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.
We climaxed together, inventing and discovering this intense and forbidden pleasure together. NO ONE could have ever known about this. NO ONE could have experienced this. NO ONE could have had what we had, and given to each other, because if they had, they never would have left each other's arms. This was Patrickjim, Jimpatrick, something unique and special to us. Otherwise, people would be crying from every rooftop, proclaiming in every square, expostulating in every cathedral. It was... divine in a way that no priest, deacon or minister could ever define or constrain. It was... us. Holy, sacred, ours.
***** Canvas Hell 15: Three-Flame Dance
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery; masturbation/voyeur; comradery; budding love; kissing; doubt
Something else that Jimpatrick/Patrickjim was in addition to holy and sacred was... a fucking sticky mess. Jim certainly got the worst of it. His back and even the hair on the back of his skull was slick with my goo. Since he'd exploded between us, he also had half his own jizz smeared on his front. Jim was slower to recover. At some point, I assume before the pants came off, shoes and socks went flying. Without losing my grip on the centre of my universe (Jim), I found a couple of (inevitable) socks and began to scrape off the matted, dripping, gooey cum from his back.
Jim finally came round and began (again with the inevitable sock) to wipe away the mess between us. He rocked back and my never-soft prick sprang up between us. Jim giggled and attacked it with the sock as I continued to try and get my copious load off his back. Within moments, my resolve is was shattered. Jim's hands caressed, stroked, tantalised my dick.
"Oh GOD! No, JimmmMMMM.... Ummm. N-n-no! J-j-jim, oh FUCK! Jim. Please p-p-p-please . L-l-let me, OH FUCK!" and with that, a giggling Jim brings me to a second, shattering orgasm, the results of which he began to wipe away. I finally got to the point that I thought I could get clothes on and had Jim stand and turn. He deployed sock 3 on his chest and pubes and I used 4 on his head, neck and... {shuddering gasp} a-a-a-ass. OH FUCK! I pushed through, trying to be as professional as possible, but the tiny dent right above his crack had me mesmerised.
"You're staring at my butt." Jim said without a trace of opprobrium, worry or confusion. Just a simple statement of fact.
"Yes. Y-y-you are... Oh, God, Jim you are so b-b-beautiful." Jim blushed adorably. Oddly, as much as I'd gone the colour of lava at the thought of kissing Jim, I felt no need to be embarrassed in that moment. I was too happy, too content, too fulfilled.
As a last resort, I used my canteen to wet the last corner of the sock not coated with our jism and used that to get what I could from the tight brown curls on the back of Jim's head. We finally reassembled ourselves and sat looking at each other for a minute. I longed, craved to lean forward and kiss him again. I was lost in those bluest eyes. I looked down at his pouting, slightly-parted lips and had just started to lean forward when a stick cracked not more than dozen yards away.
"Hush, John! You want the whole forest hear us?" a voice hissed.
"Well, hell, Jack. We've been walking forever. How far do we have to go?"
A deep exasperated sigh. "Fine, this is probably fine." Jack's voice dropped from hiss to purr. "So you wanna?"
"Well, yeah, doofus! It's why I traipsed all the way out here. So, um, you'll let me w-watch?"
Jim and I were frozen, barely breathing, equally horrified and fascinated. Were these other boys going to...?
That question was answered quickly with the sound of zippers and deep sighs, followed instantly by twin gasps.
"Wow, Jack, you're HUGE." Have you ever noticed you can hear a blush?
We heard soft squelching noises. We were both mortified and about to break into laughter at the same time. I wrenched my eyes from Jim's, knowing that I could never stop the giggles if they started and it would destroy the two guys who came all this way for privacy (and, had they gotten here five minutes earlier, the shock of their young lives).
The voice that I had tagged as 'Huge' Jack began to huff and chuff after perhaps two minutes, then grunt in the unmistakable rhythm of orgasm. I could hear his seed splashing onto the brush and ground.
"Wowwwwwwww..." John's hand was obviously flying at that point and the fapping was loud enough to scare the wildlife. With a growling, urgent groan, John unloaded for what seemed like longer than it had taken him to reach orgasm. Gush after gush made loud, wet plops on the forest floor, each accompanied with a soft, dog-like growl.
"Fuck, John," Jack's voice was suffused with awe. "You shot like a gallon!"
Both boys caught their breath and suddenly you could hear their gazes lock. "You can't tell anybody! Ever! Swear!?!" John.
"Yeah, you neither." Jack, "But we c-c-can do it ag-g-gain, right?"
"Ya wanna!?! That would be sooo great!"
We heard them zip up and head off at a right angle from their original straight-for-us trajectory, laughing in relief and embarrassment. When their passage was no longer audible, Jim and I exhaled for the first time in forever, then spoke. The difference in our focus makes me laugh to this day.
"Oh, God, Jim. I'd have died if they'd seen us!"
"Oh, God, Patrick. I'd have killed to have seen them!"
We just stared at each other, then the dam burst on our laughter. Jim was schnorking and I was crying with mirth before we finally pulled ourselves together and made our way back to Tent Canvas Hell. Based on the sun, it was still only early afternoon, so we made a point of exploring on the way.
Between my longer limbs and my stoned-elephant grace, I had collected a right impressive collection of scrapes and scratches before we emerged in camp, whilst the gazelle-like Jim wasn't even mussed. We got back probably an hour before the triangle would ring us to dinner. We got to Tent Canvas Hell and found Karl reading a book that he'd won on the day's hike (his team came in second and they voted him the most valuable team member).
"What happened to you two?" He scanned us, mainly me, up and down incredulously.
"Jim beat me up!" Jim rolled onto the sleeping bags in laughter and Karl's nose wrinkled.
"And you REEK. My God, Jim, you smell like..." Karl's eyes went BOING! He looked from me to Jim and back, mouth open and face slowly coming to a crimson blush.
"Um, Jim, let's hit the showers, buddy. Karl's right. We smell like pigs after all the sweating and, um, stuff."
Jim's eyes had narrowed a bit as he looked from Karl to me, but finally decided just to let it drop. I could tell he was still livid over the state of affairs from Friday night when Karl, self-proclaimed protector of Jim's virtue, had as much as said that I was a threat. I quickly gathered his and my kits and hustled him off to the Hygiene Hut before hostilities could erupt. And to be honest, we did reek of sweat and musk and, frankly, lingering cum.
There were several other campers filling perhaps a third of the leaky-pipes masquerading as showerheads. We'd just gotten into the showers when Karl appeared, mumbling about being all sweaty from the hike. Jim and I shared a look. This was not going to end well. Jim and I were a spot or two away from each other and Karl was opposite, but there was no doubt that he occasionally glanced at one of us to make sure that we were not, I dunno, raping each other? Now it was beginning to annoy even me.
Jim and I finished first and headed quickly back. We were almost dressed when Karl rushed in, almost breathless. Jim, red and fuming, inflated like a bantam cock (no pun intended). Karl stepped back just as the triangle rang. I grabbed Jim's arm and we waited as Karl got dressed, and the three of us, wreathed in glowers, made it to the Mess Hall.
[Author's Note: Fair Warning -- utterly non-sexy food and campfire-skit details come next. Please skip to ***** if you don't care for the innocent trials and exultations of youth. Just sayin]
The smell from the Mess was... intoxicating. We bustled through and found that there was already the start of a crowd. Steam rose from fried chicken, crispy, crunchy, delicious, pulled from fryers in a steady stream. Split breasts, thighs and drumsticks. Stuffing was next, redolent with sage and celery. REAL potatoes, chunks and pieces still visible in the creamy, butter swirl. Chunky gravy reeking of rich chicken and savoury herbs rounded out the menu, other than fluffy rolls and what appeared to be fried pies for dessert.
Lloyd, voice equal to the Trump of Doom, announced that they would keep cooking until we stopped eating, and the scream of delight and approval shook the trees. The food was... transcendent. After a week of Chef's palate abuse, there were around 150 ravenous, delirious, delighted boys intent on making up for lost time. Karl, Jim and I, all thoughts of conflict banished, made three trips through the line before "forcing" ourselves to a luscious apple, cherry or chocolate fried pie... or three.
The entire tent seemed food-drunk when the triangle sounded. 150 eyelid-dropping kids suddenly realised that tonight, THIS NIGHT, was when they had to perform for the camp. An explosion of jitters ensued. It was announced that the winning group would get exemption from next Saturday's duties (KP, Hygiene, Litter, Policing, Housekeeping and the dreaded, ash-laden Firepit Crew). A cheer went up, followed by an audible, collective GULP.
The order of appearance was random. As it turned out, the oldest boys (our age if we'd been in a cabin) went first. I found out the next year that this was anything but random. Cabin 4, our group, was third. The older boys did a stunning rendition of American the Beautiful, with rolling harmonies that garnered wide-eyed awe. I'd find out that tradition held that Cabin 6 could only win the last weekend when parents were in attendance.
Oddly, Cabin 1, one of the youngest (a mix of 13- and less-mature 14-year-olds) was next. The did a classic, "New Blue Cheer". The boys were arranged in two large sets. An article of clothing was produced by Leader 1 (there were three leaders each for the younger cabins).
"We have here a shirt from a camper!" He smelled it and popped his eyes. "You will now see the power of the newest boon to the camper in need of clean clothes!" He handed it to the first set of boys, who bounded up and down pretending to scrub the shirt whilst chanting, "Washy, washy, washy in the New Blue Cheer!" The leader handed it one to the next, who twisted and turned, "Rinse-y, rinse-y, rinse-y in the water clear!" The second leader grabbed the article and mimed sniffing it, all the boys together, "Put it to your NOSE {sniffffffff}, Smells like a ROSE! Be sure to buy the New Blue Cheer."
They progressed through a pair of pants, a t-short and then with exaggerated disgust, and pair of "George's underwear" with the same pattern, but far more 'icky-faces'. Finally, "Lloyd's Sock" made an appearance. Leader 1 didn't even attempt to smell the object and it went through the wash and rinse. When boys chanted and Leader 2 mimed "Put to your NOSE!" he fell back in a dead faint into the arms of the other leaders, overcome buy the stench. Instead of "Smells like a ROSE," the boys coughed and gagged melodramatically.
Leader 1 took the sock back to the other end, holding it like a dead rat. The boys went through 'washy' and 'rinse-y' verses three times each. Leaders 1 and 3 (leader 2 being still unconscious) tussled over who had to do the sniffing and the sock "accidentally" ended up in the fire, causing an eruption of green, blue and red sparks (courtesy of fireworks), and the group bowed to thunderous applause. They'd really done well, even though everyone had seen the same skit in every camp they'd attended. I'd been a "Washy, washy, washer" in my first year.
Cabin 4 acquitted ourselves admirably -- leaders both with guitar, one playing the other beating out the rhythm of the rails -- with no real gaffes, and sat down with relief. Cabin 2 did a row-row-row your boat syncopation that was, frankly, beyond them. Cabin 5 did a really great Michael Row Your Boat Ashore and the last offering, Cabin 3, did a frankly stunning Scarborough Fair/Canticle based on Simon and Garfunkel, with the leaders strumming guitars. We were honoured to lose to them, coming in second with the New Blue Cheer in 3rd.
So we were in high dudgeon when we got back to Tent Canvas Hell. Karl looked askance at me and then looked protectively at Jim, then sighed as he closed and tied the tent-flaps.
I'm not sure if Jim noticed or not, but at that moment he laid back on top of his sleeping bag and sighed so deeply, so happily, and Karl and I looked at each other and smile. Speaking to the roof-beam of the tent, Jim said, "Best. Birthday. EVER!" and sighed again.
As for me and Karl, the smiles vanished, replaced with horrified realisation that neither of us had recalled Jim's one mention that his birthday was this weekend. We both began to stammer and stutter at once. Jim sat up turning from one to the other, finally turning to Karl.
"Patrick gave me the birthday present I wanted most from him earlier." Karl glanced at me with a scowl, assuming that I had deliberately cut him out of planning for Jim's special day, then looked back to Jim and his face softened with caring and guilt.
"But I don't have anything for you, Jim. I, I, oh, God, Jim, I forgot I'm so sor..." Jim put his finger to Karl's lips, silencing him instantly and shocking him deeply.
"I don't want presents you can wrap, Karl. I want presents that I can't lose or break."
Karl looked utterly confused and turned to me. All I could do was shrug. I had no fucking clue where Jim was going, or what I'd 'given' him for his birthday. I was as lost as Karl.
"Wh, um, Jim? If I have it-it's yours."
"Do you mean that?"
Karl bristled like a challenged guard dog. "You know I do, Jim. Stop it. What do you want?"
"Okay, Karl. I was three things." He took a deep breath and stared straight into Karl's deep brown eyes. I could see Karl start to lose himself in the watery pull of Jim's blue orbs. "First, you never, ever, ever act like anyone needs to protect me from Patrick."
Karl jumped, scowl returning, eyes bouncing suspiciously from Jim to me. "I'm serious Karl. You are both my heroes and both are the best friends I've ever had. Patrick hasn't done anything, ever, that could hurt me and I don't think he could." I could feel my eyes well with unshed tears hearing that from Jim. It was more true than he could ever know, but how...?
Karl dropped his eyes from Jim, resolve shaken, "But, Jim, please, Jim! What he did..."
"Shut up." Jim's voice was now whipsaw sharp and Karl's' eyes bugged even further. It was like being savagely bitten by a butterfly! "You have no fucking clue what he did or didn't do. You weren't there. I am telling you now that he didn't-won't-wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Now, I want you both as friends. You're the best things that ever happened to me," He sighed deeply and his shoulders shook for a minute, "but Patrick accepts that you care about me even when you treat him like an axe murderer and if you can't return that, I don't want any present from you, ever."
Wow.
Karl stared, shocked to the core. He looked at me and saw his own shock and hurt mirrored in my face. I was poleaxed. He looked back to the bluest eyes and stared, then dropped his head and nodded.
"Not good enough." Damn. Note to self: never piss Jim off. He is way too good at That Voice. "Tell me that you promise, promise to never doubt Patrick again and trust him just as much as he trusts you."
Karl was sniffling now, really upset. When Karl wasn't looking I could see that Jim was about to die doing this to him, but a mask of absolute assurance was in place anytime Karl looked up.
With a massive sigh and a hiccough, Karl met Jim's eyes again. "I promise." Jim jumped forward and wrapped Karl in a hug. Karl, still in shock from the whiplash nature of this conversation, tentatively returned it.
"Okay, that is present number one. Number two is harder. You apologise to Patrick for making him feel bad." Karl's jaw dropped and his eyes sought mine.
"No, Karl, you don't have to..."
"You shut up, Patrick." My jaw snapped shut so suddenly it made my teeth hurt, eyes as wide as my jaw was tight. Jim turned back to Karl. "I don't care what Patrick thinks. It's my birthday and I want to hear you, Karl, apologise for treating him like crap for three days. Every frown, every narrowed-eye threat, every nasty glare. Apologise. Now."
Karl's mouth worked soundlessly for a minute, still locked in Jim's gaze. "I, uh, I'm sorry. I was, I guess I, I thought... I'm sorry."
"I didn't ask you to apologise to me, Karl," Jim's voice was now soft and gentle, "but to Patrick. You didn't mean to, and you thought you were doing it for me, but you hurt him. My best friend in the world hurt my other best friend in the world. And I want it to stop."
Karl finally looked at me, then down, then back to my eyes. He gulped than said, almost in a whisper, "I am so, so sorry Patrick. I-I'm just so used to protecting everyone from everything that I just, just..." He was close to tears and I lunged across and hugged him, telling him that I didn't care I was just glad someone as strong a fierce was protecting Jim and I didn't care (much) and it didn't matter (much).
All three of us were sniffling and a round of nose-blowing ensued. When we'd all settled down, Karl looked very worried. "Um, you s-said three? Birthday presents?"
Jim was quiet the longest time. He was staring at his feet, obviously torn. "No, Jim, really. Anything. Anything. You were right about h-how I treated Patrick, and you were right that I n-needed to apologise. What's the third thing, Jim?"
He looked to me for a minute, then back to his feet. Finally, he sighed so deeply and with such a shudder that I thought he was about to burst.
"{kshmekrl}"
"What?"
Jim looked back into Karl's eyes, the confident, forceful and wise-beyond-years Jim was gone, replaced by the scared and skittish kid we'd first me that day in the boat. His eyes were wide, obviously terrified by what he was about to ask. With a burst of light like a sudden dawn, I realised what Jim had muttered just before he said it, whispered it really, for Karl to hear.
"Will you kiss me, Karl?"
All breath left Karl in a rush and he stared, wide eyed, at Jim for the longest time. Jim slowly blushed harder and harder and finally dropped his face. I could see silent tears drip as clearly as Karl could. I could not make myself look at Karl, though, for all the world.
I'm not sure who was more shocked, me, Jim or Karl, when Karl reached out and shakily lifted Jim's chin. Like a sleepwalker, Karl leant into the wet and startled face of Jim and laid his lips softly on the pouty and soft lips I'd kissed so long today.
I knew what would happen because it was the same for me on Thursday. Jim let the soft and gentle kiss go on for a few moments, then melted into Karl. Locking his arms around Karl's neck, Jim pulled Karl into a world of passion the likes of which he, like me, had never before known. With an abruptness that shocked him as much as me, Karl was suddenly reciprocating, powerful arms wrapped around our buddy and whimpering with long-denied need.
It was the most beautiful things I had ever seen, the most perfect and most wonderful. I let my tears flow. I finally, silently, got myself into my sleep-sack. I could see sobs wracking both of my best friends as they traded need-denied for the simple comfort of loving friendship. They'd pull back to look at each other, just as I'd done with Jim, before returning to the tear-salted embrace. Neither noticed as I turned out the camplight.
Eventually, they broke, breathless. Karl was obviously conflicted and embarrassed but the blissful contentment on Jim's face erased (or at least diminished) Karl's concern. They slowly undressed and got into their own sleeping bags. Karl fell to sleep with a suddenness that surprised me, but considering the emotional nature of the last hour, and the exertions of the day at large, I could understand it.
Jim turn toward me and we gazed into each other's eyes as the light of the moon slowly faded. I should have been filled with the same comfort and contentment I'd seen in those beautiful blue eyes, but I wasn't, and couldn't understand why. Long after all light was gone, I stared as at where his eyes would have been, even though I heard his soft snores.
Those snores faded into my dreams, where some huge, powerful man was telling me that I could not stand near Jim. Jim was ignoring me, gazing lovingly at a girl with enormous tits. When I tried to say something, all that came out was a frog-croak and Jim looked over at me like I was a fart in an elevator; the huge, faceless man just laughed at me.
I again woke long before dawn. Due to my painful dream/nightmare, I was twisted into my sleep-sack. I quietly unravelled myself and silently pulled on shorts and trainers. I moved as quietly as I could and eased out of the tent. I walked blindly and found myself in the centre of the camp, at the remains of the night's campfire. I could feel a faint heat coming from it.
I gathered some twigs and sticks, then blew the ash of the coals, unintentionally banked the night before when everyone left the fire ring. Before long, I had a small but warm fire crackling. I watched the flames leap and dance, mesmerised. In a strange way, they suddenly became the three denizens of Tent Canvas Hell. One, tall and thin and fitful, writhed and wriggled. Me. One, lusty but inconstant, flared and danced. Jim. A third, strong and persistent, seemed to seek the space between the other two; wherever one danced, the third moved sensuously to intercept. I could feel tears drip down my cheeks as I watched.
"So which one is you?" I nearly crapped myself at the slow, soft voice.
"What, you think you're the only person who can't sleep?" The voice of Dr Eaglas was soft, sleepy and warm. "So, Patrick, which of those flames are you thinking is you?"
"W-w-why do y-you think any of th-them is, well, anyone?"
"Patrick, I really care about you. You are a really great guy and really good friend. But do you really think I can watch you gazing at three dancing flares and NOT guess?" His voice was filled with sadness, resignation and loss. "You three are some of the best men I've known, at camp or anywhere else. And all three of you are killing yourselves over... nothing. I couldn't be human and not be sad and disappointed."
I just stared at the flames, confused and worried and discontented. Dr Eaglas finally sighed deeply, patted my shoulder and walked toward the Mess Hall, leaving me to my unsettled and unworthy thoughts. A soft, predawn breeze tickled the fire and suddenly there was a single, taller, stronger flame. My heart wanted to think that the three had merged, but I felt in my soul that one had blown out and only two remained to dance together. I cried quietly as the sun began to tickle the sky before going back to Tent Canvas Hell to start the day anew.
As always, your thoughts and ideas are welcome. That are the only way I can get better as an author and know what works or doesn't work. orson.called@gmail.com
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Karl & Greg: 17 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/ Canvas Hell: 15 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 7 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 7 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Mud Lark Holler: 6 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/ Turntable Rehab: 7 chapters .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/