Fun with Nancy

This is a true story about love and sex—mostly sex—I experienced as a young adult.


I had just graduated college and taken a job teaching junior high science. Now I was on my summer job, working as a lifeguard at a state park near my parents’ summer place on the north shore of Long Island. This was my second year on the job I would work for eleven more years. Last summer I learned a lot of little things, like how to tell if someone was actually drowning, how to get to him the fastest possible way, and, most important—how girls are attracted to lifeguards.

Mostly the job was pretty easy, except for Saturdays when we would typically get about 70 coach buses from New York City. Church and community groups were usually ok, but we’d also get groups from bars and social clubs. The men would often be drunk by the time they reached the park. One time I actually had to rescue a guy in ankle deep water. He passed out and fell face forward. I jumped of the stand (that’s the big chair where the lifeguards sit), walked down the beach to the water and asked his buddies, ”You guys mind if I turn him over? ” They all thought this was just hilarious—ha ha, he’s drowning– I pulled the poor guy up the beach so the tide wouldn’t get him.

Today, however, was a Sunday, usually a fairly easy day, in early July. I had the first shift—9 to 5—the one everyone hated because it meant getting up early after a big night of drinking or dating. Anyway, I was sitting on the stand with Bob, an older guard who only worked weekends. We weren’t paying any attention to the swimmers—there weren’t any. Bob and I were the only people for miles. That’s another thing I hate about the early shift—you have to sit on the stand and there’s no real reason to be there. At about 9:45 that all changed. An attractive young woman walked past, just to my left. She looked to be about my age (I was 21); not really tall, maybe 5 feet 4, with a decent body—not really big tits, but an adequate B-cup. She had short black hair and freckles on her face which was cute but not beautiful. She was wearing an aqua blue bikini which would be considered modest by today’s standards but was daring in 1965. On her way past us I said, “I’ll bet you feel pretty safe.”

“Huh?”

“Well,” I continued, “You’re the only person on the beach and you have two lifeguards to watch you.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m just going to put my feet in.”

“That’s ok, we’ll keep an eye on you, anyway. You never can tell! Maybe a giant wave will come in and sweep you away.”

She chuckled and walked down to the water which was as calm as glass. I knew she was interested when she stopped to talk on the way back. She said she was camping in a trailer with her family. The camping area is a great source of girls. The park is out in the sticks so there really aren’t that many local girls around, but with the camping area you could get a new supply every two to three weeks if necessary.
I was relieved by one of the 10 o’clock guys at around 10:15. People often ask why we don’t spend all day on the stand. After all, we’re just sitting there most of the time. That may be possible at a neighborhood beach where everyone can swim, but at a state park you never know what to expect and you always have to pay attention. Believe me, after an hour or so it’s nearly impossible to concentrate. That’s why we always tried to work 45 minutes on and 45 minutes off. When I climbed down I went over to talk to her. I introduced myself; she said she was Nancy. She was from a small town in Massachusetts, which I knew was the home town of one of my fraternity brothers. She actually knew him. She told me that her dad had been transferred and that they were camping until their house was ready. She was 19 and, to my surprise, she was a widow! She had gotten pregnant at 17 and married the father. It was a mess from the get-go and it only got worse when she miscarried. Shortly after, her husband crashed into a big pine at about 90, killing himself instantly. Nobody knew if it was an accident or suicide and I guess it didn’t really matter. He was dead and she was single again. She told me then that she had given up screwing. She wasn’t going to get into any more trouble.

Well… that was a big disappointment! But she was cute and seemed to be a fun girl as we continued our conversation. I asked her if she would like to come to our weekly softball game against the local kids. We always went to a bar for a victory party afterwards and had a lot of fun, although we almost always lost the game. The kids were about 14-17 and all they did was play ball—all day, every day.

We talked every time I was off duty through the day until she had to go. The day flew by– testimony to how well we got along. She showed up with her mom and sister about halfway through the game, which, of course, we lost badly. I think we won once in about four years of playing. It was fun and good exercise, but the victory party was better. We drank a few beers—ok, more than a few—and danced, and had a really great time. I asked her out for Tuesday evening. My dad was away Monday and Thursday nights working so I stayed home to keep my mom company on those nights. Sometimes my friends came over and we drank my parents’ beer and watched TV.

I was at work on Monday when she came to the beach. Nancy was the first person I ever saw with one of those straw mats. Everyone I knew always used a blanket or towel, or just sat on the beach. She set up her mat well beyond the edge of the crowd. I went over to her on my break and lay down next to her. She leaned in to kiss me, a long lingering effort with lots of tongue. I was really surprised when she put her hand right on my cock and started rubbing. I was wearing a tank suit—kind of like a Speedo only big enough to cover my ass.