Date: Mon, 11 Sep 2023 14:17:57 +0000 (UTC) From: Jörn Roth Subject: In contact with nature [category: Adult youth] Remember to show Nifty some love! Your contribution helps keep the site up and running. Go to: https://donate.nifty.org/ IN CONTACT WITH NATURE PART I - In Front of Everyone Author: Jörn Roth (jrnroth@aol.com) Feel free to reach out if you enjoyed it. Note: This is a work of fiction. It has no connection to real people or events. Main Characters: Eric - 11 years old, the protagonist. Joel - 15 years old, his crush. Richard - 34 years old, their instructor. * * * "Here nobody matters, and nothing matters except what I say. Do I make myself clear? From now till you leave you do as I tell you without questioning me in the slightest," Richard yells through gritted teeth. Everyone nods, including me. Richard looks around with a certain satisfaction. He does that thing he's been doing the whole time since we arrived at the camp that morning, where he contracts his mandible and his pecs twitch a little in his tank top. He's the only one in the structure who is not naked. All the kids are standing in line. I'm cupping my hands around my privates, as I've never been naked with so many boys around me, and I don't feel comfortable. I'm the only one doing it, and feel bad for it, but next to me I have Joel, four years older than me, whose presence strangely titillates me. I don't wanna be naked in front of boys. I feel embarrassed. Richard has told us to remove our clothes so he can hose us down--part of the practices for which he will get in trouble ten years from now, when allegations will start surfacing. But for now, he has informed us that this is how boys shower, at least when he's in charge. A boy somewhere is still sobbing a little. Richard has told him off for being a sissy and missing his mom. As a matter of fact, I miss my mom, too. She's signed me on this camp so I can spend a couple weeks away from the city and in contact with nature. But I don't care about nature. Nature sucks. The smell of the boy next to me drills up my nose. It's musty, like you'd expect a 15-year-old jock to smell after a day spent biking and walking in the woods. But it excites me. I feel my weenie poking against the cup of my hand. I bit my lip as I try to think of something repulsive that will calm me down. "Got something to hide down there?" Richard growls to me through a barely open mouth. He walks up to me. He's in his 30s or something. Veteran. Not an ounce of fat on his body. Veiny arms. Jawline as sharp as a knife. His eyes are searching and unblinking. I'd consider him handsome if I didn't see him as scary. I barely shake my head. "Then take your hands of your dick. Fags touch dicks. Are you a fag?" I feel called out. I shake my head vehemently. And I expose my half-hard weenie. Fortunately, Richard turns around right in time to miss it. He keeps walking up and down and explaining the rules. But I'm not listening. I feel a sort of awkward pleasure traveling through my nerves down my groin and to the tip of my dickie. I don't want to be hard, but this fact alone makes me hard. I can't think about anything else. I hear someone giggle a little. I turn around. Joel is jostling the boy next to him. They point at me and laugh. Desperate, I hide my cock with my hands again. "What's going on?" Richard barks. He notices my hands. "You really like that dick, faggot, huh?" I take my hands off my weenie. This time, he notices. My confusion and fear boil over into an odd frenzy of pleasure. I feel my heart throb painfully. Excitement and anxiety are indistinguishable. And then, in front of all the boys, my dickie starts nodding frantically, expelling three or four shots of cum that end up on the floor with a faint squelch, right in front of Richard. After that, it quickly falls flaccid. Everyone laughs, except Richards. His eyes shoot from my dick to the ground and then to the other boys. The laughs die down. "I never assigned a detention so quickly in my life," he says with a sardonic smile. "You're cleaning my office tomorrow." As I feel heatwave after heatwave, Richard turns to Joel. "He's a faggot, but you were laughing about the faggot. Here nobody laughs without my consent. You'd know if you were listening. Clean it," he says, pointing nonchalantly at the little white pool of goo on the floor. "Why me?" Joel asks huskily. "With your tongue," Richard yells, grabbing Joel by his long hair and pushing him to the floor. Joel's nose is one inch away from my cum. He observing it like he's trying to come to term with his fate. Then he lets out a little sigh, and he starts licking it in front of everyone. I manage to catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression. 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