When I hit my teens, my hormones were raging but completely unsatisfied. Having discovered the unspeakable pleasures of masturbation when I was around ten (I certainly didn't know anyone I could speak to them about!), I'd have done anything to get laid by a real feminine female.

But for all I did, no matter how hard I tried (and gawd knows I always tried too hard) it only rewarded me with unending embarrassment. I made a total fool out of myself with any girl I was around. I was awkward, ungainly, a little pudgy, very unsure of myself. Hell, unsure? I was totally paranoid. I couldn't do anything right. Anytime I tried to talk with a girl, all I could do was think about getting laid, and it doesn't take many rejections to realize that's not the approach to take at all. But I was thick-headed, wore thick glasses, and not having any social graces, didn't know how to go about it "the right way."

"The right way," of course, was one that would get your dick deep into the puss of your fantasy girl. Just about any girl was my "fantasy girl," but I sure wasn't in the same category to them. No matter who I tried to make friends with of the female persuasion, all I got was lots of put-downs, cold shoulders, and unending rejection, even ridicule. Just about anything female looked down on me. Heck, probably despised me. I was a complete and total wretch at 13. If I hadn't been such a total coward and afraid of pain, I'd have probably killed myself.

My parents were poor, but my grandmother, who had died when I was much younger, had left all her money to her grandchildren (which really pissed off my parents), held in trust and controlled by a lawyer. My parents had to submit bills to the lawyer to get reimbursed for things like medical expenses and education, or if it was a big expense, get prior approval. The amounts we got to spend each year were modest however, and while I was charging toward puberty, I had lots of medical stuff for my parents to deal with: allergies, a mysterious disease that laid me up for six months (but was never really diagnosed - it just finally went away), a couple of broken bones from bicycle accidents, stuff like that. But it kept the treasury sufficiently drained.

Under that category of "education" came things like summer camp. And it wasn't until I was 13 that there were sufficient funds in my trust account to send me away for the summer to a rather exclusive camp in the mountain foothills not far from our home. I say "exclusive," because only in later life did I learn that the kids who went there were children of some of the much better families from our city. Daughters of architects, sons of leading attorneys, daughters of politicians, sons of bankers and leading businessmen.

I think that my mother, more than my father, thought that going to this "exclusive camp" would bring me in contact with an influential and therefore beneficial sector of society that would help me out in future years. Surely the friendships I made at summer camp would "benefit" me in later years and help improve my chances for success in our community's "society."

All I knew then was that these kids were all much more beautiful, socially skilled, and confident than me, and I was no match for their class. They were also stuck up as all get out. And they somehow "knew" that I wasn't "one of them," so there I was, sentenced to a summer of hell with a bunch of arrogant terrors whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to make mine miserable. Oh, great. What a vacation for me!

It seems incongruous to me in retrospect, that so many "rich kids" came to this camp. While the camp had several sturdy main buildings that had once made up a farmstead, we all slept in World War II surplus Army tents. They were erected on wooden platforms scattered in the woods throughout the large site, probably 50 acres or so. Maybe their rich parents thought that a summer of "roughing it" would help balance out their sense of social place with a little humility. Ya, right.

As one entered the camp, there was a "social hall" on the left that had once been a barn. On the right was the kitchen building with a covered outdoor patio where all our dining tables were. Another barn on the property was our "recreation building," and the former homestead was the office and summer quarters for the camp's owners. In front of the social hall was a small meadow with a flagpole where the camp bugler would sound reveille each morning at 7am to get the camp up for breakfast and the day's recreational activities.

Between the office building and the rec barn was a small wooded hill, probably 300 feet in diameter at the base and 50 feet tall. If you were really careful, you could sneak up into that forested little hillock and not be seen by anyone, and if you were really quiet, not even be discovered, either.

The camp had been operating since just after the War, and by the time I arrived almost 15 years later, the owners had made enough money to install an in-ground swimming pool. The "old pool" had been in the nearby river, where a beaver dam had backed up the water sufficient to provide a small lake (or large pond), but jeez, was that water cold! We mostly stuck to the (somewhat) heated pool for our swimming lessons. One of my earliest memory of that pool came in that summer, but more about that later.

Ages for kids at the camp ranged from about eight to 14. I think the owners thought that by cutting off attendance at 14, they would avoid most of the "hormone problems" of having to keep the boys and girls sufficiently apart from each other to send them all home "virgo intacto." Oh ya, sure.

The dirt road that led into camp continued through the center of camp to the horse corrals, and across a small bridge into an open field that was used as pasture for the horses. On the north side of the road were the boys' tents, and on the south side, the girls'. It was the clear rule that no boys were to venture south of the road, and no girls north, unless on an official camp outing, and accompanied by counselors.

As campers, we were given our clear limits of unsupervised roaming. We could go down to the horse corral, but not across the bridge into the meadow. We could go down to the old swimming hole, but not across the footbridge to the firepit (too much out of sight of adult supervision). We had supervised activities from early morning until 4pm, when we had a "free hour" until dinner at 5pm. And we were absolutely to be in our tents, in our bunks, for a headcount by our counselor by 8pm. Sometimes, usually, once a week, we had a campwide "supervised" evening sing-a-long, and dance at the social hall. That was our limit.

If you had attended the camp for several years and outgrown the age limit, you could lay back a year, and then apply to come back as a "helper." There were several categories, such as in the kitchen, or helping maintain the horse barns, or serve as a general groundskeeper. You had to be 16 to come back as a helper. I guess the owners thought that there should be at least a year's age gap between helpers and campers, so there were no 15 year olds. Except for the owner's son.

He was there the summer I arrived, having turned 15 the previous winter, and was employed as a groundskeeper. He lasted until early August my first summer, when he was found out on the little hillock with a very cute 14-year old blond with her pants down. His, too. She had (from what the camp grapevine told, because I was off on a trail ride and missed all the fireworks) been making enough noise as he punched into her virgin twat that you could have heard her all over the parade ground. He got sent home to grandpa for the rest of the summer.

My best memory of that first summer is that there was a beautiful 17-year old blond babe who served as an assistant swimming instructor. Man, was she built! She had the hots for one of the senior counselors (who was all of 22) from what the grapevine said, and they were what I guess we'd now call a "subtle couple." They were very discreet around each other and all others, but would be known to be "unaccounted for" at strangely same times. We envied the counselor's good fortune.

I was in the pool one day at the shallow end for my swimming lessons. Without my glasses, I could hardly see a thing, but I had learned that for some strange reason, when I looked underwater, my vision remarkably improved. I still don't know what causes that, but it works to this day. I therefore had learned to love swimming underwater with my eyes open for just that reason: I could see clearly now!

I had just pushed off from the shallow end when the blond took a dive off the board from the other end, and for some reason, she swept her arms back as she hit the water, and the force of the water stripped her bathing suit down to her waist. I saw the most glorious set of breasts, full out and only feet from my shocked but feasting eyes. My first! Whowabunga! My dick got so stiff so fast I thought I'd cum right there!

Man, was she embarrassed! I watched her underwater as she valiantly tried to reclaim her modesty, but couldn't find her suit straps. All this time she's trying to stay underwater so she can cover up before she resurfaces. What I'm seeing from her efforts is these gorgeous breasts bouncing around, nipples getting rock-stiff, and her bared to the waist - heck, just below, because I can see just a wisp of blond pubic hair sneaking a peak above her receded waistband.

Well, she finally gets herself together, surfaces, and the fun's all over, except of course I have a dick so stiff it's about to rip my swimsuit apart. I stay in the water for what seemed like half an hour waiting for my dick to die down, but it wouldn't! Visions of those delicious breasts danced before my chlorine-burned eyes. I glanced around the pool and thinking no one was looking, I slipped my hand into my suit and pulled my dick out to get a good grasp. It didn't take more than a few strokes to spew my spunk into the water so I could finally get down, then out to head for my tent in time to change for dinner chow. What a swimming lesson!

I say "or so I thought" because unbeknown to me at the time, someone else had been in the pool watching the entire escapade, including mine. That was Marlene. She was 16, and had signed on that summer as a stable helper. Basically that meant one cleaned out the horseshit, blanketed and saddled the horses in the morning for the kids' riding lessons, then unsaddled them and brushed them down in the afternoon. It was a totally unglamorous job.

Marlene was a little on the scrawny side, not much in the chest, kinda mousy hair, but all muscle. I guess you had to have that kind of body to shovel all that shit, day after day. I'd seen her down at the stable when I took my riding lessons, but never paid much attention. Heck, how could she take much attention from me, when I was watching all those fabulous babes climbing up into saddles, firm butts sticking out of their tight jeans, tits pressing against the snap-button shirts tucked into those tight waists! Even at 14, these girls were built!

As I later came to find out, Marlene's personal history was similar to mine. She had first come to camp when she was 10, funded by her grandparents who felt that coming here would give her a better chance to meet a "better class of people." Her mother had struggled to raise her well after her father had been killed when she was eight. He had been a crane operator, and one day a too-busy supervisor ordered him to lift a too-heavy load with the crane boom out flat. The crane had sheared from its base from the excess weight, crushing her father instantly. Since it was not a union operation, and before the days of OSHA, there was a minor settlement from the company to the family, but that money hadn't lasted long.

Once at camp, Marlene had suffered through several years of being ostracized by the other girls she had to bunk with because of her working class background, but she had fallen in love with horsemanship and had proven herself to be absolutely excellent as a rider, handler, and lover of horses. So, when she asked to come back to camp as a stable helper when she was 16, the owners had accepted her with open arms. Perhaps also because she wasn't exactly beauty queen material, the owners felt she would be a "safe" addition to the staff, not likely to tempt any of the males in camp. If they'd only known...

But she was still an outcast. Many of the girls in camp had older sisters who attended before them, and the word had been passed down about Marlene, even to accuse her of "slumming," trying to rub shoulders with "them" to get ahead. They even made fun of her name. Alongside Jennifers, and Stephanies, and Anna Maries, "Marlene" was clearly to them not an upper-class name. And they let her know it by snubbing her every chance they got, even when she was preparing "their" horses for their riding lessons.

They lost no chance to let her know she was beneath them, and that animosity was only fed by the fact that Marlene was an absolute genius with horses. She knew how to ride any horse in the stable, and that included some pretty challenging ones that only the counselors would usually ride. My older brother had tried several years before to ride one when he was at camp, and had been rewarded with being bucked off into a blackberry patch, ending up with a broken arm that sent him home for the summer.

As I said, I hadn't noticed Marlene much that summer, since my eyes were glued to boobs and hips, and she didn't have much of either. But within a day of my "pool incident," I started becoming more aware of Marlene.

I'm not sure what it really was at first. Perhaps it was when I came down for my first riding lessons, it was that Marlene took just a little extra time helping me get my horse ready for lessons, or that she started giving a few extra comments or suggestions about how to saddle the horse, making sure the blanket was on straight, or that the bridle fit well to the horse's mouth. Something got my attention.

At the stables, and with the horses, I felt more comfortable than anywhere else in camp, or with anyone else. Somehow, I seemed to have a natural "sync" with the horses. I cooed them when I put a bridle on, which of course brought snide remarks from the other campers. I petted my horse from the neck to the flanks before trying to put a saddle on, and my horse always took the saddle gently. I never had to knee my horse's stomach to let her breathe out to tighten up the snich. I'd rub her stomach and feel her exhale, and then quickly snich up the belly strap.

I guess Marlene noticed. She complimented me on my attention to the animals, and started going out of her way to give me a little extra instruction or help. Pretty soon, I started paying attention to more than the horses.

When she'd help me get the saddle on, it may have been the little extra curve to her lips, just a hint of smile that she didn't share with the others. At that age, I had no idea about picking up clues, but I knew something was different. When she'd turn around and head back to help the next camper, I caught myself glancing at her tight buns in those tight jeans and something subconciously murmured to me that I was seeing something I'd missed before.

Naw! No way! It was my hormones kicking in again, I chastened myself. No way would a 16-year old pay attention to me. Or would me, a 13-year old, ever get anywhere with a 16-year old. Christ, she was like adult, in college, my mother's age! Sheesh. And I sunk even deeper into my introverted shell.

But every time I came down for riding, I would get the same sideward glance, and then finally direct looks, and I thought I could see a sparkle or even warmth in her eyes when she talked to me about horse-handling. When we'd put the bridle and saddle on my horse, it seemed like she'd brush my hand or bump up against my body in the most accidental way. Again, my imagination was starting to wind way out of control. What the hell was going on here? Was this geek-on-geek happening here? Even I couldn't be that lucky.

A couple of times a week we'd have an all-camp evening in front of the huge fireplace in the social hall. With a raging fire going, the counselors would lead sing-alongs with Peter Paul and Mary songs, or Pete Seeger's (it was a progressive camp, after all). They'd even sing "Old Joe Hill Is Dead," though for the lot of us, we had no idea who Joe Hill was, but the song was good. Then there'd be some social dancing, kinda like line dancing but with a folk flare to them. (In later years I learned these were Contra dances, and have finally come to enjoy them to this day).

This was about the only time I can remember that both Marlene and I were sort of almost accepted as equals. No one could refuse to dance with us, because we were in a long line, changing partners all the time, and it was just about the only time I felt like I was "one of the gang." Just when we were dancing. As soon as we'd break at the end of a dance, the rest of the kids would clump together, chattering among themselves, and I'd once again be on the outside. And though I didn't notice then, so was Marlene.

I was standing by the door, looking out on the parade field, feeling the sadness envelope me being the castaway once again as the rest of the campers hovered around the punchbowl flirting with each other. I felt a nudge at my elbow and looked back to see Marlene looking with some sadness into my slowly tearing eyes.

"I guess we're just the most popular kids here tonight, eh?" she murmured. I could only sigh, afraid I would break into sobs. I felt an arm around my waist and a gentle squeeze. Then my tearducts let loose, drowning my face in a silent flood.

I felt a gentle push on my backside nudging me out onto the porch and into a bentwood bench on the porch of the social hall. Marlene steered me to sit, and dropped down beside me, her arm still around my waist and I felt another gentle squeeze.

We sat in silence for awhile. Well, it wasn't total silence. I was having a hard time keeping my sniffles to myself. Marlene reached into her pocket and pulled out a hanky and gently rubbed my nose in it. I blew. She tweaked my nose softly through the cloth. I felt like any strength left in my body suddenly evaporated and my head dropped down to her shoulder. Her arm came up from my waist and cupped my head to hers, and her hair drifted around my face.

Just as I started to blubber my heart away, she said "Shssh! The others will hear!" Oh shit, like I needed that! I immediately felt this jolt go through my body, like "I'm not going to embarrass myself in front of THOSE jerks!" and I snuffled to a stop, and sat up straight, almost jerking her arm from me.

Marlene turned to me and took my face in her hands. She had this soft light in her eyes that felt like they were making their way into my very being. Man, this was so totally weird and completely confusing! Here I am sitting out on the deck, having felt completely rejected by the entire camp and here was this - WOMAN! - comforting me in my sorrow! Oh, jeez, how does a 13-year old handle THIS? I had no idea how to react, or what to do next. Do I kiss her? Fondle her? Oh Christ, that is what I had done before and had been always rejected. I was completely at a loss. So I did nothing but look back at her.

Later I realized it was at this moment that I should have understood Marlene was like an Earth Mother. She was one of those women who was meant to take care of men in their hour of need. She was probably reincarnate Gaia. But I knew nothing at that time except that I was hurting horribly and she was there with me, I had no clue what to do, except to let her lead me where she would, or will.

With that, I felt an incredible relaxation, like I was being held by the universe itself, there were no worries, no stuckup bitches and bastards in the hall inside, there was no one but us, there in the summer twilight on the deck, two warm bodies gradually melting into each other. And I started to cry again.

"Shssh," she said again, and stood up taking my hand. "I think we'll get much more attention than we want here. Let's take a walk." I followed her lead as she drew me down to the end of the deck, and off onto one of the many paths that laced their way through the property.

Walking, holding her hand, I began to get my wits back, and realized that I was walking off into the dusk with a FEMALE! Oh my god. My dick started getting hard, and all my rejection feelings from the dance were quickly fleeing my adolescent body. Marlene was leading me down toward the stables, her tight butt subtly shifting ahead in the fading light. We soon found ourselves across from the hay barn, by the stables.

She stopped there, her hand still in mine, and we stood together, one arm apiece gathering around each other, our other arms leaning up against the wooden bars of the corral. We stood silently for several minutes, and then she turned to me.

"You know, it's really tough for me being at this camp again," she said. "I had a horrible time when I was here as a camper, but I really found myself with these horses." One of the mares had come over to nudge up against her arm, flicking its tongue out like it was looking for an apple. Marlene reached her hand out to stroke the mare's broad nose and the mare snickered what seemed a loving return.

"I don't know why, but you caught my attention when you first came down here for your horse lessons, and then I started watching you in camp. I've seen how the others treated you, and it made me feel how I felt when I was a camper here. I was so sorry for you. But I saw how you were with the horses, that you are so different from the rest of the campers. Why is that?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I just feel free down here, like it's just me and the horse, and the horse doesn't know I'm a jerk, or a woose; they just treat me like I treat them, Marlene."

"And you treat them well. You are good with them. You'll be a good horseman. Don't forget that, whatever anyone else here says about you. You're a whole lot better than they are with these animals, believe me."

My chest began to swell! Holy crap! I was BETTER than them! At least at somethings. Then my chest began to shrink, when I thought of all the "other things."

Marlene must have noticed my withdrawal, because she turned and put both arms around me and pulled me to her, and looked straight into my eyes.

"You are a very sweet, gentle, loving guy. Don't forget that! Ever!"

I started to cry again and dropped my head into her shoulder. Again. And again, she wrapped an arm around my head and pulled me to her... oh gawd, her bosum! My head was buried in her chest! Oh shit, my dick was rising again! I felt her other arm drift down to my butt and gently pull my hips into hers. She started to do a gentle swirling motion with her hand over the rear of my jeans, all the time softly swirling me into her groin. I found my cheeks brushing against these two modest protrusions in her shirt, and one of them found their way between my gasping lips. Oh, what heaven was this, this little mound of flesh under the denim shirt, and before I knew it, I came. Oh jeezus christ!

My pants were suddenly soaked as my body shuddered against hers, with my lips closing onto this peak of pleasure in her shirt, and I heard a gasp from Marlene's lips at the same moment.

Oh, shit, oh, jeezus, oh my gawd, I was mortified. I'd come in my pants rubbing up against this ADULT! I started to cry again. Marlene wrapped her hands around my face and pulled my head up to hers and gave me my first French kiss. It was so gentle, sweet, forgiving and I'll remember it to the day I die.