Camp Wantabee


My parents told me that it might good for me to go to camp with a friend. I had a bad year, feeling very rejected at the new school. My neighbor Michael came over to visit. We would talk for hours. He enjoyed just listening to me as we played checkers. He usually one. He has some secret way of getting Kings when I was trying to figure out how to get to the other side. When my parents inquired, "How about Micheal go with you?" I said, "Yes, he would be perfect. We could be in the same cabin. No one would dare pick on me."

It was settled. He would be the security blanket I needed. We got on a train outside Chicago and sat across from one another as the train rattled its soft music, the thunk of tracks, its memorizing rhythm and our babblings about girls and guys fading into an erratic sleep. We awoke to a stark Minnesota sun rise, long hills of pines with slivers of lakes. At At the depot, a bus picked some 50 of us and drove us down serpentine roads to a camp perched a hillside by a crescent shaped lake with power boats slicing across it and skiers from the camp waving at us. It looked as if we had hitched a ride to heaven.

When I arrived at camp with Michael, we found we were in adjoining cabins. He unpacked his bags as I waited for him; I unpacked mine and made my bed. We went back into his cabin where a tall lanky boy, six feet tall sat on his lower bed.

He sat up, "Hi, my name is Rick, Rick Jones." We shook his hands. "You two friends," he asked, pointing at us. "Well, you could say that," Michael laughed, looking away.

Rick stared at us. I was a large, muscular football player. Michael was a thin, lank runner.

"You make quite a pair," he said. We laughed.

As the activities of camp took us in separate directions, I had little chance to talk with Mike except at breakfast and lunch. He told me that he was having a good time.

At the end of second week, he was excited, "You would not believe what happened."

He whispered as he pointed to Rick.

"Last night, as we were getting ready to sleep, the counselor said, `Sleep hard boys," and chuckled.

He left the door of his room open cracked open.

Several of us saw him undress. He took a long time, first his shirt, then his pants and shorts. You know it is only 17, a junior counselor, a guy who has come her for years, only a couple of years older than we are.

Michael grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him. You know he is the guy who teaches water skiing.

I remembered him. He had made me feel welcome, showed me how to point my skis, took it slow as he pulled me up and gave me the thumbs up when I swung outside the wake. I have begun to feel more as if I had belonged. The history of the last year, the humiliation of being called a faggot because I stared at the quarterback, was fading.

Michael continued with his story: He stripped and sat on his bed. The other counselor, Bob, came in and stopped, holding the door open, "Opps, sorry Mark."

"It's all right," Mark whispered, "just getting relaxed."

We could see that he had his hand in his lap and was moving it up and down.

Bob said, "Yea, nice."

Bob started to close the door, but Mark whispered, "It's all right. The boys do not mind."

Bob looked over his shoulder and stripped too and left the door open as if they knew we were watching.

I mean they had nothing on. Just read some magazine.

Then Bob sat on the side of Mark's bed and began to stoke Mark's cock, real slowly and Mark returned the favor.

By this time, I could see that Rick had slipped off his underwear as had Sam, the boy across from him.

Rick smiled at me and said, "Amazing, isn't it?" I nodded.

"Come over here, you can see better." I sat next to him, his cock already hard. You would not believe it--11 inches at least. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him. I sat still, not wanting to move, not sure if I should watch the counselors or his member glistening in the faint light that spilled out of the bathroom.

He took care of my ambivalence by untying my pj's and slipping them down, taking my cock--man was it hard--and gently rubbing it. "Go ahead, " he nodded at his cock and I put my hand on it. He moaned. I stoked it slowly The show in the counselor's room got even better. Mark was sucking on Bob's cock, his head moving up and down and Bob thrust his hips up, pressing his hands back on the bed. The pre-cum on Rick's cock was drooling out and my hand moved up and down--man, it was so hard and long."

Mike looked at me. We were sitting in the cafeteria, our plates half-filled with hamburger and French fries. I was erect, my cock sticking out of my shorts. We were sitting in a corner, out backs to other campers. He slid his hand over my cock and rubbed it slowly. I put my hand on his crotch and felt his erection along his thigh and did the same, very lightly.

"Go on," I gasped, "tell me more."

I"I thought you might like this story, given all you went through this year."

He looked at me and I understood instantly that he did not judge me but rather respected that I had the same feelings as he did. We did not speak, but we had mended an old wound by smiling and looking at each other's arousal.

"Well," he said, the rapture in his voice, "The two counselors kept going at it, first one sucking then the other, and Rick raised his hips and I stoked him.

Four other guys came over to our bed and gawked at his cock, `Amazing,' `Amazing' they muttered as they joined us. My own cock was stiff and ready to shoot.

He held it gently by turning to appear as if he was reaching to pick up a napkin on the floor and asked, "You ready to go?"

I nodded.

"Watch this," he said and leaned over, taking my cock in his mouth. He put his lips on my head."

By this time, I could feel my cock ready to shoot.

"Michael," you better stop," I am going to shoot."

"No, wait," he said and got up, taking his tray to the drop off area, throwing away the paper and dumping the hotdog and a few fried potatoes in the compost bin. I trailed after him, my hand in my pocket. We got outside and he ran to his cabin.

Cabin 12. Bob was sitting on his bed, reading. "Hi, boys," said. Michael stepped to his door, letting Bob see his erection.

"Nice," Bob said, getting up and walking toward him.

Michael turned toward me, "This is my friend, Jeff."

Bob looked me over, noticing too that I was erect.

"Come in boys," he said. "Can I help you," he asked, leaning back on his bed.

We could see in his light swim trucks the outline of his cock.

I was afraid that Mark would throw us out, call us "faggots" but he only smiled and said, "I know, I know."

Michael proceed to tell him about the other evening, what he said and about Rick..

As he spoke, Bob sat up and leaned over, motioning me to sit by him.

"This is a good story," he said. He turned to me, put his hands on my belly and then slipped my t-shirt off.

"Stand up," he said. He unzipped my pants and slipped them along with the underwear off.

"Good," he smiled. I pulled down his swim suit. "Now continue the story Michael," and, as Michael started to talk, Bob took him by the arm, had him stand and stripped him as he stripped me. We sat on either side of him. He wet his hand and began to stroke our cocks.

But first he took my hand and put it on his. I felt as if I was Michangeleo and had finally touched God.

I could see Mark was only a few years older than me: his glabrous face still largely unshaven.

"This will help you enjoy the story," he smiled.

I stoked him and Michael continued, "Well, Rick took me into his mouth and I shot into his throat. He drank it down. The other boys were stunned. Then he said to me, `Your turn.' He helped me tenderly put my lips to the top of his cock, the head and quietly thrust into my mouth. It was salty. I could see you guys now, both of you sucking each other. Rick's cock was very gentle, just sliding in and out but I could feel how hard it was because my hand stroked it."

Bob said, "You are a great story teller," and increased his stroking of our cocks. I could feel the semen in the tip.

I looked at Michael and his balls were taut. His cock was quivering over his belly button.

"Go on," Bob said, flipping back his long brown hair. His cock too was stiff and the pre-cum oozing out of it, making it easier for me to slide up and down.

"Then," Michael said, moaning as he spoke, "then, oh, then, Rick held my head still and I felt this eddy in my mouth, first one rush of it, then another and still another. I drank one portion and then more came.

It kept coming, wave after wave. It was. . ah ah. . . ."

With that Bob leaned over and put his mouth on my cock and I felt his warm lips suck several times and I let the semen go, rush after rush.

Then he turned to Michael and put his lips to his cock and Michael trust his lips up and closed his eyes.

I found that I too wanted to quench my thirst--it was as if that yearning I felt toward Andrew months before, that yearning other other boys saw in my eyes, had come true-- and leaned over, put my lips on Bob's cock and he thrust up once, then again, I felt the whole stem get hard and pulse and then the semen, first a large jetty, then an even larger one filled my mouth, warm and salty, and I must have gasped because I felt Michael pull me back and he took the frutescent member in his mouth, and then I went back to it, as he ejaculated more--it seemed endless.

We didn't say anything after that.

He said, "Boys, I think you need to get back to swimming practice. I have to go to archery." We nodded. And somehow camp was never the same. But I did become a good archer, a very good one, hitting the bulls eye every time, every time I pulled back the bow, every time I held that string of desire taut I knew I could hit the mark.