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 looked around at a small sea of wide, worried eyes, yielding the floor to a guy a year younger who did a superb version of One Eyed Jack. Dr Eaglas winked at me, a wink I treasure to this day. I looked around and realized, every eye had been on me, and no one smirked or yawned or shied away. It was... like I really had been reborn as a new person, perhaps even as Red.
Canvas Hell 35: Red Letter Day
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery - Saturday
Larry and Willie did, indeed, sit with us at dinner. The weather had cleared rather suddenly and we got an indescribable sunset right about dinner time. The guys had outdone themselves, with turkey breasts roasted over the open fire, scratch dressing, gravy, green beans and parker-house rolls all fluffy and tender. They even had apple crumble for desert. Everything was amazingly good.
Singing that night was frankly disastrous. It's amazing what a turkey coma can do to overstuffed boys. Not even the Leaders seemed bothered, though. The three of us from Tent Canvas Hell trudged back and started getting ready for bed. Still wavering between the not-quite-gone Patrick and the newly-fledged Red, I decided to simply say what I really thought.
"Karl?" He looked over. "I want to sleep in the same bag with Jim. Does that bother you?"
"No, why?"
"I'd, uh, thought we might sleep... you know, nekkid." Both of Jim's eyebrows popped up but Karl just looked thoughtful for a second.
"No. Not really." He got a sly smile. "But let me grab a bandana just in case." Jim barked a laugh and then fell silent, looking a little breathless. I snuggled into the bag and tossed my undies out and Jim's face was priceless. He didn't bother with modesty; he just stripped off in front of both of us and slipped into the bag, snuggling in front of me.
It wasn't sexual, not really, just an incredible closeness, a true intimacy. Yeah, we were both tumescent, and the feel of his thighs against my cock was delirious and I couldn't resist petting his own proud manhood from time to time. I just folded him into my body, though, as if to become his cocoon, just without the crushing and shattering effect of mine from the night before.
I woke in the deepest black of night to the feel more than the sound of Jim's gentle moaning. My hand, as it turned out, was on his belly and I could feel throbbing wetness on the back of my hand. Jim was hunching a little in his sleep. I smiled and snaked my free hand out and grabbed the shorts I'd discarded and very carefully wrapped them around my hand and Jim's cock.
I used his leakage to wet my palm and changed position so that his hunching would drive his cockhead through the slick tunnel of my fist. He let out a series of strangled groans, still in the deep throes of sleep, as he unloaded explosively. I drifted back to sleep in utter contentment.
I woke again perhaps an hour later, just barely in time to grab the aforementioned undies and get them between me and Jim, holding my breath tightly as wave after wave of release washed through my body. The dream had been vivid, intense, literally gut-wrenching. Jim, of course, figured prominently, but not sexually. At least not actively. He was standing on a pedestal in a museum, naked and posed with taut, flexed muscles like an ancient marble statue, but brimming with life. He was looking into my eyes when I lost it and woke up.
When I stopped erupting and took in my first breath, I heard Jim giggle. "That was fun, Patrick. I've never been someone's wet dream before." A week -- hell, a day -- before, I would have been at a DefCon 5 blush just knowing he was awake. Instead, I pulled him tightly to me (undies keeping our combined and copious load in place), and let my hand caress his sticky pubes, slipping back into perfect sleep in moments.
We awoke early, all at about the same time. The sky was utterly clear in the still silence of pre-dawn. It was beautiful, even though we knew it would be oppressively muggy when the sun started baking the mud. Karl watered the tree on one side of Tent Canvas Hell and Jim and I the other. When we came back around, Karl's gaze flicked down and he scowled. Both of us looked at our crotches and cringed at the matted mess. "You guys went to sleep!" he accused. "I waited to be sure!"
I should have been speechless with mortification, but just replied, "No, you're right. We went straight to sleep. We both just had," I inserted a smirk, "very, very good dreams."
He looked like he just ate a lemon, peel and all. "I hate you. Just wanted you to know that." All three of us laughed as we got dressed enough to hit the Hygiene Hut and trooped down. There were only a couple of other guys in there, so Jim and I could quickly wash away the evidence of the night's dreams without any comments. We again ate as a group, seven of us to start the meal. Two of Larry's cabinmates very tentatively moved forward and we met Mark and Marcus. Larry and Willie vouched for them as bully-haters.
Breakfast was "loaded oatmeal", a rich, creamy porridge with six or seven additives and toppings, including butter-melted brown sugar, berries and something called Bananas Foster that was pretty amazing. A couple more guys came over and asked to sit with us, filling the table. When a couple more walked up, they started to sit at the one behind us. Instead of burying myself in the meal, I watched the guys around us.
Those who came up were the bold ones, but the ones that fascinated me most were the shy young men who'd never approach us. They looked at our laughing crowd with such envy and sadness it nearly broke me. They were, to put it simply, Patrick-before-Red. Whenever I caught one such kid's eye, I'd smile and beckon him over. About one in five tentatively approached and I made it my mission to introduce them around and get them comfortable.
One of them, a kid named Quinn, with a stutter and the self-confidence of a sponge, called to me. He was skinny as a rail even though he was just starting his growth spurt. Within a few months, I knew he'd be able to go Trick-or-Treating as a skeleton without a costume. He had thick glasses, but also a weird kind of grace for someone whose body was betraying him at every step. It took three tries, but he finally came over. I introduced him around and found, even through his cringe-worthy stammer, that Mark was from the same area and they shared a lot of interests. If I can borrow a word from forty years later, it was an instant bromance.
By the end of the meal, we had two full tables, about twenty-four guys, laughing and joking. The split was only slightly lopsided. Over a third were younger, shy and breathless; they looked almost uniformly like little kids trying to decide if a mall Santa was real.
Most of our newly-enlarged group went to the wretched, milquetoast, not-quite-churchlike service. Afterwards we split to do whatever everyone wanted, since the normal schedule was back. A lot of guys scrambled to sign up for Sunday events since we'd all kinda assumed it would still be raining and no one had pre-picked activities. Dr Eaglas pulled me aside. Jim's eyes narrowed but he moved out of earshot.
"I have to say that Red seems to fit you pretty well." I looked down and, for the first time that day, blushed brilliantly. "Don't look like that. There are nearly a dozen young men who have a whole new outlook because you got them to come to the table with you guys. That's a really good thing, and you, RED, did it." I smiled tentatively up at him and noticed that, actually, I was smiling down. He was probably four or five inches shorter than I was, something I'd never noticed until that moment.
"What did he want?"
I looked at Jim and smiled, "To tell Red that he's doing a good job. You and Karl were right. I was trying so hard to be Patrick I never noticed I'd grown up to be Red." Jim smiled so widely I could tell he wanted to kiss me. "Let's go wander." His green eyes sparkled like gems as we set out, not really holding hands, just walking.
We headed out in a new direction this time, and finally settled in a small depression where rainwater still flowed but was quickly waning as the day waxed. Around us were hawthorns and holly, making this a place to which birds would flock in winter for the berries and haws.
We sat side-by-side, watching a small troop of butterflies go after some clumps of odd plants; the long, barren stems ending in an explosion of tiny flowers. The insects were strange. The backs of their wings were a drab blue-grey, but the undersides had a brilliant semicircle of bright-colored spots. Eventually, I felt his head on my shoulder... well, my upper arm. I pulled him into my lap and kissed him slowly, deeply, love supplanting passion.
"What the hell?"
I turned to see a kid I knew, vaguely, from school in Hershey. Jerry something, I thought. There was no way he could have seen us kissing since he was behind me, , but he could sure see Jim's legs sticking out to my right. It had to be pretty obvious that Jim was sitting either in or nearly on my lap. He was gaping at us like we were a zoo exhibit.
Jim was always the quicker thinker. "OW! Red, you almost had the damned thing out! Why did you stop? The thorn HURTS, Red." I looked down and he winked at me.
"Sorry, sorry. Someone startled me. If you stop squirming, it would go a lot quicker." My voice was strained with worry and stress. How long had he been there? What had he actually seen?
"YIKES!" Jim yelped, reaching to his leg and giving it a vicious pinch, leaving a welt with a tiny bit of blood. "That hurt!"
"Well, it's out now. If you keep bitching, I'll damned well put it back!"
I lifted Jim up and set him on his feet, then took a minute to brush myself off -- and desperately tuck my boner into the waist of my shorts. Luckily, my shirt had come untucked at some point. I turned. "You're from Hershey, aren't you? I think I've seen you at school.
"Uh, um, uh, yeah. I'm, uh, going to be a sophomore."
"Yeah, right! You run track, right?"
"Pole vault and high jump, actually. I'm Jerry MacMillan." His voice was neither friendly nor hostile, but overwhelmingly suspicious. He moved forward warily. I stepped toward him and offered my hand.
"Right! I thought it was Jerry. I'm Patrick Kennedy, but a lot of the guys call me--"
"Red. Yeah, I know. What are you two doing out here?"
"Same as you, I expect. Just enjoying the day."
"Actually," he had both a smile and hint of challenge in his voice, "I was looking for a place to jack off."
I released one of my best blushes and stammered, "Oh, uh...? Wow. That's, um, blunt! I-I-I-I-I'll get out of your way then."
"What, you don't want to join?" There was a hint of baiting and a sneer underneath his smile.
"Ew. No. I mean, ev-v-v-v-verybody does it, right? I just, well, I d-d-d-don't want to, you know, see you!"
"Come on Red, let's head down to the river." Jim scowled at Jerry, clearly upset and worried by what was going on, but covering it by pretending anger that I'd been insulted.
"Yeah. Yeah, good idea. So, uh, see you Jerry. Hope everything comes out... all... right?" I plundered into the pun, trying to sell that it was a Freudian slip. I figured it worked when Jerry flushed a bit. It gave me an excuse to quickly catch up with Jim.
We waited until we were all the way to the water where the quick breeze rustled the tree and masked any sound. We hadn't touched or even been really close since that clearing. Jim's voice was worried. "You know him, then, I mean, really?"
I was just as unnerved. "Know him? No. Seen him on the JV track team. Never, like, met him or anything."
"What do you think he saw?" We both fell silent and I could see Jim doing the same thing I was, trying to figure out angles and such. "I think.... I think all he could have seen would fit the splinter/thorn thing. You with your head bent forward, you know, to look. My legs sticking out. Right?"
"Yeah, um, sure. Yeah, you've got to be right." But he could tell from my voice that I wasn't sold. And Jerry had that sort of weasely countenance that made me think of gossips and grudge-holders. I shook it off, literally flapping my hands and twisting back and forth. Jim took a deep breath and relaxed, and we headed back in the direction of camp. We hooked up with Larry and Willie, then Karl and Nate spotted us, both looking unusually flushed.
The guys had gotten inventive for lunch, and the results were... unexpected. First was something they called a Grilled Stromboli. It was a rectangle of pizza dough with several cheeses (half of them also had pepperoni and salami) inside, folded over and sealed on the edges, then grilled over a low fire. The result was hot, cheesy, smoky perfection. It was also something they could keep cooking so they didn't run out; they'd learned that lesson well. There was red gravy (aka marinara sauce) to dip it in, and a truly disastrous broccoli-cheese goo that probably sounded good until it was done. The cold option was a sandwich with mozzarella, sliced tomato and basil between pizza-dough-like slices of bread. Delish.
Lunch saw the same crowd gather. I went out of my way to sit on the edge of the group so I could gather more of the shy guys into the Cool Kids Club. I mean, it's what I had always dreamed of when I looked at the laughing, 'included' guys while I sat glumly in the corner. More of the bold came over, too, but we reached about half and half by the time we finished, and I started noticing a pattern. Every new guy who arrived was sort of adopted by someone; a bold guy by a wimp/nerd/wallflower and vice-versa. It was a strange dynamic that puzzled me, so I caught Dr Eaglas' eye.
He nodded me over and I asked, "Why do I keep seeing the shy kids approaching the new, confident ones that just strolled over? What's up with that?"
He smiled so widely that I thought his face would break. "Well, son, that is one we can't credit to Red. That one belongs to Willie, who created what I call the Legend of Jim. He told all the guys who were, well, not real sure of themselves that Jim was sort of the glue that held Tent Nine together, and that they could do it, too, if they just talked to older or more-confident guys."
I followed his gaze and found several groups of three and four with a wide mix of types, many of the bolder boys looking bemused. Kids who wouldn't normally look at them without blushing were joking and laughing with them. "He's right, you know, Dr Eaglas. Jim is the keystone of the three of us."
"I know." I looked at his smiling, dancing eyes. "But I think you should tell Jim about it."
I got my own sly smile and went over to Jim. I told him about the Legend of Jim, stretching the tale as generously as he had done with The Buggers. His face came to resemble a bowling ball made for a guy with enormous fingers as his eyes and mouth turned into wide, horrified O's. He turned bright red and spun to try and find Willie and I grabbed his shoulder.
"Why, Jim! I'd think you'd be proud. Willie just took a real story and -- what was it you said? -- 'helped stuff along? Just added color?'" His face drained to white as the implications hit him. "And now, look at all the guys who followed YOUR example and are hanging with the cool kids. It's all you Jim... sorry, should I say Mr Legend?" The look on his face was priceless and one that I cherish to this day. There is nothing like being hoisted on one's own petard to draw out faces normally only seen in cartoons.
The afternoon was a quiet one. My guess from the morning was more than borne out; the hot sun on all that mud made it feel a million degrees hotter. Four of the "core group", Jim, Larry, Trey and I, changed into suits and went down to the dock, more to read than to swim. We found that, unlike most days, the sticky heat had even put a damper on the irrepressible younger boys, and only a few desultory splash-fights broke out. We each swam for a while, then just sat on the dock, dangling feet into the cool river, occasionally laughing at a squeak or squeal when a fish got inquisitive about a toe.
Karl (with his shadow, Nate) and a dozen of the other guys had organized a game of flag football. He and the other team captain, Marcus, agreed (out of everyone else's hearing) to make each team an even split between the "kids" and the "guys". Both ended up with eight players: four older, confident boys and four stunned-to-be-asked younger ones. Willie watched, beaming from the sidelines as the "guys" frequently pulled back from a block or subtly refused to put on that extra burst of speed their older bodies could muster. They called a very convenient halt when the score was tied at twenty-one apiece. The older guys were thoughtful, fascinated and felt strangely fulfilled. The younger were ecstatic, full of new confidence and life.
Dinner, mournfully recognized as the last edible meal we'd have at Camp Sin, was a complete surprise with five actual courses. Soup (minestrone or potato-n-cream), salad (creamy Italian or vinaigrette), entrée (fettucine alfredo and Italian chicken, or a giant meatball with spaghetti) and cobbler (peach or blackberry, with vanilla ice cream if desired -- and that muggy evening, we all desired). There were both hard and soft rolls, fresh baked, to go with everything. It became common for pairs to get one of each and split everything, making eight half-dishes per guy. It was, by common acclamation, one of the best meals any of us had ever eaten.
Sunday Campfire was a blast. All of us were on a serious high from the great food. First up were the youngest, least mature kids. Cabin 1, tenanted by late-blooming thirteens, did "Hokey-Pokey" to righteous laughter and applause. Cabin 5, the fifteen-year-olds, did a really amazing Indian War Dance with drums and stomping and grunts driving a pounding rhythm. Cabin 3, all fourteen, completely flubbed "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt".
Cabin 6, the cabin Karl and I would otherwise have inhabited, had a lot of rich, lower-register voices and did a stunning "Luck Be a Lady" that had everyone clapping along, the perfect intro for Cabin 2. The late bloomers among the fourteens with more-mature thirteens did "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain", keeping the clapping going. As luck would have it, we came last. We gathered nervously and I was really worried that Willie would wet himself.
When his heart-breakingly-pure treble burst out with, "As I went down in the river to pray," everyone fell into absolute silence. He was joined by the other high voices, "Studying about that good old way / And who shall wear the starry crown / Good Lord, show me the way!" Willie took the first line of the chorus, "O brothers let's go down," and the rest joined.
Robert's incredibly-rich low-tenor took "O Bachelors, let' go down," and I joined with the rest of our third. He took the first line of the chorus which we sang along with the Brothers. Charles and his echoing basso voice called on the Fathers in the same pattern.
The final stanza was rich with all of our voices. Charles, Robert and Willie then repeated "Good Lord, show me the way!" Robert and Willie repeated that line, then Willie alone. As we'd started the hymn, so we finished it, with the ringing purity of Willie's voice that penetrated, coaxed and finally lifted the soul, "Good Lord, show me the way!"
We shuffled a bit, horrified, when there was absolute silence, then just a few whispers. Why wasn't anyone clapping? I think several of us might really have gotten tiny wet spots in our undies when the applause erupted with a force that shook the flames of the campfire itself.
It wasn't much of a surprise that we won the week, but there appeared to be a pitched battle amongst the Leaders and adults over the other slots. Eventually, the Major cut off debate and announced that Cabins 5 and 6 tied for second. I highly suspect that it was to clear the way so the youngest with their delightful Hokey-Pokey could finally win. I thought my eardrum would burst and bats fly into each other as their squeals of glee went up and up AND UP in pitch.
Major Bachgen gave his little speech and said that the next Sunday Campfire would be our last, so choose carefully what we would perform, as many of the parents would be there. I think everyone (including Quinn) was shocked when Quinn stood up and asked, "Um, M-M-M-M-Major? W-W-W-W-What if we d-d-d-d-d-don't w-w-w-w-w-w-want to c-c-c-c-c-c-compete?" Can you even imagine the courage it took for a shy, young, stutter-bound teen to stand up and ask that in front of over a hundred guys?
"I beg your pardon?"
Mark stood up from a few feet away. "What if we want to do next Sunday as a whole camp instead of trying to outdo each other." He sent a smile to Quinn with a look that silently said, "You are great, but I've got this."
"Uh, well, um. Give me a minute." He started whispering with George, then George and Lloyd. After a moment, Dr Eaglas stuck his head in with a couple quick sentences and the rest simply stopped and pondered. Major Bachgen turned. "Well, then, Quinn and Mark, I think we would have an amazing campfire." A cheer went up but the Major waved us to silence. "But it has to be a vote. Breaking a tradition like this really needs to have agreement all around.
"All those in favor of the proposed joint Campfire, say 'AYE!'" About half of us, including every boy that I, Karl or Jim had drawn in, screamed, 'AYE,' in unison. I was worried; would it be more than half or less? "All those opposed, say 'NAY!'" The sound of shuffling feet and a few coughs were the only sounds, other than the squeaks of bats still stunned by Cabin 1's high-pitched cheer. "Without any opposition, the measure passes by acclamation! Everyone, please thank Quinn and Mark for the excellent suggestion!" The place erupted and Willie disappeared under a tidal wave of backslapping and handshakes.
THANK YOU to the incomparable Daniel as well as Tom for their edits. Also, Jeff Moses, one of my Nifty idols, has helped make this and many more of my stories better. You have seriously GOT to read his stuff (search for chainedcoot).
Now on Tumblr: Bear Pup -- Beyond Nifty https://orsonbearpup.tumblr.com/ - Now including INSTA-PORN, sexual vignettes based on pictures that appear in my feed
If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY feedback that could make me a better author, e-mail me at orson.cadell@gmail.com
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 35 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 26 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 28 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Culberhouse Rules: 12 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 10 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 5 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/ Maybe Next Time: 5 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/