I was 13 years old, and lucky enough to spend two weeks at Reeder Bay in July. There were lots of kids there, my age, younger, and older. One of them was Mary (not her real name, but it'll do), who was 16 years old and absolutely lovely.
At 13, I was emerging from the fog of childhood just in time to be thrust into the wilderness of puberty and desire ... and Mary, oh my. Mary. I've follwed Mary's life. Her parents divorced; she grew up, moved to Seattle, married, bore a child, divorced, took a lover at Priest Lake, left him, remained beautiful, suffered a mother's death ... But on that particular summer day, on that wide beach at Reeder Bay, Mary organized a game of tag in the water ... someone was "it" and had to tag someone else.
Mary was a superb swimmer --- she actually knew how to swim, how to make speed in the water. I was (and am) an unremarkable swimmer. Mary became "it" and searched around. I was near. She swam toward me, in waist deep water, in her blue and white bikini. Dear lord, I can still see her, slender, muscular; hips, curves, buxom, churning toward me. There was no hope of evading her with my swimming skills, and no desire to avoid her with my 13 year old mind awash in Desire.
I remember making a feeble attempt to evade her; felt her tag me. Then I leapt to tag her back --- although I could not swim well, I was young and strong and male and 13: I could leap. And I tagged her. Although she could outswim me, I probably was stronger. I tagged her, then bolted away. The water boiled, she swam after me. And tagged me. I leapt, and tagged her, leapt away. The water boiled as she swam after me and tagged me a third time. I leapt towards her, tagged her again ... touching her breast. I did not mean to. Could not take it back. Also, did not want to. I was 13, and powerful chemicals flooded me.
I was not familiar with their force of those things. There was a pause, the water settled. She looked at me, in a contemplative way. She swam away to find a less troublesome victim. In the evening I was on the beach again at Reeder Bay. She came walking down the beach, holding the hand of a ten year old boy. She was wearing warmer clothes, a grey sweatshirt which (to my eyes) did nothing at all to hide her beauty.
She wore sandals, short pants, which shouted to the world (I thought) the fact of her luxurious legs. She greeted the band of kids I was with, and then she continued strolling down the beach towards Elkins Resort, holding the hand of that boy. I would have liked to kill him, that I might substitute my hand for his, in hers.. Many years have passed.
Mary has had an interesting life, and I have had my own interesting life. I have married, I have a child, I have brought my family to Priest Lake many, many times. I have been to Priest Lake over a hundred times since that hot July day. Mary and I are not close. But Mary, as a young woman, gave me a day of magical desire, on the edge of becoming a man. I will remember that day when it is time for me to draw my last breath. I hope that my son will have a similar experience. He will be 13 in a three years.
Leofwyn Wolfssen
At 13, I was emerging from the fog of childhood just in time to be thrust into the wilderness of puberty and desire ... and Mary, oh my. Mary. I've follwed Mary's life. Her parents divorced; she grew up, moved to Seattle, married, bore a child, divorced, took a lover at Priest Lake, left him, remained beautiful, suffered a mother's death ... But on that particular summer day, on that wide beach at Reeder Bay, Mary organized a game of tag in the water ... someone was "it" and had to tag someone else.
Mary was a superb swimmer --- she actually knew how to swim, how to make speed in the water. I was (and am) an unremarkable swimmer. Mary became "it" and searched around. I was near. She swam toward me, in waist deep water, in her blue and white bikini. Dear lord, I can still see her, slender, muscular; hips, curves, buxom, churning toward me. There was no hope of evading her with my swimming skills, and no desire to avoid her with my 13 year old mind awash in Desire.
I remember making a feeble attempt to evade her; felt her tag me. Then I leapt to tag her back --- although I could not swim well, I was young and strong and male and 13: I could leap. And I tagged her. Although she could outswim me, I probably was stronger. I tagged her, then bolted away. The water boiled, she swam after me. And tagged me. I leapt, and tagged her, leapt away. The water boiled as she swam after me and tagged me a third time. I leapt towards her, tagged her again ... touching her breast. I did not mean to. Could not take it back. Also, did not want to. I was 13, and powerful chemicals flooded me.
I was not familiar with their force of those things. There was a pause, the water settled. She looked at me, in a contemplative way. She swam away to find a less troublesome victim. In the evening I was on the beach again at Reeder Bay. She came walking down the beach, holding the hand of a ten year old boy. She was wearing warmer clothes, a grey sweatshirt which (to my eyes) did nothing at all to hide her beauty.
She wore sandals, short pants, which shouted to the world (I thought) the fact of her luxurious legs. She greeted the band of kids I was with, and then she continued strolling down the beach towards Elkins Resort, holding the hand of that boy. I would have liked to kill him, that I might substitute my hand for his, in hers.. Many years have passed.
Mary has had an interesting life, and I have had my own interesting life. I have married, I have a child, I have brought my family to Priest Lake many, many times. I have been to Priest Lake over a hundred times since that hot July day. Mary and I are not close. But Mary, as a young woman, gave me a day of magical desire, on the edge of becoming a man. I will remember that day when it is time for me to draw my last breath. I hope that my son will have a similar experience. He will be 13 in a three years.
Leofwyn Wolfssen
