"All right, girls! Quiet down!" Pat Fulton put her hands on her hips and shouted in her most authoritative voice to bring the dozen or so teenage girls ringed around her to order. As the babble of conversation and laughter continued without letup, she stuck the bright silver whistle hung around her neck into her mouth and gave it an ear-splitting blast.
"I said quiet down!" she warned a second time, turning her head quickly from face to face, a dark frown of anger creasing her forehead. The majority of the girls in the group ranged in age from thirteen to sixteen. Although Pat herself had just turned twenty, she had enough of an age difference on her side to command respect and attention from the younger girls in her charge. When she flashed her large dark eyes and knit her jet-black brows in a slash of disapproval, even the boldest of them became instantly quiet.
"If there's one thing you're all going to learn before you've been at the Summer Sisters Girls Camp very much longer," she declared, "it's that when a Big Sister like myself tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. Does everyone understand that?"
Most of the girls nodded their heads up and down quickly, their faces reflecting their fear of Pat and of being at the camp itself. For many of them it was the first time they'd ever been away from home for a night in their lives, and a few looked like they were on the brink of tears. One of the older girls, however, seemed determined to make a reputation for herself with the counselor on the very first night of camp.
"What if you tell us to do something we don't think we should do?" a voice in the little group questioned.
"Who asked me that?" Pat growled, turning her head quickly around in the direction where the girl's voice had come from. She felt herself stiffen slightly inside as she confronted a face she had noticed earlier, when all the camp counselors had met the summer group at the local train station. Pat had suspected from her first glance at the girl that she was going to prove to be trouble. Staring into her deep blue eyes once again, she was almost certain of it. She'd been a girls camp counselor long enough to recognize that look at once. "Oh, you," she muttered. Her eyebrows tightened in another frown, but the girl's eyes stared right back at her in challenge. "Aren't you the one who was making all the fuss at the train station?" she snapped.
"I was questioning why we had to ride all the way up here in that cattle car you called a bus, yes," she answered. "At the camp I went to last summer, they sent private limousines into town to pick us up."
"Then why didn't you go back to that camp this summer?" Pat asked as sweetly as she could manage her voice to sound, but the hard line around her mouth betrayed the truth of her feelings.
For a moment, the girl seemed completely flustered. Her stare darted away from Pat's face and she shifted her stance nervously. "I-I – didn't go back there because I was bored with the place," she declared after a hesitant start.
"Well, I'm afraid you're going to be bored with this camp, too," Pat hinted, "unless you learn to follow orders like the rest of the girls. What's your name?"
"Roxanne," she said. "Roxanne Thomas."
"And how old are you, Roxanne?"
"I'm seventeen," she answered quickly.
"Little liar!" Pat thought to herself. "If you're a day over sixteen I'm Grandma Moses!"
Aloud, however, she asked, "Don't you think that's a little young to be making decisions for yourself?"
"Not at all," the girl said, with a haughty toss of the mane of long brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. "I've been doing it all my life."
"I doubt that, Roxanne," Pat muttered, aware that she and the girl were now heavily in the midst of a confrontation for leadership of the others in the group. The results of this first showdown might well determine who held the ultimate authority for the rest of the summer.
"I have, too!" Roxanne insisted. Then, as though it were something she was proud and anxious to have the others standing around her in the group know, she added, "My parents are divorced. I spend half the year with my mother and half with my father, but they both let me do whatever I want to when I'm with them."
"But you're not with them now," Pat seethed. "You're with me. And I'm being paid by the owners of this camp to see that all of you girls obey my instructions for the summer. I don't mean some of you, either. I mean all. If that's not perfectly understood by you, Roxanne – as well as anyone else here who thinks they know more about camp life than I do – then perhaps you'd better speak to Mrs. Marchant about getting a train home in the morning."
With satisfaction, she noticed the others shift ever so slightly away from Roxanne and lower their heads in obedience. At least the first round was hers, she thought.
"Is that understood?" she asked the girl.
"Oh, I guess so," Roxanne sighed heavily. "I find authority such a bore, though."
"Well, then, my girl," Pat thought grimly, "you're going to have a helluva boring summer with me!"
"What if one Big Sister tells us to do something and you tell us to do something different?" another girl in the group asked, but her question was genuine and held none of the cockiness of Roxanne's.
Pat turned her head and stared at the pretty little blonde who'd spoken up. She looked about the same age as Roxanne, and Pat had noticed her, too, at the train station in town, although for an entirely different reason. She felt a little flutter race through her pulse as she met the girl's eyes. The stare she found in them was bold, but not challenging.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"I'm Mimsy Colberg," the girl told her.
"Mimsy, huh?" Pat thought with interest. "A cute name for an even cuter little doll. Maybe you're going to be trouble for me this summer, too, honey. With all those pretty blonde curls, you could be big trouble."
"Well, Mimsy," she said aloud, hoping the sudden softening of her tone wouldn't too obviously betray her feelings to the other girls, "if that ever does happen, you do what I tell you. The way this camp is set up, each of us Big Sisters is in charge of about a dozen of you girls and for each of us you're our sole responsibility. If another Big Sister tells you to do something you think is questionable, check with me first. The only exception would be if Mrs. Marchant herself gave you an order. Okay?"
"Okay," Mimsy said with a little girl's smile that brought a quick ache of yearning to Pat's heart.
"You are going to be trouble," she thought with dismay. She was well enough aware of her sexual feelings for other girls – especially cute little blondes like Mimsy, who were such a thrilling contrast to her own dark-haired good looks – to know when there was a danger that she might not be able to control herself in certain situations. From the first moment her eyes had meet Mimsy Colberg's, Pat had known she'd have to watch herself around the girl all summer to be sure they were never alone together long enough for one of those situations to develop. Mrs. Marchant, the camp's principal owner, was a kindly, understanding woman, but Pat was certain her sympathies did not reach far enough to forgive any counselor caught trying to seduce one of the girl campers. No matter how cute and appealing she might be, or how difficult the temptation was to resist. As Pat's upcoming senior year in college was entirely dependent upon the money she would earn that summer as a counselor at the camp, she could not afford to take chances and knew she would have to watch her step around Mimsy very carefully.
"Are there any other questions before you go to the showers and turn in for the night?" she asked. The girls had already eaten their dinner in the main dining hall shortly after their arrival and in another hour at the most she would be free of them. She wondered if June was finished with her group yet and was already waiting for her in bed in the cabin they shared. Whether she knew it or not, Pat thought, June was in for a hot lovemaking session that night. She could feel the need inside her growing stronger with each passing moment.
"Are you going to sleep with us?" one of the youngest girls asked, in a voice that sounded ready to break into sobs at any second.
"No, honey," Pat smiled with tenderness. "I have a little cabin of my own that I share with another Big Sister. It's very close to the large cabin where you girls will sleep, though, so don't be afraid of anything. I'll be close by, if you need me." Her eyes couldn't help straying in Mimsy Colberg's direction as she uttered the last words.
"Why can't you sleep with us?" the frightened girl sobbed.
"Because Mrs. Marchant wants you to develop a sense of being on your own," she explained, adding for Roxanne's benefit, "Under our supervision, of course, when necessary."
"But I've never slept in the woods before!" the girl cried, as tears began to run down both cheeks.
"What if a bear comes in our cabin during the night?" another of the younger girls sobbed.
"Or a snake?" a third chorused.
Sensing that in another minute she'd have full-scale panic on her hands and it would be hours before she could settle the girls down and get back to June, Pat quickly assumed her authoritative air.
"Don't act like such little babies!" she snapped. "The youngest of you must be at least twelve years old to be at this camp in the first place and when I was twelve I was already acting like a young lady. The next thing I know, you'll be crying because you don't have your doll baby or your teddy bear to cuddle up with when you go to sleep."
The psychology seemed to work. The girls who'd been on the brink of tears quickly wiped at their eyes and noses and tried their best to look suddenly grown-up. The girl who'd started the fuss, however, still wasn't entirely satisfied.
"Couldn't you just sleep with us this first night?" she pleaded. "Just so we see for sure there's nothing to be afraid of?"
"Not on your life, honey!" Pat thought to herself. "Not the way I'm feeling tonight! And definitely not with that cute little blonde puss over there sleeping in the same cabin!"
"No," she said aloud, gently but firmly. "Mrs. Marchant would be very upset with me if I did that. She wants you girls to become young ladies during the summer, so your parents will be proud of you."
"And so they'll send us back to this dump again next year, too," Roxanne snorted.
Several of the girls giggled behind their hands as Pat shot her an angry look. "If you're unhappy here so soon, Roxanne," she hissed, "I've already told you what you can do. Perhaps your parents can still get you in the camp they sent you to last year."
She noticed the girl's throat bob as she swallowed hard and once again shifted herself nervously from foot to foot. "I didn't say I was unhappy here," she answered. "At least not yet."
"Well if it all gets too unbearable," Pat cracked, "just let me know and I'll speak to Mrs. Marchant for you."
"What are we supposed to call you?" Roxanne asked.
"I don't understand what you mean. I told you at dinner; my name's Pat."
"Do you want us to call you Big Sister Pat?" Roxanne smirked. "Or just Sister Pat?"
"This is not a convent, Roxanne," she growled, squeezing her fingers into tight fists against her palms in an effort to keep her mounting anger against the girl under control. "You can call me Pat. Period."
"Okay," the girl smiled wickedly, "Pat Period."
Throwing her another warning glance as a second twitter of giggles ran through the group, Pat put her arm around the frightened girl's shoulders and began to lead her toward the shower cabin.
"All of you come with me now," she called. "Our group was scheduled to be in the showers five minutes ago, so we'll have to hurry. Mrs. Marchant gets very upset if one group holds up another for any reason."
"Are there any bears in these woods?" the young camper asked as she hurried alongside Pat.
"No!" she laughed. "Of course not!"
"Any snakes?"
"No! Only the harmless kind – the little ones – and they're more scared of you than you are of them. Nothing's going to come in your cabin, honey, except maybe a squirrel. You're not afraid of squirrels, are you?"
"No…"
"You're going to be a big girl this summer, aren't you? So when your parents ask Mrs. Marchant what kind of camper you've been, she'll be able to tell them a good one?"
"Yes." The girl nodded her head anxiously, looking up into Pat's face with an expression that was almost worshipful. It was a common thing for the youngest campers to develop an attachment for their Big Sister, Pat knew. The danger came when Big Sister liked little girls too much in return and wanted to move the attachment onto a physical level. There was no danger of that happening with this girl, but Mimsy Colberg was another matter.
"These are the showers?" Roxanne complained loudly, as soon as the group of girls had entered the cabin. "You expect us to take showers here?"
"What's wrong with it?" Pat challenged.
"Just look at the place! There's no privacy at all!" She motioned with her hand toward the gang showers on either side of the cabin. Six spray nozzles had been set in the walls opposite each other, enabling a dozen girls to shower at the same time. "At the camp I went to last year, they had tiled booths with curtains…"
"Are you ashamed to be seen in the nude, Roxanne?" Pat challenged, interrupting her in mid-stream.
"Ashamed?" For the third time in about ten minutes the girl seemed completely flustered and at a loss for words. "Why – no! Of course not! Why should I be?"
"Then why all the fuss?"
"Well, it just seems so – primitive, I guess."
"You'll get used to it," Pat muttered. "Now how about getting out of your clothes like the other girls are doing and getting yourself cleaned up for bed?"
"I'm not really dirty now, you know. I did bathe at home this morning."
"Good," Pat smirked, "then it shouldn't take you long to shower now."
With a heavy sigh, Roxanne began to unbutton the front of her blouse and strip out of her clothes along with the others. Pat leaned back against the wall, wishing more than anything for a cigarette but knowing how Mrs. Marchant felt about Big Sisters being seen smoking in front of their girls. "If you must indulge in such a filthy habit," she'd often told her counselors, "do it in your own cabins, where the girls can't see."
"That goes for a lot of filthy habits, Mrs. M.!" Pat thought, feeling once again the ripple of need running through her as she watched the pile of clothes accumulating on the floor and tried her best not to stare too openly at the lithe, smooth young bodies that had just shed them.
Her hunger was at a feverish pitch. Since her arrival at the camp that morning she'd been almost obsessed with the thought of making love to June that night. It had been months since they'd last seen one another; not since Christmas, in fact, when Pat went to Boston to spend a few days with June and her family during the college recess. The memory of how they'd made love to one another during that brief time was still so fresh in her mind she could almost taste the salty-sweetness of June's flesh on her tongue when she curled it slowly around inside her mouth.
Her hands tingled for the touch of June's sleek skin and the surprisingly thick bush of hair I between her legs. How she loved to have Pat stroke her fingers through that hairy pile and inch her way slowly into the deep, juicy hole it covered. She was a passionate lover and responded in every way to the demands Pat made of her body. When they were together again at last that night, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that they would make love like tigresses in heat. She was certain June's hunger would be at least as strong as her own.
"Let's put a little speed on there!" she called, glancing quickly around the room. "There'll be another group here to use the showers in a few minutes; let's not keep them waiting."
"Oh, no, let's not keep them waiting!" Roxanne mocked.
Pat's eyes shot quickly in the girl's direction. As they stared at her across the room, she felt an unexpected tingle race down her spine and a sharp tug pull at her stomach. The girl was beautiful; far more so than Pat would have guessed.
Her eyes darted up and down Roxanne's naked body under the shower. The girl was turned sideways from Pat and the profile of her breasts was startling. The two mounds were at least as large as Pat's own, and her breasts were known to make men stop on the street and turn their heads to look after her when she walked past. The nipples at the tips of Roxanne's breasts were the same dark brown color as Pat's own and – although it was difficult for her to tell from that distance – the dark circles that surrounded them seemed even larger than hers were.
"Maybe she is seventeen," she thought with a new-found interest that surprised and frightened her. "Of course she's still a snotty little bitch and not really my type, but…"
As though she'd sensed Pat's eyes were staring at her, the girl suddenly turned in the spray of water and stood full-front with her legs spread far apart. Between her thighs was a dark jungle of hair that at the moment was dripping water in a little puddle below her body. When all that hair was dried and fluffed up, Pat suspected it would be even more thickly tangled and soft to press against one's mouth than even June's was. Her throat bobbed violently as she imagined what it would be like to nuzzle her mouth up against that furry hole and slide her tongue into the warmth of Roxanne's cunt.
"I wonder what she tastes like…?" she found herself thinking, then quickly regretted the thought as she saw a sudden flash of what seemed to be recognition dart across Roxanne's face.
Was it possible, she wondered, that the girl knew the score and had already pegged her as a secret lesbian? If Roxanne was really as worldly and sophisticated as she wanted people to think, it was almost a certainty that she knew there were women in the world who had no use for men and craved only other women's bodies for their lovemaking. Pat herself had made this discovery at fourteen, with her gym teacher in high school, so she knew it wouldn't be a far-fetched conclusion to suppose Roxanne might have had a similar experience by the age of sixteen or seventeen. Perhaps several.
"What's running through that cynical little mind of hers, I wonder?" Pat asked herself, as she kept her eyes on the girl. "Does she know about me? Does she just suspect, maybe, and plans on watching me as closely as I'll be watching her this summer?"
She wondered, but it was impossible to tell by that strange smile on Roxanne's face just what she might be thinking. Unless the girl was a lesbian herself, however, Pat doubted that she'd have picked up on her own sexual preference. She knew well enough that to the average person's eye she was no different from any other good-looking college girl.
It always amused Pat to think of most people's image of what a lesbian looked like. The usual stereotype was a short, squat, extremely masculine-looking woman with close-cropped hair, wearing severely tailored clothes, and possibly with a black eye or two and several missing teeth that had been knocked out in a brawl with a truck driver. The truth of the matter, she knew, was that the description fit only a very few actual lesbians.
Most women who want other women as their bed partners, Pat knew from experience, were extremely feminine in appearance and could hardly ever be picked out of a crowd of women as lesbians. They were college girls like herself, or sultry models whose pictures on magazine covers made both men and women want to take them to bed. They were housewives, too, and teachers. They were nurses, secretaries, professional women in all walks of life. The only thing that Pat had ever noticed to set a lesbian apart from any other woman was a certain hungry searching in the eyes whenever a pretty girl walked past. Like a man would do in such a moment, their desire became openly obvious then as a means of recognition if the girl was interested. It was like an unspoken signal, she'd often thought; that intense, x-ray stare that went beyond the mere meeting of eyes and told their longing to another person.
Of course there were mannish lesbians, Pat knew, but she was as frightened of them as any straight woman might be. Such women were too much like men for Pat's taste. She'd often told herself that if she wanted a man she'd have no trouble getting one, but since it was female love she craved she wanted her partner to be as pretty and desirable in a feminine way as she was herself. She had no use for women who acted like men.
No one had ever accused Pat Fulton of being mannish. Even as a little girl she'd never been a tomboy. She'd always liked frilly clothes and putting on make-up and fixing her incredibly beautiful, long black hair the way girls on television and in the movies wore theirs. For the summer, since it often became unbearably hot in the mountains where the Summer Sisters Girls Camp was located, especially near the end of July and the whole of August, she usually had her hair cut in a shorter style than she wore at college, but it was still a long cry from the dykish look she detested. That year she'd decided on a pageboy cut, with bangs across the front of her forehead and a flip at the back of her neck where the hair turned under. It was an attractive cut and perfectly framed the fragile beauty of Pat's face.
She had always thought her nose was a little too long for the rest of her features, but aside from that she knew she was a very pretty girl. Her eyes were an especially good asset. Set under brows and thick lashes that were as shimmering black as her other hair, Pat's eyes blazed like chunks of midnight coal dropped into pools of white cream. She had learned to use her eyes in a dozen expressions, from intense lust to extreme anger, without shifting the position of any other part of her face. While her lips were still curved up in a bright smile, her eyes could be staring right through someone with the utmost contempt. And, on the other hand, with her face set in an expressionless mask that gave no clue to what she was thinking, her eyes might be making love to a pretty girl across the room.
Her cheeks and facial bone structure could not have been improved upon by a sculptor. With the pale, milk-white complexion she had for most of the year, her profile seemed to be made of the finest white marble. Her sensuous mouth, which always seemed to be glistening as though she'd just run her tongue across her lips, was a surprising contrast of pink to the darkness of her hair and eyes and the smooth whiteness of her complexion. It was a face that made many men give her a second glance when she passed on the street, and quite a few women, too.
At the age of twenty, Pat's body was in the full bloom of it's prime. Her breast size had not increased in the last two years, but her measurements were already of sufficient proportion to stuff a bra to overflowing. Usually she did without one, wearing only a sweater or blouse over her naked tits, and it always amused her to see a stranger's eyes widen in astonishment at how much of herself was revealed through even the most conservative clothes. Her nipples were larger than normal, for one thing, and when a smooth sweater rubbed against them long enough they usually hardened and made it obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.
Although she'd toyed with the idea of not wearing panties, either, she'd found it uncomfortable and, at certain times of the month, embarrassing. She didn't like the thought that anyone sitting across from her on a subway or a bus might be able to look up under her skirt and see the dark shadow of bush that covered her cunt. Although her figure was next to perfect in proportion and she had no cause for embarrassment about the appearance of her most private parts, she felt that her body was a gift to be given only to those she loved and who would love her in return. Handing out free peeks to anyone with the nerve to look was not her idea of sensuality.
What to make of the look in those eyes staring at her across the shower room, though, she wondered? Was Roxanne baiting her, perhaps? Was the brazen display of her body a come-on to Pat? A tantalizing invitation that would be snatched away the moment she made a move to accept it? That seemed to be what the girl was doing, as she turned and twisted under the spray of water, showing Pat her body from every possible angle.
"Nothing doing, honey," she thought to herself, forcing her eyes away from the girl. "If I'm going to do something stupid, which I hope I'm not, it won't be you I'll make the first grab for!"
As though responding instinctively to the thought, her eyes darted across the room to where Mimsy Colberg was showering. A sharp, sudden, almost painful surge of emotion shot through Pat's stomach as she stared at the lush beauty of the little blonde's naked body. She, too, was turned full-front toward Pat, but she seemed completely oblivious to the fact of what her nudity was doing to her Big Sister. She rubbed the bar of soap slowly up and down her legs, gathering a handful of soapy suds which she hurriedly lathered against her cunt. The hair surrounding her pink-lipped hole was so fine and golden blonde in color that when it was dry, Pat thought, it was probably almost invisible. Even now, sopping wet, Mimsy's pubic bush was so pale-colored that she seemed as adolescent in development as the younger girls showering near her, whose tits had just begun to bud and whose cunts had no more than a wisp or two of fuzz surrounding them.
It was that little-girl quality about Mimsy's manner and her body that made her irresistible to Pat. There was something so fragile and perfect about her, something so innocent and untouched, that if they'd been alone in the shower at that moment Pat knew she wouldn't have been able to control herself from crossing the room, dropping to her knees in front of the girl and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist to pull her forward, and burying her face in the wet warmth of that luscious hole.
She felt her mouth growing dry with tension as she ran her eyes up and down Mimsy's body. The girl's breasts were on the small side, but Pat found that more exciting than if they'd been as big as her own or even Roxanne's. She liked to have sex with girls who were almost direct opposites in physical types from herself. Girls like Mimsy. Young… short… blond… small-breasted… without much hair between their legs. She felt her nipples starting to harden inside her blouse, pushing out with excitement as she imagined what it would be like making love to Mimsy Colberg.
The clatter of something dropped on the other side of the room startled Pat and her head whirled quickly around. In just that split-second before Roxanne turned her own head, Pat saw a smile flash across the girl's face and something in her eyes that left no doubt she'd seen her eyeing Mimsy's body.
"Damn her!" she thought angrily, and a bit scared, too. She knew she'd been unwise to make her desire so obvious and vowed not to let it happen again.
"It's only because I'm so horny that I'm being careless," she told herself. "As soon as I'm in June's arms again and know I'll have the whole summer ahead of us to make love, I won't even give another thought to Mimsy Colberg. Or to Roxanne Thomas," she added grimly.