I spent two summers working at a camp in Bridgehampton. Stone-cold rich women would give us their children while they went to their tennis lessons. The first year I worked there the kids loved me. At any point in the day I could be found carrying two or three of them on my back, looking like an elephant at the circus. They loved me. I was big and hairy. I didn’t have to do much to get them laughing. All I had to do was make a noise and move around and they would start laughing hysterically. It was easy. They would use me as a fleshy jungle gym for the morning, then run home and tell their parents how wonderful I was. Intern, they would tip me generously on the last day of camp.
The second year working at the camp did not go as smoothly. I yelled a lot and made children cry. I was tired all the time. I got in the habit of sneaking off, taking long naps in the bathroom. One day I got caught in the bathroom by one of the older campers. The kid didn’t recognize me.
      “Help! Help!” he yelled. “There’s a homeless man in the bathroom.”
I stumbled out and found my boss, told him I was sick and needed to go home early. He told me I had scared one of our campers badly; that I should have just asked to go home in the first place---instead of sleeping in the bathroom. I apologized a second time, then left.
Before going home I went to the ocean. I didn’t want to go home early and explain to people that I could no longer hack it at a job that was normally occupied by lazy teenage girls.
So I lounged at the beach…and it was torture. Rich women were easier to deal with when they were wearing polo shirts and heading off to play tennis. It was easier to disregard them as stiff, nerdy, sexless things. At the beach though, they were practically naked. You could tell there was a pussy in between those long legs. It wasn’t covered by much. You could see it pulsate steadily, like the brain of a monster. I swear it thumped---a secret whorish little drum beat. It wasn’t just the heat. I could hear it. I could hear it. Yes, the beach was torture. I sat and I stared, feeling heavy, perverted and tired. If only they responded to me the way their children had. If only they would crawl on me, then I could yell at them and make them cry. It would be heaven. Instead I just sat there feeling like I was at a fucking strip club, only I couldn’t get a lap dance for twenty bucks. Again, it was torture.
I got home at twelve thirty, like I normally did. There was a note for me on the kitchen counter. It was from my girlfriend, Alyssa, telling me to find her in the basement. She said if I didn’t then she was going to move back with her mother in New York. I cried a little. I punched the refrigerator…
      “You whore!” I yelled. “You are fucking relentless!”
When I cried, I whaled, like some forest creature protecting its young. I was destroyed. Mush. Strange thing was that my dick was still hard. Ever since the beach it had been there, as persistent as the sunset, as war, as the holidays.
Once I pulled myself together I went down stares to hunt her down. I would put it in her. Then I would tell her how hurtful she had been. I would tell her that she was evil for being so insensitive, for constantly cheating on me and leaving me when I was trying to grieve my mother, who only died a month earlier….
I eventually found her in the storage room. There wasn’t much being stored there, just a couch, a bed and a picture of some cows grazing with the sunset behind them. It looked more like a normal room, only it was dusty and felt dead. Alyssa was on the bed lying on her stomach with legs together and her arms against her side. She had a thick Greek body and greasy black hair. Her eyes were big, paranoid, sultry.
      “I want you to do what you want to me,” she said. “I’m just going to lie here like this and you are going to do what you want to me.”
      “I can do anything?”
I took off my pants and approached her. I put my cock in her mouth. I put it deep in there. She didn’t gag. Alyssa was not the type of woman who would gag. I kept it in there. Her saliva dripped down my balls and then down my legs. She stuck her butt up a little. She wanted me to go there next. So I slobbered on it, licked it good and thorough, then I stabbed it in there. It hurt her. She groaned awkwardly and bit down on the sheets.
      “I should stop,” I said.
      “No,” she said. “Don’t.”
      “I want to stop.”
      “Its boring,” I said.
      “Don’t you want to tell your friends that you came in my ass hole?”
      “I could do that anyway,” I told her.
      “Come on!” she begged.
I started pumping faster. She screamed at first and then bit down on the sheets again. Finally I came two hard shots in her and then I collapsed, burying my face in her dirty hair. I kept my dick in her ass hole while it slowly deflated.
      “How was work?” she asked.
I laughed a little.
      “I can’t believe my boyfriend is a fucking professional camp councilor.”
      “I know,” I said. “It’s torture.”
There were crickets in the basement. We could hear a few and I saw one sneak across the room. It was very aware of death. It knew that we could climb off each other and kill him at any moment.

By Justin Grimbol

Justin Grimbol is from Long Island, where he works running a child care program. Even though he looks like a dump truck and even though his writing is massively perverted, they trust him. He is very likeable.