I arrived at the Jefferson's Lake Campsite entrance and upset some of those waiting - families in station wagons, seniors in their recreational vehicles, young couples in their cars pulling small trailers -- when I rode my bicycle right past them. I smiled as I approached the ranger station and saw a familiar face exit. I got off my bike and walked up to him.
"Here to visit your dad?" Ranger Gordon, a man I've known since I was 10, stood to the side of the small wooden building, holding a clipboard.
"I think he left word with you guys that I'd be coming today," I answered. My father and his girlfriend arrived the day before and, according to plan, set up three campsites - one for them, one for her two daughters, and one for me.
He looked at the list of campers he carried. "And he noted that you'd have presents for us." He smiled mischievously. I nodded quickly and opened a saddlebag. I pulled out a box.
"One dozen donuts," I said handing him the white, pink, and orange box.
"Thank you, Mike," he said. A second ranger, someone young and unknown to me came up from the rangers' cabin. He was smiling broadly.
"I guess I owe you a dollar, Thomas," he said to Ranger Gordon. "I didn't think someone would bring us donuts."
"A third box didn't add much more weight to what I brought with me," I told him. The younger ranger gave my friend the wager and looked hungry.
"What did you bring us?" he asked. Before I could answer, Gordon interjected.
"You're at sites are at 100, 102, and 104." He put out a hand. I placed mine in his.
"Thank you," I said as I mounted. I pushed off and headed off to the sites. I could sense the people waiting to enter were becoming more upset at me.
I quickly pedaled away and headed to the sites. My dad always loved camping in the sites that began with 100: They were in the conifers and were larger than most of sites. It took a few minutes to reach them. I slowed down and entered my father's site: He was sitting at the picnic table -- a table he had placed within a screen tent. He raised his ever-present coffee mug to acknowledge my arrival.
"What did you bring us?" a female voice said from behind his popup trailer. A moment later a statuesque young woman appeared. Candice Newton was Jennifer's oldest daughter, a 22-year-old Masters candidate, home for the summer. I've met her only a few times but my opinion of her was that she was destined for great things academically.
"Donuts of course," I quipped, walking my bike to the table.
"I know that, but what kinds?" she said with a certain level of playfulness. I reached down and pulled out the two remaining boxes.
"Look for yourself." I put them on the table and turned to my dad. "Did you put a six pack in the stream?"
"Two of them," he answered without looking at me, his gaze on the fried goodness. "A six pack of Dr. Pepper and another six of Hires." I saw the four-person tent that I used before and headed towards it.
"Aren't you going to have any?" Candice asked.
"He probably has a couple of corn muffins in one of the bags," my father said, a Boston cream donut in his hand. I chuckled and went to my site.
I put my bike against the picnic table and put my backpack on top. I took out my muffins and headed to the stream 10 yards down the small hill from the site. My father and I had often put canned drinks in it to cool them. It was a spring-fed, ice-cold ripple of a stream but it served well. I grabbed a Dr. Pepper and headed back up to eat something.
I spent 90 minutes riding, the last 40 riding up a 3-mile long steep incline. Even though I had breakfast before I left, the ride left me hungry. I sat in the screen tent, pulled out a literary magazine, and had a morning snack.
I was warm, sweaty, from the bike ride. I had planned on an early swim, not at the beach but in the secret place, I found a year earlier. I was exploring the boundaries of the campgrounds, looking around, being nosy. I found what looked like an old beach, for either the old hotel whose remains still existed a half mile away, or for the Ten Eyck family out of whose farm New York state had bought and built the state park and camping grounds. It looked like no one had been there for years, though the sandy lake edge was a good place to hid and read.
I gathered up a towel and biodegradable shampoo and headed towards my spot, hoping that no one else had found it. I walked through the long grasses and cattails and heard female voices. I knew the spot was no longer secluded. I slowed and hid, seeing who had found it. I was shocked at who found my spot.
Candice was standing in the lake up to her waist, her small breasts exposed to the air. From the size of her nipples, I gathered that the water was cold. She slipped under the water for a moment, avoiding the splash her sister sent towards her.
Bernadette Newton was a few inches shorter than Candice was, and a few years younger. She, too, had long brown hair. Unlike her sister, though, she had large breasts, her areolae large and dark. Her nipples were large, from nature and from being cold.
A third young woman was on a beach blanket, on the spot where I loved to spread out and read naked. I met Natalie Evers earlier in the month when she and Candice came into my work. Candice introduced me to her friend, another Masters candidate. While Candice was studying to receive hers in Secondary Education, Natalie was preparing for one in American Literature. This woman was short, not even five feet tall. Her smile was broad and welcoming as she sat on the blanket, watching her friends play in the spring-fed lake. Her large breasts jiggled when she laughed.
I crept up closer to get a better look at them. I was sure they couldn't see me: I hid in the shadows of a birch thicket. Candice walked out of the water and headed towards her friend. I lost my breath when I saw her nakedness. Her pussy was clean-shaven, the lips a shade darker than even her areolae.
She grabbed a towel and wiped the water off her body before falling next to her friend. "Don't you just love being naked?" Candice asked.
"God, yes," answered Natalie. "I wish I could spend my life like this," she added. She reached over to her friend and grabbed Candice's right breast.
"I know what you mean," Candice said. "I bet I could finish my thesis quicker if I could have a house or cabin here on the lake." She closed her eyes and moaned as her friend massaged her breast. "That feels good," sighed Candice.
From the lake Bernadette said, "Um, I'm still here."
"I know," Natalie said. "Jealous?"
"Ha, I like dick too much to be jealous."
"You don't know what you're missing, Bernie," Candice cooed. Natalie moved her hand from the breast to Candice's pussy, softly stroking the outside. Candice spread her legs wider and Natalie responded correctly, inserting a finger.
"God that feels so good," Candice said. I edged closer, trying to get a better view.
