Chapter 11: The Girls from ‘Our Lady of the Perpetual Sorrows’ Arrive

The buses arrived, the new campers discharged and the old campers clambered aboard. Lots of tears, lots of hugs. Lots more very tight, tender and intimate hugs for Clive from girls who were happy to grind their small tits into his chest, steal a kiss on the mouth, and even pinch his bum. Jo-Lene watched all, saw all and smiled at all. This was expected and not to be worried about. They were all leaving after all.

The new group were all in school uniform. This was ‘Our Lady of the Perpetual Sorrows High School for Girls’; they had booked the whole school to come for two weeks as a kind of outward bound experience. The uniform – blue woolly jumper over white blouse with a tie (blue and green strips) and a tartan pleated skirt – was sexy on some and a bag on others. A large girl approached Clive and said “Excuse me, Miss; where are the toilets?” He smiled and pointed and the girl hurried away.

“I know I have long hair, but miss?” Clive said.

“You have a slim shape – come on, you are no Arny S. – long hair and you are at an all-girls camp. Easy mistake to make.” said Sandie

“Well, no-one could ever think you were a boy, no matter how short your hair was.”

“Talking of which, I hear you were seen leaving Jo-Lene’s office early this morning. What were you doing there so early? Or was it so late?”

“How does that follow on from what we were saying? Doesn’t matter, you’ll get nothing from me.”

“Oh, yes; you want to suck on these again?” and she did want him to “You have to do the action replay again.”

“Okay, if you’re sure ... I think Harry has booked tonight. So you on for Sunday?”

“An all-nighter eh? This could be interesting.”

“Oh yes.” He walked away to help a twelve year old with the thickest spectacles he’d ever seen, she was struggling with her bag, which was as big as she was. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t one of those boys who only helped the pretty girls; he helped the waifs and strays. Mandy watched him and found herself wondering if she was right not to let this thoughtful young man have her; he could be the best way of learning what sex could be like. If she married someone who was also a virgin, what then if they both couldn’t ‘do it’ right?

“Hi Marie, reckon there are any sailors then?” he asked his sailing team leader.

“I understand that they used to have a sailing club, but it was disbanded two years ago, due to lack of interest. We may be sailing on our own this week. Oh, there’s a heat wave coming by the way. Jo-Lene will tell everybody at the evening welcome meeting.”

“A heat wave? You mean hotter than now? It’s nearly thirty, sorry, nearly eighty six now! I’m still used to cold rain in the summer!”

“Relax, after the heat wave will come the storms. Look!!”

“What?”

“Over there, about a mile down the lake, on the beach. LOOK!!”

“I am looking, I ... oh yeah! My G- goodness. A bear is it?”

“No it’s a frigging wombat. Harry said there were some around. Wow!”

“Wow indeed. In England we’d already be packing everybody into emergency evacuation vehicles. Here you just say ‘heh, it’s a bear’.”

“Yes, but in England you killed all the bears, wolves and vampires centuries ago.”

“Are you allowed to say frigging? Are you allowed to say vampires? Here?”

“You are a bad influence.

Actually, I think you’re a good influence. A lot of the younger girls had crushes on you – stop smiling, you paedophile – but you were a model of fine upstanding – that isn’t what I mean! – malehood. You showed girls that not all boys are after their pants, though I believe you have found some panties open to your knocking? Anyway, I lost my bet. I said you’d be out after ten days; unable to resist the pressure of little girls throwing themselves at you. I understand you found the older ones harder to resist? No comment? Well done. I bet you dine out on that when you get home though.”

Well, yes. ‘I boned the camp leader’ probably could feature in his holiday stories. He already knew, though, that people wouldn’t believe him; and he was beginning to think he’d be betraying a confidence, even three thousand miles away. Damn! He didn’t like being so responsible.

“What?” Marie was saying

“Sorry?”

“Oh, fuck off!” she stomped off. What had he just missed? Jo-Lene called him over, there was a problem already with the plumbing, the girls toilets had flooded, she hated to ask, but, well, would he mind? Mack Swairg (the local plumber) was unavailable until Monday. So; now he was allowed in the toilets?

He caught Harry. “I need you to ride shotgun, I don’t want any little missy saying I was looking under the doors or sneaking a peek or something.”

“You are paranoid. Look at them! They are pure as the driven snow. They probably don’t even know what a prick is. Or a vagina come to that ... Haha! No, you’re right. These have been kept away from boys all year, and now they get sent to a camp with one boy to share. There’ll be a queue outside your hut. Stop smiling again!

“Come on, let’s get the tampons out of the pipes.” It was almost always tampons, or even sanitary towels. Despite big notices on all the doors, several of which contained some disgusting graffiti, girls persisted in thinking that a piece of equipment specifically designed to swell to fill the hole it was in would flush away with no problems.

He pulled up the drain cover outside and flushed a toilet. On the inside of the cubicle door it said “Sadie is a muff-diver.” Then “No I’m not!” And “Kirsty-Ann eats poo.” He wondered if Kirsty-Ann had put the message about Sadie, or if this was a different vendetta. The water didn’t appear. It was further up the pipes. Maybe it was just one toilet.

“No! Sorry, out of bounds at the moment.” Harry was saying for umpteenth time “Hold it, or use the bushes.” the girls looked horrified. One or two did disappear into the bushes, they were the really desperate ones.

He used the plunger on each bowl. Still nothing. The toilets would flush, but not entirely, then the water would slowly go down. He got the rods and started pushing them through. Finally something softly solid was in the way; push, shove, twist, turn, shove and there, in the inspection hole, was a matted mess of tampons, hair, and shit. He pulled it all up, tempted to present it to the evening meeting to show what the problem was. No, probably a bit extreme. It was bagged and disposed of in the incinerator. Was that a good idea? Well, the smell didn’t last long. He went for a long, long shower.

He didn’t hear the outer door, nor the bathroom door. He was singing loudly, almost in the right key. He did feel a hand start to soap his back, and his shoulders. He turned, expecting Harry, Sandie or Jo-Lene. “Marie!”

“Yes, you bastard!”

“What?”

“I said, could I come over, and you weren’t even listening!”

“I ... shit, I ... sorry ... I ... Your arm is getting wet. Take those things off and come in. I’m sorry. Why forgive me so easily?”

“Because I watched you fishing female sanitary products and turds out of the girls’ toilets. You have a good streak mixed with that male ignorant bastard streak. Ohh, yes, that’s quite pleasant” He was directing the shower at her shaved groin.

“How come you shave?”

“Because I like it like that. NOT because some boy said do it, if that’s what you mean.” She was about to mouth off some more, so he held her tight, kissed her tight and then felt her tight snatch. “Oh, very romantic.”

“I want you so much. I’ve wanted you ever since I met you shouting at a boat for not putting its mast up. You have a lovely body, and a lovely mind, and can sail. What more should a boy want?”

“Well, sail us to the bed. I don’t want some quick knee trembler in the shower. I want you fucking me hard as you can. With a condom please. You do still have some?” He opened his drawer where she saw about twenty. “You were optimistic weren’t you? Well, maybe not.”

Naked, wet and entwined. His condom suitably in place, he did as he was bid. He fucked her hard and loved it. She didn’t come. “Don’t worry, I’ll need more time. We have to get to the meeting. I just wanted, needed to, have that inside me. I’ll be back though.”

“Umm. Not tonight.”

“Oh? Got another booking have we? And tomorrow? No? Fuck, how many girls is Gigolo Clive hammering?”

“I’d prefer it to be you.”

“Like fuck you would! You’re a normal boy. Anything with tits and a cunt will do. And the tits are optional, really.”

“For a Baptist, you can be very crude.”

“You should hear our sermons.” He left by the front door and she, by the window. They walked up, joined near the main square. Everybody was very excited.

Jo-Lene gave the welcome speech, talked about safety, talked about health and talked about blocked drains. She offered a round of applause to Clive for sorting the drains so quickly. He went red with embarrassment and a hundred and fifty girls stared at him. Half of them were undressing him with their eyes. Jo-Lene reminded the girls that his hut was out of bounds, as theirs were to him. Clive was sitting at the front, he deliberately didn’t look at the girls knees, several had short skirts which would probably allow him to see their panties. He tried to think why this should be so tempting, when tomorrow they would all be running around in bikinis or similar.

Once again, the suggestion of an early night was made. Several girls came over with their cocoa to find out why he was there. He was tempted to give different stories to each, but finally the real story was funny enough anyway.

“Jo-Lene, I wonder, might I borrow that backscratcher?”

“Clive, I ... oh I see. They made the mistake of wanting another exact replay? Don’t tell me which one it is; I’ll see if I can guess tomorrow.”