Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/canvas-hell/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
I dozed at times, and woke surly, cramped and tired, a state simply ignored by my tent-mates. Saturday. Great. Chores. Yeah, like I was in the mood for THAT!
***** Canvas Hell 21: Two Types of Love
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery; love versus lust
Jim chirped away in that bird voice and Karl grunted amiably when it seemed appropriately as we ambled down to the Hygiene Hut. I tripped over that goddamned tent support and went face-first into a patch of gritty dirt; Jim and Karl very, very carefully 'didn't notice'.
My day got much better when I was lathered up and the water went from lukewarm to COLD. I squealed along with four other boys who had just started getting wet. Karl and Jim had finished moments before; Jim hadn't even made it out the door to the towels. They just stood there, barely not laughing. The four others could stand back and either wait for the warm water to come back or just skip it for the day. I on the other hand...
I looked down at the mass of suds coating my body and knew just how horrifically-itchy I'd be all fucking day. I jumped into the stream of icy water and started spewing a string of obscenities, some of which I actually made up I was so pissed off. Just -- JUST -- as I got the last soap out of my ass-crack, the fucking warm water came back. I looked down at what used to be my dick and balls that now appeared to be a pencil stub and a pair of shrivelled dates. I grumped out into the larger room and snatched a handful of the towels and began to work some feeling back into my limbs.
We got the Mess Hall to another delightful surprise. They'd run out of cereal the previous day after we left and wouldn't have more until Chef came back on Monday. And the fruit wasn't much better. The only things left were some hard, tart grapes and a bunch of pears. I fucking HATE pears. I turned back to the chow line and just shuddered at the rock-hard biscuits, grey-vee, powdered eggs and grease-dripping little sausage links. I grabbed two pears and walked over to where George was standing, speaking with the Major.
He saw my approach and shook his head, "Sorry, sport. The coffee urn broke and were still looking for the old percolator. You want some hot cocoa?" I stared for a long while, shook myself and mumbled thanks. Over to the counter where the Swiss Miss packets sat next to the machine that made lukewarm water. I got to the table and was initially pleased that Karl and Jim were in the same pear-purgatory until they started talking about how much they love pears. I ate one and half the other than excused myself.
I had made it to the door when my grace and athleticism again revealed themselves. I caught my sleeve on the door latch, turned and went down on my ass right in front of a group of guys my age or a year younger, all of whom hooted with laughter. In full nuclear blush, I brushed myself off and made a beeline for the central campfire where the Policing crew would eventually gather.
I stewed as I sat there, dwelling on the inherent injustice of camp. To hell with camp, it was the evil nature of entire frigging universe! When a member of the crew from the Centipede Monster from Hell team clapped me on the back and gave me a cheery, "Good morning, Patrick! How is your day going?" I think I might, um, well, might have growled a little. He gave me A Look, muttered, "Who peed in your corn flakes?" and moved off. The words 'corn flakes' made my stomach erupt in a rumble. Yeah, that helped.
Sea arrived with a few Leaders. Because of the post-storm clean-up, this would be the first actual Policing day. "Okay, gentlemen, this is how Policing works at Camp Sinnemahoning. We break up into teams of two. I or one of the Leaders will task you with an area, usually a cabin and its environs. You and your partner scour the area -- the cabin or tent or building, the fire pit, steps, pallets, everything -- and find things that need fixing.
"Take your time. There WILL be repairs required nearly every area. I will personally check each area when you say you're done. If I find anything, you will not like the result. If I find things and you told the Leader that there was nothing to find, you will be on Policing duty the rest of the DAY. Do I make myself clear?" There was mumbled assent.
"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" Some birds erupted from nearby trees as the assembled boys jumped a foot and sang a chorus in the key of "Yessir!"
"When you find a problem, you will yell out in your best imitation of my voice as you just heard it. You will holler one of three things: 'Repair Canvas'; 'Repair Wood'; 'Repair Stone'! Loud and clear. Some will come to you with the appropriate tools and materials and guidance on how to fix the problem. You fix it then keep checking until the area is tight.
"The most common thing I'll hear over the next three hours is 'Repair Canvas!' You will find places where a seam it unravelled or torn, often between canvas and netting or at a point where fabric us under stress, like corners. Because of that, I want to show you what you'll need to do."
He pulled out a couple pieces of canvas and a thing that looked like a needle Jessica Lange might have uses to sew a loincloth for King Kong. It was as long as my hand. He slipped a little leather thing over one thumb and held the needle with the other, threading some sort of thick fibre through the eye, making it look easy. He then pushed hard through the two layers of fabric. You could see his arms clench. If it was this hard for Sea, how the hell were we supposed to do that?!?
He slowly rammed the needle through, then around and back through again. He explained the process as he worked, but it was basically normal mending stitches. No different than when I had to sew up a seam on my shirt or jeans. I noticed that there were only a couple guys who looked equally familiar with the process and it dawned on me; hardly any of these kids lived in a home where Mom didn't do that kind of thing for them. Well doesn't that thought just put the icing on my morning.
I got teamed with a kid my age named Jack who seemed about as thrilled as I was. We got assigned Cabin 2. We found several split seams right like Sea had said, where canvas met the mesh. It took us a couple tries to figure out a way that worked. Jack would stay inside and I'd stay out and we'd take turns punching the needle through the thick, rough material. It damned well HURT. We'd been at it over an hour when we found a six-inch tear where the roll-up canvas 'window' attached, so it could be rolled down as it had been for the storm and the cooler nights. That meant FIVE layers, the folded-over hem at the top of the flap, plus the canvas and the mesh.
It also means that I had to be on a ladder. Jack dragged over a bunkbed but that wasn't an option on the outside. We were basically two stitches from the end when the inevitable happened. Being the dextrous and coordinated klutz that I am, I let the butt of the needle slip off the leather thumb-guard and it dug straight into the inner heel of my hand.
"FUCK!" Oops.
"Excuse me, Mr Kennedy. Why did you yell and more importantly why are you using language like that?" Sea's deep and powerful voice was right fucking behind me.
I turned to him, hand in my mouth, "thndllipped!" I wrenched my screaming hand out of my mouth just long enough to say "The needle slipped!"
Jack peeked through the mesh. "We're sewing this really hard tear, sir. It's tough to get the needle through all the layers and it slipped. I think it went deep in his hand, sir. I'm sure he didn't mean to yell, um, that."
I nod frantically, and can feel tears of pain prickle the corner of my eyes. Sea sighs deeply.
"Come on down here, son." I alit from my perch with my effervescent grace (landing on my ass) and he basically pried my hand away from my mouth to check it. I was afraid to even look, but glanced down. There was a bright red but shallow gash ending in a deep puncture.
"Okay, you get a pass this time, Red. But if I hear that word from you again, your hand is going to be the thing that hurts least. Am I clear?" My hand already back in my mouth I nod. "Do you know where George's office is? Of course you do, after the other the bully incident and then the storm." So he even knows about the meltdown? Greaaaaat.
"Head there now and I'll finish up with Mr Maglio here. Go, and quick; you're not doing yourself any favour getting your mouth germs in there."
I ran off to the Hygiene Hut in what was just shy of a red rage and got there as another kid, perhaps 13, limped out with a bandaged ankle. Another was sitting on the bench drinking a large container of something that looked (and from the grimace, tasted) vile. George called me in and looked closely.
"Good news bad news, Red. You'll be fine, no permanent damage done. That's the good news. The bad news is that what I'm about to do will hurt like hell." I stared at him, mad, in pain and completely mutinous. "Now, the walls are thick and I'm temporarily deaf to any, um, language you might feel impelled to use. Yep, I mean it's gonna hurt that bad, and you're gonna holler and cuss. Sorry, but I always feel it's best to warn a guy."
With that, he took a long implement that he used to clean and sterilise the puncture. He was right. It hurt like nothing else had that I could remember. I'd heard a pair of teachers at school talking about a book called The Primal Scream, supposedly about a way to let off stress and turmoil or something. It did sort of work. I poured all the confusion and humiliation and physical crap today into that howl of pain. If I'd had Karl's muscles, there would have been even odds that I'd have decked George. It lasted about seven hours (seconds) and a new type of fiery pain bloomed as he cleaned the light gash before applying a small bandage.
He then did something that I will remember forever, with both shame and gratitude. He stood up and pulled me into a fierce hug, telling me how good I'd done. He rocked me and spoke softly until I had some of my composure back, then wiped my face and handing me something to blow my nose before ushering me out. No other new patients were waiting, and he gently scolded the kid with the vile drink to finish it.
I was shaky from the pain, and from the scream, and from the turmoil going on inside me. Dr Eaglas came out and said, "Would you two gentlemen please turn around for a minute?" My eyes darted to the door and it dawned on me that he had a boy like me or Jim or Karl in there who was probably dying of shame to be seen. I turned and glared at the other kid until he turned away as well. I felt more than heard someone scurry around the other end of the Hygiene Hut.
"You okay, Patrick?" His voice was gentle and kind.
I turned and looked at him for a full minute before saying, "No. No, I'm not." My voice was shaking and weak. "Can I, uh, c-come in?" He held the door for me and sat down on one of the chairs. I sat on the couch, facing him.
"Do you want to lie back, Patrick?"
"No, sir, I'd rather face you when I talk about this. I'm not even sure why I can. I hurt my hand and... I don't know. I need to talk." Dr Eaglas just nodded and I could feel how much he truly cared about all of the boys.
"I, I, I..." I gulped a few times and fought back the tears that threatened to steal my voice. "I told you that, that I w-wanted to kiss Karl. And about kissing them b-both. And how I felt all sc-screwed up." He just nodded slowly. I focused tightly on his face now, careful to look for any clue on what I was about to say. "I th-think I love them, like, uh, really l-l-love them?" He just nodded, encouragingly.
And I... lost it. "I s-s-say TH-THAT and you just N-N-N-NOD?!? I-I-I." I was shouting. "Y-You don't KNOW. I'm SICK! FUCK! Something is WRONG with me! I'm WRONG! I'm, I'm... ST-T-T-STOP NODDING!"
His voice was precisely as it always was, calm and deep and apparently not the least ruffled. "Patrick, sit back down, please." I hadn't even realised I'd stood up. "First off, you are far from the first man to scream and yell in my office. I am not impressed by yelling, but I know sometimes it's necessary. And I am utterly immune to 'fucking' cuss words, so don't bother inserting them -- or editing them out for that matter.
"Good. Now that you're breathing again, let's hit the high points. Everybody has things 'wrong with them', son. That's not what matters. What matters is knowing the difference between something 'wrong' that is harmful, something 'wrong' that is harmless, and something 'wrong' that is actually 'right' but you keep denying it.
"I believe the thing that has you all worked up is the idea that you think you might love someone who is not a woman." I nod, still staring at his eyes. There is nothing there but compassion, and in some strange way that hurts as much as anything else.
"There is relatively good science out there to suggest that a lot of men, somewhere between four and eight percent, are attracted more to men than women. Ignoring that, over a quarter admit -- admit -- to falling in love with a male friend in their youth before going on to marry and have kids."
I just stare at him, at a complete loss.
"Patrick, did you wonder why I didn't react to your 'stunning announcement'?" I just nod, still drained and lost. "My older brother is one of that four-to-eight percent. He went to a man of my own profession who claimed to be able to 'cure' his 'disease'. This was, oh, twelve years ago or so? I actually became a psychologist because of it.
"Darren came very close to killing himself several times after that 'treatment'. When my parents finally relented and he found someone to love -- a man to love, son -- he turned back into the wonderful big brother that I adore. He's been happy since then, and I see him often. He is a great uncle for my kids, and a genuinely good person.
"No, Patrick, most people don't think that way. Most think it's wrong. Even my own profession calls it a disease, now changing the word to 'disorder'. But something to be fought and fixed. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've seen that thinking destroy of wonderful people. I can't help but think that things that bring more love into the world must be good. Patrick, do you understand what I'm saying?"
I sit for a while. His face... his face had never shown anything but openness and truth. His voice was simple and laced with the fact that he believed what he said. But did I? I took a minute to process while Dr Eaglas just looked at me. "I, uh, I think so. B-But I still have questions."
He smiled then. "Ask them. I probably can't answer them and I'm betting no one can, but I'll try to point you in the direction where you can find the answers yourself."
"I-I..." I swallowed convulsively and decided to throw everything to the wind and just ask. "I w-want to be around Jim. To reach out and to be next to him, to k-kiss him. I can't stop thinking about him. B-But when I'm around K-Karl," I close my eyes for a moment, struggling with words, "I want to, I don't know, grab him and..."
Dr Eaglas actually chuckled at that. I was initially furious until I saw his soft and gentle eyes. "You, Mr Kennedy, have the unenviable luck to face something at 17 that most men don't have to deal with until much later in life. You have crashed headlong into the difference between love and lust. Actually, that's not really right. Between the need to give and the need to take. You know, I can't even put it into words. How odd! One is the kind of love that wants to treasure someone, opposed to an equally-strong, passionate love that wants to have sex with someone. Does that sound right?"
I slowly nodded. "Yes. I want to, I dunno, be 'with' Jim. Like, all the time. But when I watch Karl, I... I want... I don't know what I want. It's like Jim is oxygen, essential, and Karl is like food, a hunger. What do I DO?"
"And we get to the question that I can't answer. Patrick, you may well go on to have a big family with a wonderful wife and a half-dozen kids. So might Jim. So might Karl. But right now, you are... free in a way you won't be. Find out -- no, son, I don't know how -- what they think, what they want. No one else, Patrick, can answer your questions, only you and the two men you bunk with."
I sat and watched his face. I'd drained my soul over the last quarter hour. I stood and Dr Eaglas just watched. "Thank you, sir. Th-That helped. It did. I don't know why, but it did. Is it, is it okay that I, uh..."
"Yes, Patrick. I think you should 'UH' all the way to your tent," His voice gentled, "and please let me know how it works out. You three are... a special treasure. I've worked with Camp Sinnemahoning for eleven years, Patrick, and I think, I think of all the men I've worked with, you three are some of the most, well, the most..." He sniffed and looked away. "Go on. Head back, Patrick. And, well, come see me next week?"
I headed back to Tent Canvas Hell. Jim had just arrived. I tugged him into the tent and closed the pulled the tent flaps and simply grabbed him into a fierce hug. After a minutes or so he pushed me away and I stuttered, "Y-Y-Y-You d-don't w-want me t-to-...?"
"No, Patrick, I 'want you to', but I also need to breathe occasionally." He smiled at me and launched into his own hug.
I wrapped my own frame around his smaller body and whispered in a voice no one could hear, "I love you, Jim."
His head popped up and stared me in the eyes, worried and scared. "Do you, Patrick? Do you?" I hesitate and then take the plunge and nod. He clamps me into a brutal hug and mumbles into my shirt, "I have wanted to hear that since I met you, Patrick. Please, please, please mean it. I'd die, Patrick, if it ever stops being true. I love you so, so, so much." I feel more than hear his sobs and clutch him closer, enveloping him in a Patrick-cocoon, softly leaking my own tears at his words. I would rather die, myself, than let Jim down, to not love him, to not make sure he knew I loved him. Of all the events and choices (good and bad) that I made, this one changed my life more than any other. It changed me for good, and for 'good' as well.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 21 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 12 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 13 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 7 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 6 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 1 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Brother Bear: 1 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/