Explorers 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As always, this story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

*

It wasn't like it had been that one time in college, when she got wasted and made out with her sorority sister while a gaggle of horny guys stood around in a semi-circle, slack-jawed and half-hard. What she did that night was harmless. It was simple fun and games; it was a drunken illusion. What they were doing now was certainly no illusion.

In the boathouse, under a window, as a faded green aluminum canoe rhythmically thudded up against its neighbor, Megan felt like the waves in the algae-filled Adirondack water below. She was certain that Sydney felt the same; she could see it in the tremors that spread out from the spots where she touched her arm.

In a hushed, near-trembling voice: "Are you alright?"

An uncertain nod, a gesture of approval.

Megan scooted forward a little so that her knees, crossed Indian style, almost touched Sydney's. Her waifish body was slung over like a bean sprout. Her straight brown hair was tucked back behind her ears, like curtains pulled aside to reveal her hazelnut eyes and lightly freckled button of a nose. She dropped her hand onto Sydney's thigh and looked into the eyes of her friend.

Through the window above, the pale morning light poured over them like the slow dawning of enlightenment. Every second since they had first met six years ago had built up to this moment.

***

Back then they were fat little girls.

One bright Pennsylvania day, as coincidence would have it, their mothers took them shopping.

Megan's mother, looking shamed and a little disgusted: "Why didn't I see this coming?"

Sydney's mother, two hundred miles away and looking concerned in her usual neurotic way: "I think we've got a problem here, Sid."

In their respective department stores the truth fell on them as a heavy axe. Their little girls were too big for even the biggest clothes.

Their parents rushed about for solutions to their weight-problems. Surgery was out -- they were too young for that. But then there had been talk somewhere about "fat camps", places where big little boys and girls could learn healthy eating habits, the joys of exercise, and most importantly high self-esteem. It was precisely what they needed.

Actually they needed each other. In the end that's what dropped the weight. The girls cemented their indissoluble bond during the camps orientation. Megan sat down next to Sydney in one of the several small circles spread out across the field. "Did your parents give you any bug spray?" she asked as she swatted a mosquito on the back of her neck."

Sydney reached into her light blue soccer shorts and pulled out a small bottle, handed to this girl sitting next to her. "I like your socks," she said.

Megan looked down. They were white with purple ladybugs all over, and in the strong sun they gleamed in a way that pleased her developing brain. "Thanks." She wasn't used to compliments; they often left her feeling slightly insecure. "I like yours too," she said sheepishly.

At Camp Willow Head they swam, they hiked, they canoed, they played softball and soccer, they wove baskets, they built fires, and they told scary stories in the dark. Together the girls excelled at these activities. Megan took on the role of team leader, and Sydney followed. Their weight loss was remarkable, much faster than the other children, and so quick that their parents soon found themselves receiving calls from Susan Wasserman, the camp's director, telling them how hard their daughters were working, and how much potential they had. The girls won trophy after trophy for two summers in a row, and left Willow Head secure in their respective paths.

They were secure in each other. Each summer after Willow Head they spent together, first at Sydney's place in Philadelphia, and then at Megan's place in Pittsburgh, and rotating after that. Through the various dramas of middle school and high school, through the backstabbing girlfriends and the failed varsity tryouts and the horny, immature boyfriends, they never lost touch with each other.

***

Megan dragged her finger down to Sydney's knee. "I was so nervous," she said, half-laughing as she circled Sydney's kneecap with her forefinger.

"About this morning?"

"Yeah," Megan responded. "So last night I broke into the kitchen and completely pigged out."

"Meg," Sydney called out in gentle alarm.

"Oh, it's okay. It's not gonna kill me."

"But what if somebody finds out? How's that gonna look to the kids?"

"You're such a better person than I am Sid, always looking out for other people." Megan trailed her finger back up to Sydney's thigh, then down again to knee once more.

"So what did you eat?" Megan's lips curled up into a devilish smile. "A whole cake."

They both laughed. It was a welcome break in the dense atmosphere of apprehension and excitement.

"Jesus. I'm surprised you're not comatose right now."

"What do you say we break in again tonight? We could always blame Stew."

"The janitor?" They laughed again. Sydney was tempted, but she didn't want to get in bad with Sue and Mike, not after they were kind enough to hire her. But then the execution wasn't important. It was in the plotting. When they talked like this she felt those old childhood ties re-emerge and pull them together, in an altogether different way than they were being pulled now. Back when they were two mischievous young girls their friendship was so pure; there was nothing seductive or taboo about it.

***

If asked, neither of them could pinpoint exactly when they lost their childhood innocence. Of course they both remembered precisely when they lost their virginity. Megan had lost hers at the end of her senior year. For reasons she couldn't explain, she didn't want to go off to college with a cherry. So she found some guy from school and brought him home when her parents were away for the weekend. They fucked twice, once after getting wasted on a bottle of wine and then a second time the next night, both sober. She wasn't expecting much. He was squirrely and over-excited. But he got it in all right, and a found a groove that worked for him until he popped. Still, it hadn't made much of an impression on her.

Sydney had lost hers even sooner, to a guy in the journalism club. Unaware of her sexual appeal, she was truly surprised when this gorgeous guy, who she had somehow managed to lure into her house one day after school, let her put her hand down his pants. She had so much to learn about men. He was okay in bed, but not very bright, and she awkwardly avoided him for the rest of the year.

They spent their post-graduation summer together, only vaguely aware that they were quickly turning into young adults. They knew that once they both went off to college things would be different, and so they hugged each other tightly and cried that morning when they said goodbye. Megan wondered when she would see her friend again, and what she would look like. Sydney wondered the same thing.

For Megan, college was about finding herself, literally and figuratively, on the West Coast. She joined a sorority, spent a lot of time on the beach, got a lot of sun. In her first year alone she went through four guys, each relationship a stepping-stone on her way to adulthood.

After the last guy she decided to take a year off, to travel Europe. But she needed cash, and even though she didn't know why, she found herself calling Susan and asking if she could come back to Willow Head.

"Sure," Susan rang out with enthusiasm on the other end of the line. "I'm so glad you want to come back and work here. We actually lost some people last summer. Don't worry about applying. Just send me a resume for filing and be here by the 9th."

And it was that easy. Megan started packing a week later, and got a call from Sydney.

"Guess what," she said. "I'm going back to Willow Head."

"Back?" Sydney asked.

"Yeah, this summer. I need some cash. Sue said I could work as a councilor."

"No shit. Me too. I'm doing the same thing."

It was a secluded place, Camp Willow Head -- well hidden in the Northern sector of the Adirondack Park.

The Adirondacks were different than she remembered, in so many ways, but as Megan made the drive herself for the very first time, this characteristic, the seclusion, alone resonated the most. She spent hours driving along highways, but all the time surrounded by thick walls of hardwoods and conifers. She felt as if she was literally driving through the woods. She passed through many towns, some of them large and well developed, and others gone in the blink of an eye. But through all of it, the feeling of seclusion in a rugged, vibrant wilderness never left her. In some strange way it was comforting.

By the time Megan arrived it was late afternoon and the sun was in full force. It beat down upon her as she climbed out of her rackety Volvo and scanned the parking lot excitedly for a sign of her friend.

A voice cut through the drone of Cicadas: "Megan."

It was Susan, jogging out of the woods.

Susan was just as Megan had remembered her, a tiny woman with pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how much time she spent outside in the sun.

"Megan, so nice to see you again." She held out a spindly hand and flashed a bright smile. In her dark green eyes, made even more pronounced for the jet black bangs hanging stiffly over them, Megan noticed a gleam of wonderment, not idealistic but sensible -- a perfect combination, she thought, for somebody running a summer camp.

They made small talk, and then they made their way inside the main building. Sydney was bent over a desk, drinking a juice box and reading a newspaper.

"Look at you," Megan exclaimed as she stepped forward and embraced her friend. She was borderline unrecognizable, having grown her thick brown hair out, grown into her body, and begun sporting black-rimmed glasses that brought weight to her caterpillar eyebrows. Sydney had taken off to the East Coast after high school. With no beach to laze about on, she opted instead for the library. She fashioned herself into an intellectual; Megan could read it in her eyes. She wondered if she had changed so much since she left, if she looked so different to Sydney.

Was it the change that precipitated the summer's events? Did Megan see her friend in a different light now, as somebody capable not only of friendship but more? Later that summer Megan would lie in her bunk at night, tired yet completely incapable of sleep, and let these kinds of questions consume her. She did it even though she knew there was no answer. Something had shifted that first day. She embraced her friend, and experienced for the first time those most subtle of ethereal manifestations of feminine sexuality. The way her back sloped in toward the bottom, the strength of her posture, of her thigh muscles rooting her to the cement floor of the main lodge.

Everything after that moved in increments so tiny and even that neither of them had realized the change until the night of their first kiss.

***

"You're adorable," Megan said, reaching out and playfully tapping Sydney's nose. Sydney blushed, well aware that the tap was playful in an altogether non-playful way.

"Do you kiss a lot of women?" Sydney asked.

"Not really. Sometimes at parties, but mostly just to get a kick out of the guys," Megan said.

"You know you're pretty good at it?"

They had kissed now a total of four times over the last two weeks. The first time was at night in the forest, hidden behind a tree, as the campers ran about in a game of night-tag. That kiss was short, though they had a difficult time pulling apart. The next several times, once outside again, and the other two in Sydney's bunk, they took their time. They found that, though they were both adept kissers, kissing another woman required a heightened sense of awareness. Guys don't care as long as you shoved your tongue down their throat, and they really don't care when you grabbed their dick at the same time. But women, they're attuned to the kiss. It needs to be just right. When the two kissed, they learned right away that their methods, so far only seriously practiced on boys, were underdeveloped, blunt.

Those other three times, Megan and Sydney worked hard at getting it just right. Megan learned right away from Sydney's barely perceptible pulling away not to force her tongue into her throat. And Sydney, she learned that her mouth was larger than Megan's, and that the difference was enough to warrant caution lest she kiss like a grouper fish.

Megan bent forward now and put her lips to Sydney's. Under the weight of her thrust they felt fragile, like the skin on a ripe peach. Sydney opened her mouth and drew her friend's tongue in and gently circled it with her own.

Usually they would go on like this for what seemed like hours, and then when they were done rest in each other's arms, growing into each other. This morning, Megan had that spark that all of the world's greatest explorers have. She wanted to leave camp, secure in the knowledge that she could always return to the kiss, and explore the terrain of her friend's body.

The goose bumps on Sydney's leg, her first wonder of discovery. They appeared so quickly at her touch, ran all the way up to the hem of her Khaki shorts to disappear under the cool fabric. Where they ended the flesh was hot and moist, Megan knew -- the irregularly shaped spot as big as a half-dollar at Sydney's center was a dead giveaway.

There was the area just under Sydney's ear, the area that Megan ran her tongue over, making Sydney shudder. More so even than the response that it got her, Megan relished nestling her head into this spot. She loved inhaling Sydney's freshly washed hair. It smelled of apricot and strawberry; it mixed sweetly with the residue of pine-scented soap on her skin and the strong mineral scent of the lake water swelling and receding beneath them.

She let her head fall into Sydney's chest, and drew one hand up her thigh at the same time, stopping just before the wet spot. She eased back at the sudden thought that touching another woman there seemed intrusive. Glancing up at Sydney, though, she could tell that she hadn't violated any boundaries just yet.

The two had gotten up before sunrise to meet in the boathouse, neither of them aware that Mark, Susan's husband, had also gotten up. Rolling over, he found his wife sprawled out with wayward limbs and crusty mouth. He gave her the look that he did every morning when she was sleeping, the look that husbands give when they begin serious reflection on their marriage, though it is always reflection in it's earliest of stages, without approval or disapproval.

The girls had to be careful not to wake the sleeping campers, nestled comfortably in row after row of bunk beds, but Mark didn't pay any mind to his wife as he let the water in the sink gush while brushing his teeth, and flushed the toilet after peeing in it. With his peculiar pigeon-toed walk he stepped outside of their cabin and carried his hefty frame across the dewy grass to a small utility shed in the back. Disappearing inside, he reappeared with a large net and an armful of dirty specimen bottles. Throwing these into a small satchel, he took off to the lake.

Little was said about Mark around the campground. At first the councilors found it queer that they never saw him and Susan together, save for really big events. But after they grew accustomed to the way things worked, they let their minds pursue more important matters, just as Mark consumed his time with his one true passion. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with the camp. Whenever he was spotted, he was scuttling about the grounds looking for cherished species of winged insect to catch, kill, and spike onto a slab of foam.

His pursuits this morning took him along a lakeside path that opened up to the beach. As he crossed the rough sand to the opposite side, he spotted a butterfly that was sorely missing from his collection. Slowly he crept up on it, and that's when he caught a glimpse through the window of the boathouse, and spotted something far more precious inside.

His voyeuristic instincts kept him glued to the window. But soon he became frustrated. If they were butterflies, already he would be upon them; they would be tangled in his net, screwed into his specimen jar. He couldn't capture this beauty.

But he needed to lay claim to it. He, the naturalist, had discovered a new species in the forest. He needed to tell somebody about it. So Mark took off for home and found Susan making a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

Her face froze for a moment. "Megan and Sydney? Are you sure?"

His excitement combined with the day's latent heat set his upper lip sweating. "Yeah, in the boathouse," he repeated. "I know it was them."

To this Susan gave no response. Instead she set her coffee down and disappeared up the stairs.

"Well, are you gonna do anything about it?" Mark asked behind her. Her response was the sound of her office door closing. He took a sip of the abandoned coffee and went back outside. This time he would stay clear of the beach and head for the fields on the south side of the campground.

The girls got back just in time for the wakeup call. They were flustered, so much so that even the groggy campers could detect their absentmindedness. When everyone was properly relieved, washed, brushed, and dressed, they headed to the mess hall for breakfast. Sydney and Megan took their seats at the councilor's table.

In total, there were seven of them. Sydney and Megan were the only newbies, the other five councilors having all worked there for several summers at least.

"God damn," one of them bemoaned as he shoved a spoonful of flax cereal into his mouth and poked at his poached egg with a fork, "I'd sacrifice a camper for some bacon or sausage."

This was Levi, the joker of the group. The others laughed at his jest, and he shot a messy grin at Megan. She wondered what he meant by it. Back at school, when guys smiled at her like that, it usually meant that they were interested. For a moment she entertained the thought and sized him up as a candidate. He was a couple of years older than she was, a backwoods local, tall and well built with a very short haircut and a simplicity about his face. He was outgoing but with a healthy dose of reservation. He'd probably ask her for a number on the last day she thought.

Another councilor interjected. "Well, it's just a few more days until dead week."

"Dead week." The six days in between the first and second rotations of campers. Two of them were spent in preparation for the next batch, but then there were those four days of freedom. Some of the councilors just hung around the campground, but most of them took off to Saranac Lake, the nearest decently sized town.

"Who's hanging around?" Levi asked, looking around the entire table.

Megan looked to Sydney. "We're probably gonna do something," she said.

"I've got some friend's in Saranac. They can hook us up for a few days," he said.

Sydney felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Mark standing above her.

"Sue would like to talk to you two," he said.

The two of them flashed a guilty glance at each other. "What about?" Sydney asked.

"Don't know." He looked as if he was about to yawn.

"Can it wait until later?"

"I guess so." When he walked off, the rest of the table stared at the two of them.

"Jesus, what was that all about?" Levi asked. "I've never seen him come for a councilor before. Why didn't Susan come?"

The girls both shrugged and went back to their food. The other councilors followed suit and the small talk ensued. The girls ran various episodes from the past several weeks through their heads. Was it obvious? Could anybody have seen them? Who might have turned them in?