Chapter 1

Choctaw River Camp began as a crude encampment for loggers working deep in the Choctaw River bottoms. Someone in my family-I never knew for sure who-bought the property well before my birth and turned it into a quaint fishing and hunting spot mainly used by family members to escape civilization. The primitive camp was located on a slight bluff overlooking the river's backwaters, a labyrinth of sloughs and marshes outside the main channel. Spanish moss dripped from every tree and Cypress knees jutted up along the circuitous water's edge. The captivating musky sweet smell of the Deep South provided by plants, some alive and some long dead, fills my memory to this day. On those idyllic spring and summer evenings of my youth, it was a magical place.

For us kids, it was the perfect place to pretend to be high-seas pirates pillaging via the old aluminum fishing boat, cowboys and Indians, or castaways on the many little islands that protruded above the water between the camp and the main channel of the muddy Choctaw River. During my early years, my cousins and I spent long hours of grand adventure in those deep woods and swamps.

The camp had a large rudimentary two-roomed bunkhouse, one side for women and children and the other for the men with a broad breezeway in between. The men of the family tended to play poker until the wee hours, fart and snore loudly, and issue up profane remarks, much to the dismay of the conservative Southern women in the family. So, the men were provided their own dominion safely away from the women who might be offended and us children who might be corrupted.

When several of the cousins grew to be teenagers, this justification for the sleeping arrangements began to lose strength; nonetheless, family tradition prevailed and all the kids, boys and girls, slept on the women's side.

Another rough building, half open and half closed to the elements, housed the kitchen and eating area. Between the two buildings was a giant fire ring where everyone roasted marshmallows and talked politics and religion nightly. Far down the trail on a low bluff above the river stood the bathroom facility, an outhouse with a women's and a men's side. Each featured long boards with holes that opened to the ground below and ultimately into the river although the women's side had makeshift stalls to protect modesty.

At most family reunions, the men fished and drank, the women cooked and played cards, and we children were free to roam the woods and swamps on our own. For me, it was a thrilling time and place.

In the summer of my fourteenth year, Pamela and her parents arrived at the camp after a year's absence and I hardly recognized "little" Pam. Almost everyone in our family is tall, but Pamela, who was 13 at the time, had blossomed during the past year. She towered over her parents and me. More importantly, she had changed from a skinny androgynous child to a curvaceous young woman with long legs that went on forever, a slender waist, and very obvious, newly formed perky breasts.

She also had this amazing smile that revealed a huge mouth full of dazzling teeth. When she smiled, which was often, her nose crinkled in the cutest way I had ever seen. From the first moment, I was captivated by her appearance and my 14-year-old dick agreed with my assessment of Pamela's beauty by getting frequently erect without a moment's warning.

As I reflect now it actually was a year of big physical change in all the cousins. Puberty had struck me hard, in more ways that the obvious. And, the three other cousins who filled out our merry little band of adventurers showed similar overt signs of maturation.

Ike was 15 and very cool mainly because he smoked cigarettes and everyone, including his mother, knew it. My parents talked about Ike in hushed tones, shook their heads sadly, and noted, "he really has had no Daddy." Ike's dad apparently had been killed in some war, so Aunt Connie was "raising Ike by herself, bless her heart."

Sarah, 13, was the daughter of our Baptist preacher Uncle Earl and, as a result, was either very piously religious or a holy terror depending on her momentary mood. Aunt Helen still dressed Sarah and her two younger siblings in matching outfits on Sunday, a practice that Sarah despised.

Amy, aged 12, was stricken with cuteness--cute everything, cute clothes, cute hair, cute nose, and a "cute little figure" (so said my mother)--and was an only-child of the wealthy portion of the family. Her father, my Uncle Clyde, was a dentist. He and my very stylish Aunt Nancy arrived at family reunions in their always-brand-new Cadillacs that seemed most out of place down in the Choctaw swamp.

The five cousins only saw each other once, perhaps twice per year, but when we did get together, we instantly reacquainted, joined forces to ostracize younger siblings, and set off on a new set of marvelous exploits.

Then there was "the" year...

The first day of my most memorable family reunion was uneventful. We drove most of the afternoon-Mom, Dad, my little sister, and me all crammed in our shitty old Chevy. I hated that car because it was so boring and un-cool. By the time, everyone arrived, greeted one another, unpacked, and ate a sumptuous country meal, it was bedtime, at least for the women and children. No amount of arguing could convince our parents that we were not children any longer, so we were put to bed along with our younger siblings.

The women and children's bedroom was a single very large space filled with several bunk beds along the rough walls and a host of single beds arrayed in rows in the room's center. Our little sisters and brothers thought the bunk beds were very cool, so they claimed those quickly. The older ones of us were relegated, both boys and girls, to various single beds mostly near beds to be used by our respective mothers.

We children were put to bed and soon most fell asleep, except for me. The combination of the saggy, lumpy, strange bed and the thought of how different Pamela looked kept me wide-awake. The sight of her crawling into bed near by, even though she wore less than revealing pajamas, had awakened my fantasies and hindered my sleep.

After a long while, I heard my aunts and my mother reenter the room.

"Are they all asleep?" whispered someone.

"Looks as if they are... aren't they sweet looking... this way they look like angels, don't they? If only they were!"

That voice obviously belonged to my mother.

"Well, I think I'll turn in," said another voice. "It was a very long day and week."

"Me too. It is nice to have a little time to relax. We are going to have to rethink the sleeping arrangements here though. These boys are getting a little too big to be in the same room with us. My own son stares at my body every chance he gets these days... god knows what hormones are doing to the poor child."

That remark got my full attention. I felt a cool breeze sweep past my face and I cracked open one eye slightly to see who was nearby. To my utter shock, it was my Aunt Helen and she obviously was preparing to undress... no more than four feet from me. Best of all, she seemed oblivious to me.

Can this be happening? I thought. Could this be the moment that I gaze upon my very first naked woman... live and in person? Even though it was my aunt, I began to literally shiver all over at the delicious thought.

To my absolute delight, Aunt Helen did begin to prepare for bed. As slowly as possible I inched the covers up to my face and opened slightly my one eye that was shielded just enough for me to see clearly without being detected. I held my breath in anticipation of things to come.

Good fortune came quickly when Aunt Helen began to unbutton her blouse. Each single unfastening revealed just a little more skin and a clearer view of the plain white bra that she wore underneath. Interestingly, I had been around my Aunt Helen a lot, but until that moment I had not noticed how very large her breasts seemed to be.

With a shrug of her shoulders, her blouse came completely off and she folded it neatly atop her bed. To my shock, she all of a sudden stared down at me and I thought I might have been discovered. After the lingering glance, however, she seemed assured that I was asleep and reached for the zipper on the side of her pants. In a short moment, I was treated to a close-up view of my Aunt Helen wearing only bra and white panties. My dick sprang to attention instantly. Her pendulous breasts pushed against her "full figured" bra. The soft fabric of her panties molded against the rather large mound between her legs. A dark shadow lurked beneath. I even saw a few stray pubic hairs peeping from around the gusset of her plain panties.