he turned to face it. He is just scratching a match across the rough surface of a pack of matches, watching it flare up and then touching it to the end of his cigarette. His eyes watched the flame.

Lisa turned to look at whatever Brian is watching, and for the first time, she paid attention to the presence of Joe Rollins.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Lisa Menzel."

Joe tipped his hat and said his name. "I'm sorta your husbands equal around here," he said and drew deeply on his cigarette. "He's the top honcho officially, but we share pretty much down the line." As he spoke, his gaze wandered to Lisa's legs, where her delicate, creamy thighs pressed together. He stared hard at the hem of her shorts, hoping for a glimpse of something more than the flesh he saw; perhaps a single strand of blonde, velvety pubic hair. However, there is none.

Lisa began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other," she said.

"I'm sure," Rollins said, and smiled, looking deeply into her eyes. They were green, and Rollins knew about women with green eyes. Perhaps they were innocent and naive, maybe they had little experience with men like him, but they're trainable. Green-eyed women always wound up loving excesses, particularly sexual excesses. The summer is young, he thought.

Brian noticed Rollins's wicked, lustful look, and he dared to touch Lisa's arm. She looked at him with a start, and then remembered he is there. "Come on," he said. "I'll bet we can find Sean at the camp store, in the commissary."

"You lead the way," she said merrily, and gratefully followed him out of the shed. The daylight is bright, and their eyes closed to narrow slits, and their hands went over their foreheads to shield them from the brightness. Across a vast expanse of gravel and dirt are the commissary, all gray brick, and red tile roof, to withstand the weight of winter snows.

"I know I've only been here a short while," Lisa said, "but somehow that Joe Rollins doesn't seem to fit in."

"He does, and he doesn't," Brian said, choosing his words carefully. "He's been up here ever since he is a kid, younger than me.

Brian came up for a week to swim, fish, and hike, like all the kids that come up here. When he is old enough, he joined the staff. First, he is a counselor, and when he is old enough, he took over as maintenance manager. I guess he's been coming up here on staff for six, seven years now."

"But, why," Lisa pressed, "He just doesn't seem the type."

Brian shrugged, and said, "Beats me," but he frankly did know at least one of the reasons that Joe Rollins is a regular summer inhabitant at Camp Conquest.

It's due to Lake Victory, named after Victor Jones, whose generous endowment had made Camp Conquest a reality. Across the lake, about a mile of icy blue water is a narrow dirt path. If you followed it for a mile, it led to Camp AOG, which is the property of a church located about eighty miles south, in a cradle of trees and hills at the very foot of the mountains. It's an all-girl camp, and Rollins had an arrangement with the camp's senior counselor, Wendy Harrison.

'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of," Brian had said to Rollins when he first heard of the arrangement. "You come up here to get paid half of what you make in the city so you can get laid? Can't you get laid in the city?"

"It's not just that," Rollins had said candidly. "There's nothing like sex under the stars, in the mountain air, at night. There's something cleaner and exciting about it." Then he winked. "Besides, there's no authority of any kind up here."

"Why are you afraid of authority?" Brian wanted to know.

"Afraid? I'm not afraid," Rollins scowled. "You just got to be careful is all, especially when you're messin' with girls who aren't of age yet."

"Jailbait?" Brian asked a little shocked.

"Hey, bud, if you were a girl, you'd be jailbait. Ain't you ever been laid?"

"Sure, but..."

"But nothing," Rollins said. "Those little girls are about the best time in the world, and as long as they're there for the taking, I'm here to help myself. This is our little secret, right?"

Brian had said right, but he knew he wasn't the only staffer who had shared Rollins's secret. Any of the guys who'd been at Conquest continuously let him in on his reasons for returning. And alone in his tent at night, Brian had to admit an absolute thrill to knowing Rollins is rowing a canoe stealthily across the shiny, glass-like surface of Lake Victory so he could enjoy the tender charms of the under-aged, young women on the other side.

However, he is too nervous, too childlike in the presence of an angel like Lisa Menzel to mention any of this. It seemed corrupt and dirty, and the ears of such a beautiful woman should never hear such things. Therefore, he said nothing except, "Beats me."

Then he saw Sean coming out of the trading post, three ice creams dripping from his hands. He saw them and smiled.

"See?" Lisa said cheerily. "He's not mad."

Sean handed one of the dripping bars to Brian, the other to his wife. Brian noted the tender, loving expression in the new husband's eyes and felt warm and happy for the couple. "C'mon," Sean said. "Let's take a walk. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to show Lisa what Camp Conquest is all about."

"Sure," Brian said. "And I know just where to start." He led them around the side of the commissary building to his handicraft area. "This is where I hang out," he said proudly. "Kids do all kinds of crafts here. They make lanyards and neckerchief slides, easy stuff like that. Or," and here Brian opens a large display case, "they can try their hand at the rough stuff." Gingerly, he lifted out a scale model of a paddle wheel riverboat that he had constructed over the course of a year from miscellaneous items.

Lisa is earnestly impressed. "That's a marvelous piece of work," she said. "You're certainly in the right department here."

Brian's chest swelled with pride at her words. He shows them the rest of the area and is happy when Sean gives it the seal of approval. Then they moved down the dirt path toward the lake, passing several camping grounds and counselor areas along the way.

Brian felt Rollins's gaze following them until they disappeared over a knoll, and the lake shimmered in front of them.

"It's beautiful," Lisa said, her breath taken away by the sight of the sky-blue lake. Several older teens, including Todd Webster, stripped of all but their tight-fitting swim trunks, and worked feverishly on the docks and the change area on shore. Some were hauling heavy rowboats and canoes off a truck and settling them in place-canoes on racks onshore, rowboats tied to the dock. Their tanned bodies glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. Lisa watched as Todd, acting on an impulse, dove from the dock into the water, a smooth, knifelike dive that raised a ripple or a splash barely.

Sean pointed along the length of the lake, to the tall concrete dam that kept it filled with water. 'The camp goes about a mile beyond the dam," he said. He turned and pointed the opposite direction. "About two miles up that side of the lake-altogether about 120 acres and this time next week, it'll be swarming with kids from sixteen to eighteen years old."

"And you're in charge," she said, admiring him. She also admired his job during the non-summer months-science and physical education teacher at a junior high school in the city.

She squinted into the sinking sun across the lake and pointed. "What's that?" she asked.

Sean and Brian both looked in the direction of her outstretched finger. Through the glare that reflected menacingly off the water, they saw a canoe skimming across the surface. Three girls were in it, stroking fiercely at the water with their paddles.

"AOG girls," Brian said finally, "from the church camp inland. We don't have much—much to do with them," he said.

However, Lisa did not answer. Sean's arm had slipped around her, and he had pulled her close, and their lips brushed just a hint of a kiss. "I want you," Sean whispered in her ear, "Now."

She felt a chill pass over almost all of her-all of her except the dark, moist cavern of her pussy, which flooded with heat at his whispered voice in her ear.

She nodded, and Sean smiled. He turned to Brian, who is holding the dripping remnants of his ice cream bar. "We'll see you at dinner," Sean said.

"We've got a lot of unpacking to do."

Brian nodded and muttered an okay, and watched the girls in the canoe as Sean and Lisa walked arm in arm back toward the camp director's cabin.

Joe Rollins watched them pass, too and smiled knowingly as they disappeared inside the cabin.

*****

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