At summer camp - sexual abuse, or not?

I had just turned 13.

As springtime continued I spent more and more time away from the city, at my father’s cottage.

There was a girl, Sonja, a couple of years older than I. She was not the brightest light, academically speaking, but we had known each other since I was about the age of four.

She lived, as an only child, at her parents’ farm only a few hundred metres away, through the forest, from my father’s cottage. We spent a lot of time together. 

This summer we would play, as always.

We did games, played cards, built little forts, made a fire and roasted early apples, swam in the lake and rowed the row-boat to the blueberry patch across the lake.

We were always very comfortable with each other. This year I got a new problem. It became painfully clear to me that looking at her would make my penis grow. I tried to stand facing her so my sideways profile wouldn’t give me away.

One hot day, we decided to play Indians. Sonja put on a short cape, covering her to above her knees, and I put on a loin cloth.

I didn’t notice at first, but my very definitely erect penis was sticking out on the side of the loincloth for quite a while.

She looked at me, very intensely, and I eventually followed her yes to my erect penis.

What was I doing?

I tried to hide away. She just stood there, in full amazement.

Then, as she moved quickly, her cape flew open. There we were, she showing her bare breasts and underpants and I with an erect penis, facing each other.

We gathered up our clothing and continued that day as if nothing had happened.

The next day was again nice and warm. We continued our game of Indians. She let her cape hang so it barely covered her breasts, which were easy to see from the side. I noticed that she wore no panties this day.

I made my loincloth a bit narrower, showing myself quite easily.

No, we didn’t touch each other all that summer. We met many times, even went berry picking practically naked. It became a bit of a game who show each other what we had. We were too young and probably too innocent to even think of intercourse. That didn’t happen between us until a couple of years later.

I wonder what her parents would have said. They seemed quite prude to me.

My father didn’t mind. I already knew that he was a naturalist. I had seen photographs of my parents, naked together when I and my sister were little. This was before their untimely divorce when I was seven.

So here we were, my father in shorts, his 13-year old son and the neighbour’s daughter as near-naked as one can imagine. I guess we all learned something that summer.

Nakedness is not necessarily lewd in closed company.

Sonja told me, eons later, that my father liked to pat her on her naked buns, occasionally. He never touched her in any other manner.

The summer was, as I mentioned, warm and sunny.

In late July I went to the three-week-long gymnastics camp, by the coast of the sea, for the first time.

We were in army barracks, not too well aired out since their usage last year. The boys were in theirs and the girls in other barracks. Each room, with 24 boys or girls had a leader, most commonly an army NCO for the boys or an army nurse for the girls.

The camp administrator was a good friend of my mother. Both my sister and I felt welcomed.

The gymnastics program started on day one.

At first, I was out of shape but soon it dawned on me, I am quite agile.

As the weeks progressed I became more and more at ease with the routines. I was selected for the elite team and we did so much more. Sure, I did fall occasionally. Once I tripped off a high beam, about two metres from the ground. I grabbed hold of the pole and slid all the way down.

The skin on my chest took quite a scrape. I bled a bit and the local nurse was called in to patch me up.

To my embarrassment or pride, I performed with a white bandage around my chest on the last, final show-the-parents day.

Being in thy gym team was great. Half or the participants were girls. I quite enjoyed looking at them in their practice. Now that I knew how to look, thanks to my friend Sonja, I was probably quite a voyageur.

This summer I had added a pair of very tight swim-trunks to wear under my gym shorts so I wouldn't be showing any immoral parts on the field.

Boy, did it hurt at times? My rising penis was squeezed up and held tightly against my stomach.

Girls had entered my line of vision and they were very important. I had had ever touched a girl or even knew much about what and who they were.

That fall I joined a mixed class. The girls were mysterious and challenging. There was one, half a head taller than most of the boys in the class. She had very noticeable breasts. Obviously, every boy secretly desired to touch them.

I was the lucky one. I had free movie tickets, thanks to my father’s position as a local tax collector. The boy with the movie tickets wins.

We would go to the movies together. In the dark, we would hold hands and I could let my hand slide up and cup her breasts under the clothes. I could feel downwards under her beltline and even touch the front of her tummy, all the way down to where I could feel the budding pubic hair of hers.

On our way home, especially in the dark and cold winter days of the north, we could stop in a dark place and kiss, lightly.

My father’s apartment was perfect for parties. It was the only one in the building, with a separate street entrance to the two flights of stairs. The offices were all closed and the building was usually empty by 19 every night.

My friends could visit, unseen, at any hour after that.

My father? He worked long hours in various committées and often wouldn’t come home until after midnight, expecting me to be solidly asleep.

I usually was, but I had left all the lights on. Being alone was always scary.

As for parties, we had ample notice of which evenings I could hold them. My friend Christer had a cousin with many friends, and we also invited the boys and girls from our class.

With time we developed a little clique of about 10 friends, five boys and five girls who would meet at my place for fun. We started off with board-games, continued with card-games. As the fall continued, we became more and more comfortable with each other.

The lights would be dimmed and there would be some light petting here and there.

Then a new game: “Change partners”.

The rules were simple. The boys would each seat themselves in a soft chair or couch. We covered the windows with leftover black-out sheets from WW 2, still standing in the front door closet.

The lights were turned off to leave us in absolute darkness.

Then we began.

The boys sat down and a girl found each of them and seated herself nearby. Very near, I may add.

The boys’ wandering hands had free play. Some girls were shyer than others, we were all 13, remember.

“My partner is good but Johnny’s is better.”

The girl in Johnny’s lap would leave and find her way to your place when “my” girl moved to Johnny.

The trick is getting the right girl, the one with the biggest boobs, or the wettest scrotum, or the one who knew how to tug at your penis best, was to remember who exchanged partners with whom. 

I never asked any girl how she liked the game, but they were back the next week, and the next, again.

Now, you can say, was this a “proper” game for a bunch of 13-year olds? Who can tell? We all enjoyed it and no harm was done. At least, no virginity was lost in that game. On the good side, I think we all learned a little more about the anatomy of the opposite sex, even if it was pitch dark and you couldn’t see a thing.

As the winter eased up, the sun returned with more daylight and longer evenings, we moved on. Our game was deemed impossible if it wasn’t held in total darkness. I guess we were too innocent and a little shy to see each other’s faces as we touchy-feeled each other.

My favourite, the girls with the biggest breasts was, of course, my movie-companion Anna. We saw each other in school every day.

My life changed abruptly the day my father suddenly passed away in a stroke, a few days after my 14^th birthday.

I was back at summer gymnastics. This was summer No. 2 for me. I had greatly enjoyed my first summer and even advanced to the elite gymnastics group, performing for the parents on Sundays.

The camp looked the same, but we had some new leaders.

My lodging had a new supervisor, one I hadn’t met before. He liked us, the boys, more than the one last year, and spent a lot of time with us in the lodging.

Sometimes he would sit with a boy, reading a newspaper. I noticed that some of the boys moved away as he came close but thought nothing of it.

He talked to me about how lonesome I must have felt, now that my father was gone and he hoped that he could be like a father figure for me at camp.

Then, one evening, he came and sat close to me, with the proverbial newspaper in his hands.

I noticed how his free hand moved and started to fondle my testicles. I moved away.

The next night, he was back again. This time, covered by the newspaper, he fondled me more deliberately. I didn’t suffer and didn’t much object. After all, my testicles had been fondled by girls the preceding winter and I had learned to like the feeling. It even gave me an erect penis, as little as it may have been. More hands? No real problem.

I became much more apprehensive when he, being a lot heavier than little skinny me, the gymnast, lifted me enough to reach my anus. There he put his finger inside. To have something in your anus was not an altogether unique experience. In those days the only way to take the temperature was to use a rectal thermometer, and they were made thick and solid so they wouldn't break in use.

I didn’t react at first and he did the same thing the next night and the next, ultimately jerking on my penis at the same time.

This was all done on the quiet, usually when we were alone. I noticed that his hand smelled of vaseline soap. 

That must have been the lubricant.

One day he invited me to sit on his lap. My anus was a bit softened up from repeated visits by his finger the days before and I could feel how the tip of his hard dick would seek its way in. We were still covered by the newspaper so none of the few boys in the cabin would notice.

I could feel how his dick throbbed as he ejaculated inside me I had to visit the toilet afterward to dispose of the "white stuff".

I didn't find the experience unpleasant and liked the attention that I got from this leader during day time. He liked to have me sit on his penis again, ever so lightly, and we did that when few were around so nobody would know.

A couple of evenings later he tried to enter too deep and that hurt me.

I instantly stood up and walked out.

From that day we never exchanged a single word between us. I focused on girl watching and totally forgot what had happened, these events were of absolutely no significance in my life.

Imagine now? That would not have gone unpunished.

He had a few other favourite boys but they, as well as I, soon turned away completely. This officer-on-vacation may have been a boy abuser. I read in the local paper that he was murdered in a bar in Spain a couple of years later. Perhaps he had touched the wrong boy there?

I already knew at the beginning of the summer that I had failed too many classes to continue. My father got upset, but he soon passed away and could do no more. That fall I had to do the same class over again. I lost contact with my girlfriend and a few others that I had been with the year before.

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