Special Note: I am starting to write again, but will not come close to the pace I produced last year. Chapters will come months instead of days apart.
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. You can also set up AMAZON SMILE so that your purchases on Amazon earn contributions to NIFTY! It's a great, zero-cost way to enhance the support you already give them.
The idea that the only thing required to be "one of the cool kids" was to not be a complete dick has spread like wildfire. The pattern of a younger kid "adopting" an older one had become the defining characteristic of the group and, we found out long after, had led to a number of lifelong friendships. A somewhat creepy side-benefit was that anyone who hung around with our group at meals was shunned by other "boss-types", a fact that drove to us a lot of kids who'd been under their thumbs since the early days of August. Burnham, one of those bosses, muttered with Jerry, Carter and the decimated remains of his pack while staring bullets at the three ringleaders, Karl, Jim, and most-especially... me.
Canvas Hell 38: Pennies Drop
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery - Friday/Saturday/Sunday
Leatherworking saw the three of us putting the finishing touches on the wallets, all of us beaming with not-quite-suppressed pride. The last thirty minutes of the session were the Reveal, as Land called it. Some of the boys were frankly in tears and others were just plain lost and their projects showed it. By acclamation, the absolute best was one by a kid named Frank Vrbl (seriously; he had not a single vowel in his surname). On one side was a sky filled with soft clouds and darting swifts; the other was a night-sky with cloud-shrouded moon and flitting bats. When Land tilted the wallet, you could see the acrobatic fliers dive and dash about.
To me (shock of shocks) nothing compared to those by Jim and Karl. Karl's was a boldly-embossed and heat-darkened shield on one side and star (complete with waving bands like a flag) on the other. It was beautiful, both striking and arresting, forcing you to stop and think about the nature of power. Jim's was a set of beautiful, flowing lines that he explained were the waves and ripples of the river. Entwined were a stylized and entrancing fish on one face and canoe on the other. A decade or so later, I would learn that the style could easily be called Art Nouveau. It was literally breathtaking.
I shyly held mine up and Land slowly smiled. I, naturally, thought it was derision. Without opening it (he never showed the inner panels; those were private), he held it aloft and said, "Gentlemen, this is how you really remember Camp Sinnemahoning. You might think that camp is canoes and hikes and trees and birds, and you're not wrong. Red knows, though, that what is really important, the thing he and all of you will remember, are things like," he looked down and read, "Karl. Jim. Nate. Trey." I was more than a little taken aback when he handed it back to me with what looked suspiciously like a moist eye.
Jim trooped off to his final Wilderness Survival in jittery worry over what would await him as the second part of the test (the first had been to rescue a stricken Leader). Karl and I moved to the central Fire Ring and sat, joined by a few of the guys who were "in the club." We chatted and the mood deepened quickly. What do you say to people who have suddenly become friends mere days before they'd leave "forever" (as with all teens, any period longer than a week fell into that definition, and certainly "all school year" fit).
Jim didn't even look up at us as he trudged to the Hygiene Hut with the rest of the obviously-exhausted Wilderness Survivors. They frankly looked like the subject had been Bear-Attack Victimhood. Karl and I, along with several of the others who had friends in the group, followed in their wake and waited outside the Hut itself. Marcus confided the reason for the shape of our pals.
"We were sworn to not tell about this one. It was a Wilderness Survival obstacle course. Trees you had to go over, others you had to go under, one you had to climb. A rope-bridge to walk, one low rope and one at chest height that bucked and twisted and dumped you on your ass. A thicket that you had to decide to crash through or run way, way around the thing. Grueling man. I mean completely brutal."
Jim came out looking about like he had going in, and not just from the ragged clothes that had clearly lost battles with thorns and scrapes. He looked at us both sidelong and jerked his head minutely, then set off to Tent Canvas Hell. Karl and I shared a look and followed him. He had the screen down which cast the tent into gloom where you could just make out vague shapes inside.
We got in and he whispered, "Don't say anything. I think someone has been listening at the tent-side." Karl inflated like a furious balloon. "Both of you, hush. Apparently, someone overheard part of the discussion that you," he nodded gravely to Karl, "had about you and Nate choking the chicken and..." Jim's voice trailed off but he resumed quickly when he saw that Karl was about to explode. "And you said something like, 'but we're not the same kind of friends that you [me and Patrick] are', and something about 'not that way'."
Karl's eyes had gone huge in that dark, bearish face. Realization crashed that he, Karl, was the reason this was slipping out. His lip started to quiver. I leaned forward and whispered where only he and Jim could possibly hear. "Stop it, Karl. Jerry was already on the scent and got it out of someone snooping that night. This isn't about you, okay, buddy?"
Have you ever heard a low and rumbling growl hissed? It's... pretty unique. "No. It is not okay." He turned back to Jim. "How do you know this?"
"One of Jerry's goons -- no! hush! I am not saying which because you'll kill him and get sent to Juvie -- tripped me on an out-of-the-way section of the course and whispered, 'So apparently there's one normal guy in that tent since he's not that way, and not the special kissy-friends that you and Red are.' He was off after that like a shot and no one else saw the tripping or heard him."
Karl looked ready to explode, like an honest-to-god meat bomb. I whispered again. "Jim, that doesn't mean anyone overheard Karl that night. You know that. Think about it for a minute. It isn't specific. It's exactly what any bully would make up on his own. It does, probably, mean that someone heard you," I nodded to Karl again, "and Nate either jacking off over girls or talking about it later, but it doesn't mean Jerry's goons know anything real about me and Jim. Pretend it never happened and it won't go anywhere. Freak out, either of you, and you're confirming what are only suspicions right now." Jim was glaring and Karl glowering, but I knew I was right.
"I'm heading out. When you are both back under control, leave one at a time and we'll meet at," I gulped with revulsion, "dinner."
I felt far less confident than I looked as I left the tent, walking toward the Hygiene Hut, trying to act as if it was just another lovely afternoon at Camp Sin. I kept it up really well until I got to Dr Eaglas' office just as the door opened and I caught the horrified face of one of the younger kids in our late-forming group. Eaglas' voice was calm, soothing and mock-stern. "You write like your mother told you to. She says she's 'frantic with worry.'" He warbled the last part and the penny dropped for the young man, Russ or Rusty or something. Russ (I think) shot him a look of gratitude that belied the fiction and fled in escape.
"Come on in, Red." I followed and he shut and latched the door. "Good 'nothing to see here' mask, Patrick. Almost convincing. You need some more lessons from Karl, though." He motioned me to the couch and took the nearer armchair. He looked at me for a long while as I stared at everything except him. "Well, it's clear you're not going to start. Let me take a shot at it. Someone made a 'gay' sneer and you think it's written on your forehead now? Am I close?"
I suddenly looked down at my clenching hands. "No, but not that far off. One of the goons that hangs around with Jerry MacMillan -- Jim won't say which one because he thinks... well, he knows that Karl would literally kill whoever it was -- tripped him on the Wilderness Survival course and whispered something that, well, he might well have heard Karl say the other night. It... it would make it obvious that, that I, that, um, Jim and I..." I snatched at the tissue that appeared in my narrowing field of vision.
"Okay," his voice was actually very like one of Karl's growls. "How precise or accurate was what the young... person said?"
"Not very, but both Jim and Karl are seriously freaked out, and I, I'm, uh, I'm not doing much better. I told them to stay in the tent until they could both cool it, because reacting is confirming something that they can't, you know, actually KNOW."
"Good advice." His voice had returned to the soft, professional grumble it had always been. "It sounds like someone is suspicious and fishing around. Any idea why that might be?"
I sighed tremulously and my voice sounded years younger than I actually was. "That Jerry kid saw me and Jim, um, sitting together? We played it off that I was getting a thorn out of his leg, but I think he..." what had become a whisper simply faded to nothingness.
"Clothes on or off?"
My head snapped up to his. "No! Nothing like that. Jim was sit-sitting in my lap and I was... k-kissing him?" Back to a whisper. "Jerry came from behind us so there's no way he saw anything except my shoulders and Jim's legs."
Eaglas blew out a deep, cheek-puffing breath. "Okay, first things first. No one is going to seriously harm Jim. For one thing, I doubt Karl lets him out of his sight for more than two seconds between now and the end of camp. Second, you both have to be very careful. There are a lot of people in our country who would be... indescribably vicious and brutal over what you and Jim are lucky enough to share. Third, you have to know that someone will eventually figure this out. It probably won't happen here unless you are insanely foolish and do something obvious, but it will happen sometime. You and Jim, and Karl, too, need to talk that through."
"But how?" It came out more like the voice of an anguished kitten than a young man.
"After campfire practice tonight, come here. If I'm not with another young man, you three can use my office and I'll have a pipe. If there is someone, I'll slip you the key to my cabin where you cannot be overheard."
I literally launched myself into him and hugged him hard, crying throughout. He cooed and petted my hair until I quieted. "Now, go on. Chef will have someone truly awful since we're quickly approach the end of the season. For the next nine months, he has to cook according to real, edible recipes." I pulled back and stare at him in bafflement. "Didn't you know? His winter job is as a sous chef in a Florida resort for the wealthy called the Vinoy. Very posh."
"B-B-But aren't they worried he'll kill the rich people? I mean, oh Lord!" He laughed as he watched the horror flash behind my eyes.
"I have it on first-hand account that, when forcibly prevented from improvising, he's actually rather good chef!" He laughed again as the dismay painted on my face. "Now, go on. Git." He shooed me out and I caught a kid, maybe sixteen, peeking around the far corner then scuttling to Eaglas' door when he thought I was out of viewing range. He looked exactly as terrified as all three of the Tent Canvas Hell crew had been at various points of our Camp Sin Summer.
I frowned as I felt something tug inside my pocket. I reached in and found three Snickers bars that, apparently, the good doctor had slipped in unnoticed, probably while I was distracted by the imagined carnage in an unsuspecting Florida resort. I hid them quickly as the triangle sounded. Jim, followed closely and obviously by Karl, met me at the door and we went in.
Fish stew, noxious and overpowering, filled the air with a bleak miasma. Jesus, save me from faux-Catholic Fridays! He had a rice-and-beans dish that reeked of cloves (cloves? In beans?) and a bland, sad salad that, apparently, had no dressing at all. All of us chose that option and I sneaked a Snickers to each of my best friends, shushing them quickly.
Karl and Jim sat near the middle of a table, and I perched far away, earning a glare from Jim and a nod of approval from Karl. I wedged myself between Willie and a massive guy my age that I found out was named Rocky. He whispered, "Bryce, really." He was about my height but a study in thick. Thick lips, thick face, thick arms. Tree trunks for legs. An impressive belly for a guy our age, but not fat, as such, just... big.
I nearly chocked on my Snickers when I heard him tell another kid, "Yeah, I'm not really happy. Brand new school for senior year, no friends around, don't know any of the girls or anything. And in a town named for freaking candy bar no less."
I nudged him, akin to nudging wall, and he turned to me. "You're going to be a senior at Hershey High?"
He frowned slightly, "Yeah, Red. Why? Is it a bad place?"
"No! Not at all. It's where I'll be a senior this year, too."
His face lit up like the guest of honor at a surprise party. "Really? What's it like? Who's on the team and how good are they? What about --?"
"Whoa! Hold on big fellah. Slow down. I've been there since I was a freshman. My dad works, well, for the candy company. I don't, you know, DO sports. The football team is, well, not exactly championship material. We're the Trojans, so we can't really suck all the way." My waggled eyebrows got a laugh. "What do you play."
"Football. I used to wrestle but I'm too big for the high school limits. I'm more of a bench-warmer for baseball, but don't suck too bad as a backup catcher or a batter. Why don't you 'do' sports?"
"Because neither blushing nor tripping over things earn points in any of them." We laughed and fell into the eternal rhythm of tentative teen maybe-a-friend conversation. I was something of a novice, but he didn't crush me like a bug or look at me like I was a centipede, so I guess I got passing marks. Until... "You're friends with Jim? And Karl, right?"
"Yeah, I met them both here at camp, but, yeah, they're, well, the best friends I've ever had."
"Wow, that's fast!"
I sighed deeply. "Yeah. Yeah it is. And Karl lives in Scranton so I won't see him at all over the winter." His face lit up when I mentioned Scranton. In seconds we were standing next to Karl, Jim and an extremely-intimidated Nate who looked at Rocky with stark terror and huge eyes.
"Guys, this is Rocky. He's moving to Hershey so he'll be in High School with me and.." there was a catch in my voice and I cursed myself, coughing to cover it. "--and Jim. He's from Scranton. Do you know him Karl?"
Karl's eyes slitted like a viper. "Yeah. I know him. This bastard has put me on my ass at least one game a year since ninth grade."
"Karl... Mueller?!?" Rocky's eyes popped. "Mueller the mule? Dunmore? You snuck your weaselly ass past me for a sack more times than I put you down. I never even thought it was you without the pads and stuff!" With that, they were in the famous sportsman's attack-hug thing where both seemed intent on putting a fist through the other's spine, but with a smile.
Light dawned in Karl's eyes and he pulled me, Jim and Nate into his and Rocky's wake.
Rocky was pleased as punch but still puzzled when Karl said, "Rocky, this is Nate. He's a great guy. Who do you know at that rathole called Scranton High who can, well, keep the assholes off of him?"
Nate's face was... fascinating. He had managed to drain completely of color while simultaneously blushing furiously. He was scared of the enormous newcomer, mortified at being made to look weak, and had a look of basest betrayal for Karl, who noticed.
"Nate, listen to me. I know you're man enough to take care of yourself. But this giant pile of brainless brawn is a great guy. Having his buds keeping an eye on your back is... a very good idea, buddy. You with me?" It was clear that Nate was far from 'with' Karl on this, but he also would not defy his idol. He nodded slowly and turned his terrified gaze to Rocky.
"Which sports do you do, Nate?" I hated (still hate) the automatic assumption that anyone with a pair of balls is into sports.
"R-R-Running, medium and long. And, um, wrestling but not that good. Baseball, but I just warm the bench."
Rocky looked like he had just been given a present. "When you get to Scranton, you find Brian Weldon. He's on the wrestling team and a defensive end in football. Shit at baseball, though so you can bench-warm together. You tell him Shorty says to treat you right, and you him ask about wrestling." Nate looked thoroughly lost. "Brian was all-state last year in Light Middleweight. Unless he gets stupid or hurt, he's likely got a free ride to either Indiana or Iowa." This news made Nate's jaw drop like a rock; apparently both were good?
"And no one, no one messes with him. He can beat my ass if he tried, and don't tell him I said so. Also, pal up Paul Wojciechowski -- no, nobody can pronounce it or spell it, call him Wo-Jo -- who is a great guy as well as a good baseballer." He winked, "Yeah, my ass has polished a lot of baseball benches, Nate."
I am not sure that Nate had inhaled since Rocky started talking. Karl's large, thick hand came down on Nate's shoulder and the smaller boy sucked in a massive lungful of air. "B-B-B-But I'm. I'm gonna be a freshman. They'll crush me like a mosquito!"
Rocky crouched. "Wrong. Both of them were bullied near to death in grade school before they hit their growth. They don't tolerate it, and if I ever hear that they have, they know for certain-sure that I will be Death Come Knocking. You see," Rocky dropped his voice to a soft growl, "I got big really early and was one of the ones who protected them." Nate, speechless looked like a cross between an open-mouthed Pez dispenser and a bobble-head doll. Karl leaned in and whispered something that none of us could hear, and Nate turned purple.
Karl yanked on the arm of the mountain gorilla until he could whisper to him as well. Rocky's smile grew wide, sly and lascivious to Karl. "Oh, you have no idea." He looked down and the slowly-thawing ice-sculpture called Nate. He pulled a Camper Contact Card from his pocket and scrawled something on the back. "Nate, you write me when you get settled in the new school. There is a young, well, certainly-not-a-lady named Charlene Novotny. A sophomore, or will be next month. I'll give you a few pointers. And, um, Nate?" He leaned down and in his gruffest voice said, "You burn that letter after reading it, buddy. It is NOT for parental eyes."
I, frankly, lost it. Jim was close behind with Karl trailing. The cascade of mirth was unstoppable. Nate's face was priceless. Recipe: Take a quart of teen hormones and add a hint of sexual fulfillment, a tablespoon of existential dread, a cup of abject mortification and a pint of desperate lust. Shake well until it explodes. Rocky, chuckling, put a hand under Nate's arm until he regained what, with a teen boy, might be called consciousness.
Tonight would be the first of two practices combining all the Camp Sinners into a single unit around the central campfire. First, the Leaders grouped us by vocal range and it... didn't suck at all. For the second run-through, they lined us up alphabetically and all of us were shocked that it sounded even better. The third attempt had the Leaders try (comically) to arrange us with one each of a treble, countertenor, baritone and base, then repeat the cycle. That was pure disaster, not least because most of the trebles and countertenors couldn't even see the Leaders, blocked by and wedged between older boys. They then put us in the original, vocal-range groups and tried again. It was... really, really, good.
They released us and we were all on a sort of high from the performance. An odd group header to Cabin Four's fire ring: our "core" -- Karl, Jim, Nate, Trey and me -- joined by Rocky (to Nate's mortification), Willie and Larry, and finally Mark and Marcus with their shadows, Quinn and Sam. Karl pulled Rocky and a deeply-reluctant Nate to one side and they started to talk about (what else) sports. Nate was suddenly, like a switch throw, completely into the conversation.
Trey, Willie and Larry started an in-depth argument about a movie that had just come out in May called "Star Wars". I wouldn't become an addict to that particular drug until months later when the last raft of seventies geeks got into the club.
The three... I squirmed at the word... couples started to talk Tolkien and we joined, Jim reluctantly. We spoke for a while until the conversation turned to the two Ent-enhanced hobbits, Merry and Pippin and also got a bit... ribald. Specifically, what does Ent-draught do to, well, those parts. Jim and I faded to the background seamlessly and I looked deep into his eyes.
"This will work, Jim. I swear it."
I have never seen such a furious glare from the guy who had become the center of my universe. "You can't 'swear' that, you frigging idiot. You have no clue what happens next, what Jerry does, what the others are gonna do. You can't 'make it right' no matter how much you want to, Patrick. I love you, asshole, but don't lie to me or lie to yourself."
"We have to hide this, Jim. We have to pretend that... that we don't, d-d-don't need this. AND I CAN'T FIX IT!" a whispered wail is a unique and eviscerating thing.
He stroked the side of my face in a way that nearly made me purr. "We have to hide it, but we don't have to deny, it Patrick. We never have to deny it, at least between us."