Working girl

After my four sad years trying to be athletic at a traditional  camp, I spend one summer at a work camp in Connecticut.  By this time I’m fifteen and in high school, all arty adolescent and needy.  I don’t get homesick anymore.

This place is just for teenagers and  I am excited about attending.  Even though its called a work camp, its not labor intensive, really more like dilettante camp.  There’s a miniature farm and a pottery shop and a radio station and poetry classes and a print shop and carpentry and weaving.  You can play in a jazz band or chamber music group or dance a Russian gavotte.  You get the idea, it’s a refuge for children of New York liberals,  we sign up only for the activities we like, there isn’t any schedule and nothing is mandatory.

I spend all my time at the farm.  I stand in the yard next to the cow barn holding a pitchfork,  sweating, supposed to toss hay over the fence  but really just showing off for this boy, Ronnie.  Ronnie is a year older than me and a junior counselor on the farm, a man already I think.  He is the attraction.

When you are 15 I find it’s easy to get a boy but not so easy to keep his attention.   Ronnie takes me up to the barn roof, a secret place, and we kiss.  He wants to touch me, he wants to hump on the cow barn roof.

I am reluctant.  Ronnie stops, we climb down to earth and next thing I know, Ronnie has a new girlfriend who is 16 like him.

So I am a little desolate but not ready to make love, not yet, maybe next year.  I spend the rest of the summer in the sculpture studio, I learn all the Pete Seeger songs by heart and sing Wimoway without irony.

Okay, I am boy crazy, I admit it, my world revolves around finding a boy.  I am intense, I wear glasses and haven’t gotten my period yet, I have fantasies and read the dirty scenes in books.   As much as I hate it I am still a virgin.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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