Chapter 8: Mandy

Mandy was the slim, attractive seventeen year old who had sat beside him on the bus. She was pretty in a slightly boyish way; small hips, small to medium bust and cheeks that easily blushed at the least suggestion of sex (which meant any reference to boys, boyfriends, or babies). Despite being religiously pure, helping to organise the Sunday meeting, and leading the nightly prayers in her dormitory, she thought about sex a lot. At her school she knew many of her friends had slept with boys, they seemed to enjoy it. She wore a pledge ring, the one that said she would wait until she was married.

The trouble was, she wanted to know what she was waiting for. The implication was that it was worth waiting for – in which case she wanted to know about it now; but maybe it wasn’t worth waiting for – in which case why spend your time thinking about it?

She hadn’t so much as felt herself. All such temptations were wrong and to be fought. She was open about this with the younger girls in her dorm. Many of them, even as young as thirteen (and one as young as eleven in a different dorm) had been pressured by boys. Part of the aim of the camp was to encourage girls to be sure of themselves; to say yes when they meant yes, but say no until they were ready. That was what Jo-Lene had told them all. Mandy wasn’t entirely convinced you should say yes when you thought you were ready unless you were married, but she was supportive of the rest. Girls should be free to make their own decisions about sex.

In her church, she had told the girls of her dorm, there were boys who tried to put their hands where they should not be; she wasn’t that coy, she spelt it out “On my boobs and under my skirt. One, even on the first date, tried to slide his hand inside my blouse. I mean, I do have standards! And he had bad breath!” They had laughed at that. Yes, girls often found a boy might like to feel more than the girl wanted.

“We aren’t just Barbie Dolls are we? To be squeezed and undressed for playing with” Several of the girls thought back, they had been known both to undress the Barbie and look at her top-heavy body with curiosity, lust, or envy. A few had played around with Ken and Barbie having passionate sex – only when Mummy couldn’t hear. It was all true, though; they didn’t really want to be simply sex toys themselves.

Though ... What about Clive? The only male under 90 (who wasn’t a parent visiting – euuww!) allowed in the camp. As several of the girls had said “I would!” The younger ones had little idea what they meant by that, the older ones were clearer, and the camp friends were very clear that, since this was the only cock in the roost (in more ways than one), they might be genuinely tempted.

Mandy wouldn’t. She wouldn’t! ‘Really, no, I mean not that special cherry. Nooo.’ At least, well, no, she didn’t think it would be right. She was tempted though, she was tempted.

All the camp friends had to take a turn at the late night patrol. It was 12, midnight, the idea was to make sure the groups were settling down, and that no-one had slipped out for a midnight feast in the boat house or somewhere. Because they were sneaky buggers, these girls. Turn your back and they’d have bars of chocolate, chips and Coke (or Pepsi, Seven-Up, Gatorade; whatever, never alcohol – that was more of a problem at the boy’s camp. Another reason to separate them; boys might accept ‘no’ sober, in the daylight; but not so much late on a midnight feast after a couple of Miller Lites) out in some secret place as soon as you could say Paul Revere. So the patrol each night made sure that at least they were playing house in their own dorms and not in danger of being carried off by a rogue skunk or something.

Mandy found herself paired with Clive. She smiled, he smiled and they walked. They talked quietly and kept the torches off. It was kind of fun actually, to be out late in the dark; and kind of fun to hopefully catch someone. The tradition was either a) turn the torch on to warn them, and giggle at the sight of retreating nightdresses and pyjamas, fleeing to their dormitories, or b) see if you could catch them but then pretend to see nothing ... and giggle at the fleeing nightdresses and pyjamas. Everybody regarded as a point of honour not to report it to the camp leader or other adult leaders. They didn’t want to know, and it was harmless enough – although apparently last year a small group had fled, naked, back to their dormitory so it was said. Since this was a story put around every year, it was probably exaggerated or apocryphal.

The boat house and the squash courts were the two popular venues. Though the showers were sometimes used too. They walked round the usual outbuildings first, listened at the dorms and (since Clive couldn’t go in) Mandy went into one to suggest it was time to settle down. Then they went to the squash courts, nobody was there. The shower block was a matter of debate on the way. Since there should be nobody there, the restriction on his maleness entering could be seen to be null and void from, say, 11pm to 5am. Mandy put this forward, thinking that in any case there would be nobody there. Clive was more for sticking to the letter of the law – no entry to girl-only buildings. She was impressed by this, he had principles. And since she realised she was just nervous of going in on her own in the dark, she steeled herself and said he could wait outside. She realised as soon as she stepped in that something was wrong.

There had been a light on, she was sure. That was not unusual. The girls were awful at leaving lights on; half of them were used to ‘Mummy’ tidying round them full-time. One or two were used to the maid doing it! But then who turned off the light? And why? She walked down the corridor to the cubicles. Yes, she could hear the breathing and giggling. She turned, loudly went back, and then very quietly returned. At the cubicle where she had heard the noise, she pushed the door and turned the torch on at the same time. Four girls were there, four girls were naked except for towels, four girls ran past her, laughing. Mandy smiled to herself as four girls ran out of the door thinking they had escaped, their towels now in their hands rather than round their bodies. Four ran out and stopped dead in the beam of a torch, and froze even more when a male voice said “Goodnight ladies.” They ran on, with his torch still playing on their retreating behinds.

“I assume you saw it all?” Mandy asked

“I could hardly avoid it. One of them virtually ran into me.”

“Serves them right. They can come back in the morning for their clothes.”

“You don’t mind then?” Asked Clive.

“Not really. Will you recognise them in the morning?”

“If I do, I won’t show any sign that I do.”

“Did you think they were pretty? They were all about fifteen I think. They were slim, not heavily developed.”

“Are you teasing me? Yes, of course they were pretty. If I’m honest, any naked girl would look good; but slim is good; maybe with a little more shape though.”

“Oh ... you like big hips and bust? Like Sandie I suppose?”

“I don’t think Sandie has big hips” he smiled at her “You really want an answer?”

“Yes, I’m curious.”

“Well, too big is over the top. Sandie is lovely the way she is; she’s natural. A girl’s character affects the way you see her. Not that I’m saying I’ve seen her.”

“You have, I know you have.”

“No comment. But slim hips and shapely bust are lovely too – like you ... like I imagine you are. Not that I imagine you like that ... I’m going to stop digging now.”

“Let’s check the boat house.”

The boat house was never locked. There were two reasons for this. The official reason was so no-one could be accidentally locked in. The real reason was that the key for the door was in twenty feet of water in the lake after someone capsized two years ago with the key in their pocket. The spare was used for a while and then that got mislaid. At the end of the season, a massive chain was put round the handles and locked in place. Clive saw it hanging on the third day and said it looked like a chastity belt; which is what it was now called. It did make it a good venue for smoking (bad bad bad – fire and health risk) and other less damaging escapades.