Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2022 23:08:30 +0100 (CET)
From: karcamel@tutanota.com
Subject: THE BOY WITH PONYTAILED HAIR (Mb cons.)

THE BOY WITH PONYTAILED HAIR

On July 13, I learned something completely new about myself. I found a side
of myself that had been hiding from me for all 38 years I had lived. That
boy with ponytailed hair woke up in me with something so powerful that I
can't even say it. But I try to tell as well as I can.

My gaughter plays soccer. She was eleven at the time. A mediocre player, by
no means great, but not quite bad either. In July, the club organized an
active camp for children with all sorts of fun and developing
activities. Various ball games were played, swimming was made, and one
outing was also made, where one spent the night in tents. This was the
second time for me and my son at camp.

At the camp, children were housed in small cottages with bunk beds. One
cottage can accommodate 8-10 people and one adult supervisor. There were
twelve cottages, so the camp had about a hundred girls and boys aged
6-12. There was also a "maintenance team" tasked with building the
conditions needed for the various activities. Cooking, repairing, and
servicing equipment, etc.  I was a car driver at the camp, picking up
groceries in a minibus, transporting equipment and children from one place
to another, and more where a car was needed.

The nine-seater Mercedes was comfortable to drive, but for some activity
places it was necessary to drive along a mere trail and driving was
challenging. As a good driver, however, I coped well with the task. In the
evenings we gathered by the campfire to fry sausage and drink juice. The
night after my arrival, a boy with ponytail came to my campfire.

One of the supervisors had brought a guitar and played the campfire songs
we sang together. I, too, got excited about the music and asked him to
borrow the guitar. My playing skills are very limited, so I didn't get too
excited after all. I sat on a long bench made of split logs and tried the
guitar and felt the chords.

"Old MACDONALD had the farm E-I-E-I-O And on his farm he had a cow
E-I-E-I-O With a moo moo here And a moo moo there Here a moo, there a moo
Everywhere a moo moo Old MacDonald had the farm E-I-E-I-O. "

Everyone sang together, and the echo replied from the opposite shore with
the same voice. I didn't want to play anymore, the campfire had much better
players.

I took the sausage from the cooler bag and pushed a stick carved out of a
tree branch into the side of it. With the side-eye, I noticed someone
sitting next to me. Hands reached for the stick and pulled the sausage away
from me. The pony-tailed boy reached forward and lowered the stick closer
to the fire, saying nothing. The boy stole the sausage from me shamelessly,
but I thought it was fun. I took a new stick and sausage and bowed myself
to fry it by the campfire.  I glanced at the boy with braids. He was
wearing long-legged red shorts and a white t-shirt. His legs were bare and
dirty with sand. His dirty white hair was put on ponytail but it hung
freely a little over it,

"You played really well," the boy said.

"I don't know about that," I replied. "I've hardly practiced that at all."

"I think you played great."

"Well, thank you very much, thief." I laughed.

The pony-tailed boy laughed too and revealed a row of pearly white teeth.

"Do you have children here?" the boy asked. I told him I had a daughter,
Petra.

"Oh, Petra, I think I know her."

"Really?" I asked a little surprised.

"We're at the same school. In the fall, Petra will go to fifth and I to
fourth. " The boy smiled and continued, "I've seen you many times as you
walk past the park. I think we both live pretty close to it. "

"Yeah, you're right, we live one block from there."

After that, a few minutes passed when we weren't talking, we were just
staring at the fire. The boy took the fried sausage from the end of a stick
on paper and flapped his fingers as the hot sausage burned them. Next, he
burned his lips as he tried to bite the hot sausage.

"Haha! Are you always just as good at that? " I asked. The boy glanced at
me quickly and the light of the campfire peculiarly reflected from them.

"Shut up," he replied, grinning and stretching vowels.

I looked at the boy and thought about how cute he was, just then something
irreversible happened to me. I felt a strange dash in my heart and saw the
child with brand-new eyes: He wasn't only pretty but sexy too!

The next morning I made a trip to a nearby store and bought the necessary
items. It was about eight o'clock, and the yard was full of running and
screaming children. I had slept really poorly. There was a strange feeling
of weight on my chest that was associated with the braided boy. When I
closed my eyes, I saw him in front of me, falling asleep seemed
impossible. In the end, the dream won, but when I woke up, my first thought
wasn't morning urine and coffee, but a fourth-grader who had completely
muddled my head. As I walked into the car, I zoomed in every direction and
hoped to see him for even one short second.


The day's program included an excursion with a variety of tasks along the
way. Canoe stage, archery, fire lighting, and a wide range of scouting
skills. My morning was spent transporting equipment to different
checkpoints. There was a distance of four miles to the starting point of
the stage, and the residents of each cottage had to be transported there
one at a time. My daughter's group got a ride second. The oldest children
went first because they would probably be the Fastest and so there would be
no congestion.


Trip number six. My heart really almost literally stopped when I saw
him. The shell suit is certainly not the sexiest or most attractive outfit
in the world, but I thought he looked delicious on it. What the fuck? A
Little boy? Red-black wind and waterproof rustling suit and yellow rubber
boots. His hair flowed freely on his shoulders and landed over his
neck. The ponytail was gone.


The side door of the minibus was open, and a noisy group of ten-year-old
boys crammed into the car. The right front door opened and a
dirty-blond-haired boy dressed in red and black climbed to sit. Without
asking anything. "Hey," he said, fastening his seat belt.


"Mica," the adult woman's voice came from behind. "Come here, in the back
seat, there's still room here, don't disturb the driver."


Mica. I tasted the name in my mouth, and it felt good. A bit of an unusual
name, I thought, maybe a nickname.


"Can you hear me? Take off your seat belt and come here, so we can go. "
The woman from behind continued.


Mica looked at me and squit his eyes. He look could read that you dare
not. How someone can look so sweet, I thought.


"He can sit here in front, it's no harm, on the contrary, it's nice because
I don't have to drive alone." I said and looked at the kid's supervisor
through the rearview mirror.


I reversed the car around the corner and took a course towards the
destination. Mica pulled his feet out of his boots and lifted them to the
dashboard. He waved his toes in green socks. I smiled and tried to hide it,
but apparently badly because the boy looked at me and asked:


"What?"


"Nothing." I answered. "That's okay."


Mica stared at me the whole time, he wasn't looking towards the road, but
towards my face. He chewed his lower lip and looked like a big question
mark.


"Do you have a wife?" He asked unexpectedly.


"Umm, why are you asking that?"


"I just do. Well, do you have? "


"There is. Ex-wife. " I answered. I was amazed at the boy's
outspokenness. Apparently, he wasn't used to talking subtly.


"Why ex?"


"Well, um... I really wouldn't want to start explaining my tangled family
relationships here. If you don't mind. "I replied.


"Is it because I'm so young and you think I'm stupid for that?"


"No, God, no. Nothing like that. Such things are usually talked about only
when the other is a little more familiar. "


"Then let's get to know each other better." He said and grinned again in a
mischievous look. I thought that I would definitely like to get to know him
better, but he was a child and I was an adult man. We couldn't develop a
relationship where we would talk so profoundly.


"Time will tell." I said, and I didn't even understand what I meant by
that.


"Tell what? What does that time tell? "


Before I had time to develop any answer, I sighed in relief, we had arrived
and the kids went on an adventure. Also Mica.


Once all the kids had been transported for the trip, I had time all day to
just do nothing. I started reading the book, but I couldn't concentrate. I
went swimming. I ran a couple of miles and went swimming again. I was
nervous, fascinated, bothered, happy, and scared. All this at the same
time. It was something so horrible, but wonderful.


I went to have lunch, after which I lay on my bed again and stared at the
roof. My imagination began to live its own life. I found myself imagining
what it might be like to kiss a little and pretty boy who doesn't have any
manners? How would his little cute butt feel in my grapple? What was it
like kissing every inch of a small body? After a while, I decided to shape
up. I knew that such fantasies were, firstly, perverse, and secondly,
extremely illegal to carry out. I had never felt anything so strange
before. I thought it would go by as fast as it came.


Dinner was eaten a little later than usual, as the last arrivals from the
trip didn't arrive until six in the evening. Dirty and tired children. I
sat at the adult table and spun the lasagna with a fork. I had lost my
appetite like a miserable teenager falling out of first crush


The children sat at long tables. Somewhere a glass of milk fell, while
someone complained that she didn't like the food. Behind the six groups of
tables sat a pony-tailed boy who was no longer a pony-tailed boy but
Mica. Brat-boy. I tried to look somewhere else, but every time I woke up to
find that I was trying to find a boy between all the ends in front of
me. Sometimes it worked and whenever that happened, Mica looked straight at
me. After dinner, I lay in my bed again thinking hard about things. It
occurred to me whether I should pretend to be sick and leave camp before I
go crazy. I realized that the boy was brave and even though he didn't
necessarily know what flirting was, he made everything look like it. I
wondered if it all happened just in my own head, and I concluded that it
must be so. After all, it was foolish to even imagine that a ten-year-old
boy could think or do anything through sexual behavior. Everything was in
my own head, I thought.


So I decided to stay.