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.
His eyes found mind. I could see his lips trembling, pouty and flushed. He swallowed over and over again, as if trying to control himself. He reached a hand, shaking like palsy, to the head of his own cot and grabbed the bandana that started this whole thing. He leant forward to wipe at my chest. When his hand touched me, we both let out low "OH!" groan/moan/gasp. He went to pull away. To this day I don't know where this came from (the guts, the strength, the willpower) but I grabbed his wrist and held it in place.
***** Canvas Hell 6: The Storm By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery; masturbation; trust; intimacy; phobias; tenderness
Karl looked trapped, his hand locked to my chest as my cum slowly liquefied, but neither of us looked away. I released his wrist as he began to wipe. Somehow, I know he could not do more, so I teased the cloth out of his hand and cleaned up my abs and, eventually, my pubes, cock and balls. Karl's eyes never left the cloth, never left my hand.
His breathing was deep, desperate, exhausted. I finally finished. I didn't know what the fuck to do with the cum-bandana-cum[sic]-rag, so set it at the head of my own bed atop my backpack. I looked at Karl with a desperate need for affirmation that things were 'all right'. He just kept staring at the bandana. Finally, I crawled under the cover, still atop the sleeping bag but under a thin sheet of a camp blanket.
I'll admit that I was exhausted from the emotional seismograph that was my day, and from the epic cum, and from Karl's presence, but I knew sleep was ages away, Karl sat frozen, so I retreated 'to type' and pretended sleep. I was really good at this. About ten minutes later, Karl slowly, scared out of his wits, reached out and gently, silently lifted the bandana with my fresh cum from the backpack above my head.
Through slitted eyes, I saw Karl bring it to his nose. His eyes seemed to roll back and he whimpered softly. I never let my breathing change at all as I watched him strip off the day's clothes, having obvious trouble with the innermost layer; his own seed was matted into his pubes and peeling off the y-fronts was obviously difficult and painful.
I watched him sit there on his cot-side, staring from the bandana to his own cum-drenched crotch. Abruptly coming to a decision (or a capitulation to his needs?), Karl stripped and cleaned himself with the soggy cloth. He sighed and suddenly stiffened. I had fooled him before. Was I really asleep this time?
"You're really a shit, you know. I know you're awake. I know you're watching. It's sick and twisted and I am not gonna do anything, you know that, right? I'm not doing anything, ever, if you can watch me." What he said hurt; it hurt bad but I never varied my breathing.
"Oh, GOD!" he whisper-moaned with a shuddering voice thick with desire then fell back on his cot. Karl's hand clenched the cum-drenched bandana. It slowly, achingly, moved south. His dick was thick and dark, and BIG. I couldn't see much more in the gloom of the tent. With a collapse of all restraint and resistance, Karl wrapped his own cock in the cloth, my cum directly against his own dick, using it as a sort of liquid-rich envelope to pleasure himself.
He whispered, "If you are really watching me, I will hate you forever. Forever. Forever." Those were the last coherent words, a mantra that slowly faded to gasps and weak moans. It took Karl about six minutes, caressing with a control I surely didn't have, to reach his own climax. I could see that silence was NOT what Karl was used to, and he struggled to control his cries as orgasm wracked his body. He arched again and again, slamming back to Earth only to launch the next volley. He came as long as I had earlier. In the midst of aftershock, Karl managed to drag the camp blanket over him and was asleep before his erection faded.
I was so... I didn't know what I was... what I was feeling, but it was HUGE, indescribably life-altering. I was... a different Patrick than I'd been five minutes before, and a very different Patrick than an hour ago. I thought to the Christians shouting from street corners. Was this what they meant by 'reborn'? If so, I understood their impassioned pleas for unbelievers to join them. That thought carried me to dreamland. And the dreams...! Sorry, but there are some things I can't even share with you.
I woke the next morning and, as previously, exited quickly to water the giant beech. My movements apparently woke Karl. I heard him splashing on the other side of the Tent Canvas Hell. Neither of us was able to meet the other's eyes as we rounded the corner, gathered our stuff and proceeded to the Hygiene Hut.
We were not the first there, but close. After taking care of the bathroom needs, we got the showers at about the same time. We resolutely went to opposite walls and allowed the leaky plumbing to drench us. That morning, though, nothing I thought or resolved prevent me from sneaking glances at Karl. At one point, I went from his ass (oh my God, is there anything so beautiful?) to his face, only to see his eyes leave my own crotch and lock with my gaze. I blushed furiously and began to vigorously scrub, well, SOMETHING. I rinsed and fled without having a chance to confirm the impression I got of his cock from the night before.
Karl was not far behind and I handed him a pile of the useless towels as he emerged. Without making eye contact, we dried, brushed our teeth and dressed. We left together for the Mess Hell... sorry, the mess 'hall'.
Expectedly, Jim was waiting outside the door, quivering with anticipation and hero-worship. Neither of us had much spark that morning. We zombied our way through the line. I forgot myself and accidently got something called oatmeal. This thin, sticky gruel was the perfect match for my mood. Jim chittered and chattered like the disgustedly-happy avian alarm-clocks around us.
We added Jim to the Coffee Conspiracy when I got my steaming milk-glass from George with a wink. Jim didn't like coffee and swore never to touch the nasty bleep again, but Karl and I shared the sacred beverage between bites of ersatz foods. Jim kept a running and ecstatic chatter. Karl and I basically grunted, um'ed and yeah'ed through it until Jim finally wore down.
Thankfully, we all ended our unfortunate meal about then and exited the Mess Hell, I mean 'hut', um, 'hall', whatever. We have probably 20 minutes before they rang us for the first class of the day. Patrick and I had Woodworking and Jim had Tracking for the first session, then we all had different things for the second portion.
"So, what did you guys do after I left?" Jim's voice was upbeat, happy and innocent and both Karl and I were mortified.
I decided to take the ball. "Well, Karl helped rinse me off and I showered, but then we kinda realised that I had nothing to wear."
"Whoa! What did you do?" Horrified fascination dripped for Jim's words.
"Karl was so cool. He checked and made sure it was clear and I, well, streaked to the tent." We were sitting next to a tree near the Activities Pavilion and Jim dissolved in giggles at the image.
"Don't laugh, Jim," Karl said. "I think Patrick durned near had a litter of kittens when he realised. He was a trouper and ran across to the tent like a streak of white and red."
I punched him in the arm in mock horror and all of us laughed. Somehow, my brain realised what was coming next before Jim said the words.
"And then what?" His big eyes looked from one to the other of us as if we were Starsky & Hutch, the two coolest guys on the planet.
'Well, when we got into the tent I was so horny I begged Karl to watch me jerk off to a mind-blowing explosion. He did, then as soon as he thought I was asleep he shot a massive, vocal, energetic load using my semen as lube.'
"What do you mean, then what? We went to sleep you doofus!"
"Oh... well... yeah."
Karl was relegated to my peripheral vision as I knew that looking at him in any way would launch Global Thermonuclear Blush, but I saw him relax with relief.
We were saved from further probing questions by the triangle. Jim headed reluctantly to Tracking as Karl and I went to Woodworking. Jim was, as with Wilderness Survival, next to the forest and Karl and I were in the massive Activity Pavilion.
As we walked together, Karl mumbled, "Thanks."
"For what? We went back and went to sleep. I don't recall anything else, do you?" There was an unmistakable note of pleading in my voice and Karl was more than pleased to grant what we both wanted.
"Exactly."
We were, oddly, both almost giddy with relief and started chatting like Jim had this morning (frankly, like Jim did whenever he spoke). Woodworking turned out to be as fun as Leatherworking and much for the same reasons. The tools were amazing, varied and fascinating. The wood was supple and pliable under us and I could see the tantalising shapes of magnificent creatures trapped within the grain. I felt Karl's mounting fascinating. We met glances and smiled like co-conspirators.
We split again for the second session before lunch. Neither of us saw Jim. I headed to a different part of the Activities Pavilion for Campfire Cooking and Karl went to the open area near the central flag for the basics of Orientation & Cartography. I'd occasionally glance at Karl as he stood in rapt attention, eyes glued to a map, instructor, compass or other implement. My future cooking classes would be at Cabin 2's fire ring; today we learned about heat conduction, Dutch ovens, searing and simmering. The description and images had us all drooling in spite of the train wreck we knew to expect for lunch.
When we were done, I hit the Hygiene Hut and found Jim emerging from it. He had what I can only call an angelic look of peace, relief and calm. I suddenly had an unfounded and unworthy flash as to the reason, considering he'd had a Free Period just before. Regardless, he waited for me and we converged on the Mess Hell just as Karl came round the corner. We gathered the dreaded inedible edibles and found a table near the exit (to make tray-clearing and/or stomach-pumping more convenient).
For the first time, Karl dominated the conversation. Angles, paces, declination, perspective, triangulation. Terms whizzed past me and Jim. It was clear that Karl was smitten with the mathematics that his new subject entailed. Jim and I shared baffled and bemused expressions. When Karl got to terms that sounded like he made them up (perihelion being the straw that broke my camel-back), I interjected. "So, if we get lost like last night, you can get us back, right?"
Karl's eyes got wide and he started to stutter before Jim and I cracked up with laughter. Karl was a bit grumpy until I told him that only the combination of his newfound love, his and Jim's Wilderness Survival and my Campfire Cooking could let us escape the lingering death of starvation if we got lost. Mollified, Karl asked about our own courses and we chatted for a while.
"So, what about Free Period, Jim?" Karl asked with an outright leer.
Jim looked at Karl then caught my own unrestrained and disgusting smirk. Jim froze and the blood first drained from his face then rushed back in a blush that I would have a hard time matching. "If you can, so can I! It's what Free Periods are for, right?" Jim's fragile air of bravado and guts in making that challenge sent Karl and I into waves of distracted mirth, slapping his shoulders and using words like 'stud' and 'stallion'.
Jim revelled in the comradery and attention, still embarrassed but clearly delighted. I reminded myself how much it would have meant for me, three years ago, to be befriended and treated as an equal by Juniors. The mirth died but the contentment and sense of accomplishment remained. I was making Jim's summer easier, better, more memorable. I loved (and to this day love) that feeling more than anything else I could express.
We wandered together, laughing and joking, Karl enthused about the Cartography stuff and I talked about all the cool things I never knew you could cook over an open fire. Jim was like a puppy, gambolling and delighted to take part in the discussion. When the triangle rang, we headed to the Activities Pavilion as that is where the first archery session would start. All three of us shared that class.
Today was perfect for the pavilion, as the arrows never made an appearance (thank God; imagine the bloodshed!). Instead, we had to learn how to hold the bow, how to pull, how to whine piteously at how much it hurt our fingers, how to release, how to scream like a girl as the string snipped off a nipple or a couple inches of skin. The basics.
As expected, none of us were standouts, but Jim's slim frame and amazingly steady arm showed good promise. Likewise, none of us made complete fools of ourselves; some of the guys really could not get the concept and a couple even ended up with bloody noses when they released the bow instead of the string.
Afterwards, we split to get our trunks. Karl (reluctantly) and I (enthusiastically) had Lifesaving at the same time Jim had Swimming. As it turned out, the classes were together much of the time, with Sea and four leaders coaching the lifeguard students and a half-dozen of the leaders (far more than we'd seen in any other class) working with those uncomfortable in the water.
Karl and I were started off with laps. About halfway out to the platform on the second lap, I could tell Karl was struggling. I stopped and treaded (trod? trode? treadied?) water, then talked him through things to make it easier. How to kick without splashing so he didn't waste energy, how to turn his head in time with arms to breathe, how to keep his arms more in line with this body and less to the sides. He was jubilant when we made it to the platform, turned and raced back to the dock. Honestly, with just those few tips, he was nearly a match for me.
Thus warmed up, Sea gathered us at the dock whilst the leaders all started giving specific lessons to the swimmers.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was advice from the 70s and is probably obsolete. Also, this is porn, not a lifesaving guidebook. Seriously, I needed to say that? What a world...]
"There are three rules to keep in mind at all times." Sea's voice was strong and rich and deep and penetrating.
"The first is, don't drown." This got a hearty laugh but Sea was not amused. "The easiest thing in the world is for a lifeguard trying to save someone end up a victim himself. People, kids especially, can panic. If you don't keep your head and stay in control, we now have two victims and one less lifeguard, so we're in deep, got me, men?" A dozen pairs of wide yes flashed form the teacher to other students, all of us nodding. This was serious!
"Second rule, learn to count!" Another laugh, stifled. "If you are on duty and I come up and ask how many kids are in the water and you're wrong, I will make your life a living hell. Add when a kid goes in, subtract when one comes out. If no one is coming or going, count the heads you can see, then make damned sure you know where the differences are. Swimming underwater? Playing grab-ass? Or maybe drowning and every second counts." Twelve young statues in swim trucks just stared, several of the guys looked a little green at the thought of having literal life-and-death situations thrust on them.
"Third, ALWAYS use a float if you want to rescue someone. NEVER dive in without one. Yes, you swim faster without a float, but you and your victim can also get in a lot of trouble a lot faster, too."
"YOU!" the entire group jumped; Sea was pointing to an older boy. "Why is the Frist Rule to keep count?" The kid's brows furrowed.
"B, um, but isn't, it's, um, it's don't drown?"
"WOW! For the first class in ages someone actually LISTENED! Gold star for Chambers!" Relief washed off the tow-headed Chambers like rain.
"Don't Drown! Keep Count! Use Floats!" Sea led us in that chant for a few minutes.
"Okay, you now know six words. Congrats." We all sniggered. "There are a lot of other rules. Whenever possible, do like we're teaching the swimmers." As one, our eyes went to the other group. "Every one of them is paired with another boy. You men should do the same." It was years later that I realised how massive but subtle an impact 'you men' and 'those boys' had on each of us. "Find a partner. Know your partner. Know where he is and what he's doing every second. If your partner goes in to assist, you DO NOT!
"YOU!" Gulp; he was pointing to me. "WHY is that, Kennedy?"
"Um, because I need to be ready if Karl gets in trouble? I need to have stuff ready if, um, if he or the, um, victim needs help?" Karl looked at me, and it struck me that I had automatically paired myself with him; no discussion, no forewarning. I blushed.
"Red here has it right on the first try! Good job, Kennedy." To this day, I'm not sure if 'Red' was from my hair or my face, but it stuck. Kids would call me Red the rest of the month.
"If your partner is in the water, YOU have to be thinking how to get him and the victim OUT of that water. We'll talk about reach-poles, floats, tie-lines, ropes and aids. The first one to recognise the need for assistance JUMPS! His partner NOTICES and goes to work!"
By the end of the session, all of us were in terrified awe of Sea and his voice. Some of the boys were simply terrified and approached Sea quietly later. Of the 12 who started, eight would be there for the second lesson; four could not take the idea of others entrusting them with actual lives. Karl would have made five but I never gave him a chance and shamelessly challenged his manhood for even the thought of quitting.
As the class closed, Jim came out of the water like a sailfish, all sleekness and splash. Karl and I laughed. Both classfuls of 'men' and 'boys' and most of the leaders headed for the Hygiene Hut. Like many others, Jim made a detour to his cabin and we to Tent Canvas Hell for fresh clothes. Some other session that afternoon had left the boys muddy and reeking, so there was a crowd for the showers. I am not sure why, but the presence of the leaders and their incredibly casual air about showering gave me the courage to sneak looks at all and sundry. Some of the older boys took my breath away, with dense layers of fur, massive 'tackle' or shapely muscles at leg, butt, arm or back. I noticed a lot of the other boys with the same faux-furtive looks, including Karl and the so-very-NOT-subtle Jim. I decided that I was within the non-mutant range overall and sighed.
We dried and dressed, and headed to the Mess Hall. I was rather shocked. Tonight was fired chicken that, whilst not a blue-ribbon offering, was actually edible if you avoided the Brown Slime (gravy) and the Green Goo (unsuspecting green beans boiled mercilessly into submission). Chef managed not to make powdered mashed potatoes any worse than they are naturally. Not bad nosh!
Tonight was different. Instead of unlimited roaming, each cabin would rehearse a song or skit for the Sunday Night Campfire for the entire population of Camp Sin. Tent-dwellers were instructed to pick a single fire-ring for the week and join them. I was ecstatic. No, Duh! I was mortified. Sing? Act? In front of PEOPLE? Were they MAD?
Grumbling, moans and derision aside, everyone sorted themselves and retired after dinner. At a loss, Karl and I tagged along with Jim (to his beaming pride) to Cabin 3, home of 15-year-old campers. When Karl cocked an eyebrow at Jim, who we knew to be 14, he blushed and admitted his birthday {Oh, please! Don't tell ANYONE! Promise?!?} would fall on the coming weekend.
As it turned out, the two leaders assigned to this cabin were amazingly cool. One had long, rebellious hair and the other, though clean-cut, had a wicked grin and sharp sense of humour. More, each played both guitar and harmonica. The wandered through the group for a few minutes playing snatches of old standards and some newer song. The one that resonated with everyone was a new one. Woody Guthrie's son, Arlo, had released it a few years prior and it was dark, mysterious and (for kids our age) a bit edgy with talk of the 'paper bag that holds the bottle' and card games.
We decided (well, we thought we did; the leaders were really good) that we'd all sing the chorus and groups of five would take each take two stanzas, handing the verse to the next group as seamlessly as boys could accomplish. Karl, Jim and I were on the fourth set along with Jim's friend Orson and a terrified-looking kid named (we eventually found out) Willie. Orson looked at us like, I assume, I'd have looked at the god-like near-adult 17-year-olds when I was that age. The kid we learned was named Willie never looked for more than an instant before attempting to memorise his shoelaces. We set to learning the Chorus.
As it turned out, Karl had a nice (if occasionally crackly) baritone and I was a rich tenor (which I have to this day). Jim had the enthusiastic if unskilled boy's high tenor that occasionally broke HARD to a near-basso rumble that he loathed, making him sound like he gargled the words. We were amongst the first to really learn the chorus. Choruses, actually, as the chorus shifted like most train songs in the last verse. We were good together, as were most of the others. Shoving and poking when people forgot their lines; laughing and cheering when we succeeded; bonding over a song that had so much more meaning in the years to come.
** ** A thousand years and a million miles later, the echo of Karl and Jim in harmony singing, "Good morning, America, how are you? Don't you know me? I'm your native son. I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans," sends wondrous and elated shivers through my soul. The inevitable and remorseless last line, "I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done," a dirge for innocence, for friends and years lost, can still make me cry. -- Sorry for the digression. Where were we? {cough/sniff/cough} Ahem... ** **
Full dark had claimed the trees and the last light of day was retreating from a battalion of stars as we hugged Jim (puppyish), Orson (owlish) and Willie (petrified) and made our way to Tent Canvas Hell. We were content and smiling, but oddly subdued. The melody and tone of the full song, which the leaders played at the start and end of the evening, seemed to echo. I don't know why.
We got to the tent for the first "normal" night so far. Redolent of smoke but clean (well, by boy standards, having showered after the last class), we were both cogent, aware and awake. We entered Tent Canvas Hell and stopped, not knowing what to do. What each of us had seen and done, with or without the other's understanding, was like a fragile sheet of ice that we each trod fearfully, not knowing when a tiny crack might plunge us into the unknown.
We turned away from each other to undress. I was so hard I couldn't imagine Karl seeing me and I assumed he just didn't want to be embarrassed if I looked (oh, how wrong I was). Each in boxers, we shuffled into our sacks as we had been warned that the weather would turn overnight. We turned as if synchronised away toward the tent walls and laid there. A sharp wind heralded the change in temperature that the Major had warned about.
I tried everything to entice the Dreamweaver: floating in a calm pool; riding a dolphin; climbing a tree; being a hobbit of the Shire-folk, a rabbit on Watership Down, Milo meeting the Watch Dog. Nothing. As the beech shook and trembled with the wind, I was suddenly aware that Karl was as restless as I. He abruptly unzipped his bag and whispered, "It's too hot. You awake? Patrick?"
I had pretended the last two night, afraid of what would happen if I admitted to being there. The leaves above and around us began to fight with the same intensity as my own thoughts. As the memory of those nights and their outcomes ping-ponged through my mind, Karl said, "Please, Patrick. If you are awake, can you tell me? Please?" There was real hurt and need and fear in his voice.
"I'm awake, Karl. I can't sleep either." Karl sighed deeply. Finally, he could talk to me under the cover of canvas darkness. I flailed myself raw with the question, 'what would it have been like if I'd been honest Sunday? Monday?'
"You were awake the first night, when, wh, when I said what I s... what I said?"
"Yes."
"You were awake last night, too." He said this with a certainly and grief that shredded my soul. How could I lie? How could I imagine lying?
"I didn't want to be Karl, but I was." I flipped to face him but his face was still away from me. "I am so, so sorry! Karl, I didn't know what to do! I wanted, wa, wanted... I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANTED! But I couldn't bear to let you know, to let you see, to let you know..." I was weeping by now, my reliable waterworks erupting like the short burst of rain that attacked the canvas walls.
A lull, and a voice as quiet as the breeze on the tent came back, "I know, Patrick. I said I'd hate you but, but, but I don't. I am sorry, really."
Karl turned to me and I swear to this day, to my dying breath, that his eyes glowed with the rich and delicate blue of and iceberg at night. Those eyes were my universe. I didn't know why. I didn't care why.
Suddenly we both sat up as a clap of thunder rang out. The drops of rain got larger and more insistent. I was still half in my bag and Karl was sitting on the edge of his cot when the world went white. A sound to destroy all others exploded. Karl was suddenly in my arms, clutching me, shuddering and crying. I clung to him, as much from my own fear as for his comfort. A second mammoth strike in the nearby trees and Karl was undone, inchoate with fear.
I stroked and clung to him as he cowered in my arms. I unzipped my bag and dragged him in, and simply cradled his quaking form as the storm exploded around us. Karl was curled like a child shaking and shivering like he had just been pulled from an icy pond, weeping silently and inconsolably. Three things crashed upon my consciousness: I was bereft that he was in fear and pain and wanted nothing more than to comfort him; that I held another boy in my arms, taboo but needful for his protection; I was more aroused than at any point in my entire fucking life. Shame accompanied the last thought, but not enough that Karl's every quiver failed to make my cock notice and approve.
The maelstrom lasted about an hour, a lifetime for Karl. He was a wreck, sobbing and unable to catch his breath. Terrified, I heard to Dark Woods Monster approach, sticks cracking under his hooves like the bones of the damned campers he'd devoured. Karl was oblivious and I could not even squeak when a voice rang out, "Tent 9! You okay in there?"
I almost fainted. It was one of the leaders, checking on the tents.
"W, w, we, we..." I took a gulp of air to prime the pump.
"ARE YOU OAKY?!?"
"Yes! We're f, f, fine! It hit, hit so close. We're a bit shook up but fine!"
"Good men. If things get too bad, come down to the Mess Hall. We have cocoa and blankets."
I sighed with relief as he left. What would he make of me comforting the quivering huddle that had been my tent-mate? What did I make of it? FUCK! What would Karl make of it?!?
I didn't care. I petted and cooed and caressed and calmed Karl for the next 20 minutes (or lifetime). He finally jerked and I realised he was back. He looked up at me with wide, horrified, humiliated and desperate eyes.
"Wh, what did I do?"
"You did what I'd have done if you didn't get there first!" I quipped. "The lightening was, I don't know, right THERE and the crack was BANG! CRASH! BOOM! I don't know how you made it. I nearly wet myself."
I somehow knew that any hint that Karl had been less than a manly-man would destroy him.
"Karl, I don't know what I would have done! Without you, you know, here? Oh, my God!"
I had gone too far, but Karl rescued me. His voice small and scared and so very young, "You can stop, Patrick. I hate storms." His body shuddered with the admission. "I, I can't han, handle the thunder. I was, was, six or s..." what there was of his voice drained away.
"Having you here, Karl, made me feel safe. You get that, right?"
Karl looked at me with hope, fear and longing; my heart shattered. I cradled this boy-man in my arms and began to weep, cuddling and soothing both of our souls. Would he hate me? I didn't care. Would he blame me? I didn't care. What would others think? I DIDN'T CARE! I rocked him until sleep came, both his and mine. Repercussions, recrimination and regrets were for the morning; now I took and gave what we both needed so badly.
I am only the author; Karl and Patrick and Jim run their universe. Let me know your thought and I'll run them past the three guys. Maybe you will give them to impetus they need to...