One Upon a Time in the Summer

It sounds kind of macabre now that I look back on it, but we used to spend a lot of time hanging around the cemetery when we were kids. There was a bush right beside the cemetery and that was great for playin' in, and right beside the bush was a river and that was great for swimmin' in. So we'd while away the long days of summer at a swimmin' hole that had been created at the river by generations of town kids looking for a place to escape the shimmering heat. It was fun in the sun for us kids in those days. But those were simpler times. Before we grew up and got all serious and filled with awesome responsibility. And I can well remember the summer when it all changed. That was really the summer when I learned a little something about life.

It started innocently enough that spring with my buddy, Josh, and I out scouring the ditches by the cemetery hill, looking for bottles, discarded from passing cars over winter. This was a lucrative profession back when I was a boy, and spring was the best time of all, when it was often possible to gather enough bottles to buy french fries with gravy for the two of us after only a couple hours work.

Anyway, here's Josh and I slugging away in a particularly deep portion of a ditch, when what do my wondering eyes behold, but a stack of magazines, all tied up with string and sitting half submerged in the dank water at the bottom of the ditch. I frogged my way through the reeds and bullrushes, got a soaker for my trouble, but I managed to snag the pile of soggy literature.

"Whatcha got there?" Josh hollered from his vantage point higher up in the ditch.

"Some magazines," I called back, struggling to maintain my balance in the muck.

"What kind? Any good?" he hollered back, and I could hear him starting to clamber down the slope.

"I'm not sure yet," I called. "I'm sort of stuck." And it was true that my running shoe had completely disappeared in the ooze.

"Here, I'll give you a hand," Josh said as he approached, careful where he placed his own feet, so as not to end up in my predicament. He reached out his hand.

I reached back toward him, but I had the magazines in my other hand, and they seemed to pull me more in that direction, so my friend couldn't seem to get the necessary leverage to yank me out of the mud.

"Pass me the magazines," he finally said. "Pass them over."

With great difficulty, I managed to move the magazines from one hand to the other, then extend it out toward Josh. He reached toward me, then made a lunge, grabbing the magazines and falling back onto the ditch bank. The manouver came dangerously close to spilling me entirely into the muck, but I teetered back and forth and finally came to rest still in the upright position. I looked toward Josh, hoping he was ready to pull me out. There he was, sitting just a short distance away, but making no effort to assist me in my dilemma. He was sitting, wide-eyed, pawing through one of the magazines.

"Get me out of here, Josh," I hollered.

"You've got to see this," he said emphatically. "You won't believe this."

"What?" I asked impatiently. "What's so important about a bunch of magazines?"

"They're filled with bare naked people," my friend said, and it was clear he was incredulous at the discovery.

"What?" I asked.

"They're filled with bare naked people," he repeated. "And you can see everything."

"What do you mean?" I asked with disbelief.

"I mean, they're totally naked. Without a stitch." he answered.

"Comeon," I said. "You never get to see everything. "

"Well, take a look at this," he said, holding aloft the magazine he'd been paging through.

And it was at that point that I completely forgot about my submerged running shoe and I pulled my foot right up and out of it, losing it forever in the bottom of that ditch, just so I could get a look at a bunch of naked people in a magazine.

And it turned out that we'd found a bunch of nudist magazines, about actual nudists, complete with pictures of the required volleyball games and such. And I'll tell you, even though we found those magazines, we really got somebody's money's worth out of them that summer. We lived and breathed for those magazines, with hardly a day passing when we didn't take just a little peek.

Now I don't know if it was those magazines or if it was the age I was at, but I had a heightened interest in things sexual that summer. I know it was the summer of my first boner, which scared the bejeezus out of me, and it was also the summer of one of my life's most embarrassing moments.

We developed a habit of camping out beside the old swimming hole that summer. We'd cart our camping gear and sleeping bags and a few cans of beans through the cemetery and through the bush and down the hill that led to the river -- and we'd set up camp.

And so it happened that on one fine summer's night when the moon was full, we were camped out, and we'd spent the requisite time sitting about the campfire, while the older guys told us tales of their sexual exploits, and we all got about excited as we could considering we were such young and inexperienced men.

Anyway, after the evening had been so occupied, the five of us crammed into one small tent, and prepared for a night of sleep. It was finally quiet in the tent. Sleep was occuring, when one of the older boys called out my name. I answered.

"Do you know how to do it?" he asked across the darkened space in the tent.

"Do what?" I asked.

"It," he answered.

"What?" I asked again.

"Have sex, of course," he answered.

"Sure," I answered.

"How about telling the rest of us," he said, and by this time every ear in the tent was on us.

"Yea," said one of the other boys. "Tell us all about it."

I was quiet. There was silence in the tent. I could feel myself redden in the darkness.

"Comeon," said the boy who had started it.

"Well......" I started.

"Comeon," was repeated, this time as a chorus.

"Does it have something to do with your bum?" I asked meekly, knowing almost for certain that I was wrong before I said it. The apparent sillyness of my answer nearly brought down the tent, so convulsed in laughter were most of the occupants. I knew I'd never live this down. I'd have to move away and shave my head and become a monk. But just at that moment, all heck broke lose on the tent. The tiny, canvass structure began to shake and rock back and forth violently and the air outside was filled with hideous and terrifying sounds. All of us inside cried out to God to save us from whatever calamity was happening, my humiliation forgotten, as everyone struggled for the entranceway. Only when we finally reached the outside and scampered to safety did we realize that we'd been caught in the path of a herd of cows from the neighouring farm. Now, there was a moment to remember. But I never did live down my answer to the fateful question that had been asked in the tent. It embarrassed me then, and it embarrasses me even now -- even all these years later. It does have something to do with your bum, but that's certainly not the point. And I really didn't know that then.

So there was the magazines and the boner and the tent thing. But then there was this other thing that happened, and I've never told a soul about it until this day, and you'll be the first. And this is really what happened.

One day, it seemed as if all my friends were doing something. It was late in the summer, and we were all bored with most things. I sat for a while on the front porch of my house with my head in my hands, feeling sorry for myself. I'd called about everybody and no one had answered the call. Finally, as a last resort, I thought I'd try to seek out some companionship in person, so I told my mom that I was heading out. I visited some of the favourite haunts, and finally ended up at the cemetery. I dug the magazines out of their hiding place in a cedar grove, and sat for a while looking at them. I got a boner, but that was normal in those days. But I tired even of that, and decided to go through the bush to the swimming hole.

I was still a kid in those days, and when I was partway through the bush, I decided to play the Indian and see how quietly I could sneak through the undergrowth. I went quietly indeed and finally came upon the swimming hole, where I imagined my enemy lay in wait.

But as I peered out from the edge of the bush, it wasn't my enemy I saw. It was one of the seniors from high school, I recognized her even at a distance from the bugle band. She was laying out sunning herself. Which was all well and good, except that she was totally naked -- just like the girls in the magazines. I could feel myself swallow hard. I got a boner that threatened to pop right out of my pants.

And it was at that precise moment when I inadvertantly chose to quit playing the Indian by stepping on a large branch, which broke with a resounding crack.

"Who's there?" said the young woman, sitting bolt upright and covering herself with a towel.

I said nothing, crouched low to try to avoid detection.

The young woman stood, holding the towel over her. "Who's there?" she repeated. "Please, don't frighten me," she said.

I watched and could tell she was indeed frightened at not knowing who had come upon her.

"Please," she said, some pleading in her voice.

I could take no more and stepped from the brush, standing nervously, eyeing her -- feeling embarrassed.

"Well, hello," she said, and I could hear confidence return to her voice. "Are you alone?"

I nodded in the affirmative, but continued to say nothing.

"Well, quite a little man," she said, and I wasn't sure why, until I followed her gaze in the direction of my stiff, little boner. "How long have you been watching?"

"I just got here," I said, uttering my first words.

Suddenly, she let the towel drop to one side. "And do you like what you see?" she asked.

I nodded, my mouth no doubt hanging open the proverbial country mile.

"Come here, little man," she said, motioning with her finger. I followed her instruction in that, and it was soon that I was following other instruction, so that I learned my lesson in life on that afternoon in late summer. She taught me the ways of the world, and it was a frightening and wondrous time for me, and I'd had no idea that such strange and unusual things could be accomplished with male and female bodies. I could have died to have stayed in that one afternoon forever and ever. After it was over, she swore me to secrecy, something not necessary because who would have believed, and bid me leave. I slipped into my pants, my boner finally exhausted and sore between me legs, and made ready to leave.

"Take care, little man," she said, offering me one final kiss. And I left.

It was years before I had real sex again. It was on my wedding night, and that didn't come nearly close to living up to expectations. And I think that had to do with that one summer, when I got really interested in things sexual. It was a curious period in my life, but was something I'll never forget. It was the summer I learned there was more than fun in the sun. It was quite a time. And that's the god-awful truth.

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