Harry the British Camp Counselor: The reason I went to Israel

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 I pulled my lips away from Harry’s and asked in my raspy morning voice “why won’t you have sex with me?” I wasn’t typically so blunt but it was the moment of truth. I had a flight to Israel in a few hours and I needed to decide whether to go or not. I hadn’t given it much thought because I’d been wrapped up in my mission to fuck Harry. I didn’t want to leave New York before completing it. “You know I’ve been trying, right?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know.” I loved his British accent. “I just feel like I could be any guy. And I don’t need to have sex.”

I hadn’t exactly proven that he was special. At our camp councilor party a few days prior, I’d flirted with his ginger friend, Joe, right in front of Harry. And Harry knew that I’d given Joe head at camp. 

The night after camp ended, all of the councilors went out in Manhattan. My tolerance had gone down while working at camp and so I was annebriated. I had the genius idea to flirt with Harry by dry humping our virgin friend, Matt, who apparently had a girlfriend. Matt was a 20 year old toe-headed South African. My ingenious flirtation technique didn’t work on Hot Harry. Shock.

“So, should I go to Israel today?” I asked Harry.
“Well Israel wouldn’t be my first choice of places. But it’s free. That’s your decision to make.”
It was free because I was going on a birthright trip. The purpose was to encourage Jews to go to Israel. And I am technically Jewish, although probably the worst Jew ever. I was supposed to go on the trip with my best friend from middle school, Dayna. But she was offered a teaching fellowship in Colorado and had to back out. And apparently it was a dangerous time in Israel. I was told by a bunch of people not to go because of the fighting in Syria. I was planning on rescheduling in order to go with Dayna in the future. But after the summer ended and I was no longer a camp counselor, I realized that I should get a job. And when I didn’t want to do that, I called up birthright to confirm my original trip time, which was in a few hours.

I didn’t know if I’d make it to the airport at this point. I was running pretty late. I shoved whatever clothes and things that I could find in my mom’s apartment into what I think was a bag for paragliding. It was a big, red, plasticky “The North Face” duffel / backpack.FullSizeRender (1) It was huge and I filled it about 1/4 of the way with my leather romper that I’d worn the night before, some skirts, some crop tops, a sweater that wasn’t mine but that I think one of my British camp councilor friends had left in my mom’s apartment when she slept over, a hair brush, a toothbrush and toothpaste, my pair of Nike spandex (my favorite item of clothing which I wore under skirts so I could climb things), a pair of Vans, a few pairs of heels, and a pair of denim cutoffs. I figured that I might as well try and make the flight. If I didn’t, I’d just go traveling America with my British counselor friends.

I’d done everything that I could think of to try have sex with Harry. I still thought that any second he call me back into bed. But he didn’t. So I walked out the door with my big, stupid, red bag and headed to J.F.K.

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