Bryan Jensen's family built a rustic but spacious house on a lake. His father drafted Bryan to help with the construction so often that we used to joke that he was secretly in the National Guard -- "one weekend a month and two weeks a year." Now that it was finished, we got to reap the rewards of his hard work, as the scattered members of our high school circle gathered there for four or five days every summer. The lot was large enough and wooded enough to provide some privacy from the homes on either side, and the houses across the lake were too far to constrain midnight skinny-dipping.
This year -- my junior year of college -- the crowd proved to be a little thin. Out of over a dozen friends plus some significant others, only eight managed to plan around family trips and internships to make it to our lakeshore reunion.
Bryan was there, of course. In high school he had few friends outside of our circle, and that probably made keeping everyone in touch a high priority for him. He was the self-appointed group organizer, so that even though some of us lived out-of-state, we all knew what everyone was up to and when these little reunions would take place. Before there was Facebook, we had Bryan.
Though a couple of years older than the rest of our group, Keith always seemed happier with us than with his peers. He had mild Aspergers before any of us had heard of the syndrome, but we recognized his quirky humor even if we didn't always get the jokes. Most of us were geeks of one sort or another, and life hadn't quite beaten down our fun sides, so he appreciated our acceptance even as we appreciated him making us feel well-adjusted.
Gina was even older than Keith and hadn't gone to high school with us. She went from acquaintance with similar interests to hangout buddy to an adopted member of our inner circle of friends. She worked at the library while planning for grad school, but that waiting phase already stretched a year. The progress of Gina's life arrested after graduation, and soon her friends would move past her. But this summer she had still tasted more life than the rest of us.
Rebecca was bright but exceptionally shy. While most people completely overlooked the mousy girl, she really opened up when in the company of our close-knit group (though to be fair, she only went from "exceptionally shy" to "fairly shy"). Because she seldom stood up for herself, we all took up for her. In college she had the dreaded freshman experience, losing her virginity to a junior who broke up with her a week after the deed. Everybody else in the group harassed the jackass for the rest of the year, calling him at all hours of the night, plastering rude bumper stickers on his car, even posting photos of him around town ("Jack Spence, gonorrhea test subject: please return to study or forfeit your $25", "Wanted: Jack 'Littlepecker' Spence, for crimes against freshmen girls" ). If one thought of this clique as a family-of-choice, she would be our little sister.
Kristin was a bit of a free spirit. In four years she had made the rounds with all the boys in our cadre, and somehow managed to stay the best of friends with everybody. Much of what I learned about women's bodies, I credited to her.
Rounding out the weekend's participants were Lisa and Marc, who had driven in from out of state. They'd been together since middle school, and everyone expected them to marry before finishing college. Their occasional fallings-out had been the source of much drama within our circle, but at the moment they were happily lost in their own world.
Tuesday
This bright afternoon saw most everyone splashing away around the dock. Lisa and Marc were the only ones absent; because of school pressures, they'd seen precious little of each other for the past month and had hardly left their bedroom since supper last night.
We were in Day Two of the lakehouse retreat. I preferred the second day, as a rule. The first evening was an excited, almost frantic flurry of superficial updates on each other's' lives, and calls of "what should we do first?" By the second day, the initial thrill had worn off, replaced by contentment and a touch of boredom. This was the time of relaxed conversations, deeper delving about life and love, and generally relearning who we all really were.
This afternoon, however, I was feeling restless and not overly sociable. My latest relationship had ended suddenly nearly a month ago, and I wasn't in the mood to discuss it, even with my usual confidantes. I sat on the dock, watching my friends cavort, while Keith -- who didn't like the water -- nattered on about a disagreeable review of his latest favorite sci fi movie. Half listening, I realized that the lovely and barely-clad women in front of me were having an increasingly-visible effect on my body. Draping my towel casually over my arm to cover the embarrassing bulge in my swim trucks, I said, "I think I'll raid the fridge and chill for a bit. See you later."
"Sure," was all Keith had to say, his attention suddenly diverted by who-knows-what was going on in his head. I was thankful he stayed put.
With my flip-flops popping, I walked up the hill and then up the stairs to the porch which ran the length of the back of the house. Near the stairs was the door to my room; Marc and Lisa's room could be accessed from the far side of the porch, and in between the bedrooms was a sliding glass door to the dining room. I ducked into my room and closed the glass door. Without ceremony I kicked away my shoes, shucked off the swimsuit, and flopped backwards on my bed, feeling the sweat chilling in the cool dimness. The vacation retreat was so far under capacity this weekend that everyone who wanted privacy got their own room. Last summer, I shared this room with a girlfriend -- the one who dumped me... No, I wouldn't go there. I pushed her out of my mind and replaced it with images of my nearly naked friends. Especially Kristin. My hands reached down and began to do their work, grasping, tugging, fondling. I imagined Kristin -- with whose firm body I was already intimately acquainted-- joining Lisa and Marc in their hideaway on the other side of the house. I didn't let my fantasy unfold slowly, but cut to the chase; I wanted to finish before people wandered back to the house. If I was lucky, I would have time to cum twice so my cock would behave itself this evening. But first thing's first -- as I pictured Marc taking Lisa from behind, with Kristin underneath them both, I felt the familiar tightening in --
A sound intruded from outside. With the blood rushing in my ears, I couldn't tell exactly what it was. I glanced over at the door. The curtain was half-pulled back -- a careless error on my part. I listened, automatically reaching for a pillow to cover up with. Hearing nothing, I started to return my attention to my growing needs.
And I saw, on the planks of the porch, the damp outline of two flip flops -- formed by a pattern as if someone stood, dripping by the door. Worse, there was a smudge on the glass -- a sunscreen-laced noseprint. Jumping up, I stepped to the door, grabbing a towel off the floor to wrap around my waist. Peeking outside, I saw a light trail of water droplets leading to the sliding glass door to the dining room.
One of my friends had been watching me masturbate. I was embarrassed to say the least, and too unsettled to finish what I'd begun. The person, whoever it was, was in the house -- should I find her (or him?), fuss at the peeping Tom, or apologize and ask them to forget about it? How much could be seen? My room was dim compared to the glare on the deck, but why kid myself? The peeping Tom had stood right in front of my door, peering in; they had to have seen enough to keep their unseemly interest. As I worked up the courage to face whoever it was, thumping on the stairs told me the rest of the crowd was back from swimming. I looked up, but unfortunately I couldn't get a clear enough view through the half-obscured doorway to make out who was there and who wasn't.
I listened to people heading to their various rooms. When I again heard voices in the living room, I put on some cut-offs and a t-shirt, and went out. Bryan was heating the grill, and Gina sautéed some vegetables. By suppertime, even Marc and Lisa joined us, freshly-bathed and looking a suspiciously content.
