Date: Fri, 28 Apr 2017 08:18:54 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 23

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.

*****

Karl face was a stone mask, even his eyes failing to show any hint of what
went on behind them. The tableaux lasted for a lifetime, then Karl dropped
his eyes and whispered to his shoes, "I just don't know anymore."

"And we won't ask until you do know, Karl," I whispered back. He looked at
me long and hard, then Jim, then back down. Apparently, that was the answer
he wanted most.

We sat there, listening to the bees sing to the flowers, the brook making
music for the dragonflies, as the sun moved slowly toward the west.

*****

Canvas Hell 23: God's Plan

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery - Saturday evening / Sunday morning

*****

Either Chef was off his game, or burgers were too difficult to
sabotage. Our guess was the latter since these had obviously started out as
frozen hockey pucks and it's damned hard to ruin those. Remember, this was
the seventies, so the only doneness any of us had ever heard of for a
hamburger was tragically-dessicated. Well, yeah, there was a layer of
'seasoning' (mud tasting vaguely of celery salt and despair) that had to be
scraped off, but the fixins were fresh and unadorned.

Even the side dish, baked beans, were edible if you begged the
suddenly-popular kid from Louisiana for some magic hot sauce. He was so
happy with the attention, especially from us 'older guys', that his butt
practically wagged. He whispered to me that he'd gotten permission from the
Major and called to ask his Mom to bring lots more on Parent's Night the
next day. I told him he was a great guy and asked his name; he stuttered so
bad I could barely make out N-N-N-N-N-Nathan. I grab his shoulder and say,
"You're a damn fine man, Nathan." He squeaked and I had a feeling he'd just
peed a little, exacerbating the 'puppy' metaphor.

Dinner finally over, we trudged to Cabin 4. Bizarrely, it went well. I
Fa'ed my way through and even remembered the wordy portion. We ran through
it four times, better each time, and the Leaders were nearly weeping in
relief. What I didn't know at the time was how competitive the Leaders were
about the Sunday Campfire or the shame and humiliation they'd have to
endure if we face-planted.

And we went back to the tent and fucked like rabbits. No, actually, as it
turns out, large quantities of beans in teenaged boys does not make for a
sexy evening. We were each privately desperate and mortified. Jim was the
first to lose the battle and it suddenly sounded like an outboard motor was
hidden in his bag: Putt-putt-putt-putt-putt-putt-putt.

"OH! MY! GOD! OhGodohGodohGod! I am so sor--"

His apology was interrupted rudely by my own extremely loud, extremely
bugley fart, followed closely by the high-pitched sound of air whistling
out of a tightly-held balloon which emanated from Karl's end of the
tent. All three of us burst into giggles... for precisely nine seconds. At
which point all three of us were frantically untying and opening the tent
flaps, gasping for air. We opened the mesh 'window' as well, creating a
cross breeze.

I rumbled in a deep, fake voice, "Toxic Gas Cloud Kills Thousands. Film at
Eleven." A chorus of the timeless classic 'Teen Hilarity per la Flatulence'
erupted as we farted ourselves to sleep.

I usual, I was up well before light. I watered the beeches and returned to
the tent, but knew I'd never sleep. I quietly slipped into jeans and a
shirt, shivering lightly, and tugged on a pair of shoes. I guessed that
there was at least an hour before dawn, so I again wandered over to the
central fire-ring. As before, by touch I was able to find an area where one
of the coals smouldered.

I coaxed a shy and hesitant fire from it with twigs, leaves and eventually
small branches missed by the clean-up crews. I build the small blaze until
I got what I wanted, three strong flames writhing above the wood.

I wasn't as despondent and thus not as self-absorbed this morning and I
heard Dr Eaglas approach. I looked up to him, his grizzled and grumpy-bear
face lit by the flicker of the flames. He sat down this time. "Three flames
again. So, Patrick, what do you see?"

"They're dancing."

"So, the same question as the other morning. Which one is you, Patrick?"

I turned and looked at him. At his soft, somewhat sad and certainly sleepy
eyes. I looked so long that I realised the silence had become
uncomfortable. "Any of them. All of them. It's the dance that matters."

He stood, knees sounding like dozens of twigs snapping under the hoof of
some great but calm forest creature. He looked down at me as I couched
there, then reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "You may be the
wisest young man I've met in a long time, son. I've never thought of it or
even read it, but you're right. It's the dance that matters." He paused,
looking down into my eyes, but anything but looking down on me. "Just don't
let go of that, Patrick, please. Never let go of the dance."

A trick of the dancing glow and shadows from my small fire made it look for
all the world like a tear was running down the man's cheek. He turned and
walked slowly to the Mess Hall and I turned back to the flames, pondering
his words.

*****

When a lighter blue appeared to the East, I quietly returned to the tent,
sitting softly in the entryway. Karl stirred, then Jim. Both watered the
tree while I got kit for all three of us ready and we headed to the Hygiene
Hut. We walked down, Jim uncharacteristically quiet and Karl uncommonly
chatty.

"Did you sleep well, Patrick? Damn, I don't know I've ever had such a great
night's sleep!"

"It was great Karl. Apparently 'natural gas' does wonder for a guy."

He chuckled, then sobered. "We have to, um, talk about yesterday."

My voice was calm, almost serene. "No, Karl, we really don't." He looked at
me with a fierce scowl. "Karl, you were right. You are pretty well always
right. None of us hides any more. None of us runs. None of us worries. If
things -- anything -- get too intense at Tent Canvas Hell, Nathan would
give his right arm to hang around with you, and Orson as well. You are a
powerful, mature, really-together guy, Karl. I'm sorry, but half the camp
would kill to be your bud."

Karl looked down and blushed furiously as we walked. Jim piped up. "As rare
as it is, Patrick is actually right this time, Karl. You're the guy they
look at when they want, I dunno, to be a better person. You, Karl... I
don't know how to say this without making you crazy, but you are who they
wish they were."

Karl stopped instantly and looked at Jim. "No sane person would want to be
me."

Jim sighed deeply, and I tried, "Karl, these kids don't know what your life
is. They want to be what they *see*, Karl. They want to be the unflappable,
unstoppable, unruffled leader that they see, Karl." I looked at him as we
stood there. "You don't get it, do you?" He shook his head, undone and
confused. Jim took up the narrative.

"Karl? Karl, look at me. What I saw, and what all of them see, is a real
man, Karl. They see how strong you are, how fierce you are, how steady and
caring and confident you are. They don't know... They CANNOT know how much
it costs you to be 'that' Karl."

Karl sobbed once and Jim yanked him off the path and behind a tree. I
watched as Jim put his hands on each of Karl's shoulder. It wasn't a hug,
but it was close. "Karl, you don't understand what a great human being you
are, Karl. Karl, the person you show the world is the guy I want, Patrick
wants, *everyone* want to be. They don't know how it hurts, Karl. They
don't know what it costs. They just know that you are what they have always
prayed to become."

Karl pulled himself to Jim and started to cry in earnest. "But it hurts,
Jim. It hurts!"

I moved in and ran my hand down his back. "And we know that, Karl, but they
don't. You give them, give them a view into what a great guy should
be. What THEY should be. What they WANT to be. But it's killing you,
Karl. And you never, never have to be that guy with us."

"Wow! Patrick is right twice in a row. The difference, Karl, the difference
between them and us... Karl, of all the guys in this camp, Patrick and I
are the only ones who now how powerful and caring and wonderful you
actually ARE, Karl. We know what you show everyone is a, a, a costume, an
act. The real you, Karl, the one that we know, Karl, is even better than
that."

Karl began to sob, clutching Jim's shirt as he cried. I wrapped my
disgustingly-long arms around them both and murmured in Karl's ear. "Cry,
Karl, and let us help you. It took me nearly two weeks to accept that you
and Jim care about me. Karl, you are the best of us, the strongest, the
deepest, the finest among us. We won't stop believing that Karl, ever."

Like a switch thrown, the sobs were gone. Karl sucked in a deep breath and
pulled back. "I'm not. I'm not brave. I'm not smart. I'm not strong. I'm,
I-I'm not ANY of those things. Please, please stop saying that I am." He
whirled and was into the Hygiene Hut before Jim or I could take breath to
respond. Silently, confused and horrified, we followed. We showered
quietly, each of us trying to memorise the wall.

Breakfast would have been wonderful without the tension. Since it was
Chef's day off, the Leaders had made French Toast with real, actual syrup
and succulent, perfectly-cooked bacon. More of that strange 'grits' stuff
was there as well. I heard scrawny little 'N-N-Nathan' exclaim and moved
over to him. He was transported with joy. "Eggs Creole, Patrick!" His eyes
flew widened and dropped, mortified he'd spoken with a guy four years his
senior.

"That looks great, Nathan. Is it good?" He nodded like a defective
dashboard dog.

"It's wonderful. It's s-s-so good. I-I, um, if you want... um, I'll share
my hot sauce?" I ruffled his hair and he acted like he'd just gotten a
handshake from the Pope. I scooped a big portion of it on my plate and put
a small dab of the mysterious 'grits' into a bowl. Nathen exclaimed and
dumped a huge spoonful into my bowl and his, and carried both with his
plate balanced precariously to a table as I mourned the lack of coffee at
George's sad headshake.

He scurried -- there's no other word for it -- back to the line and
scampered back with a bowl filled with butter. He snatched my bowl and
began to doctor it as Karl and Jim joined us. He pushed it across to me,
the white sludge now with a sheen of butter and a sprinkle of salt
crystal. "No, really, P-P-Patrick. Try it!"

I scooped a tentative spoonful and tasted it. My eyes popped
wide. "{wrtsbenalmylf}?" I swallowed and took two more huge spoonfuls and
swallowed, then exclaimed, "My God, Nathan! Where has this been all my
life! This is AMAZING. Jim, Karl, you've GOT to try this." I passed the
bowl to them and watched the eye-pop from one and the eye-roll from the
other, then snatched the bowl back to looks of utter betrayal. "Get your
own!" Like a blueish blur, Nathan was gone and back with two more steaming
bowls. He sat in wide-eyed adoration and all three of us oo'ed and ah'ed
over what he'd done.

I expected the French Toast to be the star, and it was truly phenomenal --
better than mom's! -- but it was the Eggs Creole that blew me away. The
heat and depth of flavour astounded me and I was shocked when I reached the
end. Nathan was in hero-worship heaven as he refilled our plates whenever
we ran low. I grabbed him at one point. "Nathan, you shouldn't be serving
us. We're just guys like you."

"B-b-b-but I w-w-want to, Patrick. Please? Please?" I relented since he was
shovelling food into himself easily as quickly as any of us. When we
finally belched our way to satisfaction, I snagged Nathan into a
shoulder-lock as we left the Mess Hall. When we were well away from both
the Mess Hall and the main path to the Fire Ring, I turned and squatted,
putting my face just slightly lower than his.

"Nathan, listen to me. You listening? You are a damned fine man, Nathan,
and don't let anyone tell you different. You care about people, Nathan, and
there is nothing more important than that. All three of us are your
friends, Nathan. If anyone messes with you, tell us. NO ONE messes with our
friends, Nathan, nobody. You get me?"

He nodded frantically, his eyes welling with emotion. "Now, do you want to
join Jim and me at service?"

His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Wh-wh-what about Karl." All three of us
swivelled to look at the quiet, powerful young man.

"Leave me out of this, guys." he said gruffly.

Jim, never the best at taking a hint, jumped in. "Why? Why not sit with us
Karl?"

Karl just grunted, "NO!"

Jim now had his back up. "Why, Karl? Why not sit with us? It's only an
hour."

"I said NO!"

"I'm not letting this go until you answer me, Karl. WHY?"

Some inner dam broke, "Because it's CRAP, Jim. It's all CRAP. He, He... The
Minister told me -- six years old! -- that Daddy d-d-died..." And as quick
as that he was off like a shot.

Jim and I looked at each other, stunned, then chased after our fleeing
friend. We caught up to him in a tiny clearing we'd not found before. Karl
was standing with his hands braced against a tree, breathing raggedly in a
shuddering cadence that I thought of as 'pre-sobbing'. Jim went to one side
and I to the other.

"It's not working, Karl," Jim voice stated. "We know how good you are, and
we know something happened. Let us help, we really are here for you, Karl."

I grabbed Karl as he sagged. He stifled his sobs after only two, the
stiffened and railed at me. "Go AWAY! Go... go away."

"No, Karl, we covered this the second day. I won't go away, Karl, ever."

He rounded on me with a snarl, "WHY? WHY? Why think you can 'be there for
me'?" His voice was a mocking singsong. "You, you ALL think I'm some sort
of... FUCK! I don't know what! Just, just, just leave me ALONE!"

A small and tentative voice startles us all. It's Nathan. "But, Karl,
w-w-we... No, I-I-I want to be like you!"

"YOU DON'T" Karl screams.

Oddly, Nathans voice strengthens. "Yes, we do. No one cares if you're
perfect. No one cares if you, you know, cry. You CARE, Karl, and
ev-ev-everyone see it. You, oh God, Karl, you are the one we want to be
when we, you know, grow up." His voice trails off.

"YOU DON'T! It HURTS. It hurts every DAY. It hurts so BAD! And everyone,
EVERYONE thinks it's, it's easy!"

"No Karl, we think it's hard." Nathan's voice is almost a whisper. "We
think it's impossible, Karl. We think that no-no-no one can live like
that. No one can deal with, oh God, *everything* and still care,
Karl. W-w-w-we all want to know how *you* can, Karl... how you can, well,
everything..."  He petered off and turned to me, suddenly appalled that
he'd said such things. I threw my arm across him and hugged him tight. A
single hiccough told me that he was as moved by this as I was.

Karl has latched onto the tree with a grip that could strangle and man,
muscles in sharp relief and hands white with strain. He sagged, gasping for
breath, and his soft, deep voice permeated the clearing.

"He told me, the preacher, he told me it was 'God's Plan'. My Daddy was
lying there, dead, in a casket. And it was 'God's Plan'. All those
sh-shots, 'God's Plan'. Daddy bleeding, 'God's Plan'. Firemen trying to
save him, 'God's Plan'." He wheeled and screamed at us, "FUCK GOD'S PLAN!"
and then he crumpled, like a puppet with strings cut. He was huddled at the
base of that tree. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. He folded
forward like a body in a movie.

Nathan moved first. He grabbed Karl's head into his lap. "And that preacher
was wrong. He was wrong. I don't care if you believe, but God would never,
ever do that to you, to your, um, your father. Please look at me." Karl
dragged his face upward, big, dark eyes tormented and desperate
for... something.

"I don't care if you believe. I don't know or care if I'm even right. But
if you give up on this, well, you give up on everything.

"Kids like u-u-u-us, Karl, little kids, the ones the bullies push down or
walk over. We need to know that there are g-good people, too, Karl. People
like you. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to be strong all the
time. But you CARE, we know it and, well, and w-we need that. We need to
know that a strong, handsome, mature guy can still care."

Karl just stared up at the kid's face. "But, it hurts."

"Then find me. Yell at me. Scream at me. Let it out. If it helps you, Karl,
it helps all of us, Karl. You won't hurt me or make me mad or disappointed
or sad or anything. Just, Karl, just don't let it turn you. Don't keep it
inside and let it, somehow, make you stop being you. Please? Please, Karl?"

Karl just stared, long and hard. "But why? Why do that?"

"Because, Karl, because it's wrong for us to take and take and take what we
need from you without giving it back. A lot of guys, Karl, a lot of us
would kill to help if we knew how. But I know this, Karl, I know I can take
anything you give. I am small and scrawny, but I'm tough, Karl. So find me,
Karl, and let it go. No one will know, Karl, but honestly they wouldn't
care if they did. Just, just keep being Karl for us, please?"

Karl sat there, his head in the kid's lap, just staring, for the longest
time. He sat up and gave Nathan the hardest shoulder hug the kid had ever
known. "Nathan, I am going to walk for a minute. Can I, um, find you
later?" Nathan nodded and Karl stood slowly and wandered down a game trail,
lost in thought.

I walked over and grabbed Nathan's hand and pulled him up, then shocked the
hell out him with a full-out hug. "A damned fine man, Nathan; you are a
damned fine man."

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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