Tomboy - Sex Stories

Tomboy

I'm a little old to be banished to summer camp," I said to Spike. Spike was my best friend, had been since I was eight. "I mean, I'm fifteen." I was sitting on a branch in an old apple tree, the last one in the orchard. I had my back propped against the tree trunk. She was lying on the branch below me. Spike said, "Wish my folks would send me to camp, Kip." Her real name was Danica, but I never called her that, just like she never called me Clifford. "Yeah," I said. "Right." "No, really. First of all, you're gonna be doing canoeing and shit. That's like free training." "Training?" "You know, for the Olympics." Spike was a natural athlete, not like me. I was a two-left-feet guy, and no team would have me. Spike occasionally talked about trying pro sports, but usually she came back to her other dream, being a mechanic on Formula Ones. "They wouldn't send me, though. They'd be afraid it would just make me worse." "You go instead of me." I banged my head gently against the tree trunk, making the leaves rustle. "Maybe we could just send you on the bus and you could say you were me." "They'd notice in the shower. And when I got my period." I stared at her. "I didn't know you got your period already." To be honest, I never thought of Spike as a _girl._ She imitated me: "I'm fifteen, for Christ's sake," and she reached up to whack my foot. "I wish you were coming. I'm not gonna know _anybody_ there. I wish I knew why my parents are doing this." She said, "It's obvious, Kip. They ...

... think you're weird. You spend most of your time reading, and the rest of your time you spend with a psychotic tomboy." She said it like she was proud of being one. Spike was all limbs and joints, about as feminine as a plank. She kept her black hair short and she had an oval face with a long jaw. She didn't look particularly like she was a guy or a girl. "They want to make you normal." "Great," I moaned. "Look, your folks aren't exactly thrilled about me." "They don't mind you." She snorted. "They think I'm an unhealthy influence. Your dad's not a reading kind of guy, you know? He's probably worried I'm a dyke and I'll turn you into a fag." She plucked at her T-shirt. Today's was Motorhead. "What's a dyke?" She dropped off the tree, agile as an ape. "It's what a Dutch boy sticks his finger in." She picked a green apple off the ground and shied it at me. It stung me on the shoulder. "A lesbian! Don't be a knob." "I'm not a knob," I said. "You're a knob." She hit me three more times before I got down from the tree, but I managed to drag her down to the ground and we wrestled a while before we both started laughing. ~ ~ ~ ~ Camp turned out to be okay; we spent a lot of time talking about the girls' camp down the lake (you know, who was cutest, and did she look at me when we had that intercamp competition, and which ones kissed and which ones did more). I figured out jerking off, though there was almost never a chance to do it. This two months was pretty great, I had to admit. I sent ...