The Camp Nurse, part 2

The Camp Nurse Chapter 2. The Hike

by Nightshade

[The continuing adventures of Chris Mattson, RN at an all-girls cheerleading camp high up in the mountains out west. Only Chris is a male. Let the fun continue…]

As was my practice, I got up at first light. That’s just the way my body clock works. I don’t care if I’ve only had 15 minutes of sleep, I’m up at first light.

Normally I do my exercise nude in my room. But with all the fresh mountain air up here, I decided to go outside this morning. I slipped on a pair shorts and sandals and wandered around the compound until I found a peaceful clearing overlooking the lake. My routine consists of my own style of the Chinese Tai Chi movements. I had adapted them from movements I had picked up in the SEAL martial arts training. I used the exercises as a focusing aid to meditation, preparing me mentally for each new day. After the movements become so natural and fluid that I don’t have to think about them anymore, I can slip into a really relaxing state of meditation. With all the beautiful scenery around, I really got into the meditation that morning.

So when I tell you this next part, you’ll have to understand that I really wasn’t aware that all of this was going on all around me, right in plain view. Janet, the camp administrator, filled me in later that morning.

Anyway, there I was, doing my routine in my shorts and bare feet. My body glistened with sweat in the first strong rays of the sun, little wisps of steam writhing up from my heated back in the cool mountain air, the light playing off my rippling muscles as I moved cat-like through the slow graceful step of my routine. As would be expected in a group of 100 or more people, some of the girls were early risers, too. Apparently, one of those early risers spied me from her window and quickly woke the others in her room and on her floor. The girls, ranging from 14-18, as well as the slightly older staffers, slowly trickled out into the woods surrounding the clearing I was, in wearing whatever they had on, which in some cases, was nothing. Believe me, I’m really sorry I missed that, but I was totally focused inward, meditating.

Soft, lithe fingers began rubbing and fondling moist cracks and perky nipples and sensitive clits. Sometimes the fingers belonged to the body being fondled, sometimes they belonged to the person next to them. But there was no pussy left un-petted, no clit left un-rubbed, no nipples left un-squeezed. According to reports, there were as many as 20-50 girls and staffers gathered around my clearing. A good-sized orgy, if that’s what you call 50 cunts and only one cock to go around. One girl actually humped a tree, letting a low-level branch slip between her cunt lips and rub along her sensitive swollen inner labia. She gave a new definition to the term ‘tree-hugger.’

The moaning and groaning of all those wanton teenagers did not affect me consciously, but subconsciously my ears and brain picked up on those erotic sounds and directed them to the organ most usually affected by them. You guessed it. My cock-a-doodle-do did. Being in its usual head down position and unencumbered by jockey shorts or jock strap – which I never wore, anyway – my prick began to lengthen and swell. Understand, this is not an unusual occurrence when I do my exercises. The feelings I get from a good work out are almost the same as I get from great sex. (I said ‘almost’, OK?) So a stiff prick didn’t register to my meditating brain.

However, my stiffening wang did register in the brains of the watching girls. While several of them had sampled it the night before, it had been dark in my room and, fortunately or unfortunately – you pick – things can seem smaller in the dark. Those who had swallowed my prick and then impaled themselves on it were amazed at its size. Those who had heard about the visits to my room stared in disbelief, envy and lust. The staffers, who I assumed knew more about pricks than the young campers, just got plain horny and vowed to get my sausage between their legs if it was the last thing they did.

It didn’t help matters any when I started stroking my meat, slowing bringing it to its full potential and right out in the open. Hey, it feels good! And I really wasn’t aware of the audience. I’m really kind of a shy guy. Honest! I don’t like to get it on in public. But during part of my routine I focus on just my stomach and back so my hands don’t have anything to do. They just kind of did what came naturally, and began working on my cock.

Now this is something that seemed odd to me when Janet told me all of this. (By the way, she was getting hotter and hotter during our meeting. I noticed she wasn’t wearing that bra-thingy she had on the day before and that her large engorged hard pink nipples were clearly poking through the tight thin cotton T-shirt she had on this morning. I wondered if her tits were sore from last night….) Janet seemed amazed that I could keep stroking as long as I did and not blast off. I told her I had always been what you would call a ‘late bloomer’ or something. I can get hard and stay hard for almost two hours before coming. For a long time I thought all guys were like that. But I had always asked myself two questions.

The more you stroke it, the better it feels, right? If so, then why blow it so soon if it feels so good?

Janet got outright agitated when I told her how long it takes me to come, and I almost thought she was going to ask me to prove it. Right there on her desk. With her. But she didn’t. Her assistant, who was beginning to really annoy me, came in and interrupted the meeting at that point.

The first wake up bell at 5:30 had roused most of the campers and staff from their erotic pastimes, and so, by the time I had finished at 5:45, most of them had left. I smiled shyly at the couple of campers still remaining, slipped on my sandals and went back to take a shower in my room. I had no idea the spectacle I had put on until I got hauled into Janet’s office right after breakfast. Which is where I learned what I just told you.

The bottom line she tried to force on me was that I was to be confined to the dispensary or the dining hall or the training room for the self-defense classes.