Summer Camp

Nancy was telling me about a spa in SoHo. I wanted my soul to be loved and my hair to be caressed with otherworldly love. She explained what a good tipper she was even when the pedicurist didn't shake the bottle before applying it. I wanted my heart broken open to spill who I was at my deepest. Nancy suggested that the pre-pay for spas services gave her a discount that made weekly total care packages really affordable. Take me back to my childhood and let me be that innocent girl that looks at the world with wonder. And she implored me to definitely schedule an Uber pickup because I wouldn't want to have to wait ten minutes for a car to drive show up. I wanted to giggle on the floor over something silly and nothing really. But the yelp ratings for the SoHo spa were really trending down recently.

We arrived at the boutique yurt. The fabric doors were folded back. A ceiling fan was creating a pleasant breeze and an AC pushed cool air out. We definitely felt insight with such climate control. A friendly worker waved us inside and told us to have our pick. I felt a little awkward. All the clothing was African woman living in a primitive, rural village themed. I did realize that part of the experience, we were supposed to feel like tribal women. I did struggle though, pushing my trained fashion appraisal instincts down. The clothing was a bit gaudy. I'd feel like a buffoon with an unshapely body in those flowing fabrics. How would most people deal with the yoga pants withdrawal?

"I even wear yoga pants in court," I explained to Nancy. People outside of LA usually didn't understand LA fashion.

"Oh, don't worry, honey. Yoga pants have arrived in New York as well. I go in them to client and board meetings," assured me Nancy.

I picked a reasonably decent full body dress. As I walked to the service desk, Nancy stopped me, "You are doing it wrong." I felt upset about her hand on my wrist. I shook her loose.

"Look, you picked the prettiest dress in the place. We are not here to look pretty. We are here to immerse ourselves in the fantasy of living another life. Come with me," Nancy implored.

I let her pull me to the very last stand. It faced away from the entrance. She pulled out a gray skirt that was torn off at the bottom. It had a giant hole over the thigh. The fabric had lines bleached into it like it had been worn down from hundreds of washes. She gave me a white top that was part mummy bondage and part rags sewn together. Little slits of flesh were exposed by it. On closer observation, it was actually designed to be very form fitting and lift up the boobs.

"This is what we need. Just a poor, little country girl," Nancy beamed with a wide smile.

I did follow her reasoning and switched for that outfit. We were going to be two ratty country girls at the mercy of the world, yet holding hands and skipping down the street together. The changing room had a stack of vanilla folders. I put my own clothing into a folder. My high end clothing had such thin fabric that the clothing took up barely any space. The feeling of holding a vanilla folder with all my real clothes in my hand was eerie. It's so little that covers my entire body from humiliating exposure. I was going to give it all away. I felt like I was letting go of the last bit of my life raft. When the clerk wrote my name on it and placed the vanilla folder in a drawer, I felt my life had ended. I felt exposed and helpless. Nancy was beaming at me with excitement. We all have a different attitude towards the unknown.

Nancy did grab my hand walking down the village towards the central square. The coconuts had been banged in the tower. I couldn't help that giddy feeling of swinging arms together with such a pretty girl. I looked at her face again. She cute, little freckles around her nose in a very subtle brown. I was happy in a very simple way. There was no grand gesture or mind blowing amazing lover. Having let go of my real life, I was simply walking down the streets. I got to hold hands with a woman that I had been checking out for a couple hours. I got to touch her. She liked me as well. That's all my heart needed that moment.

The central square had blackberry bushes with ripe blackberries. On closer observation, the bushes were inside of wooden crates. They probably rotated the bushes in and out from a grow house, so that every guest happened to come onto a bush with perfectly ripe blackberries. There was a pagoda with chimes, floating fabric, and lots of pillows to rest. There was also the Jacuzzi, which was perfectly crafted to appear like a central fountain. A clothes rack was next to it with brand new bikinis. A sign explained that after using them, we could either put them in a plastic bag with our name to have them cleaned and returned to other after the trip or we could have them donated to a real village in Africa. I tried to picture how women who made 3 dollars a day in pay would benefit from wearing bikinis that cost about one to two hundred dollars. I guess that it's motivation to work harder to reach the good life. A one to two hundred dollar bikini is considered disposable one-time use in this crowd!

I saw the Asian girl with the badass medical tattoo. She reflexively reached for her phone in an attempt to play and avoid conversation. When her hand felt the balmy air instead of a phone, she shrugged and turned her gaze back to watching ants walk around. I was burning to get to know her. I tugged Nancy by the hand to walk up to her.

"Hey, I'm Lucy and that's Nancy," I introduced myself.

"I don't speak much English," said the woman and turned back focusing on the ants. She seemed scared to talk to us. How could such a badass want to have such an extensive treatment program and struggled to talk to someone? I wouldn't give up so easily.

"Your tattoo! Nobody is near as badass as you," I pointed out.

"Yeah, I speak English fine. I'm scared of how people will judge me for it. I wish that I could hide it. You probably think that I'm a freak," she said, unable to raise her gaze to meet ours. Nancy slowly moved her hand behind her back to hide her circle. Nancy must have been feeling very uncool and uptight.

"It's my first time. I feel so excited and so confused about the big unknown. I feel so helpless without my usual safety," I shared myself.

"It's my twelfth time here. Whenever I am not here, all I think about is this place. I find the introduction period very awkward. When the second phase starts and everything goes bang-bang without a chance to feel awkward or shy, I feel such a huge relief. I don't have to worry anymore about what to do or what people think. That's when I experience pure being. Back out in the real world, I feel so constricted, like a fish out of water. Every time I come back, I want to try more. Once you check everything on their preferences questionnaire, I thought it was over. However there is a secret second menu that you can only access inside of the second phase. Some of the stuff is illegal. That's why you have to proof yourself over a few trips before they let you in. I am nothing but a humble newbie among the Yokazan, the true players. Call me Jess!" said the Asian woman with a deep Michigan accent.

The sound of a triangle hit by steady strokes drew everyone's attention. A staff member with high held chest and head walked onto the central square followed by five workers. Everyone's heads turned and the conversation died down.

"Ladies, it's time to put in the work. We are going to go out to the fields to harvest gooseberries for a couple hours. Remember you are poor farm girls. This is no relaxing vacation. We are going to load you up on the chicken truck," announced the head woman.

With that a truck with an open bed rumbled down the street. The back gate was lowered. The truck bed was mid chest high. It took a serious swing to climb up there. Of course whenever a guest seemed to struggle, a staff member was quickly there to assist by folding the hands together to create a step. As rough as being herded on a truck bed appeared, staff was on hand to avoid any discomfort. A woman yelled out from the thick.

"I want an OJ!"

The camera surely zoomed in for the expert to figure out exactly who it was. Or perhaps, the voice analysis helped detect the guest that placed the order. Before the truck was ready to leave, a waitress came running and climbed up the side of the truck to hand a plastic bottle of fresh squeezed orange juice to the guest. Upon seeing that five other guests called out, "me, too!" The truck was delayed for a minute to fulfill the drink orders. I could tell this was a very realistic reenactment of what it's like to be a poor farm girl in the center of the African continent.

Despite my cynicism, I could help but feel giddy. I was on a truck with women. We were swaying around with the bumps. All that estrogen was bubbling around me. There was a lot of touching due to the bumps. We were on a damn farm truck to do some real work. I mean this life is adventure, not sitting in a cubicle. I loved all the scents of plants, flowers, animal, or plainly the earth around here. It's like living out here spoke to all the senses in beautiful ways.

We passed through a few fields. They had about every field possible from plugging cotton to picking oranges. All of it was exquisitely manicured by gardeners and guaranteed organic. The resort won a few innovation awards for the worms that they cultivated. The worms were supposed to make the biosphere in the soil super healthy for plants with super nutrients. As I say, we were on what's the equivalent of taking the Pirate of the Caribbean ride at Disney Land only a little more immersed in that we would get to do some actual pirating rather than be stupid tourists inside of a float. I would love myself that sword fights if I couldn't get hurt.

We arrived at the gooseberry patch. There was a table with lemonade pitchers and a mini buffet of nuts and berry bars as snack. Next to it was a field with a canopy and yoga mats spread out for us. I jumped down the truck and felt as cool as nobody had since the 80's. After a little refreshment, a yoga teacher lead us through a couple rounds of asanas to get our bodies prepared for the hard physical work. She chanted to the earth goddess because we were going to raise the earth energy and mix it with the sky energy to create berries. It's always delightful doing yoga with girls. There is such a peaceful atmosphere. There were always some women who are extremely flexible. When we did cobra, there was one who could touch the soles of her feet to her head.

The teacher had us do a final Namaste chant that beautifully rose and swelled to carry the sound across the bushes and through the warm Tennessee summer air. I could like living with these women for a week. The yoga teacher directed us to pick up white buckets and start harvesting.

Nancy and I wondered off into some bushes. They were overhead high. So everyone kind of disappeared into their own little world. The yoga teacher told us to only pick ripe ones. We should sample to see which ones were good to pick. Then she led us into a field song. We all broke into singing. There was something satisfying about looking at a bush of green leafs, recognizing the round green berries hiding, and judging their sweetness. While the mind focused on that, my lips smacked along the song, "Oh, my sweetness, I'm gonna work. I'm gonna love it. At the end of the day, I'm gonna find me a pretty shady spot. I'm gonna break open my dinner and talk to mister rabbit." I could hear the voices of the other women. I could hear the gentle voice of Jess. I could hear the strong timber of the financial controller. I recognized a bit of their being in it, the tenderness, the strength, and the beauty.

Nancy tried throwing a gooseberry down my cleavage and hit me smack on the boob. She broke out giggling like a little girl. I lifted up my skirt to pretend to mock chase her down to give her a smacking. She pretended to mock run away and looked back at me to follow her. We chased each other through some bushes. It was so fun. The bushes made a labyrinth. One couldn't see through a bush. There was no strictly geometric pattern. We were getting lost and probably went in circles. We rarely saw anyone else. There was so much privacy.

A couple making out on the floor with face eating kisses stopped us dead in our tracks. They were in full womanly heat for each other, groping each other's body. We knew that nobody had come as a couple. They were strangers who had met on the bus and somehow mutually decided to jump each other. The raw sexuality was startling and scary. I had just opened up to my new friend Nancy to play around a bit. And these two were having raw sex, telling both of us that was what we had really come here for. I didn't want to lose the fun that I had just felt with Nancy. I think we both felt disappointed and saddened. We walked away to give them privacy, but our game was lost. We had no clue were our buckets were.

I confessed to Nancy, "When I was young, sex came easy. I'd meet a guy and we'd both be ready to do it. Then the pain, the bad experiences, and the unsatisfying memories came. That assumption that we both wanted the same turned out to be a poor fairy tale. Before I put out now, I want careful negotiation that we both wanted the same."

Nancy agreed, "Quick sex definitely requires some blissful ignorance. I admit that I came here for sex. My imagination was very beautiful. Now that I see the real people, I feel scared. I don't know if I'll fit. I don't know how to feel a connection. I don't simply want my organs grinded by a horny woman who works on me like a mechanic. It's like suddenly, I don't know how to make that fantasy happen."

We both walked with hanging heads. I thought about proposing to simply make out. I mean we could, right? But I was afraid that, it was really the wrong moment, and she wasn't feeling it at all. We walked around for a good fifteen minutes until we found our way back to the yoga field. A lot of other women had enough of working as well. They were chatting in a circle. While everyone looked like they were part of it by engaging in talking, also everyone looked like they were far apart from each other.

Nancy's eyes sparkled a bit. I felt relieved. She tapped our yoga teacher on the shoulder. The yoga teacher turned around and gave us that blissed-out-I'm-walking-on-a-cloud look.

"We'd like to get a couple's massage," said Nancy.

The yoga teacher lifted her wrist to her mouth to speak into a microphone. Nancy and I walked to sit down, but it wasn't necessary. A pickup truck pulled up. The driver jumped out and helped the passenger lift two massage tables from the truck bed. The driver and passenger waved us to come over to a nearby tree. By the time, we got to the tree, they had already folded together a privacy screen and set up the massage tables. Soft, flannel sheets were spread out. A neat crease of the top sheet invited slipping under.

"You both half a blue color. You can strip naked right here," said the driver with a professional tone, like she was concerned about us accidentally flashing a non-lesbian but completely convinced that we'd love seeing each other naked. So we did. I saw Nancy naked for the first time. She had a heart shaped mole on the back of her right thigh.

"Not many people get to see that," she retorted when I pointed it out.

A pair of exquisite hands quickly kneaded me into a half daze. I could smell the wild flowers. I could smell the massage oil. I heard the rustling of the wind in the leafs. I felt the tingling heat of the sun warming the sheet on my back. I could feel the gentle air laying down on my skin wherever the sheet was folded back for the therapist to work on it. My fingers were interlaced with Nancy's. It was a picture book experience to take into the dark days of my life. The cutest thing was feeling Nancy twitch when she had fallen asleep and her nerves were unwinding. Witnessing that was so tender and so personal.

It felt sudden when I woke up. I missed the hands on my body. Judging from the lower light of the sun, I must have been out solid. I slowly started moving my body again. I propped myself up on my elbows. I let my boobs dangle down visible to the world. I felt daring and free about the act of exposure. Without looking, I wanted to give Nancy a chance to cop a look. My gaze drifted out to the silhouette of the bushes gently swaying with much rustling in the breeze.

Nancy's hand softly melted on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. I'm really into the second part of the trip, but I don't want to hook up with another woman. It's just not what I want."

Terrified, I grabbed the sheet to cover myself up and turn around. I looked up at Nancy in terror. She was standing next to me draped in her sheet like a Roman. My face must have been full of fear. Nancy made a face like her heart melted in the pain she was causing me. She almost broke down crying from tar black guilt. We were like two predestined lovers that couldn't find a way to connect.

The driver massage therapist tapped Nancy on the shoulder: "Could you come with me, please?" There was a surprising stern tone to the request that put chills into the bones like being asked politely to step out of a concert to be ejected with as little commotion as possible. Nancy walked dazed after the massage therapist. A black Escalade pulled up with blacked out windows. Nancy cautiously stepped up and in. The Escalade took her away. I felt like a kid whose favorite stuffed animal had been taken away - too stunned to say anything.

The passenger massage therapist invited me warmly to come with her back to the group. The story time was about to start. Indeed, all the woman had come close together in a circle to listen to a big and old woman tell stories about the land.

I stopped and asked the passenger massage therapist, "Where are they taking Nancy?" I worried for my friend.

"She's getting an on-the-spot therapy session," explained the passenger massage therapist. "She really wants to have a sexual lesbian experience. However she has trouble with cratering anxiety. Sometimes, she craters. The therapist is giving her a little pep talk right now to follow her dreams. We know that you girls only have a week here. Sometimes, we have to break through the curtain a little bit to make sure that everything goes to plan. You'll see her again in an hour. We have the best psychologists here."

The passenger massage therapist put a warm hand around me to physically reassure me that all was fine.

The story circle was lovely. The storyteller opened her eyes wide, "...and then a big bad wolf appeared..." A guitar player ratcheted up the suspense. The women had moved close together, touching shoulder to shoulder and giving each other side hugs. I ended up next to the financial controller. Feeling her big body lean against me made me feel small. She smelled a bit of sweat. All her experiences must have worked her up. My eyes wandered around. There are some buckets full to the brim with gooseberries. Some women had taken the impoverished farm woman serious.

What stayed with me the strongest from that moment was the feeling of me fitting in. The women had created a strong group emotion of rapt attention and camaraderie. Walking in from the outside, I joined them. I let the emotions of my chest be raised to what they were feeling - calm, warmth, and togetherness. It softened me on the inside. My guards lowered. It was okay to be here and unwind. There was no threat, nothing that really needed to be paid attention to. I could drift in and out of the story or simply gaze around to inspect the insects moving around or bushes moving. I looked at all the different snacks women were nibbling on. Letting go and safety was a good place to be in.