Chapter 1: Leaving Philadelphia

On a long bus ride, the last thing 18-year-old Oscar expected was to have a throbbing erection. From his aisle seat halfway toward the back, his eyes were locked on an adult woman holding a microphone and standing in the center aisle two rows in front of him. He learned her name, Greta Fischer. Blonde, tall, and impossibly curvy, she took his breath away.

He saw Greta as a spectacular Nordic princess who dressed minimally in only a sports bra and a pair of nearly transparent elastic panties. At his eye level, he saw her genitalia in shocking detail.

Two hours by road due north of Philadelphia are the Pocono Mountains, known for their natural beauty and recreation opportunities. There’s even enough elevation to support a ski area. Hidden in the Poconos, Camp Stillwater’s large property offered complete privacy with plenty of surrounding forest at the end of a gated private road.

At a commercial parking lot near Citizen’s Bank Park, home of the Phillies, four buses stood ready for the 144 lucky selectees for the 2040 summer first session. It was Memorial Day, the last Monday in May. The campers, including Oscar, would return on a Saturday ten weeks later. After a one-week break for the staff, the second group of 144 would be congregating in that lot for the camp’s second session.

Each bus loaded with 36 campers: 18 males, 18 females, and a staff member. Once each bus was underway for the two hour drive, the staff member’s job was to explain the camp policies and rules.

Ranging from 17 to 19 years old, the campers were arguably too old to be going off to an ordinary sleepaway camp for the summer. Camp Stillwater was a new concept, uniquely oriented to serve the needs of the children of upper-class families about to leave home after high school. Put simply, it was a place for these young people to learn, later in life, to become family men and women, ready to have and raise children in loving homes.

The campers were going to be taught all the skills to flirt, to date, and most of all, to become expert lovers. At the same time, to enjoy a once in a lifetime fun experience exploring the limits of their sexuality.

Many of the campers were sexually inexperienced or even virgins. Their parents recognized trends and facts in US society affecting their children. Demographers found that the age of “sexual debut” was rising every year. Mental illness and suicide afflicted far too many teens, at levels not seen in prior decades. Marriage and birth rates had declined precipitously.

Young people were spending too much time staring at screens, impairing their development and failing to learn social skills. Put simply, they weren’t dating or having sex; they were poorly equipped to become successful adults who could pair off and form families.

Older generations worried that their family lines would not continue. In other words: grandchildren. But, more than that, they wanted their sons and daughters to be successful adults, with self-esteem, confidence, and proficiency in the arts of love.

Camp Stillwater was an attempt to reverse these trends, one teenager at a time.

In the front of the third bus, staff member Greta Fischer was describing the philosophy of the camp founders and their parents’ hopes for them, promising them as much fun as a mixed group of 17 to 19 year olds could possibly have.

Greta was blonde and tall, reflecting her northern European ancestry. During their time at camp, she explained, every one of them and the staff would be wearing only underwear. The required garment, nearly transparent, exposed genitals and ass-cracks behind thin elastic fabric. The underwear (a.k.a. “panties”) fit on both men and women, comfortable, yet snug.

“In this case, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

Greta unbuttoned her light coat and dropped it on her seat at the front of the bus. Because Greta had very large breasts, she explained that she was wearing an allowable sports bra along with the regular (nearly transparent) camp underwear.

“All of you will be wearing panties just like these at the camp, men and women both. I don’t see any giant boobies in this bus like mine that would need sports bras. These little stretchy panties will be all you have to wear, except for when the weather is unusually cold.”

Greta stood in the aisle with her feet apart for stability as the bus rumbled north on I-476. She smiled, enjoying the attention as the whole bus full of young people studied her curvy body. Almost all (even the young women) had their eyes on her groin, where curly blonde hairs from her luxurious muff were escaping the edges of the panties in all directions. Below her furry triangle, her labia were clearly discernible behind the gauzy fabric.

Greta noticed one pair of eyes, though, looking up at her from two rows away. He seemed to be uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.

“Young man, what is your name, please.”

“I’m Oscar Madison.”

Oscar came from a highly conservative family. But his mother, Roberta, who quietly disliked her husband’s extreme views, had come across the details of Camp Stillwater and decided to take action on Oscar’s behalf.

Roberta had knocked and opened Oscar’s bedroom door, making an effort to overlook his evasive motions as she stepped inside. Going over to his desk and sitting in his office chair, she spun around to face his bed. Obviously, she had interrupted her son as he was jerking off when the door opened. Frantic, Oscar yanked his top sheet up over his erection and his porn-displaying tablet.

It was only through strength of will that Roberta kept from laughing, as she noticed everything Oscar was trying to conceal from her. Locking her attention on his face, she explained why she had come to see him.

“Oscar, I’m very proud of you. Your diploma and final transcript from high school show that you are very smart and studied hard. But I need to have a very difficult discussion with you. By all accounts, you are a well-behaved and attractive young man. You have a good body, and you did well in school sports.

“But you haven’t had a girlfriend, ever. You have never gone out, like on dates. Oscar, don’t hate me for saying this, but your only partners have been your right hand and that tablet.”

“MOM!”

“Shh. Don’t shout. Just look at your bedsheet.”

Roberta fixed her eyes on the obvious tent pole poking up, creating a volcano shape in the sheet with an obviously damp tip.

“Very impressive, by the way.”

With anguish in his voice, “Mother, how could you—”

“Please understand, Oscar, I’m not trying to hurt you. I love you beyond words. But I want you to grow, to leave this house, to become a fully rounded young man. To have a family. Lots of things you won’t find on the fucking internet.”

Roberta glanced toward the bed again.

“I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you and now you’re wilting.”

“Jeez, Mom! I’m sorry! I’ll never look at porn again!”

“No, son, that’s not what I mean. I’m sending you to a camp for the summer. It will be full of real girls, young women your age who you can kiss and hug and everything else. And when you come back after ten weeks, you’re going to kneel at my feet and promise to never put me in a nursing home, because I’m the best mother in the world.”

“You’re already the best mother in the world, and I can’t imagine I would ever be unkind to you.”

“That beautiful thing of yours needs to fulfill its purpose in life.”

“Mother, please!”

“It’s OK, Oscar. Remember, I’ve seen the stains on your laundry.”

Oscar buried his face in his hands, and on her way out, Roberta had one more thing to say.

“There’s a lock on your door, son, I think you should use it when you play with yourself.”

Back on the bus, Oscar realized he’d just been caught obsessing over Greta Fischer’s breasts.

“Why are you making that strange face, Oscar? It’s like, you’re pouting. You don’t like how I look or seeing me like this?”

“It’s not that, Ms. Fischer. Um, I don’t know what to say.”

Oscar was kicking himself, mentally, for being so visibly fascinated by Greta’s body.

“It’s all right, Oscar. Just be truthful, that’s how we speak in camp.”

“I wanted to see your top.”

“You mean, my breasts? My big tits? Show of hands, everyone. Who wants to see me take off my bra and go topless?”

Almost thirty hands went up, including many of the young women.

Surprised, and pleased, Greta grabbed hold of the bra and stretched it away from her chest and up over her head. Putting it aside, she gave a little shimmy. The bus hit a pothole, and there was another boob-quake. Grinning, she looked back at Oscar.

“Satisfied?”

“Thank you. They’re glorious. Wonderful.”

“You’re sweet, Oscar. Come up here for your reward.”

She pulled his face into her tits and motorboated him, twisting left and right so her stiffening nipples dragged across his face. Two girls were in the front row close to the action. In his loose pants, Oscar’s hard-on was obvious. Seeing this, the two girls giggled and pointed.

Oblivious, Oscar enjoyed his brief visit to boob valley. With a subtle gesture, Greta reached down and gave his stiffening cock a quick squeeze before dismissing him back to his seat.