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.
Karl sat there, his head in the kid's lap, just staring, for the longest time. He sat up and gave Nathan the hardest shoulder hug the kid had ever known. "Nathan, I am going to walk for a minute. Can I, um, find you later?" Nathan nodded and Karl stood slowly and wandered down a game trail, lost in thought.
I walked over and grabbed Nathan's hand and pulled him up, then shocked the hell out him with a full-out hug. "A damned fine man, Nathan; you are a damned fine man."
Canvas Hell 24: Naming Names
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery - Sunday
Nathan walked back with us and I could see he was really upset, I stopped before we got back to the main byways of the camp itself. "Nathan, buddy, what's the matter?"
"Why, uh, why d-d-doesn't Karl think he's, you know, a good person -- a hero even?"
Jim spoke, "Well, why don't you?" There was no challenge there. His voice had been soft and clear and factual. Nathan looked at him as if he'd asked why he was short.
"I'm still a kid and you guys are practically grownups. I can't fight for other people like Karl does. Like you guys did with Winner's Gang. I'm scrawny and get beat up even by kids my own size! What do you mean, why don't I think I'm a hero?"
"So, the only way to be a hero is to be strong and tough and defend people from bullies?"
"No, but that's parts of it... um, isn't it?"
I took up the thread, "Yeah, Nathan, for some people, that's how they're heroes. Let me tell you of another guy who I realised was hero recently. He was a victim of the Buggers' (what you call Winner's Gang). He found out that someone he respected had been tricked into doing what that gang did, but forgave him anyway, letting the guy stop ripping himself to shreds. I think he's a hero and he's not much less scrawny than you." Jim stuck his tongue out at me from behind Nathan before he spoke.
"And I know a guy who looks more like a tall twig than a person who made a couple guys realise the things they feared most about themselves were what made them good people, and kept two guys sane when they thought their world was ending. He's a hero and a sharp breeze could knock him over." I glared through slitted eyes; Jim would pay for that one.
Nathan looked from one to the other of us and you could see the lightbulb go on. He said with no hint of question, "You're talking about each other."
We both laid it on heavy with the affronted and dangerous guy voices.
"You calling me scrawny, pipsqueak?"
"Or calling me a twig, short-stack?"
The look of panic and horror on Nathan's face broke us up and we were hooting with laughter, which Nathan finally joined. "You are, though, aren't you?"
I sobered, but still smiled widely. "Yeah, Nathan, we are. And Karl has saved us, too."
"Yeah, I was in the lunchroom when the two W-- Buggers came in and Karl jumped up to almost kill them cuz they had... Hey! YOU were the Swamp Thing--oops..." I could see he desperately wanted a do-over on those words.
Jim haughtily replied, "I prefer Mud Monster, thank you so very much! But, yeah, that was me. Karl and Patrick saved my life that day. I mean, not like pulling me from the icy river, but close. They rescued me. And they helped me. And Karl never threw a punch, well..."
"Hey! Don't tell him THAT."
"What? No, really? What?"
Sigh, "Jim -- who used to be a friend of mine -- is referring to a time when I'd said something boneheaded and Jim was really, really upset and Karl, well, Karl knocked me on my ass with the hardest punch I ever felt. But in a good way!"
"But I never did ANY of those things. I'm nothing LIKE you guys!"
"Crap," said Jim, always the diplomat, "You did more for Karl in five minutes that I could have done in an hour. I'm sorry, Nathan. I hate to break this to you, but you are a good man. Or you will be when your voice changes."
"HEY!"
"Jim, be nice. He's right. Maybe this IS his man voice!"
"HEY!!!"
We laughed our way to the Activities Pavilion. I kicked myself in shame that I never even noticed that Nathan was in our Leatherworking class. He was tooling his with a simple, beautiful design of a bird, a swallow with tail spread into spikes, using only a scorer. Jim and I finished lacing ours then helped Nathan lace his when the design was complete.
We headed out, wandering nowhere really when Jim asked, "Nathan, why do you call yourself that?"
Nathan blushed and mumbled.
"I'm Jim because I decided that I didn't want to be Jamie anymore."
Nathan's head popped up so fast it was like a movie special effect. "Really?" he squeaked.
"Yeah, and I almost went back to Jamie, ashamed of what the Buggers had done. So, um, is your name Nathan or something else?"
He mumbled as he slowly walked, scuffing the dirt with his toe, but I heard, "Nathaniel, and my mom won't call me anything else."
"Do you like being Nathaniel?"
"No. It makes me look stupid."
I piped up, "No, it makes you sound like you fought bravely in the Revolution."
"Same thing!"
Jim spoke. "Well, you've got a lot of choices, 'Nathaniel'. You can be Nathan, sure. But you could be Nat or Nate or even Neil if you want." Nathan just stared.
"Nat sounds like gnat," I declaimed, "But Nate and Nathan are really cool."
"Would you rather be Nate or Nathan?"
Our new friend thought about this pivotal, life-altering choice as we strolled. Almost inaudibly, he asked his little leather corn purse, "Would it be silly to be Nate? You know, with how little I am? And, um, so, uh, much a kid?"
"Yep! You're right. You're scrawny and should be gnat!" The look was utter betrayal and I laughed. "No, I'm kidding," I declared clearly and strongly, "you are a good man, and a great person. Nate and Nathan are men's names, and you earned that today. You may be little for now, Nate, but you are a real man when the chips are down. SO! Nathan or Nate, our small but fierce friend?"
"Stop. Why are you doing this?" He stopped as well, just staring boldly, almost defiantly at the two of us.
"Doing what?" Jim's voice was clearly confused.
"Being nice to a kid, a little boy! Saying I'm a m-m-m-man! I'm n-n-n-nothing! You're m-m-m-making fun of me!" He was nearing tears and I pulled him into a 'manly' shoulder hug and started us walking again.
"No, you're a good man. I would never mock that, not ever. And neither would Jim. You did something today to PROVE that you are more of a man that any ten kids in the camp. You choose. Nate or Nathan or Stallion or... Incredible Hulk!" I got a snort of derision from the boy. "We think you are really a good man, and real man, a great person. Nathan, Nate or anything else. You earned it. And no one need to know but us. "
"Um, um, uh, um," he was losing it and his tiny, desperate voice reflected that, "will you call me Nate? I mean, only sometimes! Only when you really want to!"
Jim and I said nothing and kept walking, chatting about everything, but every time we turned to our new, small, fragile friend, it was 'Nate this' and 'Nate that' and both of us could see the profound and moving difference it made. Another comment made me die a little inside. Nate was a member of Cabin 4, assigned based on age, not maturity, and consigned to the squeaky 'DA' section. Jim and Karl and I had spent a dozen nights with this budding man and... Never. Even. Noticed. Him.
Surprised, we talked about Willie and Orson. Inaudibly, Nate made a comment.
"What, Nate? Tell us, please?"
Blushing furiously, Nate replied, "Orson hates that name. He'd, you know, be so, I dunno, love it if, well, you'd call him..." His voice faded to nothing.
"Call him WHAT, Nate?"
"Um, I shouldn't say."
"Oh, screw that, Nate. Tell us."
"I shouldn't. You'll laugh."
"Don't be stupid/silly!" My and Jim's reaction differed by a single word.
"Oh, God, guys, please don't tease him. He's from Texas and, um, well, he, uh, he wanted, you know, to be called... Tex?"
Now, Orson had as much Texas accent as the birds flying overhead and was about a rough-and-ready as a butterfly. I had to kick Jim. "We'd never laugh, Nate. From this moment forward, he's Tex in my book. Jim?" Jim/Jamie was not about to object and I could tell that Nate was more than just delighted; he was fulfilled. He'd made real, honest, true friends with unapproachable older guys, and even gotten them to treat his own friend with a new kind of respect.
Nate stopped us suddenly. "If this is a joke, guys, it's okay. Really! But please, please, please, don't take it out of Orson, on Tex. It would kill him. Please? Just play it on me? Please? "
"Nate, there is no reason on Earth for you to trust me, but I'd rather die than hurt you or... Tex."
"Um, well, uh, can I, uh, ask a question?"
"Anything."
"Oh GOD! Please kill me if I'm wrong, guys. Do you, um, you know, fool around?"
I looked at Jim who shrugged. "Not sure what you mean, Nate, but would it matter if we did?"
"I, uh, I mean... well, I don't know what I mean. But are you guys, um, more than, you know... friends?"
Jim spoke quietly and calmly, "What would you say if we said 'no', Nate? And what would you say if we said, 'yes'?"
Nate thought for a long time, looking deep in Jim's sparkling blue eyes. "I don't know either way. What's it, well, you know, like to really be with a girl and all?"
Jim laughed and I blushed. I replied, "Um, well, I'm afraid you'll, uh, have to ask somebody else, Nate." I got a sly smile, "Or maybe you can tell us?" He blushed furiously and kept walking. "So, why the questions?"
"Okay, you haven't killed me for asking the last two things and so you maybe won't kill me for this, but what's it like to touch, um, another guy?"
Jim's voice never changed from calm and friendly even though I tensed like a bowstring. "First tell me why you want to know. I still might not answer, but since you asked it's only fair."
Nate looked down, looking more nathanielish ever word, "Cuz if I ask someone my age they'd beat the crap out of me. And you guys could have already done that and didn't. So, well, I figured you might not start now? And. I know. I know I'm, well, a little kid. But I've never done nothing! I'm too weird and scrawny and stupid and-and-and scared. And I figured the worst you'd do was, you know, brush me off and tell me to scram and it-t-t-t-t, well, seemed like my last chance?"
We'd come to a leftover pallet that had been missed on the Day of the Centipede. I sat and so did Jim. Nate stood, now at my eye level and I could see he deeply regretted his choice to ask, feared what our response would be, and that his desperation to know overrode both sources of dread.
I smiled, "Your last chance, eh? What would you say if I told you that I'd never touched anyone before this year?"
Nate response was instantaneous, "I'd say you're lying. You're tall and smart and cool and everything. No way you don't have girlfriends. And probably, you know, other, um, friends?" He was suddenly sitting cross-legged, "God, you are gonna kill me now I know it!"
I sighed deeply. "I can't speak for Jim. But I really never did touch anyone before this year. I was scared -- hell, I'm still scared -- and it took a really special person to make me see that there's more to me than a walking swizzle stick. That someone might, well, find me, oh hell, Nate, I don't know what I'm saying."
"He's saying," Jim cut in "that he never thought someone would want to touch him or let him touch them. And yes," he gave me a severe frown, far more attuned to Nate's need than I was, and so much braver that it took my breath away, "he CAN speak for me because I'm the one that asked. There! I said it! Out loud and everything! I wanted him to t-touch me and I-I-I asked!"
Nate's eyes were wide and glassy and his voice was soft with wonderment, but what came out nearly shocked up both to death, "Why aren't you dead? You just ASKED HIM? What ARE You? How brave can a guy be? You aren't THAT much older than me! Oh, GOD," his head dropped into his hands, "I am such a complete WUSS. I don't even have the guts to ask my best friend if he, you know," Universal Boy Sign Language again, "and you up and ask a JUNIOR if he, he, he, he would -- OH GOD!"
I burst out laughing and Nate shrunk further. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up onto the pallet. I could tell he assumed his death was at hand. I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. "So just how pathetic does that make me, Nate, that a runt like Jim {HEY!} had the guts to ask me something I was afraid to even admit to myself that I wanted? Huh?"
He looked at me a moment, then smiled slightly and dropped his eyes. His voice was still soft, but held a little teasing in there, too, "You didn't answer my question on what it's like, you know."
I looked at Jim who smiled and shrugged. We were in this deep with Jim's admission and my lack of rebuttal. "Nate. Nate, look at me. First, do you really want to know or do you just want to ask the question?"
"Oh, God, Patrick. I want to know SO bad."
"It's like the greatest fear, like, ever, as if you're going to explode in a million pieces and die from it. Like you put the whole world on the line and knew it would go so, so, so wrong. And then you touch and it's like every fear goes away and you're filled with something warm and wonderful instead, like liquid gold in you, like the world is finally... right."
I looked up and saw Jim staring at me in slack-jawed wonder. Suddenly those liquid blue pools swallowed me. "Really, Patrick?" I nodded shyly as Nate's head bounced back and forth between us. Jim continued, voice lost and almost vague, eyes never leaving mine. "It was a slow-motion world. I a-a-asked and he, he asked if I was sure and I nodded and I watched his hand for, I dunno, hours moving toward me like the world was slowed to nothing and my heart was about to explode and my brain with it and his, his, um, finger, just a tiny bit of it, you know, t-touched me, touched me and the world went away and the whole universe was nothing but that finger, then hand, then fist, then my, my, my explosion and I-I shattered and there's a story I read, Shattered Like a Glass Goblin," I gasped at the reference and Jim's eyes had still not left my own, "and it was all that, and the world crashed back and I, I watched, watched..." Jim shook himself and sucked in a shuddering gasp as he came back to himself, shaking his head like a wet dog, his voice returning to the puckish kid I knew.
"And I not saying what I watched because it wasn't part of your question." He smiled cockily at the gaping face of Nate.
"Y-Y-Y-You, uh, you t-two made that up! YOU DID! Just to t-t-t-tease me. N-nothing is like that! Nothing, right? Right, I mean, r-r-r-really? Oh, God, I don't know if I want it to be true and look forward to it or be a lie since I've never had it! I am so confused!"
I pulled the stuttering, quivering boy to me and hugged him from behind. "Good, because it will make your own first touch that much better. Just know this, Nate. Don't rush it. It won't be like that it you do. But if you wait for the right time, the right person, the right moment, Nate, you, you can never go back and you'd never, ever want to in a million years."
A loud clanging of the triangle made us jump comically, calling us to lunch. I dragged the nearly-limp Nate up and Jim and I tugged him to the Mess Hall. Karl was there, sober and stoic and with the almost-invisible grin that made him look so in control and unflappable. He was pulled into our wake as we entered to find it already filled with fellow campers. A rich, thick scent wafted through the tent, redolent of cumin and chili-pepper and slowly-braised beef.
This was a chili that few of us had ever tried. Hamburger and beans were not even ingredients. Instead, chunks of beef from the size of a grain of rice to a large cube were suspended in a rich, velvety sauce with God only knew what wondrous spices and veggies. Next to the bowls were sour cream, onions, chives, Colby cheese and three things that we'd never seen but that had Orson -- Tex -- whooping with joy. First was a vat of chopped... something with tomatoes and onions and green shreds throughout. Next were what looked for all the world like nekkid Doritos, pale-gold triangles. Lastly was a bin of little things the strangest coloured green.
I leant forward and captured the exultant Orson. I whispered in his ear with my best fake accent, "I hear yore the expert in these here parts, Tex. You gonna walk yer partners through it?" It was like I gave him a hundred birthdays and he started nodding and talking ten miles per minute. Nate, Karl, Jim and I found ourselves seated with steaming bowls of REAL chili, adorned with delicious condiments like pico de gallo and jalapenos and tortillas. Orson -- Tex -- bounced back and forth like Nathaniel -- Nate -- had at breakfast, explaining everything in a breathless voice and making sure that none of us, including Nate, could ever see the bottom of a bowl.
Halfway through one of the best meals I'd had in a long time, I scooped Tex over to me and he stood, almost vibrating with pride, "Tex, I'm sorry we called you Orson all these weeks. You are the best that Texas has to offer, partner, and no mistake. You're a good man, Tex, and we appreciate it." The effect was, I was not surprised to find, identical to Nate earlier. 'Tex' almost floated around, doubling his speed. I was full enough to burst when we finally convinced the excited youth we could eat no more.
We pulled Tex with us as we left. The boy was on cloud nine, included in the 'cool guys' circle. What I didn't know at the time was that Tent Canvas Hell had developed a real mystique. Our Bugger battle, Jim's First Fish and Karl and my tie, Karl's ferocious racing, 'Red's' lifesaving, Karl's stoic facade -- all wove together into a sort of magic. Ors-- Tex and Willie already had a bit of it rub off just from our City of New Orleans association, but bringing him into the 'inner circle' was akin to exposing an acolyte to the Sacred Mysteries.
Tex shyly showed us a macramé key-chain he'd made for his Dad. I was literally in awe of the intricacy of the knots. Tex was about to wee himself with pride. In fact, when Karl first said, "Oh, wow, Tex, this is incredible! How can you do something like this? I could never tie knots like that!" the boy squeaked and ran into the bushes to return moments later blushing furiously.
Nate was beside himself, beaming at 'Tex' and whispering thanks to each of us whenever he could do so discreetly. It was clear that he had a (probably non-sexual) boy-crush on his friend and the rumbly-deep voice Orson/Tex (occasionally) had. I was pleased to note that the last week had brought Tex further and further out of the boyish rafters; he was approaching his own time of change and I smiled at Nate's almost-worshipful face when he looked at the newly-minted man.
A new sound, a loud GONG, wafted across the camp, repeated twice a couple minutes later. We'd been told at lunch what that meant. Parents were arriving. Karl and I shared a scowl of worry, but the other three were exultant. We reluctantly let the younger ones guide us back to the camp reception area. Nate was the first to burst. He ran forward and was scooped into the arms of nice-looking woman of middle years. Beside her was a smiling, masculine guy, obviously Nate's father. Nate came back and grabbed me and Karl and dragged us forward.
I shook the father's hand but was bowled over by this deep, melodic accent, velvet over brass, straight from the depths of the bayou. He introduced himself to me as Jack dar-DOE (I found out later from Nate it was Dardeau) and his wife CAY-ro-line. Caroline produced a box which puffed Nate up like a balloon and he scurried off with the hot sauce to secrete it in this kit. We chatted and I found out that they had moved to Scranton for a job as a teacher at the Lackawanna County Prison. Karl perked up instantly and asked several quiet but apparently impressive questions that really intrigued Mr Dardeau.
Just as Nate rejoined us, Orson nearly squealed when he spotted his father. He swallowed his 'boy' voice and dragged the man over to us. He was impressive. Tall and broad with a thick moustache and rakishly-long hair (for a non-hippy). He introduced himself as Orson Bryant (Ah! That explains the name!). Mrs Dardeau perked up at his voice.
"Where you from, Mr Bryant?"
Turns out that he was from Newton, Texas, not fifteen minutes from the small Louisiana town where Nate's mom grew up. They chatted for a moment, but I could see that Tex was dying to show off his creation.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Bryant, but Tex made a really impressive thing you ought to see. Better than anything I could do!" I knew I'd blown it from the look in Tex's face.
The most lopsided grin I ever saw crept onto Mr Bryant's face. He drawled the words out and my little friend blushed purple, "Ahh, now 'TEX' is it? Well why don't you go and show me this thar thing... 'Tex'." Our friend shyly, clearly mortified, held out his macramé creation and his father went quiet. "You made this for... for me, son?" Tex nodded in a mixture of horror and desperate pride.
The massive Mr Bryant crouched down and pulled his son close. I think I might have been the only one there who could see the tear in his eye, "Son, 'Tex', it's the most perfect thing I ever did see. Thank you, son. Thank you." He wrapped his son in a fierce hug and I could see the boy's shoulders quake and wondered what Tex's story really was.
I heard him say in his newfound bass, "I love you, papa."
Mr Bryant pulled back and looked at his son in surprise. "That's a mighty deep voice you've grown there, son. And I think Tex is a right find handle. Let's walk for a bit, son?" Our friend practically strutted along beside his father and I heard Mr Dardeau sigh at the sight.
"It looks like this camp has been good for a lot of guys, son," Mr Dardeau said, hand on Nate's shoulder. "Apparently, you're Nate now from what I'm hearing your friends call you." Nate blushed hard. At that moment, his mother turned.
"It's awfully dry up here. Do they have any ice tea, Nathaniel?"
The hand not on Nate's shoulder came to hers. "It's Nate, dear, not Nathaniel."
"What? But he's--"
He cut across her and there was both tenderness and steel in his voice. "Yes, dear. He's Nate now. You were saying?" She stared, furrow-browed, for a long moment than slowly smiled, a wistful, sad, proud and resigned smile of a woman admitting to herself for the first time that she no longer had a little boy, but a young man in the making.
"N-Nate, dear, can you find me a glass of something to drink, honey?" Nate looked like a Macy's Day balloon, floating six paces for every one he walked, off to the Mess Hall, returning with two glasses of iced tea and a smile that could melt glaciers.
Jim was wrapped up in the dynamic of Nate's transformation or he would have been the first to notice. I saw a couple coming down the drive. The woman was small and delicate, beautiful, button-nosed with milky skin and a radiant smile that showed huge dimples. It was the man, though, that caught my attention.
His lips were small, thin, a perfect bow with a glimpse of the perfect teeth beneath sensuous and knowing eyes. Every mannerism was grace and power, the stalking of a leopard, the bold confidence of the stallion. His hair was a raucous riot of curls in deep, rich tones. His face was... elfin, perhaps, but in a Tolkien way. Nothing delicate at all, just soft and strong at the same time. He wore a lumberjack style shirt that made his golden skin glow. He was perhaps the most-perfect man I had ever imagined, much less seen. And his eyes were on one and only one thing, my... I didn't have a word... my Jim. This could be no one other than Jim's Father.
I moved forward as if in a dream and stood before him. "Are, um, are you Mr Conner?" He looked at me, bemused but delighted.
"Yes, I'm Roger Conner. How did you know?"
"Because, well, because your son is the best man I have ever known." I don't know where that came from and Mr Conner's head cocked to the side and forward.
"I have a feeling, son, that Jamie has found a real friend at last."
"Jim."
"What?"
"Jim, sir. Jim has found a friend. Me. He's the best person I ever met and I, I hope he, he thinks I'm a fr-friend."
"Dad, Mom," Jim's voice came calmly from my side, "I think he's more than that. This is Patrick. Mom, Dad, he's the best person I've met and it would mean a lot to me if you, um, well, if..." there was a catch in Jim's voice, "if you liked him?"
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 24 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 10 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 9 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/ Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
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