Last Night at Camp

by Nicolette Dane

  With Krista’s increased attention on her clit, Molly felt herself approaching the precipice. While she had had plenty of orgasms in the past, most were self-applied and never before had she felt like this. It was strange and exciting, effervescent and bubbly, like a can of soda had been shaken up inside of her and was ready to blow. It was a strange combination of exhaustion and exhilaration, prickles of numbness sparkling throughout her soft, steamy flesh. Molly reached her hands down and braced herself on her own thighs, dropped her head and began to take slow, deep breaths.

  “I’m coming,” Molly said candidly, her voice steady and serious, obviously focusing on enjoying the feeling that was coursing through her veins.

  Upon hearing Molly’s utterance, Krista sucked more powerfully on Molly’s clit, causing Molly to release a long, fervid groan of desire. Krista massaged her moist thumb deeper against Molly’s asshole, which was beginning to pucker as Molly clenched and released her Kegel muscle. On a relaxing release, Krista’s fingertip slipped up inside Molly’s ass and she massaged around the rim of the hole tenderly.

  “Oh God,” called out Molly, leaning down further against herself. She began to haphazardly thrash, bucking her hips against her friend’s face, while Krista remained resolute with her pleasurable attention. Molly folded over and gripped onto the bed sheets, burying her face into them now and using them to stifle the long, loud, deep moans that came from her mouth.

  Molly’s thighs quaked, uncontrollably shaking, vibrating against the sides of Krista’s face. She bit into the sheets and buzzed into them, wanting so bad to scream out into the room as she felt the intense electricity of her orgasm wend its way all throughout her young figure. Pounding her palm now against the bed, she shook her head side-to-side, feeling numbness in her toes and fingertips. Suddenly it was too much, it felt too good, and she lurched her hips up off of Krista’s face, arching her back, her head down, her ass up.

  For a moment, a viscous string of Molly’s own nectar bridged the gap between her pussy lips and Krista’s chin. But just as quickly as it had appeared, a slight movement of Molly’s hips caused it to snap and vanish.

  “Fuck,” exclaimed Molly, her ass still pointed into the air. Krista, with a grin on her goopy moist face, slid out from between Molly’s legs and stood up from the bed. She wiped the wetness from her mouth and chin, rubbing it into the side of her leg, and hung there with her hands on her hips, gazing down at her spent yet fulfilled friend.

  “That was wild,” said Krista finally.

  “Wow,” said Molly, now collapsing down onto the bed. She reached between her legs and rubbed her own pussy sympathetically, her throbbing lips tender from all the attentiveness.

  “You tasted really sweet,” said Krista, rubbing a finger over her mouth and then tasting it. “Kinda like mango or something.” She laughed softly.

  “Mango?” said Molly, her breath short, chest heaving.

  “Yep,” said Krista. “Did it feel okay?” She leaned one knee on the bed and closed in on Molly now, reaching out and caressing her leg sweetly.

  “Oh my God,” said Molly. “It was amazing.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” said Krista. “I just felt like… I felt like I had to do that. Like I wanted to do that.”

  “Thank you,” said Molly, groaning with delight and rolling over onto her back. Her pussy and thighs were still sparkling with wetness.

  “I think the last bonfire is about to happen soon,” said Krista, looking out the window into the night. “Maybe after we go show our faces there for a bit,” she started, looking back to Molly. “You could, you know, do me.”

  “Okay,” said Molly, nodding. “I think I could do that.”

  “Hey Molly,” said Krista, smoothing out her tussled and tangled hair, still damp from the shower.

  “Yeah?” said Molly.

  “Have you ever done that with another girl before?” Krista said, her voice almost uncharacteristically shy.

  “Never,” said Molly.

  “Neither have I,” said Krista.

  “You were really good at it,” admitted Molly. She was coming back down now and she used her arms to prop herself up on the bed.

  “Thanks,” said Krista. “Let’s just keep this a secret for right now. Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” said Molly.

  Krista smiled at her, touched her finger to Molly’s thigh and then trotted over to her side of the room to begin getting dressed.

  Molly watched as her friend left her bedside, confused yet happy, determined to not put a label on anything. Never had she felt more relaxed and calm, unworried, and she wanted to hold onto this moment forever. She looked over at Krista, damp hair, sunned skin, lithe frame, starting to slip into a small pair of baby blue knickers, and in that instant Molly sensed superb tranquility. Perfection. This was one of those experiences that changes a person forever. And Molly indeed felt forever changed.

  *

  Thank you so much for reading Last Night At Camp! I write these stories for you and sincerely hope you enjoy them. If you liked this story, please leave a positive review on Amazon and let me know what you loved most. Reviews not only help to inform potential readers of a good book, but they also let us authors know we’re on the right track. Writing and publishing is a tireless profession, and there’s nothing more rewarding than positive feedback from readers. Thank you so much for your support!

  Love,

  Nico

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  AN EXCERPT FROM: SWEETHEART STARLET

  *

  “ARE WE READY to get started?” I asked, looking around the room through the lenses of my black plastic frames. I sat at the head of the table in our small conference room, a stack of papers in front of me, flipping a pen around in my fingers and occasionally chewing it. Sometimes I wondered how I got to this position. It happened really fast, much quicker than I ever imagined it would. Going from an improv and comedy performer in Chicago, then somehow waking up one day as head writer of This Saturday, a live sketch comedy television show in New York. It’s a lot of pressure, a lot of responsibility. You’ve got to not only always be funny, but you need to learn to wrangle other funny weirdos like yourself.

  I had a constant case of imposter syndrome. It all seemed like a dream that I was destined to soon wake up from. And the responsibility gave me buttloads of anxiety. But I was doing it. It was working out. Just breathe, Tab, just breathe.

  The other writers quieted down as I began our meeting. Looking down into my papers, still chewing on my pen, I began to think out loud.

  “So we’ve got Corinne Holmstrom on the show this week,” I said. “Blonde bombshell Hollywood actress. She’s got big boobs, so we should have a sketch that focuses on that.”

  “Is that all you think about, Tab?” asked Bernie. Bernie was a good friend of mine, a fellow writer who had come up with me in Chicago and made it to This Saturday just a few years after me. He was a bearded, balding, pudgy, almost stereotypically Jewish comedy writer and I absolutely loved him. “Your mind is suffused in tits.”

  “I think about tits a lot,” I said. “And I’m sure the rest of you can understand.”

  “I bet I think about them more than you, Tab,” said Wayne, one of the less orderly writers in our little collective.

 
“You know what’s it like to be in the mind of a lesbian?” I asked. “I love tits and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

  “Yeah,” said Wayne. “But it’s the male prerogative to be obsessed with bountiful breasts because they signify a healthy woman with whom we can procreate. It’s etched into our DNA.”

  “Wayne, when was the last time you attempted procreation?” I said.

  “Does mating with a tissue count?” he said.

  “No, Wayne, no it doesn’t,” I said.

  “Then… I don’t remember,” said Wayne.

  “Can we just move on from Wayne’s personal problems?” asked Bernie.

  “Right,” I said. “So Corinne Holmstrom. What do you guys got?”

  “She’s in space,” said Gene, yet another piece in this puzzle of miscreants. “She’s an astronaut who’s used to getting her way because she’s so hot.”

  “Yes, and then…?” I prompted.

  “She’s got a geeky, less hot sidekick, like a super dweeb,” continued Gene. “And they meet these evil aliens who capture the girls, they want to probe them.”

  “Anally?” asked Wayne.

  “Is there any other way?” said Bernie.

  “Tabitha,” said Janet drolly, the only other woman on our writing staff, looking over to me and rolling her eyes. She was sarcastic to a fault and I always found her hilarious. “Can’t we just get Wayne a prostitute or something? It’s like the jizz has built up inside of him and poisoned his brain.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, Janet,” I said, stifling a laugh. “But I’m afraid if we did that, it might hurt Wayne’s pride when he’s presented with that moment he’s built up in himself for his entire adult life, that first penetration with a woman, and all he can think about is asshole.”

  “Can we get back to my sketch?” said Gene.

  “I’ve had sex with a woman before,” protested Wayne.

  “Yes Gene, I apologize,” I said. “Continue.”

  “So the aliens want to probe the girls, and Corinne takes it upon herself to try to save them,” he said. “But the aliens don’t give a shit about her looks. They’re more interested in the metal in her geeky sidekick’s teeth. Braces.”

  “So the comedy is that Corinne is flabbergasted that they don’t want her?” I said. “Okay, that’s not bad,” I said, scribbling some notes down.

  This kind of conversation was very typical for our writing meetings. We were all a bunch of odd ducks, goofballs, outcasts, people whose brains were a bit askew and didn’t seem to function very well in normal discourse. We mostly talked about gross sex stuff interspersed with actual real writing work. It was all part of the process. Or at least, that’s what I liked to tell myself.

  “Maybe we could think of a sketch to get Corinne in a bikini,” mused Bernie. “It’ll be a mocking of those paparazzi photos that came out recently.”

  “Are you really mocking recent events, Bern,” I said. “Or do you just want to see Corinne Holmstrom up close in a bikini.”

  “Why not both?” he said with a grin and a shrug.

  “C’mon guys,” I said. “I know she’s hot and I know we’ve got to play that up in the sketches, but let’s tuck our little penises back for a bit and concentrate on funny.”

  “Good luck with these guys,” said Janet with yet another eye roll. “They can’t help but look down and constantly diddle themselves.”

  “It’s the source of my comedy,” said Wayne. “My power!”

  “Oh boy,” I said with a sigh. “I really don’t know how we get anything done around here. I know I say this every week, but you all realize that we have five days to put up a live show? There are tons of people counting on us. The cast, the viewers, the sponsors. Your paychecks depend on this.”

  “You’re harshing my mellow,” said Wayne.

  “That’s my job,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Tab,” said Gene. The other writers begrudgingly agreed.

  “Okay, I’ve got one,” said Bernie, clearing his throat, picking up his notepad, and looking into the pages. “Corinne is a talk show host,“ he began. “The funny is, um… she’s a former Hollywood starlet, past her prime, older, trying to flirt with the young hot Hollywood guys who are repulsed by her obvious come ons.”

  “Fine,” I said, writing down a brief synopsis of Bernie’s idea in my notes. “Let’s do this,” I went on, adding to Bernie’s idea. “We’ve got Tim, Kyle, and Wes on the cast who could pull that off. The first two guests on the show will be repulsed, but the third will be turned on by a sexy grandma coming on to him. How does that sound?” I said, looking up at Bernie over top of my thick-framed glasses.

  “That’s good,” said Bernie. “Fine with it.”

  “Guys?” I said, looking to the others.

  “Sure,” said Wayne, nodding along with the other writers.

  “Bernie, you flesh that one out since it’s your idea,” I said.

  “Got it, Tab,” he said.

  “Let’s only do, like, one sketch about how stupidly pretty Corinne is,” I said. “I think it’s too obvious and we won’t be able to sustain laugh after laugh on that one note.”

  “I agree,” said Janet. “We already went through this same shit when we had Dana Lin on,” she said. “All you guys did was drool over how hot she was and try to think of sketches based on that.”

  “Yeah!” I said, joining in with Janet’s criticism.

  “You’re guilty of that too,” accused Janet. “Remember the ‘Yellow Fever’ sketch? That was your idea.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “Yeah, I have a thing for Asian women. Was that sketch too racist?”

  “Yes,” all the writers said in unison.

  “It’s not racism, it’s satire!” I countered. “C’mon gang.” I looked around, trying to find support. “Gang?”

  “You’re lucky we voted to cut that one line,” said Bernie, shaking his head. “I’m sure it would have been blasted all over the internet the next day if we allowed that to air.”

  “I don’t think it would have made it past the censors,” said Gene. “Dude,” he said, putting his hands over his eyes.

  “So I’m not always the most PC,” I said. “I’m not perfect. I’m just like you. I’m an idiot!”

  “Did anyone record that on their phone?” said Wayne, his eyes darting around the room. “I would love to have Tab saying that as my ringer. I’m an idiot! I’m an idiot!”

  “Enough,” I said, crumpling down into my own arms on the conference table. “Every week we do this, every week we scramble to have enough sketches for broadcast.”

  “It’s only Monday,” said Gene. “We have the cast meeting later this afternoon. I’m sure they’ll have something for us.”

  “I love your optimism, Gene,” I said, my voice muted, face buried into my arms.

  “And Corinne is coming in tomorrow,” said Wayne. “Once she’s on set goofing around with us, we’ll come up with more. We always do.”

  “We always do,” I repeated. “Fine, okay,” I said, lifting back up and accepting the pressure, accepting the worry, accepting the uncertainty as all just part of the job. “Let’s order lunch. Thai?”

  “Of course you’d want Asian,” said Janet, giggling derisively to herself, holding her hand over her mouth.

  “Indian?” I corrected.

  “I think that’s still technically considered Asian,” said Wayne.

  “How about that taco food truck with the barbecued beef?” I said, exasperated.

  “Also Asian,” said Gene. “It’s Korean-inspired Mexican.”

  “Everybody get your own lunch,” I said, swiftly closing my binder, standing up from the conference room table, and walking toward the door.

  *

  The writers were right. Things solidified a bit more after the cast meeting and I went home that evening feeling better about myself and the show. I just needed to learn that this pressure happened to me every Monday morning when we had a clean slate and a new show to plan
. And it always seemed to work itself out. We always had something to show on Saturday. Sometimes the sketches bombed, sometimes they blew up on the internet the next day. The rollercoaster ride came with the territory. I just had to figure out how to let it wash over me and be happy about the uncertainty.

  After the daily writing meeting the next morning, I had a meeting scheduled with Corinne. I’d never met her before, despite the fact that me and the New York celebrity scene were like pickles and cottage cheese, and I was actually quite excited. I had heard she was a funny woman, and sweet. On screen she was usually in serious or sexual roles, but off screen it was said that she was easy to laugh and quick to joke. I looked forward to that.

  And look, Corinne Holmstrom was hot. Really hot. She was busty and curvy, bright blonde hair, a dazzling face, big lips. This wasn’t my usual type, as I more often found myself dating mousey geeky girls like myself, but I couldn’t deny that I, like everyone else on the entire planet, was attracted to this young Hollywood starlet. Even after working almost every week for the past half dozen years with celebrities, I still found myself starstruck around a handful of them. Corinne was most certainly included.

  The realist part of me, however, reared her head and chastised, “Tab, this chick is not a lesbian. She dates men. You know this from the tabloids. Don’t make a fool out of yourself.” But that didn’t help to put a cork in the fantasies. I hadn’t been in a relationship for a while and it was starting to make me go crazy inside.