I Met Cassie At The Sex Camp - Sex Stories

I Met Cassie At The Sex Camp

... lines meant it had to be a lot more awkward for them, especially because they were standing next to potential partners). Their agony was foreshortened by the simple virtue of them going first. Within two minutes, all ten of them had their assigned partners, and were led off by helpful adults to the private rooms where the actual deed would take place. I ended up in the middle of the line of straight boys. No one really wanted to be first, but no one was quite ready to run and hide at the back. We were more of an awkward teardrop shaped blob than a line. The girls, across from us, were no better. They used the worst possible method to assign us. We were each given a ball at random (they had those bingo ball things, which must have come with the auditorium; I wondered how often geriatrics used this place for bingo, and if they knew awkward teens came here to be divested of their awkward virginity). I got 27 (3 cubed, my mind supplied automatically). Then the agony began. Walk up to a girl, or bump into a girl, or be approached by a girl. Mumble my number, ask what their number was, or mutely show my number to them. It seemed an endless repetitive horror. I did feel sorry for those who found each other early and had to stand around awkwardly waiting for the rest of us. I idly wondered which was worse. I idly wondered if I wouldn’t actually have a partner. I did a whole lot of enforced idle wondering, so I that I didn’t realize the ridiculousness of the whole thing, and descend ...

... into uncontrollable manic laughter (or have a panic attack). And then I bumped into the girl I’d noted earlier. “I’ve got 27, you?” My quiet mumble had been optimized for brevity. She showed me her ball. 27. I didn’t take her panicked look as a slur on me. She looked as panicked as I felt. “Ummm, so what do we do now?” I was still mumbling. “Go join them, I guess?” She pointed towards where other (not quite) pairs were standing, awkwardly in front of the supervisors. Her face was red. My face burned. We walked over. I was getting hard despite my embarrassment, which of course only added to my embarrassment. Finally, everyone had found his or her partner. Beaming at us, the adults led us down the hallway and into a gym. It was full of two person tents. My look of horror appeared to be universal. “Every pair to a tent. There are condoms and lube inside! Don’t forget to use them.” They kept beaming at us, and made no move to leave. None of us made to go to the tents. The impasse lasted five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Someone sneezed. The adult’s grins looked painted on. I felt a hand grab my wrist. I looked at my alleged partner. She looked fierce. I noticed her dusting of freckles. She really was beautiful, in an awkward, nerdy way that tugged at my heartstrings. “We need to be brave. Lead the charge and all that.” I snorted. “Lead the rout, belike.” But I stepped forward with her, and we headed to a tent. Our departure broke the metaphorical dam, and others began to ...