STRIP DARTS WITH CAMP COUNSELLORS

The other dayI got a text from an friend who works at a summer camp. Every couple weeks, between camp sessions, she returns to the city for a short 36 hours of freedom. Camps aren't what they used to be like a generation or two ago: wild romps where the counsellors were always drunk or stoned or making out in the bushes. Camps have reflected a social shift where camps are accredited and tightly regulated. The parents of Gen X had just dumped their kids on buses and said, "See you in a couple weeks." Today's parents want structured curriculum and experiential learning opportunities. The counsellors, like my friend, work their butt of at camp--there is no drinking, smoking, or "grab ass" as there once was at camp. As a result, all of that gets saved up for the weekends in the city.

So I get a call from Anne, and she says she's in town for only 32 hours now and counting and that she's at the grocery store getting limes, soda, and rum for mojitos. I tell her I have some fresh mint in my garden, and so it's set--we'll meet up at her place to start mixing drinks on this summer evening.

Anne is renting some dumpy place, with sink full of dishes and fridge filled with beer and mostly expired food from the last weekend they were in town. She's renting it with another camp counsellor, Erin. There's also geckos, and snakes, and lizards in cages. Both Anne and Erin work for a summer science camp, and are, what you could call science nerds. We mix drinks and spend the first hour petting the geckos.

When I first met Erin, I hadn't really given her a second look. She was medium height, maybe 5'6" with brown hair down to her shoulders. Since it was hotter than hell, she wore sandals, shorts, and a tank top. She wore thick-rim glasses that were totally classic nerd, but I don't think she was wearing them ironically.

The first thing I noticed about her, as she sat cross-legged holding the gecko, was that her legs had a very slight soft growth of tiny light-brown hairs. Unshaved legs were much more common in the 70s and 80s, but I hadn't seen any in years. Today, even "outdoorsy" girls seem to shave. Erin's hair was barely noticeable, but when noticed, obvious. It then caused my eyes to go up her legs to the edge of her shorts. Sitting cross legged caused her shorts to draw up tight to her crotch, but I could not see any hint of hair poking out. I wondered since she didn't shave her legs, maybe she didn't shave other areas. I tried to steal glances, as she showed me the gecko and as I pretended to be interested in the gecko. Whenever she lifted her arms, I could see a hint of brown hair. They weren't thick and bushy, but just thin and visible only when her arms were raised.

As she sat and leaned forward, her tanktop dipped just enough to show some cleavage. I suddenly noticed how pale and creamy and soft looking her skin was. Her breasts, which I really hadn't paid attention to at first, were actually very nicely shaped. Not large, but the more I looked at them, the more I realized they were full and round, like a perfect B cup.

I don't know why, but the girls that I have known have tended to either be in the petite size, 5'2"-5'4" with A-cup breasts, or bigger girls, 5'8"-5'10" with c-cups or even d-cups, One would expect, then, that an "average" girl would be average because the vast majority would be between the small and tall girls. But as I noticed Erin, I realized, I hadn't seen many girls that were 5'6" with B-cup breasts. She had more hips and ass than a petite girl, but wasn't voluptuous like a bigger girl. Now as I watched her, trying to peek down her tanktop and catch glimpses of her underarm tuffs of sweet pubic hair, I realized that despite her glasses and nerdy science conversation, she was smoking hot. There was a sexuality in her plainness.

By the fourth round of mojitos, we'd checked out their animals and caught up on conversation about summer and they'd told all their funny stories about campers and kids that were a pain. So Erin suggested we play darts.

We went down to their basement that looked like it had once been a frat house. It had a home-made bar built out of 2x4s, a couple couches, a TV, heaps of laundry, and a dart board. I have never really played darts, if you can believe it. True. So the girls explained a simple style of game, basically the equivalent of a game of "horse" in basketball.

We played a first round and I realized that Erin loved darts. She was really good, and it brought out her competitive nature. We were all pretty happy by then, and laughing and teasing each other. It was clear that Erin was proud of how awesome she was at darts, and was getting a bit of an ego trip at how bad I was. I'd throw three and hit single numbers, once I got 21 total (almost impossible to score lower) and I yelled "Blackjack!"

"That's not the rules," she said. We began to fake argue about who knew the rules better, and I said since it's our game, we can make up any rules we want, we could even play strip darts, for example. She took the bait. She knew she was the best player by a long shot, and she had such a competitive streak, I think she wanted to put me in my place. People don't think of the smart geeky kids as being competitive like the jocks, but they are, and maybe even more so, because they have this drive to prove themselves, and it comes out in tests and grades, but rarely has a social outlet, so when you get a nerdy girl playing a game like darts, like Erin, she's suddenly in her element and ready to kick ass.

I knew I couldn't beat her, but as I was looking down her tank top, I'd seen that she wasn't wearing a bra. And as I tried to check out her shorts, I saw no traces of a panty line. In fact, once she bent over to put the gecko back in its cage, and I could see just the top of her butt crack, and no underwear visible. She'd kicked off her flip flops to play, and so I was hoping that only two pieces of clothes separated her from total nakedness. I had three pieces of cloths and my flip-flops.

So it was on. We were now playing strip darts. We'd each toss in turn and then lowest score would have to remove one piece of clothing.

I lost the first round, as expected, and stripped off my t-shirt. Then Anne lost, and removed a sandal. She lost again and was barefoot. And then I lost, and kicked off a flip flop. With each turn, Erin was soaring higher and higher on the adrenaline of winning. She loved writing down the numbers, adding them up. She loved that she was winning. So was so drunk on her success, though, that her throwing was getting more and more careless, or perhaps it was the fifth round of mojitos. Sixth? we'd lost track.

The next round I hit a couple lucky shots, and Anne lost. She stripped off her t-shirt. UNderneath she was wearing a sports bra.

Erin cheered and stepped up to the line, all smiles. She was aiming higher on the board, trying for triple points when one dart arced a little too high and hit a water pipe on the low basement ceiling. It made a loud ringing clang, which made us all bust into laughter. We were laughing so hard we were almost doubled over. She tried to argue that it was "interference" from the pipe, but Anne, not wanting to be the only girl removing clothes, made her stick to the rules.

So Erin, still radiating confidence, said fine, and peeled off her t-tank top. Just as I'd imagined, she had beautiful, perfectly shaped breasts that sat high and firm on her chest. I tried not to be too obviously as my eyes couldn't stay off of watching how she moved and how her breasts jiggled as she threw.

Anne, apparently rather drunk, lost again, peeled off her shorts to reveal some plain rainbow-stripped underwear. I lost again and was now down to my boxers. Anne actually was the most dressed of all of us with a top and bottom still. For Erin and I, the next turn would determine who would be naked first.

I stepped up and threw. As hard as I tried to aim, it wasn't a very spectacular throw. It added up to 45 or so, and could be beat with just one lucky triple 15 our higher.

Erin stepped up, a little wobbly, but smiling and confident. I couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight than erin wearing only shorts, barefoot and topless, with soft furry shins and little tufts of hair under her arms. I wanted to see the final hidden part, what I assumed would be a thick, dark, and naturally grown triangle between her legs.

She threw, hit a seven. Threw again, and hit a 15, but just missed the triple ring. She needed a really good hit for her final shot to win. She tossed, aiming for the bullseye, and it came up short, hitting a single number. She'd gotten 42. I wondered if it was the mojitos catching up with her, or if she was getting tired, or if, perhaps, in hindsight, so was so good, she aimed for a low score. Without protest, she quickly dropped her shorts and kicked them off to the side. She picked up her drink and walked over. "So, is that game?" she asked.

Anne agreed, probably not because she minded taking off her jogging bra, but more I think she was bored. She didn't like darts half as much as Erin, and since Erin had now lost, the competitive energy dissipated from the room and we were all suddenly pretty tired.

Erin picked up her shorts and tank top, but didn't put them back on. She just stood, naked in front of us, and I was so obviously taking her all in with my eyes. In fact, the only thing she wore was her nerdy glasses, and somehow that made it even sexier. She didn't seem to mind standing naked in front of me, and clearly must have been enjoying the attention.

"Well," she said, "you guys have fun, "I'm headed to bed." She turned and walked naked up the stairs. Anne and I got our clothes and slipped them back on. It was late. So I headed home. I'd go home with the final image of the night being the full view of Erin naked. She was then, and has been since, one of the hottest girls I've ever seen, for being so natural and comfortable in her own skin, her body and letting her hair be natural and free. It was an example I'd keep the rest of my life.

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