Date: Tue, 21 Jan 2014 23:10:44 -0500 From: Eff Del Subject: Flights of Angels-Chapter 3 Flights of Angels-Chapter 3 By Eff Del Was there ever a more foolish concept than `self-reliance'? The idea that a person can succeed indeed, even excel solely by virtue of one's own efforts, is the pinnacle of pretense. Every breath we take, every movement we make, each precious thought and dream that fills our mind happens by virtue of the oneness and all-encompassing power of the universe around us. We no more exist or act independently than the moon shines of its own accord. Moonlight is the reflection of the sun's brightness. Our lives are the reflection of the great force that drives all of creation. The laughter and excited chatter of happy busy boys echoed over the calm water of Raccoon Cove and could be heard clearly from within the forest though the sound was muted by the tall trees that also hid them from view. I leaned back into the hard but comfortable surface of the large ancient Adirondack chair, causally picking at a bubble in the paint on the wide wooden arm. I absently wondered how many layers of navy blue paint lay below this one...how many generations of young eager hands had brushed on a new coat of color to `spiff up' the Commodore's porch furniture. The four of us were seated on the long wooden porch in roughly matching chairs sipping large glasses of lemonade generously fortified with moonshine from the Commodore's own still that he operated from a small outbuilding he'd had constructed in the woods decades ago. The shady porch looked directly over the beach that (aside from the boathouse and dock) made up the entire near shore of the private cove, The large old house which had been here when the Commodore originally purchased the property, had been added to over the years in a ramshackle fashion that displayed absolutely no respect for the building's original Victorian architecture. It was from here that the hearty old man held court over Camp West Wind and all of its temporary summer citizens, He lived in three rooms on the second floor and the remainder of the rooms in the seemingly slapped together building provided space to house the small paid camp staff as well as offices, camp library, the dispensary and the famous top floor "observation deck" complete with wrap-around `widow's walk'. Almost since the camp had been created, someone had begun calling it the `Castle' and that had eventually become its official name. If you were fortunate enough to have been invited inside, you would have found the walls were lined with artifacts of past adventures and triumphs; signed and mounted canoe paddles, broken (and intact) tennis rackets with carefully lettered legends painted upon the wooden handles and rims, inscribed baseballs (all dirt brown and well used), countless handmade trophies, awards and presentations, paintings and drawings (some quite well done) and photographs...hundreds and hundreds of photographs of posed groups and candid activities each filled with the obviously sun bronzed faces of smiling boys; most of whom had by now been overtaken by time and were grow into men. All of these spoke more eloquently than any words could possibly have of over thirty five years of successful and happy enterprise here on the shores of this wild almost pristine lake. John took a sip from his `lemonade' and grinned. I could tell he was enjoying the Commodore's concoction but I wondered to myself if he realized just how high the alcohol content was in the old man's homemade hooch. Ah, well, I reflected, it's not like he's going to get behind the wheel of a car tonight. We had been discussing the Commodore's unique approach to running his boy's camp. It was a system that he constantly maintained was just a lazy man's way of getting things done with the minimum amount of effort required on his part. Doc Swaim on the other hand, always insisted that the Commodore's approach was really a brilliant and particularly successfully system of education and character development. `An experiment in creating the perfect society' he called it with just a touch of amusement. "Horse feathers David!" the old man argued every time the subject came up. "It's nothing of the sort. I just point them in the right direction, give `em a guideline or two and let go. I don't have to intervene until they bang into a wall or something." I smiled secretly as I privately reflected on the old man's comfortable familiarity. Even though I had years ago grown to be considerably taller than he was, he still insisted upon using the childhood nickname; `Little E' that my grandfather had long ago bestowed upon me in order to differentiate me from my father (who was also Eric) whenever he was speaking. In the same way, he was the only person I knew of who called Doctor Swaim `David' no one else in my circle of acquaintances at least, would have used the big man's first name. Anyone who tried would have immediately appeared presumptuous. Curiously though, anyone foolish or ignorant enough to address the old man as anything but `Commodore' did so upon pain of swift and terrible chastisement. He'd bestowed the title upon himself and heaven help the fool who ignored it. The Commodore's system was, when viewed superficially, remarkably simple; each Camper owed his success and enjoyment to his fellow Campers .In turn, each was responsible for ensuring the success and enjoyment of the others. The individual's growth was the group's growth, the individual's happiness was the group's happiness and the Group's pride was the individual's pride. They learned this when they first came to Camp...usually at 11 years old although occasionally some older first time campers would be accepted for the summer. Pride was encouraged, prejudice was not allowed. There was no bullying, no elitism or cliques. Nor were there any privileges based upon age or family wealth. All campers dressed the same, ate the same, played the same and worked the same. Except on those rare occasions when they had to interact with an adult on an official basis such as a medical problem or an outside family emergency, last names were left behind. The boys operated on first names and usually (after time) acquired nicknames that were their sole identity among their peers. A boy stepped off the bus at West Wind on the first day essentially reborn; A new person with a slate that was completely clean. No reputation to live up to or run away from, no boost from family or friends on the outside. A new boy discovered right away that there was no real hierarchy here. There were adult counselors...paid staff who were hired as instructors in the various skills, sailing, and swimming, water skiing, camping and such. These were teachers though and not disciplinarians. Discipline came from within the body of the Camper population. Ad hoc meetings and even `interventions' were assembled when necessary to correct a person's behavior but the boy's learned to do so fairly, gently and constructively. It was peer pressure in the very finest sense of the word. Only on extraordinarily rare occasions was a miscreant required to appear before the Commodore for correction. Such sessions were private, long and (up to this point at least) always successful. Pretty much all activity was shared among the age groups and older boys were expected to help and encourage the younger ones. Having said that though, it was not uncommon to find younger boys assisting older ones with tasks or skills that required assistance and a seeming reversal of roles. It was not unusual for instance to find a younger boy in the Castle Library helping an older boy with his reading skills. It was a simple case of lending strength where and when it was needed. There was no shame or loss of face associated with accepting help among the boys of any age. This almost ,big brother-little brother relationship between the campers created and extraordinary bonding and sense of group and personal pride. The younger kids reveled in the attention and genuine concern of the older boys and the older boys felt a sense of affection and pride in the achievements and growth of the younger ones. It was a lifestyle of co-operation and character building that the Commodore in his usual understated way called; `Stooping to Soar'. His metaphor was a simple one; when you stoop down to help someone, your spirit soars like an eagle... and it worked. Year after year after year it worked. Once a week, every single camper had a private meeting with the Commodore in his office. These were highly personal counseling sessions and were treasured moments for each of the boys. This was why my father had long ago established a fund to provide `Camperships' so that selected underprivileged young men might spend summers here. A boy who had completed his first summer at the camp was encouraged to come again every year that he was age eligible. If he was a campership recipient, his "tuition" was guaranteed for his entire eligibility. It was remarkable how, despite the boys' widely different backgrounds, each returning camper slipped back into the West Wind state of mind and culture almost immediately. The Commodore often joked that if he allowed his boys to return for as long as they wanted, he'd have a cabin full of 60 year old campers in no time. The truth was though, that they DID return often. They came here and to his boat in Florida. They wrote him constantly and even telephoned often. The walls of his office here in the Castle were covered with photographs of young men and men who were no longer all that young. Some were of the person alone and some with families...obviously their own. I'd once asked him if he remembered all these kids who had passed through the camp and his answer was a quick and definite; "Every last one and I'm proud of them all." Our boys had been immediately absorbed into the camper population as soon as they'd stepped onto the dock from my bow rider. They were whisked off to participate in various activities and the next time we'd seen them had been lunch time in the big mess hall. By then they were talking laughing and giggling with the campers as if they'd been there for weeks. During lunch the Commodore had announced that we were all spending the night (first I'd heard of it) and that there was going to be a big campfire this evening. After lunch the Commodore had led John, Doc Swaim and me to the big porch to enjoy his `lemonade'. As we were talking I noticed the Commodore peering across the water with interest. Matching the direction of his gaze I saw a canoe enter the cove obviously headed for the beach. "Hmmmph," The old man grunted as he rose from his chair and refilled all of our glasses from the big pitcher on the table by the door. "Prepare to be boarded. We've got visitors or so it would seem. It's hard to get lost on this lake and since the only other property owner is you Little E, I suspect these two are mine." We watched as the canoe made its way across the cove and beached in the sand next to the dock. As the two occupants stepped out and pulled the little craft higher up onto the land, it became obvious that one was a young man and the other a shapely young woman. They appeared to be in their mid-twenties and the young man was talking excitedly gesturing and pointing. Finally, he took the woman's hand and together they walked across the sand and up the gently sloping lawn towards the porch where we sat. They climbed the four wooden steps and stopped just at the edge of the porch. The young man looked at the Commodore with a wide smile and a curious expression. "You haven't changed a bit Sir." He said. The old man remained seated but he placed his glass down, gently drying his palm on the leg of his jeans. "Well YOU certainly have. You've grown another inch at least, I'll bet you've put on 10 or 15 pounds and except for that caterpillar you've got growing under your nose, you look pretty good Skeeter." The smile on the young man seemed the stretch beyond the limits of his face's capacity to contain it and though he self-consciously fingered his mustache, his delight was obvious. "You recognize me? You remember me?" "Well of course I remember you." The old man rose from his chair and clapped the young man on the back before throwing an arm around his neck pulling him into a hug. "I don't forget any of my boys and even if I did, how could you think I could forget you? You still hold the camp record for the most marshmallows downed in one sitting you know. I never could figure out how a skinny little kid like you could do that." Blushing with pleasure, the young man indicated the woman at his side. "Commodore, this is Mandy. We're going to be married next year after I graduate and I...well I...Well Sir, I just wanted her to meet you." He turned to me and said; "Mr. Tucker, I hope you don't mind. I parked our van next to your RV back at your cabin. LC told me that we'd just missed you this morning so, we launched our canoe from your beach and we've spent the day paddling across the lake. It's every bit as big as I remember it." It wasn't surprising that he correctly guessed who I was and knew all about my cabin. If he was a Camp alum, he'd know it well. All of my lake property was used freely by the West Wind boys. They camped on my `sandies' and often used my dock and beach. They all knew LC and Windy who could always be counted on to provide snacks and cold drinks to any campers who were at our end of the lake. My road was also more accessible than the bumpy poorly maintained route to the camp so I wasn't at all surprised he'd decided to park on my property and canoe over. "Well Enrique, make yourself useful," said the Commodore gruffly but not unkindly "Drag two more chairs over here...one for Mandy and one for you, then go get your gear out of the canoe and stow it in the big room at the end of the hall on the third floor. I'm not being presumptuous here but I am assuming that you two don't mind sharing a bed." Though obviously pleased and surprised that the old man not only remembered his nickname but his given name as well, Skeeter began a half stammered protest. "Nonsense boy! Of course you two will stay here at the castle. By God, you're very welcome here!...anyway, you couldn't possibly row back across the lake before dark today." Looking so happy that I thought he might actually cry, Skeeter dragged two more of the big wooden chairs from the end of the porch and then ran off down to the beach to get their packs from the canoe. The Commodore indicated that Mandy should sit in one of the chairs and offered her a glass of "lemonade". "Thanks, I'd love one." She said in an almost musical voice and I noticed her light blue eyes topped by naturally dark lashes, full red lips and a cute sprinkle of sun enhanced freckles on her nose and cheeks. I gave her a quick once over evaluation. While I am most definitely gay in my sexual orientation, I can certainly spot and appreciate beauty in a woman when I see it. Mandy was indeed a pretty thing; long tan legs led up to a tight firm ass of very pleasing roundness enhanced by her very short cut-off denim shorts. her hips were attractively wide and while I have no sense of appreciation for female breasts, hers were nicely shaped without being too small or so large as to be grotesque. She was currently wearing her wheat gold hair in braids that gave her a clean natural `cuteness'. All in all, I couldn't help thinking to myself; "Good for you Skeeter". While the Commodore went into the Castle to mix another pitcher of drinks and bring out two more glasses, John the Professor and I introduced ourselves. Skeeter was back on the porch carrying two backpacks just as the Commodore emerged with his tray. "Scoot upstairs and stow that gear boy!" he said. "No lemonade for you `till your chores are done." With a grin, Skeeter replied; `Aye, Aye Commodore!" and pushed his way through the door lugging the packs. The Commodore smiling openly now, re-filled all of our glasses and offered a fresh one to Mandy. The lovely young woman took a long sip and suddenly arched an eyebrow at the old man. "Why Commodore" she said with a smile "you're just going to HAVE to show me the tree you grow these lemons on." We all broke out laughing and she took another (noticeably smaller) sip. Leaning forward, she patted the old man on the knee. "I can't tell you how pleased and honored I am to meet you. Ricky just adores you, you know. I've known him for over two years and almost every word out of his mouth is about you.. `the Commodore says this' and the Commodore would do that'...he believes you saved his life...that you made him the man he is today." "That's nonsense!" the old man blustered. "He made himself the man he is today. This is a summer camp Mandy. I let boys learn to do things like fish and swim...that's all I do." She looked at him with blue unflinching eyes. "Sure, and Einstein just did arithmetic." Her lovely smile softened but did not hide the seriousness of her expression. If you only could have seen...if you only knew what you've inspired him to do. First, he saved his cousins from the streets and then dozens of other boys as well...pulled them away from gangs...taught them self-respect and respect for others...taught them the value of education the value of human dignity. He's a hero in the barrio. It's like a big snow ball and it all started with you." It was obvious the old man was about to say something in protest just as Skeeter emerged onto the porch and took the vacant seat next to his fiancé. "Saved by the bell!" the old man muttered under his breath. "So Enrique, enlighten me...by my reckoning you should have graduated by now, what are you up to?" "Well Sir, I did graduate almost three years ago. After earning my BA, I decided that I had an interest and an aptitude for the law so I got myself admitted to law school and I'll graduate early next year. Then of course, I'll have to pass the BAR and THEN I suppose I'll need to figure out what I want to do with my shiny new credentials." "Enrique Flores, Attorney at Law," the Commodore intoned. "That sounds light years away from the skinny little 11 year old who thought he had to fight every kid in Camp over every little imagined atrocity. Come to think of it, besides the marshmallows, you may also hold the Camp record for most and earliest interventions and you certainly were among the quickest to have to come and spend a scary afternoon with me eh?" Instead of smiling as I would have expected, Skeeter's face became cold serious. "That session in your office and everything that happened to me here since then changed my life Commodore...no, if the truth were to be told, SAVED my life. If not for this place...if not for you, I'm certain I would either be dead or in prison. That's where I was headed on the fast track when they plucked me off the streets and sent me up here that first summer. What a piece of work I was! The very best I could have expected from life was some dead end menial job and living every day just to get drunk or high. Instead, I'm a West Wind kid...I'm making something of myself and I owe it all to you. Every day I try to live up to what you taught me here. I'm making an effort to...to stoop to soar." The old man smiled and reached over and silently patted the young man's shoulder. "Well Enrique...or do you prefer Ricky now...?" "Wait!" Mandy suddenly inserted herself into the conversation "I think we should go with Skeeter, and I REALLY want to know the story behind that nickname." "Well Mandy, as the Commodore, I'm not supposed to know about how the boys get their nicknames here at camp but if I recall correctly, it has something to do with the excessive number of insect bites on a little boy's butt and several bottles of moisturizing lotion supposedly used to..." "OK! That's enough of that!" Skeeter quickly interrupted the old man's story. "I think `Ricky' will do just fine. Some stories are best left untold." The young man was actually blushing. My interest had been piqued by the young couple and I couldn't help but comment; "Ricky, if you seriously aren't sure what you want to do with your Law Degree, I'd like to talk to you about it. I think I may have several ideas that may interest you. Let me have your phone number and maybe we can speak in a couple of weeks." He and Mandy exchanged glances and with a smile he gave me his contact information. At this point John glanced at his watch and stood up just a bit unsteadily. "Well, I've got to go. I promised a bunch of the boys that I'd umpire a baseball game over at the field and if I don't hurry I'll be late." We watched as he walked down the steps and around the building, Professor Swaim turned to me; "Do you think we should let him officiate a sporting event in that condition?" Before I could speak, the Commodore snorted; "Let him be. The boys have seen the effect that "lemonade" has on adult counselors before and I think watching him try to call balls and strikes with that snoot full might be the funniest thing that's happened around here in weeks." **************************************************************** All the boys were seated upon low benches made of split logs in a semi-circle around the enormous pile of wood stacked log cabin style in the big ring of stones. Dusk was fading fast and the sky was a deep purple as the campfire area hummed with anticipation. This was only the second big campfire of the season and the little first year campers especially were tingling with excitement. It had not taken very long at West Wind for all of these jaded little boys to learn that there were better more exciting things to do in this world than just TV and video games. While there was still just enough light to see, on top of the hill overlooking the campfire clearing two of the older boys appeared. They were naked save for very brief loin cloths and they wore feathers in their hair Indian warrior style. The twilight cloaked their features and they looked impressively mysterious from our vantage below them. One held a bow while the other held a quiver of arrows. This boy drew an arrow from the quiver and handed it to the archer who nocked it in the bow and drew it back. As he held it in this position the other boy held a small flicker of fire (no doubt produced by a BIC lighter) to the tip of the arrow and it burst into flame. With hardly a pause the bowman released the arrow and it flew true into the center of the enormous pile of wood. Instantly the entire stack was engulfed in flames eliciting `oohs' and `ahhhs' from the assembled boys. It was of course a very old campfire trick. The tip of the arrow was wrapped with a cloth. It and a good deal of the pile of fire wood had been pre-soaked in kerosene which caused instant combustion but, to a little boy in the wild woods on a dark night it was nothing short of magic. Hell I was impressed and I knew how it was done. The program was kicked off by a rousing talk from the Commodore which was sprinkled with enough humor as to have everyone laughing. This was followed by a series of skits that had been prepared by several of the boys. The funniest of these being one that satirized the adult councilors and the Commodore as well. This little charade was liberally sprinkled with references to `lemonade' and everyone was roaring with laughter. To my total surprise, this skit was followed by Sean and Mandy. Sean had a guitar that he'd obviously borrowed from someone. He strummed a few introductory chords and suddenly his and Mandy's voices joined in a perfect harmony as they sang the jaunty tune; Slow down, you move too fast You gotta make the morning last Just kickin' down the cobblestones Lookin' for fun and Feelin' groovy... I was stunned. The performance was wonderful but for the life of me I didn't know when they could have gotten together and rehearsed and surely based upon how well they sang together, there must have been some rehearsal. I also marveled at the fact that they...for that matter all of the campers knew and enjoyed a song that had been written and recorded so many years before any of them had been born. They wound up having to repeat the chorus several times as everyone clapped and sang along. The power of music never ceased to impress me. The Commodore then rose and announced that as a special treat one of the world's greatest story tellers was going to close the campfire with a ghost story. There was a loud hoot of pleasure from my little group and a voice I recognized as Rico called out; "Yay Professor!" I was sitting close enough to hear as the Commodore whispered in Doc Swaim's ear; "Now David, try not to scare the shit out of them. The Camp laundry can only handle so many loads a day." ************************************************************ We were walking down a fairly level path through the woods trying to stay side by side whenever the vegetation overgrowing the trail allowed. The Professor and the other boys were out on the pontoon boat fishing, John was back at the cabin in the game room playing pool with Windy and LC. I knew John well enough to know that he'd take it easy on those two but...he wouldn't lose either. Sean had pled an upset stomach and stayed behind but after they had left, he admitted that he was lonely for some time just with me. Barely able to hold back the tears I felt welling in my eyes, I pulled him to me into a tight long hug. He clung to me just as tightly and as I rubbed my hand up and down his back feeling his tight young muscles below the smooth cloth of his blue tee shirt, I could feel him breathing deeply as he nuzzled his cheek against my chest. I looked down at his sandaled feet. "Go put on your sneakers so we can go on a little hike. There's something I want to show you." I of course knew exactly where we were headed but Sean didn't have a clue. It didn't really matter to him. We were together and the whole world was interesting to him. He'd already paused at least a dozen times on the trail to examine some interesting plant, rock or insect. It was all new and exciting to him and through his eyes, it became so to me as well. At the moment he was walking ahead of me on the trail and I enjoyed the view of his wonderful little ass moving in his navy blue shorts. The sunshine, filtered through the forest canopy, dappled him and the path around him with splatters of light and I thought to myself that he really dances, he never just walks. I know that he heard it at least as soon as I did but not knowing what lay ahead, it didn't register with him yet. I knew that it was just about 100 yards around the next bend in the trail. "Sean, stop," I said softly. He turned his head and looked at me quizzically. "My surprise is just up ahead. Will you close your eyes and promise not to open them until I tell you?" "Why Dad?" "Because I want you to see it all at once the way it should first be seen." I scooped him up in my arms and walked toward the sound it was hidden from the trail but the noise was a trusted guide to the spot. "No peeking now". I could have made this short walk blindfolded. I'd discovered it while out on a hike alone when I was about 10 years old and I'd first brought Kyle here when he was 6. As I stepped into the clearing, I set him down onto his feet. "Sounds like a waterfall Dad." He said. I looked down and he looked so cute with his eyes closed so tightly that his nose was scrunched up. "Smart kid," I answered. "Go ahead, open them." I heard him draw a breath in wonder and then he released a wordless sound of pure delight. Thanks to the abundant rain and the snow melt runoff from the higher elevations the waterfall was tumbling from the rocks overhead in full force. It splashed down into an almost crystal clear pool of water surrounded by large smooth flat rocks. The sun shone upon the water unobstructed though just feet away from the edge of the little pond stood tall leafy trees and high growing ferns screening the little oasis providing perfect privacy. "Gosh it's beautiful!" Sean exclaimed as he knelt down at the water's edge and dipped a hand into the clear liquid. "We used to call this `the grotto' though it's not really a grotto in the proper sense. When we wanted to be alone and away from Dad and Mom, we'd hike down here and spent the entire afternoon swimming and laying on the rocks soaking up the sun." "Can we go swimming now?" He was looking at me with his beautiful blue/green eyes twinkling. "Of course silly. Put your clothes on that rock over there and..." I never finished the sentence. While I was speaking, he had pulled off his tee shirt and stepped out of his shorts. His briefs follow almost instantly and he was sitting on one of the mossy banks pulling off his sneakers before I had even shed my shirt. I barely had time to admire the view of his glorious nakedness in this exotically beautiful setting before he was in the water with a splash. "Brrrr! The water's really cold!" he called out. "Sure it is. It's run-off from up on the mountain. Give it a few minutes, you'll get used to it." As I spoke I stepped out of my boxer briefs kicked off my moccasins and dove into the pool with him. "Come on," I tugged at his arm "Let's swim through it to the other side." "What?" "I'll show you. Follow me." I led him to the face of the falling water and stepped into it pulling him along with me. In two steps we were on the other side looking through the translucent curtain of the water fall. He looked up at me with a dazzling `Sean smile' almost hopping with excitement. "Wow! How cool is that? I would never have thought there would be a space behind the water! What a secret hide- out this would make." "That's what Kyle and I used to say too. Along with the cave on Hawk's Hill, this was one of our special places that we never told the `grown-ups' about." I felt a sudden wave of melancholy wash over me and I added; "Except...now I guess I'm a grown up and it's almost like I shouldn't be here." In an instant he had jumped up on me wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist and he was furiously kissing my eyes and nose and finally my mouth. Pulling his head back he looked intently into my face. "Now it's you who's being silly. You'll never be a grown-up Eric...not really. You're just grown up enough to be my Dad but you're not one of those old guys. Don't ever think that can happen. I won't let it." He kissed me again and I squeezed him tightly to me slowly stroking his amazingly smooth skin. Finally I said in what was barely a whisper; "You're right. How can I ever grow up when I've got you in my life?" He looked at me and giggled. We swam and splashed in the little pond for about 30 minutes before the coolness of the water tired us out and we stretched out side by side on one of the big flat rocks. I was absently stroking his thigh and leg with my finger tips and he was making cute little noises of contentment. "Well, little man, we're going home tomorrow. Have you enjoyed yourself up here?" "Oh man it was such a good time I almost wish we never had to leave! I hope we can come back again... can we?" "Silly, we can come anytime you want I...WE own the place you know." "Oh yeah." And he giggled... a light happy sound. "I keep forgettin' stuff like that." "Tell me Sean, what did you think of West Wind Camp?" "It was really neat. All the kids get along and look out for each other and take care of each other...it was just like the NEST except its outside. I liked it a lot." "The NEST Sean? I thought you didn't like the NEST." He sat up and was looking down at me. "Why would you think that Eric? The NEST is a good place. NEST kids are safe and they take care of each other...watch out for each other just like at the Camp." "But...but you were so happy when I told you that you were never going to go back there Sean." "That's because it meant that I got to stay with you Eric...Dad...Eric. I don't hate the NEST, I just love you more don't you see?" I pulled him down to me and kissed him before he lay back onto the rock. "I'm beginning to I think." In my mind I was realizing that I needed to find out a great deal more about the actual culture of the NEST before I began my attempt to tear it down or change it. "You better stop that. We gotta go back to the cabin soon Eric." As he spoke I realized that my wandering hand had begun to slowly stroke his now erect little penis. "Oh, it'll be all right little man. We can wash you off before we head back...no one will ever know." He giggled again and began to move his hips in time to my strokes. (To be continued) Next time...the adoption cover story, and more people will join the Great Game. Thanks to everyone for your kind words and suggestions. Your Email helps keep me thinking as the story develops. I consider every suggestion and I try to answer every note. This would also be a great time to make a contribution to NIFTY.