It was the summer of 1976 and I was vacationing with my family in one of several log cabins that were part of an aging camp constructed in the Thirties on the shore of Lake Michigan. Each morning after breakfast I would set out combing the endless beach collecting stones and driftwood, enjoying the waves rolling over my bare feet.
The previous night, for the first time ever in my eightenn years, I had shared a breathless make-out session with a girl. She was a sweet girl from a neighboring cabin, and eager to kiss a years-older boy during a moonlight swim. There was a bonfire on the beach where our parents and the other vacationers chatted. While the younger children roasted their marshmallows, she and I, far enough out in the shallow waters to enjoy some privacy, created our own bonfire of passion. We kissed, and she nuzzled my neck and surprised me by sucking my earlobe.
Alas things would go no farther, as soon her parents called her in from the water, and the next morning she told me their vacation was over and she that she had to go. She kissed me quickly, and hugged my neck, then broke away with tears in her eyes, and in minutes she was gone.
I played the scenes through my head as I trudged along the beach, feeling both excitement at the experience, and an emptiness that she was gone.
I spotted a large chunk of Styrofoam which was rocking in the surf, and having determined it would be great fun at the camp, I headed back, balancing the salvaged raft on my head.
After a bit I started hearing footfalls coming up quickly behind me, and something hit the raft, causing me to go sprawling into the sand.
I was helped to my feet by the jogger, a man about my father's age with a golden tan, a bit of a belly, and a hairy chest. He was very apologetic, saying he had only meant to tap the raft as he jogged by, but had misjudged the force he had used.
I was fine and accepted the man's apology, but he wasn't through with me yet. He expressed his concerns for me and asked me to sit on the raft so he could make sure I wasn't injured. I complied, and he inspected me and brushed some sand from my knee.
In a moment I was surprised to find that I was enjoying the man's attention, and that I was attracted to him. It was somewhat unsettling as I had never had such feelings before. I had butterflies in my stomach
'I'd like to keep an eye on you for a bit', he said, as he placed a friendly hand on my shoulder, 'how about coming with me to my beach house for something cold to drink?'
I was thirsty, but something else urged me to go with the man; I was enjoying being in his care, so I agreed.
His place was air-conditioned and very comfortable. I quickly had a lemonade in my hand and was feeling at ease. I was feeling something else as well. I felt that I was having an adventure, and that I liked being in this place, with this man, and that I wanted to stay.
When he asked if I wanted rum in my lemonade, I told him I thought that would be wonderful.
