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.
Trey was crying a little. I patted both shoulders and moved to stand by Jim again. To stand where I was supposed to be. Where I was supposed to be forever.
Canvas Hell 30: A Touching Afternoon
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery - Wednesday
All of us woke early on Wednesday. There seemed to be a fizz in the air. We headed down to the Hygiene Hut and, sadly, were there before the boilers were up to power. We took a tepid but not icy shower. The door to the Mess Hall wasn't even unlocked yet, so we settled at the central Fire Ring.
Since we'd finished our project the day before, we wondered aloud about what would be in store for us in woodcarving the next day and I suddenly sat up. "Hey! You promised to show us your carving yesterday, Jim, and you never did. What's up with that?"
He blushed and looked down, scuffing his feet. "Wellllll, I don't have it with me."
"Well, no shit, Sherlock. But why didn't you show us when it was in your pocket."
"Now that's not fair. With all the Orson/Trey stuff, you didn't remember either! And I wanted to show both of you in, you know, private. Just us. And when we got back to the tent last night it was already dark and, well, I thought about it. But the other stuff with Trey last night left me, I dunno, emotionally tired? So, I just tucked in my pack and went to sleep."
"Well, what is it?"
Jim blushed harder. "It'll sound too stupid if I don't have it to show you. We'll look after Canoeing, okay?"
Karl was looking at him seriously, but nodded slowly. We noticed Chef unlock the door and most of the adults file inside. I got a head-gesture from the Major and we trooped in, settling at the far corner. I doctored my coffee up into the sweet sludge and Karl kept his the slightly-sub-lethal black. We chatted as guys trickled in. Apparently, this was a day for early risers. Something in the air.
Chef's reluctant minions started to drop things into the steam trays and Chef himself went out and clanged the bell. At first, I was puzzled on why they'd made egg-drop soup for breakfast until one of the minions put up a little sign that read, 'Scrambled Eggs'. You really shouldn't need a ladle for scrambled eggs. Also, there is something seriously wrong with a world where sausage links go crunch when you bite them. Other than the black crusts, though, they weren't too bad inside. Thank God for cereal and fruit!
We headed down to the dock. The two-man kayak had other takers that day; Sea was fending off a horde of guys wanting a shot at it. He agreed that he'd let four pairs try it out, "AND I WILL PICK so stop the pushing or not one of you will get near it. You hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?" They whole pack jumped a few inches and warbled out a yessir.
He picked another odd pair. A sixteen-year-old and a kid who was probably fourteen, maybe even younger. The soon-to-be Junior, though, was the smaller of the pair. The younger looked like the puberty fairy had walloped him upside the head instead of just sprinkling some pubic-hair dust. There was no possible doubt that he was JV football, and possibly basketball as well.
Like that, they jetted off. Another brilliant match with the power this time coming from the kid and the finesse from the older boy, the reverse of Karl and Nate. We asked and got permission to use a four-man canoe. Nate very confidently took the rear seat. After watching his deft performance with the kayak on Monday, I had to admit he'd probably be better than me. Karl and I took the next two forward with Jim perched in the bow.
The assignment today was to fish and still keep moving. Sea spent some time explaining how to work the paddle differently to reduce the disturbance of the water's surface. It was slower and actually more difficult, but if you did it right your fellow crew could catch fish. About twenty minutes later, Nate physically took Karl's paddle away. Karl wasn't at all happy, but his scowl was more than matched by that of every other quiet canoer on the river. Karl had one speed and approach: Blitz Attack.
Nate really was better than me. When he was propelling us, all of us got solid bites and both Karl and Jim caught respectable fish; mine made it just to the edge of the boat before the thing slipped the hook. It was at least four feet long and had to have weighed... never mind.
I didn't suck at the paddling, actually, and Nate caught a very nice, trophy-sized pike. It was huge, and mean as hell. Sea kayaked over and agreed it was trophy-worthy and took custody of the thing. Nate actually did want his trophy catch mounted.
Jim's style was a bit wilder than perfect, but I got a very, very nice striped bass that I let go immediately. Karl ended up with four for the day, largely since he wasn't allowed to do anything except fish; he, too, released them all. No one came close to catching anything like Nate's monster (except me; that thing was at least five feet and fat to boot). We got back to the dock a little late and washed in a rush.
Lunch was actually pretty good. Stewed wienies and kraut with a vat of spicy mustard. Of course, this was also a cruel joke on the part of the diabolical Chef. Sauerkraut and hot mustard with about 150 teens? Farts were ripping right and left before the meal was even done. Thankfully, Leatherworking was in an open-air pavilion and there was a nice breeze. Had it been an enclosed space, a spark could have blown the whole camp to kingdom come.
We all worked silently and attentively at our wallets. Afterwards, Karl and I just wandered for our Free Period as Jim went to his Wilderness Survival class. Out of the blue, Karl said, "So what do you think about Nate?"
"Nate? I think he's a really great guy. Really willing to put it on the line for a friend. Hey, that's right. He lives in Scranton too, doesn't he?" Karl didn't look as delighted with that as I would have thought.
"Yeah. Maybe a mile or two away. I think he'll be in Scranton High and I'm in Dunmore, so that helps..." His voice trailed off. I turned to face him full on and stopped walking.
"Karl? Buddy? What's this about?" He looked guilty and shifty; both seemed so alien on his features that was normally so straightforward and composed. He tried to move around me but I was having none of it. He finally sighed and sat on a stump. I settled on the grass in front of him.
After sighing so many times I started worrying he might hyperventilate, he said, "After I, you know, asked that yesterday and kinda sorta broke your brain for a little while? Well, I asked myself the same questions about Nate."
"And?"
Karl was really upset, I could tell, and it was taking a lot for him to hold it together. "And I have sports all three seasons, and have a real shot at a scholarship, at least a little one, for Baseball. Nate's gonna think I dumped him and hate me, Patrick. And you're right. He's a great kid." The misery was leaking through.
I kept my voice soft and neutral. "Have you talked to him about that?"
His eyes flashed to mine, "Hell, no! Are you brain-damaged or just not listening? He'll be pissed and crushed. I can't do that to the little guy!"
"You really get hung up on the big guy little guy thing, don't you?" I let a little acid seep into my voice. "At least I never doubted that Jim was the smart one. Ever think NATE might have answers and not just you? If I recall correctly, he was the one who fixed YOU last Saturday. He seemed a lot more pulled-together than any of the three of us!"
Karl was scowling. Okay, I thought, this I can work with. I stood up and brushed off my pants. "Never mind. I'm sure you're right. It's a lot better to assume that it's all on you and let it crash than to, you know, risk actually having a conversation. Yeah; don't know what I was thinking. You ready to head back?"
"I hate you when you're right, you beanpole asshole."
I grinned. "A beanpole doesn't have an asshole."
"Of course it does, or something just like. How else would Lima Beans get crapped into the world?"
We tussled a little then headed back. Karl was in a contemplative mood and I let him stew. He wasn't torn up, though, like he'd been. More like he was finally thinking about the whole picture and not just his own role in it.
Jim fell into step with us as we passed the main camp, smiling over Wilderness Survival. We got to the tent and he pulled the flaps behind us, unusual but not rare. He rummaged in his pack and came back with a cloth parcel. We sat and he got extremely serious.
"Okay, I know this is probably stupid and all, but don't laugh, please?" Both Karl and I rocked back. Where did this come from? He sighed deeply then unfolded the cloth. Karl and I stared at it for a minute. It was three leaves coming off a twig. Deeply-veined beech leaves like the ones in the giant trees above us right then, overlapping slightly.
I looked at Karl, then we both looked at Jim who had a blush that could rival some of mine. He spoke stiffly, worriedly. "It-it's us. The l-l-long leaf in back is Patrick. I'm the smaller one in the middle and the thick one on top, protecting the rest, is Karl. But see? Here at the stem? We all come together like one."
Karl sniffed loudly and I was stunned to see tears there. He leaned in and pulled Jim to a bearhug, then used the other arm to capture me as well. His voice was gruff and coarse, but clear. "It's perfect, Jim. Just like, well, like you. Like the three of us together."
We hugged for a bit, all three of us sniffling right along with Karl. Eventually, the hug broke. Karl sat back. His lower lip was trembling his muscles were incredibly tense. He started to speak then swallowed several times, obviously trying to get his dry mouth to work. His eyes flicked back and forth between Jim and me. For all the world, Karl, the staunch and implacable defender, looked terrified.
"Um, Patrick? That of-f-f-f-fer. I think I, um, I want... well."
I pulled in a shuddering gasp as his meaning struck home.
"O-o-o-only can it, um, b-b-be both of you? T-t-t-touching me? Is that too weird?"
Jim leapt on him like a leopard, kissing his chin and giggling as he started to strip Karl of his clothes. I joined in. In seconds, a giggling and petrified Karl was laid before us.
JUST KIDDING! That was for fellow Nifty author Jim Ford, who carps that I always end chapters on sexual cliff-hangers. His work is really special; you should try it.
All these years later, I'm going to take a minute, one we didn't take at the time, to revel in what Jim and I saw between us.
Karl was short, shorter than either of us. But the muscles and hair were enthralling. Even for a Junior-soon-to-be-Senior, he was heavily-furred. He had two massive nipples sticking out from the chest-hair. Both pecs were evenly coated with a dark pelt of lightly-curled hair. From there, it descended and narrowed like an arrow to just below his navel and then another arrow including his crotch.
Karl wasn't hard. He was too scared and nervous right then since neither of us had started to touch him. It was still a thick slab, not terribly long (I thought back then with satisfaction that both Jim and I 'showed' more when soft) and his balls were a bit larger than average and the sac meaty and thick, covered with a curlier, tighter mat of fur.
The rest of Karl's body was simply a sculpture from a renaissance master, not the fleet and slim boys of Greek and Roman times, but a muscled, toned, athletic body. His unfortunate unibrow highlighted a wide, thick brow with deep-set, sensitive eyes and soft, round cheekbones. No part of his jawline was sharp -- no part of Karl was sharp! -- and it was blurred more by the fuzz of growth.
Of all of us, Karl had to shave each day. I remember the old-fashioned safety razor. You turned the bottom of the handle and it cranked open the top, exposing the incredibly-lethal 'safety' blade that figured so prominently in six decades of teen suicides until disposables finally pushed them out of the market. Jim always watched with a hint of fascinated awe as Karl shaved. I normally shaved as well, perhaps once a week whether I needed it or not, using one of the Good News disposables that had just hit the market that spring which my father adopted instantly.
His dark hair flashed backwards like a pair of wings from his brow and just barely covered his small ears. His neck and upper chest were breathtaking with a prominent Adam's Apple and deep wells above and below his clavicles. His shoulders rolled with muscles as did his furry, thick, heavy arms. His hands were small and rough, with thick fingers and large knuckles.
All of that is from a single 'frame' of memory, a single top-to-bottom glance. Karl hadn't even laid all the way down before Jim forced him to flip over. To this day, the memory of what I saw can fuel a masturbatory session to beat the band.
Prone, the insanely-triangular shape of his upper body screamed to be noticed. Karl's hips were not in the least narrow, but the width of his shoulders and the tick cords of muscles in the upper arm certainly made it look that way. Karl's back had a pattern that, over the years, I've come to call Werewolf Hair. His shoulders had a thick pelt that narrowed to perhaps a hand's-width, half on either side of the spine but leaving the bumps of the spine itself only lightly furred.
And then -- oh my fucking God, and then -- the tight, dark curls that colonized his magnificent, globular ass. A thick trench of fur hid his crack, but nothing could conceal or minimize the shape of that incomparable ass. I have, my entire life, been an ass man, and I've wondered for decades if that summer at Camp Sin was the reason. Regardless, in the, wow, forty years since, I am not sure I've ever seen one to compare. I love words, they have been my friends since I first learned to read. However, I don't have one. Things like flawless and magnificent are too trite and meaningless. I can call up vision of every hair and dimple to this day.
Banishing that vision is literally painful, but back to 1977.
Jim and I started by stroking Karl's back. He sucked in a breath that was thick with fear and worry. I began instead to massage his muscles like I'd seen in a movie, kneading him like dough. The soft moan told me the worry had vanished, but a little fear remained. Jim moved to his scalp and began to caress thorough his hair and I moved down the back to that nirvana of his ass. Kim and I were both petting it suddenly, and Karl giggled.
We worked our way down, alternating between massaging and petting all the way to his feet, causing him to jerk and squeal. Karl, it turned out, had very ticklish feet. We worked our way back up in absolute silence and Jim bent low and murmured, "Turn over Karl." We both looked at each other as the long silence stretched, wondering if Karl had fallen asleep. A long, reluctant, fraught sigh erupted and Karl turned over.
'Holy fucking crap.' I am not sure to this day whether I said it out loud at the time. Karl's nearly-hard dick was, at the time to both of us, gargantuan. Jim was large, easily seven inches then. I silently prayed at the time that Karl was done growing because he already made me feel like a toddler. He was easily eight or nine inches long, even trying to correct for the teen awe that created the memory. He was also thick, with a wide flare about halfway up the shaft. He was cut (damned near everyone was cut then), but I was fascinated with a thick ring of wrinkled skin left between his scar and the head.
We started, though, at the top again. Jim moved above his head and began to massage and caress his face. Karl sighed hugely at that. I rubbed his pectorals and especially the biceps. None of us had heard to nipple play back then, and all three of us jumped when Jim and I simultaneously stroked across Karl's. Our buddy's eyes were wide as he looked from one to the other of us.
He giggled whenever Jim caressed his side and when I got close to his belly-button. I found out many years later that his sensitivity in those area was what won him a bride. His wife... well, we'll get to that in due time.
Karl's entire body went tense as we approach his Holy Land. He seemed to relax when we only stroked him briefly before heading further south to complete the journey. Before long, however, we returned to the prize. Karl whimpered and moaned softly as we manipulated his massive cock and sensitive balls. His breath got shorter and shorter, but try as we might we couldn't bring him over the top.
"Um, um, um guys? I, uh, uh, uh don't think I can. Can I uh, um, try?"
Jim and I shared a look and moved our hands up toward his beautiful chest, rubbing our hands languidly through his fur. Karl's right hand shot to his dick and his left to his balls and he yanked perhaps a dozen times, eyes screwed shut, before he chuffed and snorted and violently-bucked his way through an explosive orgasm. Jim started wiping his gushing cum up before Karl even caught his breath, using the Infamous Bandana to wipe away the evidence.
Karl looked shell-shocked, like a warrior stunned to be alive after an epic battle. There was no real thought in his eyes as he laid there, but a tentative smile contrasted brilliantly with the worry-lines above his unibrow. Jim needed a second bandana to finish his work and I helped as I could.
With a very small, very worried voice, Jim finally asked, "Was, um, that okay, Karl? You, I mean, you alright?"
Karl smiled slowly, softly, bemusedly. Our slow-speaking friend looked at Jim for the longest time. "Yeah. Nate was right. I was stupid not to say yes. But... but I think it was better that, well, both of you did it. Yeah. Thank you. It was... I'm just real glad. Thank you."
The triangle clanged and we all jumped. The idea that all of that, all that emotion, all those sensations, all the pleasure had taken place in the space of perhaps an hour. Jim and I beat back Karl's attempt to dress himself and pulled his clothes on his giggling frame for him. Dressing him was a delightful, light-hearted romp, absent the tension and worry that attended the preceding hour. We smiled at each other in simple contentment, three musketeers against the world and strolled happily down to dinner. The world, somehow, just more right than it had been before.
(Really)
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 30 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 21 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 22 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 15 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Shark Reef: 8 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 6 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 4 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/