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.
The silenced stretched a bit and Jim answered, "I found the person I need more in this world. A thousand Orsons won't change that." I found myself crying, yet again.
I finally found my voice, "And I am never letting go. But, uh, Karl, about the other thing? I have in the highest possible authority... the offer still stands." I heard Karl shift. Jim's hand found mine as we drifted to sleep.
Canvas Hell 28: The Worst Word is Why
By Bear Pup
T/T; self-discovery - Tuesday
All of us were again thoughtful on Tuesday morning. It was a clear that the Orson thing was both unresolved and potentially-dangerous and that tension was contagious. Nate came up to us at breakfast, almost reluctantly. "I'm, uh, going to eat with Tr--, um, Orson. He's pretty down." We told him he was a good man and a good friend and he looked like he'd been paroled that we weren't mad.
Woodworking included Orson, but he stayed far to the side. He didn't glare at us today, but he just didn't look at all. Karl was deep in thought, scowling fiercely at his plaque. Over the ninety minutes, mine finally took shape, and the mane of the horse flowed beautifully. I was extremely frustrated with the eye, though. The horse looked rather... well, do horses get rabies?
I looked over and gasped at Karl's. It was a guard dog, eyes intense and stance wide. Shoulders set and muscled. A massive, confident, implacable defender. I didn't really know dog breeds then. Now, looking back with decades of Westminster Dogs Show broadcasts under my belt, it was an idealised Mastiff breed, like a Bull Mastiff or Cane Corso or similar, the distillation of pride and power. It was stunning.
We both turned to Jim and his face was glowing. We'd known that there were three parts of his and had wondered how they would resolve. He said he'd show us that night, blushing to beat the band. When we broke, I saw Karl fall into step beside Orson who seemed reluctant to be close to the guy who'd been his hero scant days before.
Jim and I muttered together about our Free Period and suddenly found ourselves on Dr Eaglas' office stoop. We looked at each other and nodded. I knocked, gently, and the doctor's voice called out for us to come in. He was sitting at his desk making some notes and smiled at us when we came in.
"Patrick. Jim. Good to see you both. Not good to see such worried faces, though. Everything alright? Tent Canvas Hell working out?" He smirked as my jaw dropped in astonishment. He chuckled. "I overheard the term, Patrick, and I have to say it's one of the best nicknames I've heard in years.
"So! What's got you two in such a stew?"
For the first time in, like, forever -- and one of about six such events in all human history, before or since -- Jim was utterly at a loss for words.
"We, um, we kissed," I watched the doctor's face carefully and could not see a shred of change, "and one of the other guys saw us and seems really upset. What... what do we do?"
Dr Eaglas, still expressionless, pointed to the couch. Jim and I sat on the edge, sitting close together but studiously avoiding any touch. The doctor sat in the chair to the right. His voice was calm, simple and gave nothing away. "Explain, please." I gave a completely incoherent and stumbling explanation of Jim and I kissing after classes the day before and 'someone' coming to find us and, well, finding us.
Dr Eaglas sat staring for a minute then took a deep breath and blew it out making his cheeks balloon humorously. He nodded then said, "Okay, you've got about ten things all wrapped up in there. I'll start with a few things that, sadly, are going to make you both angry and probably feel stupid and foolish. I'm sorry. I really am. But the world is not always a nice place.
"No, actually, I start here: Kissing each other is not wrong and it's not unhealthy, but I am in an extreme minority in that view. Most people think it is incredibly wrong and even dangerous. You shouldn't have to hide, but you pretty much do. Many people are incredibly offended by, even feel threatened by, two men displaying affection for each other. You have to learn discretion, guys."
"Why?" Jim was sullen. "Why do we have to be discreet if other don't?"
"Well, actually, you're wrong there, Jim. Everyone needs to be discreet. Any sort of sexual display that isn't completely private, even kissing, is frowned on for male-female couples, too. It's not entirely about it being between two men, that just makes it more offensive to some. If whoever saw you kissing saw you and a girl, they might well have had a similar, if less intense, reaction. Our society is insanely-sensitive about sexual things.
"Next, though, is your age. I think of you as men and so do some others. Most would consider you young boys. Any sort of sexual activity at your age will shock the hell out of a lot of people, even if most of adults started experimenting around your age yourself -- especially when it's two males involved."
"Why do they care!"
For the very first time, Dr Eaglas' voice took on a stern tone. "Because they DO, Jim. Why does not matter!" He took a deep breath and resumed in a steadier voice. "We don't get to pick what other people care about, son. We just don't. But to live in the same world as others, we have to at least consider what other people feel and believe. You can choose to defy or flaunt norms, sure, but you have to accept that other people might not like it, and might work very hard to 'keep you in line' if you do.
"Which brings us to the next point. Every camper here is at an age where they are beginning to firm up who they are as adults. The world is a scary-enough place when you think you have an understanding of how everything works. Right now, all the certainties of childhood are being stripped away by changes to your bodies and your needs. You are seeing everything in new and often frightening ways. It is bound to magnify the shock when something a person has believed to be an absolutely truth -- that all boys like girls -- gets challenged, and challenged by someone they respect, admire and trust."
"We didn't ask him to--"
Dr Eaglas cut Jim off, hard, another first. "Yes, Jim, you did! When you three befriended Orson and treated him like an equal, you absolutely 'asked him' to trust and respect you." He saw the shock on my face at the mention of Orson's name, and a note of real frustration crept in. "Oh, for God's sake, of course I knew you were talking about Orson! I'm not stupid and I'm not blind, and it's my job to watch out for kids who are troubled or upset." Another deep, steadying breath.
"So, at the age of most of the guys here, anything can be a real shock. Another thing sure to piss you off is the age difference. Patrick, you're 17. Jim just turned 15. To a lot of people -- hush, Jim -- that makes you look like a, well, a predator. No, don't look at me like that. I didn't say you were and happen to know you're anything but. That's because I have taken the time to get to know all of you. To someone else, though, they'd see a sexually-mature young man preying on what they see as a little boy."
Jim hissed and spluttered like a teakettle, but it was taking everything I had not to puke all over the office. Isn't that precisely what I thought? What Karl assumed? Could it even be...
"Jim, tell Patrick he's not before he makes a mess on my couch, please."
Nothing else could have snapped Jim out of his rage so quickly. Jim looked at me, horrified and livid at once, realizing that, yes, that's exactly what I was thinking. "P-P-Patrick? H-how many t-times do I have to tell you! It was me! I did this! It's all my fault! This is all my fault!"
Jim fell into my lap sobbing now, yanking me off my own precipice. Jim needed me. Nothing else mattered.
Dr Eaglas' voice came back, again the steady, soft, kindly manner that he normally wore. "We finally get to the real problem, don't we?" Jim turned in my lap to look at him, both of us leaking tears. "You're not worried about Orson being mad; you're terrified he might be right. That everyone except me might be right. That what you two have is wrong and sick and doomed. And you know what, all that might well be true." I gasped in horror.
"But ask yourselves, for just a minute, does it feel wrong? Sick? Twisted? Patrick, ignoring the knee-jerk guilt, do you really feel that you are using Jim? Jim, do you really thing that you did something wrong in coming to... love Patrick? I'm asking because those are some of the many questions I cannot answer. The answers don't even exist outside your own souls." He fell silent and stood, knees popping, and flipped a switch on an electric kettle.
He let us stew on that for a while. Jim and I looked at each other and away frequently, but I could see his answers were matching mine. Nothing, ever, had felt less wrong that what I had with Jim, what we had with each other.
Eaglas opened a drawer and pulled out a tin, light brown with a huge eagle on the front. He popped it open and spooned some dark brown powder into three mugs. After a few minutes, he added the boiling water and handed around mugs of real, honest hot cocoa. The steam alone healed all our tears and the taste was simply heaven.
"Don't tell anyone, not even the other adults. If anyone knew I had this shipped in from a friend in California, I'd be mobbed."
"What is it?" Jim asked with deep reverence.
"It's based on a chocolate powder from a company called Ghirardelli from San Francisco. I've never found anything like it. I cut it half-and-half with powdered cream and it comes out like this. You like?"
We both just sighed deeply as we sipped and slurped the molten nectar of the gods. Jim and I shared a look that was deeply etched with guilt; both our families worked for Hershey and here we were, traitors to the Firm.
"So, now that we're back on an even keel, you started by asking 'what do we do' and I explained instead where you are. Let's tackle the question you asked. First off, you can't blame or be mad at Orson. It's hard for him. Look at it from his perspective before you do anything. Talk to him if he'll let you, but forgive him if he can't.
"Also, if he tells people, if he's already told people, you will have to deal with that as well. Is it a shining example of what a friend should do? No. But would it be that unreasonable? After a shock and deep, personal hurt? Would it really be unforgivable?"
That brought us both us short. What if everyone now knew about... us? "It won't come to violence or anything, not here. The only ones in the camp with that kind of character got shipped out largely due to you three. But boys can be mean, and will be. So can adults. And it's something you should accept early as it won't change, probably in our lifetimes." The enormity of that statement stunned me to immobility. '...in our lifetimes...' meant, well, it meant that this was something than could... last? I saw the same realization, but with no dread at all just pure exultation, overtake Jim's face.
"All I can tell you is be brave, be honest, be true, be discreet. Accept and cherish support you get from friends and do your best to forgive the ignorance of the rest. Be ready to talk to people, but also be ready for them refuse to listen. It is their choice not yours. And as wrong as it is to need this, be ready to run or, if worse becomes worst, defend yourselves. The Buggers are far from the only evil people out in the wide world."
He chatted with us for a while, bringing us down from the emotional rollercoaster. We finished about the time lunch was announced by the triangle. We found Nate, Karl and a mutinous-looking Orson waiting, a sack in Karl's large hand. "Come on. Picnic."
We found our way to the Cabin 4 fire ring and sat. Karl passed out some rather disgusting-looking ham sandwiches and explained, "Take two. Take the top bread with its gallon of mustard and wipe off as much as you can. Throw that away. Put the two sandwiches together." He was right, they became reasonably-edible. He also passed around milk and napkins.
"Patrick, tell Orson what he saw." My jaw dropped and it took quick work for me not to spew bits of ham everywhere. I swallowed and stared. Karl's look brooked no argument, though.
I was in full nuclear-blush as I looked at Orson's face, filled with anger and betrayal. "Y-Y-You saw me and J-Jim kissing. I'm sorry you saw that."
"Why?" Orson was not budging and inch.
"Because, um, uh, be, uh, because I like him a lot, Orson. I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear th--"
"You're LYING."
"...?"
"You set that up. ALL of you set that up. Just to make a fool of me." He jumped to his feet and was all but shouting. "I'm not an idiot! I know when I've been had! And I TRUSTED you! And the whole Tex thing, "his voice dripped derision and humiliation, "and the Trey thing. I bought it ALL. And all along you were j-j-j-just...!!" He turned to flee and Jim grabbed him, spinning the spitting and hissing kid to face him.
"No, Orson. He kissed me -- we kissed each other -- because we l-l-like... FUCK! Hell with it! We love each other. You can hate us for that, but I damned well won't let you say it's not true. You want to take a swing at me for b-b-b-being a f-f-faggot, FINE! But don't you DARE pretend that this some sort of sick joke! To hell with you Orson! The hell with all of you!"
Nate was the one who caught the enraged Jim before he could run, and he was smart. He locked Jim's arms or I'm pretty sure one or both would have had shiners the next morning.
"Are we done with the shouting, guys?" Karl was calm as the breeze. "If so, both of you sit the hell down."
He looked hard at Orson. "You still think we played you for a fool? Really?"
Orson looked lost. His rage and humiliation had fled leaving nothing in its place. He slumped on the seat and shook his head in negation, whether to the question or the whole situation was unclear. He turned to me. "Are you, he, uh, really like that? Like he... said?" I nodded miserably. "WHY?"
Which is where I lost it. Laughing and crying at once, face in my palms, I couldn't even make words. Why? What the hell was with that WORD? What about 'why' kept haunting me, hunting me down? 'Why' did I listen to Karl that very first night? 'Why' did I admit it the next day? 'Why' did I kiss Karl? 'Why' did I touch Jim? 'Why' did I admit what I really wanted and really feared? Why why why why WHY? 'Why' was it always fucking 'WHY'?
I finally pulled it together enough to look up, meeting a set of four utterly horrified and worried faces. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and turned to our confused and hurt friend. "Orson, fuck if I know why. I just know that I was ripping myself to shreds before, torturing myself. And that ended when Jim let me kiss him. I've never been this worried, this scared or this happy in my life. Jim's right. If you're gonna hate me, hate us, at least do it for the right reason." I watched him blink for a second.
"I swear before God and everybody that I never made fun of you or played a trick on you. That I never, ever, ever wanted you to know about this or be upset or be humiliated. I'd never wish that on anyone, Orson, and especially not someone I really thought was my friend. I'd never make fun of you, Orson." Jim nudged me and I caught his grin and smiled ruefully. "Okay, I take that back. I did make fun of your voice, but only the once! That night you hit every octave on the scale singing the single word, 'Orleans'. I'm sorry, Orson, really I am."
He chuckled and bit his lip then let out a single, weak laugh. "That's okay, I made fun of it myself. So, um, so you just said... something like somebody you think is a friend? You mean me? You mean that?"
"Never more so, buddy. Even if you decide to hate us for, well, for that. It still doesn't mean I didn't see you as a real friend. Still will, if you'll have me."
"But, um, about the other thing? You aren't, you know, gonna do anything to me, are ya?" Karl snorted but Jim's voice broke in.
"Jesus, Orson, just how cute do you think you are? Don't you have a mirror?"
"HEY!"
"Hey yourself! You asked!"
Nate giggled, then burst out laughing. Orson turned, astounded. Through his mirth, Nate retorted, "D-don't worry, Orson! He'd haveta f-f-f-FIND IT first!" then rolled into a ball of hysterics which Karl tried, and failed, not to join as Orson bristled in affronted manly pride.
"Careful there, Nate." Jim taunted, "Be damned sure you've got the cards to back up your bluff, partner." Orson hooted at the look on Nate's face. This, THIS was the kind of semi-sexual banter he knew how to deal with.
"I'd offer to compare, but, you know, these two might not be able to resist!" He tried out his nascent humor to see how it flew. I could tell Jim was less than pleased, but I just roared.
"You tell 'em, Trey -- I mean Orson"
He blushed furiously and looked at me long and hard. "Can I, um, can I still be Trey?" His voice was small and uncertain.
"Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna call you Bull or Hoss--"
Jim broke in, "At least not without real proof...?"
"But, um, do you want, you know, a guy who isn't, well, like that? As a friend?"
I sighed, letting seriousness return full force but also trying to keep it lighter than it might otherwise be. "Trey, if I can only be friends with people like me, it's gonna be damned hard to get a poker game together. I mean there's just the two of us."
"No there isn't."
All of us fell utterly silent as we turned to Nate, who flushed darkly. "I heard some other guys talking about it when they didn't know I was around. I can say for sure that you'd have plenty for a game and, if what they said was true, maybe a whole damned poker tournament."
"Who?" Jim's voice was low and in complete awe.
Nate turned to him and frowned, "And what do you want me to tell them if they ask me the same question?" Jim dropped his eyes in embarrassment and apologized quickly. In the distance, we heard the single clank that announced we had fifteen minutes to make it to the next session, which for all of us, including Trey, was archery. "Come on, guys." Nate summed up, "Let's see who loses a finger today." I fell into step wondering quietly, why wasn't I as smart as Jim and Nate when I was 14 or 15? Hell, why wasn't I as smart now? A tiny voice echoed in the back of my head, 'Yet another 'why' there, sport.'
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 28 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 19 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 20 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 13 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Shark Reef: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 4 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/