That Summer of Good Feeling

She hesitated. "Oh, come on," I pleaded.

"Well, I don't know..."

"Please."

"Okay, if you insist."

"I insist."

We strolled over to Douglas Hall, a few yards away, holding hands. Once through the building's unlocked doors, I flipped on one of the lights. It gave the vast space an eerie glow, but enough light for Becky to play. The piano sat way in the back. "Jeez, this thing looks like it hasn't been cleaned since Kennedy was elected," she said, She blew away some dust and then eased on to the stool.

I pulled up a wood folding chair. "So, what's on the program for tonight?"

"I'll let you guess," she said, and then began to play one of the most delightful melodies I'd ever heard. Based on what she told me, I figured it was either Chopin or Mozart—I knew very little about classical music. Still, I loved what I heard, and just minutes into it I felt I loved HER. Who wouldn't watching this beautiful, talented girl play such beautiful music? The piece went from fast to slow—from allegro to adagio I had learned in high school music class. Her playing riveted me, every note of it, all ten minutes of it.

"Well, any idea of what I just played?" she said, swerving around to face me. Speechless, I shook my head and wiped my eyes. She leaned over the stool toward me. "Louis, are you crying? I wasn't that bad, was I?" I knew she knew damn well it was because I was so moved by her playing. Then she started to tear up, reached out and took my hand. "Looks like I was right."

"About what?"

"About you being sensitive enough to appreciate my passion." She wiped her eyes. "By the way, that was Mozart's sonata in C major, K 545. One of my all-time favorites."

"Mine now too," I said. She then stood up and took my hand. "Concert over?"

"It's intermission."

The next thing I knew we were standing by the piano engaged in an intense smooch. I could still hear Mozart's piece in my head, enhanced by Becky's wonderful scent, something akin to lilacs in full bloom. I knew right then that of all the memories of Nanticoke I'd carry into the future, what was happening right then in the dim glow of Douglas Hall would stand paramount.

"No need to feel inhibited now, is there Mr. Melman?" she said, making it obvious that she could feel my boner.

I did a little, thinking someone could notice the light and walk in. Still, I agreed with her and then said, "Should I ask if you're going panty-less again?"

"I'll let you find out for yourself," she said. She then lifted her dress to the top of her thighs, took my hand and placed it over her vagina, wet and shaved from the feel of it. She leaned back and smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

"This is some intermission," I said, as I started to message her pussy. "What do you have planned for an encore?"

She closed her eyes and began to moan. "I, I'm not sure, Louis. All I know is that you're making me feel very good right now."

Feeling good was hardly the right term that described my own feelings. I was fucking on another planet, way out there in some galaxy that had heretofore been light years away. Sure, I was full of pure, raw carnal energy, imagining doing her on the piano. But that didn't begin to tell the story. I'd fallen in love before. But this was different. This was being thrown full force into a ring of fire (thank you Johnny Cash and June Carter). This was dreaming of conquering Mt. Everest and then suddenly finding yourself atop the summit. This was living a reality that didn't seem like reality, no reality that I could ever rationally envision for myself. Yet here I was, experiencing the unreality reality of it all, sinking more into the believable when she ordered me to sit on the piano stool, then unzipped my fly, stooped down and closed her lips around my erection. "I'm not too experienced when it comes to this, but I'll do my best," she said, almost apologetically.

For a so-called novice, she did damn good, keeping her teeth from abrading my skin. Nice as this felt, I would have been content to simply hold and kiss her, tell her how much I loved her, tell her how precious a moment this was for me. I couldn't imagine a better "encore," at least not until she stood up, hiked her dress to her waist and began to ease herself on to my cock. "Don't fret, Louis," she said, sensing my apprehension. "I'm on the pill."

In fact, I was more concerned with getting caught than knocking her up—a concern validated seconds later when we heard the sound of the doors fly open. Becky jumped off and then we both spun around to see Charlie Siegel, a Nanticoke old timer and head counselor of the senior bunk division, standing by the entrance. Charlie, in his early thirties, cut an imposing figure. The Zeus, we called him. He stood around six-feet-five and was built like a junior Wilt Chamberlain, thick upper body and spindly legs. Even though crew cuts were going out, he still wore one with a low pompadour. A star basketball player at Temple, he was considered the best all-around hoops guy on Nanticoke's intramural staff league.

So there he stood, about forty yards away across the great expanse of Douglas Hall. "Louis and Becky...well, well..." His loud baritone voice reverberated off the curved walls.

"Um, hi Charlie," I said, trying to keep from shitting in my pants, not knowing what he saw, if anything.

He ambled toward us, taking those long, swaggering strides of his, typical of jocks. "I saw a light on and thought maybe we had a break-in or something." He paused. Then: "Guess you two got bored with the Meet and Greet and decided to come here to do arts and crafts, huh?" Earlier we had seen Charlie at The Dell with Lynn "Birdie" Akman, his blond, five-foot-two inch girlfriend.

Becky giggled. "Actually, I was giving Louis a few piano lessons." Then I laughed, which got Charlie going.

"And how'd he do?"

"Great! He's a fast learner."

"I bet he is," Charlie said, still laughing. Then his laugh trailed off and he got serious. "Look, guys, I'm not totally positive what you were doing in here, but I don't think arts and crafts or piano lessons were on the menu." Becky and I looked at each other, said nothing. "But don't let me catch you in here after hours again, okay? Do what you want but be discreet. Got it? There are CHILDREN in this place."

We followed him out, watched from the wood porch as he walked up the hill to his bunk. It was dark now, and I knew we were due back to our own bunks to assist our co-counselors. We kissed goodnight and parted ways, mindful that privacy was a scarce commodity at Nanticoke, a fact that had compromised the sex life of couples there every summer.

But, as noted, just being with Becky was a thrill, holding her hand and talking, dancing with her at the mixers, smooching passionately with her in the grove of pines behind The Dell, taking walks by Turtle Run, the creek that meandered on the edge of camp property and listening to her play piano (during the day when ever Douglas Hall was empty). We were, as a gossip column might say, an item—or as much as a couple could be at summer camp.

Then, during the final week of camp, we had Home Coming, an event normally associated with school. Nanticoke had its own, a two-day affair when former campers and staff came to visit, reminisce, renew old acquaintances, etc. It was held in Douglas Hall, decorated for the occasion with balloons and a banner stretched across one of the rafters: WELCOME ALUMNI. Becky and I, excited to see people we had once bunked with, decided to go.

The building was crowded and noisy. Everybody, it seems, was talking at once, laughing, glad-handing. Neither of us expected to see Gill Reamer, Becky's old flame. He found us first. Emerging from the crowd, he seemed his usual poised, confident self. "Hey, Louie, nice to see you," he gushed, throwing out his hand. He gave me the once-over, focused on my arms and chest. "You've been working out I see." I nodded with satisfaction and then watched as he reached out to hug Becky. Like me, she was dressed in camp-casual, shorts, sneakers and a staff T-shirt. "How goes it Beck?" he said. "How's it feel to be on the other side." By that he meant a counselor. We both filled him in on the experiences we've had, our insights on our camper to counselor role reversal.

Gil hadn't been to Nanticoke in six years, when he was fourteen. Now twenty, he was a lacrosse-playing, six-footer studying at Penn State, he told us. The former crew-cut, good looking teen had morphed into a good looking college junior. He wore his straight, light brown hair long and slicked back, a style that placed more emphasis on the features of his round, zit-free face, features that seemed to mesh just right, the sum being greater than the parts. The girls at camp all thought he was "cute" as opposed to strikingly handsome, and it was enough to garner the kind of attention from the ladies that I so envied back in the day. He was built well too, not overly muscled, but athletic and symmetrical, a physique that complimented his attire, snug-fitting white jeans, a blue, v-neck pull-over and loafers sans socks.

We stood around and chatted, nibbled on the cookies and sipped the fruit punch from paper cups the organizers had set out on long folding tables against the wall. Catching sight of the piano, Gill looked at Becky and said, "Still playing?" She nodded. Turning toward me, he said, "You know, Beck is one hellova a piano player. You should hear her play sometime."

"I have," I said, smiling at Becky as one does after telling an inside joke. "You're right, she's terrific. She turned me on to Mozart." She cracked a blushing smile and glanced at the ceiling.

Then, facing Gill, she said, "Louis is a good audience. And you were too if I recall." Was it my imagination or did I see her eyes sparkle, alight with a fire that had not yet died?

"Absolutely. I'll never forget the time you played Chopin's military polonaise for me. Right here in this very room. You dazzled me. Remember?" He winked.

"Um, yes, I remember, Gill," she said, clearing her throat and looking away.

Gill then turned to me and smiled. It looked like a faux smile to me, forced and tinged with a hostile edge. "Well, Lou, it looks like you're one of the chosen few. Beck didn't tell too many people at camp about her playing. Makes you feel special I bet."

"Yes, well, of course," I said, not sure where he was going with this—if in fact he had anything in mind. I took a sip of punch. Then: "But then she's a special girl."

"Okay you two, enough about me," Becky cut in, clearly uncomfortable over the attention and what she appeared to suspect were less than subtle sexual innuendos. "Let's just mingle and see who else we can find, shall we?"

"You go ahead, Beck," Gill said. "I want to talk with Lou for a few minutes." She shrugged and waded into the crowd.

He then placed his hand on my shoulder and nudged me over to a corner. "So what gives, Lou? Are you and Beck like, seeing each other?" He still held the faux smile.

"Kind of. Why?"

He shook his head. "No special reason, just curious. I mean, let's face it, you weren't exactly Mr. Popular with the ladies, and here you are with one of the hottest chicks at Nanticoke."

"I sometimes can't believe it myself."

He swallowed some punch. Then: "Huh huh. Well, not to pry, but how far did you get with her?"

I played dumb. "How far?"

"Yeah, you know, are you getting much nooky?" He forced a chuckle.

This was starting to annoy me. "Come on, Gill, I don't think she'd appreciate me giving you or anyone else a play by play account."

He paused and nodded. "Well, I can appreciate that, you wanting to protect her honor and all. Right?"

"Something like that. But Gill, why do you even care? You two have been broken up for years."

"Because, big guy," he said, leaning into me and gritting his teeth, "I still have feelings for her. And, to be perfectly frank, I came here with the idea of telling her that. Camp will be over in a few days, and I was hoping to see her before school starts. If you remember, we both live in the Washington area."

I stepped back, fishing for a response when Becky came around. "What are you two doing huddled in a corner? Get sociable, guys."

"Becky, can you give us a few more minutes?" I said.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Geez, sounds important. Okay, I'll be across the room whenever you decide to adjourn your little powwow."

Turning to Gill, I said, "Look, Gill, you do what you have to do. Becky and I aren't exactly pinned, but we're definitely an item. And, to be perfectly frank, to quote you, I resent this intrusion. You still have feelings for her? Well, so do I, and they have little to do with any nooky I might or might not be getting."

He rolled his shoulders, narrowed his hazel, slightly almond-shaped eyes and smirked. "Well, sorry to cut in on your action, big guy. But, as you said, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. May the best man win."

He then brushed by me to find Becky. Hardly content to let him cut in on my "action," I followed him. The three of us ended up talking to a few old bunk mates before the reunion wound down. I now knew Gill's raisons d'être. What I didn't know was his modus operandi. How exactly was he going to proceed? I soon found out when we walked on to the porch and Gill took Becky aside. She nodded as he talked into her ear. Then she turned toward me and said, "Look, Louis, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I knew what that meant: three's a crowd. The alumni were staying at a couple area motels, so you can imagine the thoughts running through my head.

I returned to my bunk, anxious and pissed—pissed at him and pissed at her. Other than dozing off for a few minutes here and there, sleep wasn't possible. A ten o'clock brunch for the alumni was scheduled the next day. Most of the camp had eaten earlier, campers and staff that didn't wish to attend, including Rick, my co-counselor who had no problem going solo in taking our kids to the day's scheduled activities.

Red-eyed, drowsy but still anxious, I dragged my feet into the mess hall, a screened-in, wood boxy building, expecting to see Gill, but not knowing if Becky would be there or not. They both showed up. Together. Taking a seat with others on one of the long, Formica-top tables an isle away, I looked over at them. He smirked; she shrugged, shook her head as if clueless, then looked away. The camper-waiters, running around in their sneakers and long white aprons, served us a sumptuous fare of hot and cold cereal, eggs, home fries, sausage and fresh fruit. But I could do little more than pick at my food, crushed by the spectacle of watching Becky and Gill make happy, animated conversation. The bastard did it, I thought, he fucking stole my girl. I entertained thoughts of dumping a plate-full of eggs on his head.

Instead, I walked out and waited in a pagoda a few yards away. The structure afforded me a clear view of the entrance while concealing my proximity to it. A half hour later, they emerged. After walking a few feet away, they stood and engaged in what looked like an argument. Their body language got more animated, with lots of arm and hand movement, and their voices got louder. Becky no longer looked so happy. In fact, she was attempting to get away from him. Each time she did, Gill reached out and pulled her back. "All right, enough!" I heard her scream. Again, she attempted to leave, and again, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Now she looked angry.

Finally, I'd had enough myself. I jumped down from the pagoda and ran up to them. "Okay, what's going on here?"

Gill, wearing shorts and an old Nanticoke T-shirt with the camp's faded blue American Indian logo, didn't even attempt to disguise his contempt for me. "Beat it, hook nose, it's none of your damn business."

I would have punched his lights out right then had it not been for Becky speaking up. "Oh, I think it is his business." Turning to me, she said, "Our old camp buddy here is insisting I take a siesta at his motel room. Not happening."

"Listen to you, acting as if you don't want it. Why don't you tell your so-called boyfriend here what we did last night."

"We didn't do anything! Not what you wanted, anyway."

He made a guttural, snake-like sound, followed by: "No, not much. I guess you don't call getting hot and heavy in the woods by Turtle Run not doing anything."

She looked at him straight in the eye and clicked her tongue. "You know, Gill, you've got a lot to learn when it comes to being a gentleman. You weren't much of one back then and you're certainly not much of one now." She wrapped her arms around my right arm and leaned against me. "But this man is."

Tense moments of silence followed. Sleepy as I was, I felt coiled, ready to strike if Gill got physical. But he didn't. He took a deep breath, the air going out of him like a tire gone flat. "Eh, screw you both, you deserve each other," he spit out, and then stormed away.

We watched him head in the direction of the upper field parking lot. Then she said, "Listen, I can explain the hot and heavy thing." I told her she didn't have to but she insisted and led me into the pagoda. When we sat on one of the wooden benches, she leaned against me, snuggled in my arms.

"After we left Douglas Hall, we took a walk by Turtle Run. I got carried away by the past, I guess. We talked about old times, dredged up old feelings. We started to neck and yeah, like he said, it got hot and heavy. But then he wanted to go further, further than we'd ever gone. I'm no virgin, but I've never done it with him. Anyway, he tried to take my pants down. 'We're grown up now, baby, so come on, let's consummate', is what he said. I had to fight him off, which snapped me back to reality. He apologized, said he got 'carried away'. So I saw no reason not to sit with him at brunch. But then, halfway through the meal, he mentioned going back to his motel. That started an argument which spilled out of the mess hall. And you know the rest of the story."

I held her for awhile, planting light kisses on the back of her neck. Then I asked: "Do you still love him?"

She broke from my arms and turned around. "Not in the least. Last night had nothing to do with how I feel now and everything to do with being seduced by what's past. You know, 'though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower'...all that misty, rose-colored stuff." She leaned in and kissed me. Then: "Anyway, I'm in love with someone else. I kept fighting it until I couldn't anymore."

I beamed. "And who might that be?"

She walked her fingers across my chest. "Well, he's got big muscles, a nose I adore and hair that used to be curly. He's kind and sensitive and gentlemanly, and he appreciates Mozart. He's a Colts fan, of course, because he lives in Baltimore, and I'm hoping before he returns, he'll get us a motel room so we won't have to use Douglas Hall and risk getting caught by the likes of Charlie Siegel."

And so I did. We were each other's number two, not virgins but still novices when it came to intimate sex. I couldn't have imagined a more fitting coda to end the camp season, the eighteenth of August, 1962. The girl who once wouldn't dance with me melted into my arms, all naked and beautiful and loving, all cries and whispers and poetic phrases, giving herself to a guy who still couldn't fathom the good fortune that found him in that summer of good feeling.