Chapter 8: July 3, 1978

But I tell myself I was doing alright.
There’s nothing left to do tonight,
But go crazy on you, crazy on you.
Let me go crazy, crazy on you
Crazy on You - Heart

I woke up earlier than usual and stumbled my way into the bathroom. Mom looked up from the bed to see who was walking around. I noticed that a frown crossed her face as she continued to watch me walk all the way into the bathroom. That may have been from the sluggish way I moved due to lack of sleep or the hard-on I was sporting from thinking about Murray all night long.

Last night, after we finished, I managed to rouse Murray, get her down to the water, clean her up, and get back to our respective parents just before our curfews. I was a little worried because when I left Murray, she seemed totally out of it. Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg didn’t seem to notice anything wrong and just put her behavior down to tiredness. I was up most of the night alternately worrying about and lusting after her.

I couldn’t pee because my hard-on, so I hopped into the shower. As I lathered up, I thought back to Murray’s nude body unconscious at my feet. I felt the rush again and my lust increased. I sighed in exasperation because I really needed to pee and I was only making it harder (pun intended). I figured there was only one way to make my cock go down.

I grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up my hands until they were nice and slick. I grabbed my shaft with both hands and started stroking up and down while thinking of Murray. I thought about her writhing and moaning beneath me as I drove my cock into her slick pussy. I tightened my hands as I imagined how tight she may be. Jolts of pleasure shot down my shaft into my balls and I rapidly pumped up and down. I imagine that Murray orgasmed just as I hit my peak. I grunted as my cock began to spurt out its load.

I stood still under the pelting water as I slowly regain my breath. The shower washed away my come and I rinse the soap off my cock. Letting warm water flow over me, I began to relax and felt my cock soften. Turning off the water, I dried off and sat on the toilet. I sighed in relief as I felt my bladder begin to empty.

“Augh!”

I cried out in pain is a burning sensation traveled up of my cock from the tip. I bit my lower lip and cursed silently as I realized I hadn’t been careful. I had allowed soap to get to the tip. The burning lessened as I continued to pee, for which I was grateful.

“Honey, you okay?” asked Mom softly from the other side of the bathroom door.

I jumped and nearly fell off the toilet seat. I banged into the sink with a loud thump before stammering, “I’m ... I’m fine, Mom.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Yes!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly.

There was silence on the other side of the door before heard Mom say, “Okay, honey.”

My heart was hammering in my chest. I felt both afraid and relieved the same time. I knew I had to get out of the cabin before anything else happened. I washed my hands, scrub my teeth, and left the bathroom.

Mom was back in bed with Dad, but I felt that she was watching me. I slipped on my sandals and grab my towel as I headed out, closing the door quietly behind me.

I headed down the back trail to the clubhouse. I was hoping that Murray would get there early. I wanted to see her and tell her that last night was special. I was ready to give up on my side of the bet. I wanted to tell her that I felt something for her and I wanted to do it before my nerves failed me. I knew today was going to be busy. Dad talked to Mrs. Hughes about making the two Fourth of July favorites, deviled eggs and coleslaw. Since our two dishes were refrigerated, Dad like to get his cooking done early to free up the stoves.

I pulled out our largest pot and filled it three quarters full of water. After putting the pot on the stove and turning on the burner, I pulled four dozen eggs out of the refrigerator. I quickly put all the eggs into the water. I put another pot of cold water on the counter stop the eggs from cooking after their time was done in the boiling water.

With the eggs on, I pulled out our last carton of eggs, the block of cheddar cheese, an onion, and a tomato. I shredded the cheese, and diced the onion and tomato for omelets. The front door the clubhouse opened and I looked up in anticipation. It was a big letdown when Magda walked through the door.

“Humph!” grumped Magda. “I know I’m not the love of your life, but you don’t have to look at me like I’m something the cat dragged in!”

“I’m sorry, Magda,” I apologized. “I was waiting for Murray. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Popover pancake?” suggested Magda with a big, hopeful smile.

“Didn’t you have one yesterday?”

“Yeah,” said Magda, slumping down onto a stool at the counter.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are going to kill me,” I said as I turn the oven on the 425°. “You owe me, though.”

“Hah!” scoffed Magda as I greased a baking dish and put a third of the stick of butter in a pan on the stove to melt. “More like you owe me ... many times over.”

I gave her a pointed stare as I put half a cup of flour, half a cup of milk, and two eggs into a mixing bowl. I didn’t say a thing as I wish the three ingredients until they were just mixed together then poured the batter into the baking dish. I pulled pan off the stove and drizzled melted butter on top of the batter. When I was finished, I put my hands on the counter on either side of the dish and stared at Magda.

She squirmed for a bit and then blurted out, “Okay ... Okay, I owe you.”

“See, that wasn’t that hard,” I said as I put the dish in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes. I noticed the water in the big pot was starting to boil and I turned the heat down so the eggs would simmer.

Other people started coming into the clubhouse and I felt a twinge of disappointment each time it wasn’t Murray. Dwight and Karen Delozier came in, followed by Roman. I was always a little uncomfortable around the Deloziers. Mr. Delozier was a big, boisterous man whose presence filled the room. His wife with the exact opposite ... small, mousy, and shy. They just seemed like the Odd Couple to me, but there was one thing and it highlighted one of the hazards of being at a nudist camp.

Mr. Delozier was large, taller than my Dad’s six foot one. He was also large in more ways than that. His nickname among us kids was Dwight Donkey-Dick, although we never called him back to his face. He had the largest penis ever. (Yes, I did look ... sometimes, you can’t help, but look.)

Growing up as the child of a nudist couple, I learned about sex early. Of course, that was just the mechanics of it, since Mom was a nurse and explained it in clinical detail. I was grateful that Aunt Susan took the time this year to explain to me relationships, expectations, responsibilities, emotions, and some of the other mushy stuff. When I was younger, I was perversely grossed out thinking about Mr. Delozier’s huge cock going into his petite wife. One of my best wet dreams was of Mrs. Delozier stuck on his shaft halfway up in the air, screaming in delight.

Feeling inadequate around Mr. Delozier and the sexual fantasy I had about his wife were the main reasons I was uncomfortable around them. I went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of diced ham for Roman’s omelet. Just as I was sliding the cooked omelet on the Roman’s plate, a meaty hand grasped me by the shoulder.

“Steve!” boomed Mr. Delozier.

“It’s Stephan,” corrected Mrs. Delozier as I tensed up to keep myself from looking at her husband’s crotch.

“That’s right,” laughed Mr. Delozier. “Sorry about that, Stephan. How’s it hanging?”

“I’m good, Mr. Delozier,” I said, looking him in the eye and being a little surprised by it. Before I had always had to look up from his chest to see his face. Now, there’s only a few scant inches difference between his height and mine.

I blushed bright red when Roman snorted in derision. He then choked and coughed as bits of eggs flew out of his nose. Magda started laughing and kept it up until tears were streaming from her eyes. Mr. Delozier couldn’t hide his smile as he pounded Roman on the back, which didn’t help at all. That just made Magda laughed so hard that she fell off her stool.

Luckily, Mrs. Delozier caught Magda before she cracked her head open on the floor. Mrs. Delozier then grabbed a paper towel and handed it to Roman, shooing her husband away.

“Blow,” she commanded.

Roman did as she ordered. I made a face as I heard bits of stuff fly out of his nose.

“Ewww!” cried out Magda.

“Drink,” ordered Mrs. Delozier, pushing Roman’s glass of milk at him. Roman took a gulp and let out a sigh of relief. “All better now?”

Roman nodded his head and Mrs. Delozier said, “Blow your nose couple more times. Trust me. Egg isn’t bad ... peas are worse.”

“You’ve shot food out of your nose?” asked Magda incredulously.

“Almost everybody has, Magda,” answered Mrs. Delozier. She looked at her husband with a happy expression. “I’m married to either a comical handyman or a handy comedian. Either way, he keeps me in stitches. I’ve asked him to tone it down at the dinner table, especially after one incident. What would you like for breakfast, honey?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Delozier, sniffing the air. “It smells pretty good over here.”

“I’m making Magda a popover pancake and I made Roman a ham and cheese omelet,” I said. “I can whip you up something.”

“That sounds great!” said Mr. Delozier.

“Dwight, we are perfectly capable of making our own breakfasts,” stated Mrs. Delozier.

“But your husband will be cooking all day tomorrow,” I pointed out.

“It looks like you’re cooking up a storm now,” stated Mrs. Delozier, looking in the pot at all the eggs.

“Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed. “How much time is left on the timer?”

“Four minutes,” said Mrs. Delozier.

I let out a breath of relief that I hadn’t overcooked the eggs and said, “I’ve got a couple minutes before I have to put them in cold water. Please, Mrs. Delozier, I’d be happy to make you breakfast.”

“All right, Stephan. You make breakfast. We’ll take the eggs out when it’s time.”

“Which one would you like?” I asked.

“Both!” said Mr. Delozier with a laugh.

“Dwight, the doctor said you need to lose weight,” stated Mrs. Delozier with a scowl.

“We’re on vacation!” exclaimed Mr. Delozier, happily grasping his wife under the arms, lifting her a foot off the ground, and swinging her around in a circle.

“Dwight! Dwight! The eggs!” laughed Mrs. Delozier. “Dwight, put me down and get some tongs!”

“Yes, ma’am,” and Mr. Delozier immediately set her down.

I whisked up a popover pancake, ported into a baking dish, and put in the oven. At the same time, I pulled Magda’s dish out. I moved her pancake onto a plate and dusted it with powdered sugar. I poured a little maple syrup on top and pass the plate over Magda. I then started in on the Delozier’s omelets.

“That’s what’s on a popover pancake?” asked Mrs. Delozier in disbelief. “Dwight, I’m sorry, but no. You can have the omelet only.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

At Mr. Delozier’s words, I took a good look at his wife as she pulled eggs out of the boiling water and put them in the cold water. She was small, barely a couple inches over five feet, with brunette hair that was cut in a bob down to her shoulders. She had a nice shape with smallish breasts. Her bush was trimmed and I could see the tan lines of her bikini. I always thought of her as mousy and shy. However, how Mr. Delozier just answered her showed me her true self and strength.

Mrs. Delozier gave me a smile and wink at her husband’s statement. I kind of shook myself. I had always thought of her as bland and plain looking, but now I could see the merriment in her eyes and a beauty in her smile. I felt myself on the edge of a revelation as I thought that maybe all women were beautiful in some way. Obviously, Mr. and Mrs. Delozier loved each other and only now I was seeing the beauty he saw.

I slid the first omelet onto a plate and passed it over to Mrs. Delozier. I started on the second one as she poured coffee into two mugs. She gave one of the mugs to her husband and then took a bite of her dish.

“Mmm, heavenly,” she sighed in appreciation.

It was just then that my parents came into the clubhouse with Stan and Terri Dunbar. It still wasn’t Murray. I must’ve made a face because Mom gave me a second look. I didn’t think much of it as she went over to talk to Roman. I was feeling anxious because Murray had not shown up yet. I finished Mr. Delozier’s omelet and slid it onto a plate.

“Cooking for the camp?” asked Dad teasingly.

“I ... uh...” I stammered. I’ve been watching the door and thinking of Murray, so Dad kind of surprised me.

“He offered stating that I was grilling tomorrow,” said Mr. Delozier. He pointed to his omelet. “This is great!”

“I don’t mind,” said Dad. “Stephan likes to cook. Ah, I see the eggs are done. We’ll start on the slaw and biscuits after your mother and I have eaten.”

Dad took over cooking, and Roman, Magda, and I took the hardboiled eggs over to a table. We started shelling the eggs, cutting them in half, and putting the yolks in a separate bowl.

“Hey, watch where you’re putting your shell!” said Roman to Magda, pushing her shell fragments on the table back towards her.

“I’ll clean it up later,” argued Magda. “At least, I’m not as slow as molasses.”

I sighed in exasperation as I loaded up another bowl with eggs. I moved over to the counter, leaving those two bickering about who was sloppy and who was a slowpoke. I sat down at the counter to shell the eggs.

“Well, Anton, have you decided to give me some pointers on my sauce?” Mr. Delozier asked Dad.

“You asked me that every year,” stated Dad. “Your sauce is perfect, Dwight.”

“Of course, it is,” laughed Mr. Delozier, “but don’t you like it change every now and then? I’ve heard rumors of your maple barbecue sauce.”

“All greatly exaggerated,” stated Dad. “It just wouldn’t be the Fourth without your barbecued ribs. Everybody looks forward to having them.”