Rolling Over
by Don Drewniak
Suggested:
Read The Rolling Nickel and The
Rolling Eye
before reading the following story.
Passing the
swimming test was no sweat. Charlie delivered on
his promise to get me to be one of the kids
eligible to use the canoes. Johnny organized a
group of six of us to go on The Great Girl Scout
Hunt. To quote the real King of Rock and Roll,
Chuck Berry, “My curiosity runnin’ wild.”
We embarked on the second Monday. The camp,
according to Johnny, was a hundred yards or so
downstream and hidden away in a small cove. That
made it impossible to be seen from our Camp
Noquochoke, even with field glasses. Johnny had a
Walkie-Talkie to use in case of an emergency. He
told his dad that we were going to explore the
other shore. It was the truth (as limited as it
was) and, after all, exploring was what Boy
Scouts did.
Life vests on, paddles in hand, we headed out one
to a canoe. Per Johnny’s plan, we headed
directly across the river and pulled the canoes
onto a small patch of sand. Moving inland, we
headed toward our target. I had to pull two ticks
off my arms.
Johnny stopped us after we covered about a
hundred yards. “You guys wait here and don’t
make any noise. I’ll scout and make contact
with one of the girls. Then she can bring five
others out to meet us.
Great, we’ve got five million ticks
waiting to dig into our bodies and drain out all
our blood.
Johnny slowly disappeared out of sight. We waited.
We waited some more. And yet some more. It began
to rain ticks.
I joined the Boy Scouts for this?
Then came the sound of a female voice, but it
didn’t sound like a girl. It was an adult
female voice.
“You (fill in the expletives of your choice)
pervert!”
Another female voice added, “You (fill in a
bunch of expletives) bastard.
We turned and bolted as fast as we could.
Breaking into the clear, we scrambled to the
canoes, pushed them into the water and paddled
the hell out of ourselves. Johnny made it to his
canoe when we were halfway across the river. The
other Star Scout was now in charge and decided
that we should paddle upstream so as to not
connect ourselves to the Boy Scouts. As we turned,
Johnny headed in our direction.
Once we were out of view of our tick-infested
landing site, we slowed to let Johnny catch up to
us. We could see a trickle of blood coming from
above his left eye.
“What happened?”
“One of them clipped me with a rock.”
“Who were
they?”
“Two
women who were sun bathing — nude!”
“What!”
“Geez!”
“No!”
“What!”
“No shit!”
“I’ll tell you everything when we get
back,” promised Johnny.
The following is a summary of what I think I
remember of what Johnny told us.
“I made it to a beach area where the camp
was supposed to be. I couldn’t see any
buildings or tents or hear any voices. Then
something caught my eye from the middle of the
beach. Even from a distance I could see it was
two women and they were naked head to foot.”
Envious sounds from what was a captive audience
of five filled the air.
“I backed up and worked my way toward the
shore being careful to keep out of sight. When I
got close to the shore, I crawled as slowly as I
could toward them using bushes for cover.”
“What’d they look like?”
“Grown-ups, but pretty young. Thin bodies.
Both were face down on a blanket.”
“You see everything.”
“You bet!
“We heard
them screaming at you.”
“They had rocks holding down the blanket.
They rolled over and grabbed the rocks, bounced
up and came at me. I was slow getting up and the
second rock got me. That’s when I took off.”
He was deluged with questions all relating to
their anatomical parts. I learned a lot. It was a
good day.
Three weeks after returning from camp, I quit the
Scouts. I figured nothing could top The Great
Girl Scout Hunt.
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