Nick Scipio
Kinky Confessions
Summer Camp Swingers: Christy Series Book 4
CONTENTS
Preface
Introduction
Book 4
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Best Laid Plans
Author’s Note
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
More Summer Camp Swingers
Also by Nick Scipio
PREFACE
Hello and welcome to Camp! If you’ve been here before, let’s talk about some changes.
First, the book titles. They’re new. Duh. But why? For starters, they’re more descriptive now. The old Volume X titles didn’t tell you a thing about the books, other than their order in the series.
The new titles are mostly for new readers. If you’re a fan from before, you probably don’t care what the books are called. But new readers don’t know me or my stories, and titles are an important part of the sales pitch.
Next, the series and universe, Summer Camp Swingers. Why the change?
Amazon. Specifically, their search and recommendation algorithms. I don’t want my books to appear beside ones about regular summer camps. Adding Swingers should make it clear that mine are for grown-ups.
Okay, that’s enough about the changes. If you’re new to Camp, let me tell you how this all began.
Back in the summer of 2002, I had a story growing in my imagination. It started as a simple fantasy that sprang from events in my real life.
My family vacationed at a nudist camp in the seventies and early eighties.
My parents were swingers at the time, although I didn’t figure it out until much later. And when I was a teenager, I knew a woman who was similar to Susan. As an adult, I always wondered what would’ve happened if she’d been more like the woman in my imagination.
So this “what if…?” story was growing in my head, and I kept remembering things and adding new details. It quickly became too much to keep track of, so I decided to write it down. I finished the first few chapters
and posted them online. People liked them, so I kept writing.
In the process, my coming-of-age story evolved into something far bigger than I’d ever imagined. I added an overall plot: Who died? Who’s the wife?
Then I sketched out the people and events in several more stories. Other writers wanted to play in my world, so I created the universe, Summer Camp Swingers. My own stories grew into books, and the books became series—
five of them, as it turned out.
So, where are we now, with this book? Christy is the fifth and final series in the main Summer Camp Swingers saga. You don’t need to read the first four series to enjoy this one, but they add a lot of background for the people and events here. If you’re interested, the earlier series are available on my website.
Whew! That was a lot of introduction. Yeah, sorry. I’ve been writing Summer Camp Swingers since that fateful day back in 2002, so we’re talking about 30 books, nearly 2.5 million words. In any event, I’m sure you’re ready to start reading. You bought the book, after all, so let’s get to it!
Nick Scipio
August 1, 2020
INTRODUCTION
Summer Camp Swingers has always been a serial, published a chapter at a time. So the books in this series don’t begin and end like normal ones do.
They’re meant to be read as a complete story, one after the other. When you reach the end of this book, pick up the next one and keep going.
And when you get to the end of the series, the Epilogue will wrap up the whole saga and answer the two big questions from the very beginning—
who’s the wife and who died?
Book 4
Chapter 19
Life returned to routine on Monday, and on Tuesday I met with Professor Joska to get his approval on my design proposal.
“Didn’t Miss Carmichael live in Japan?” he asked as he leafed through my drawings.
“Yes, sir. And our neighbor was born there. She has pictures from before the war, so I have plenty of primary source material to base my designs on.”
“Mmm, just so,” he agreed. He quizzed me about some of my decisions, and we discussed them for several minutes. Finally he said, “Your work lately shows a new level of creativity and attention to detail. Is that Miss Carmichael’s doing?”
“Yes and no,” I said after a moment. “She gives me a different artistic perspective, so I’m more creative as a result. The attention to detail is all mine.”
He gazed at me calmly and waited for an explanation.
“I’ve done a lot of growing up lately. In many ways I’m more confident, although I know I still have a lot to learn. So I pay attention to what I’m doing, and especially to what you’re teaching.” I smiled at a thought.
“Sometimes I even talk like you.”
“Oh?”
“I gave a flying lesson recently and stole one of your lines: ‘Flying is a serious business for serious people.’”
“I imagine it is.”
“It is. And if you screw up or forget something, it could cost you.
Architecture is like that. In the worst case you have the Hyatt Regency. But
even if no one dies, failures like Tacoma Narrows or the John Hancock Tower cost a lot of money.”
He nodded judiciously. “Those were failures of engineering more than design.”
“Maybe,” I argued, “but bad design is difficult to engineer safely.
Besides, we aren’t Apollodorus or Brunelleschi, where the architect is also the builder.”
“How so?”
“We work in a multidisciplinary field, Professor.” I realized that I was talking to a man who had more years of real-world experience than I’d been alive, but I still felt the need to explain. “We need civil and structural engineers, mechanical and electrical, landscape and lighting, interior designers and even artists. Our buildings are more than just designs. They’re complex systems, and every detail is important.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” he said at last, “you have grown up.” Then he gave me a piercing look. “Your proposal is accepted, but you must still work hard if you wish to succeed with it.”
I grinned. “Hard work never bothered me. I’d’ve quit long before now if it did.”
“Very well,” he agreed. “I must also work hard. And I have other students besides you, Mr. Hughes. Please send in the next one. Good day.”
“Good day, Professor.” I gathered my things and could’ve sworn the old tyrant was smiling at my back as I left.
Later that afternoon, Glen surprised me at the end of judo practice.
“I been thinkin’,” he said in his usual laconic way. “’Bout joinin’ the Army.”
I stared at him. “For real?”
“Yeah.”
“When? After you graduate?”
He shook his head. “Thursday.”
“Hold on… this Thursday?”
He nodded.
“What about school?”
“Droppin’ out. Before I flunk out.”
“What’s T.J. think?”
“Dunno. Haven’t told him.”
“Why not? I thought he was your best friend.”
“Maybe he used to be…” He shrugged. “He’s busy with the fraternity.”
“What about you? Aren’t you busy with them too?”
“Don’t really like most of them guys.”
I felt my brow wrinkle in surprise.
“Too many ‘Old South’ types.”
“I think I understand.”
“Thought you would.”
Kappa Alpha was semi-notorious on campus. The Pikes were the rich pricks, the Fijis were the party animals, and the ΚΑs were the old-school racists. They didn’t wear sheets or burn crosses, but they were entirely too nostalgic about the Confederacy and its traditions. Not all ΚΑs—the same as there were nice Pikes and serious Fijis—but too many.