Bobbed hair & bathing suits

Iola held on to the splintery wooden oar and to her now painfully frozen smile as if they were the only real things in her world. She felt almost eerily detached from everything happening around her: the gently lapping water in the little lake and the slight rocking of the canoe; the photographer, a mysterious older man standing in a few inches of water working with his tripod and camera equipment; his assistant, a younger man, large and blonde and shirtless, only a few inches from her own nearly naked body, holding on to her end of the canoe for the shot; Nadia posing in the other end of the canoe, oblivious to Iola’s misery as she gave the photographer her sauciest look…

camp climax for girls

The bobbed hair, the camp for girls, the horseback riding, the racy bathing costumes … it had all seemed like such a good idea only two short days ago. The wedding wasn’t until December, so her hair would grow back in some by then, and any traces of sun and memories of fun would be fading quickly to ghosts, and she’d be ready to walk down that aisle, at the end of which she would magically no longer be Iola, but Mrs. Claude Carpenter, wife and household manager and soon, hopefully, mother…

The photographer’s assistant shifted a little and his nearness, his sweaty, salty smell, broke Iola’s reverie with a jolt.

It should be Nadia in this end of the canoe, not me, she thought almost wildly, her heart pounding and her head spinning a little. Too much sun… it’s just too much sun, and I didn’t eat breakfast… Claude doesn’t smell like that …

The guillotine dropped, the shutter snapped, the moment passed, the world stopped spinning, and my grandmother was a blushing December bride.

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