Date: Wed, 7 Jun 2017 12:47:14 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 28

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.

*****

The silenced stretched a bit and Jim answered, "I found the person I need
more in this world. A thousand Orsons won't change that." I found myself
crying, yet again.

I finally found my voice, "And I am never letting go. But, uh, Karl, about
the other thing? I have in the highest possible authority... the offer
still stands." I heard Karl shift. Jim's hand found mine as we drifted to
sleep.

*****

Canvas Hell 28: The Worst Word is Why

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery - Tuesday

*****

All of us were again thoughtful on Tuesday morning. It was a clear that the
Orson thing was both unresolved and potentially-dangerous and that tension
was contagious. Nate came up to us at breakfast, almost reluctantly. "I'm,
uh, going to eat with Tr--, um, Orson. He's pretty down." We told him he
was a good man and a good friend and he looked like he'd been paroled that
we weren't mad.

Woodworking included Orson, but he stayed far to the side. He didn't glare
at us today, but he just didn't look at all. Karl was deep in thought,
scowling fiercely at his plaque. Over the ninety minutes, mine finally took
shape, and the mane of the horse flowed beautifully. I was extremely
frustrated with the eye, though. The horse looked rather... well, do horses
get rabies?

I looked over and gasped at Karl's. It was a guard dog, eyes intense and
stance wide. Shoulders set and muscled. A massive, confident, implacable
defender. I didn't really know dog breeds then. Now, looking back with
decades of Westminster Dogs Show broadcasts under my belt, it was an
idealised Mastiff breed, like a Bull Mastiff or Cane Corso or similar, the
distillation of pride and power. It was stunning.

We both turned to Jim and his face was glowing. We'd known that there were
three parts of his and had wondered how they would resolve. He said he'd
show us that night, blushing to beat the band. When we broke, I saw Karl
fall into step beside Orson who seemed reluctant to be close to the guy
who'd been his hero scant days before.

Jim and I muttered together about our Free Period and suddenly found
ourselves on Dr Eaglas' office stoop. We looked at each other and nodded. I
knocked, gently, and the doctor's voice called out for us to come in. He
was sitting at his desk making some notes and smiled at us when we came in.

"Patrick. Jim. Good to see you both. Not good to see such worried faces,
though. Everything alright? Tent Canvas Hell working out?" He smirked as my
jaw dropped in astonishment. He chuckled. "I overheard the term, Patrick,
and I have to say it's one of the best nicknames I've heard in years.

"So! What's got you two in such a stew?"

For the first time in, like, forever -- and one of about six such events in
all human history, before or since -- Jim was utterly at a loss for words.

"We, um, we kissed," I watched the doctor's face carefully and could not
see a shred of change, "and one of the other guys saw us and seems really
upset. What... what do we *do*?"

Dr Eaglas, still expressionless, pointed to the couch. Jim and I sat on the
edge, sitting close together but studiously avoiding any touch. The doctor
sat in the chair to the right. His voice was calm, simple and gave nothing
away. "Explain, please." I gave a completely incoherent and stumbling
explanation of Jim and I kissing after classes the day before and 'someone'
coming to find us and, well, *finding* us.

Dr Eaglas sat staring for a minute then took a deep breath and blew it out
making his cheeks balloon humorously. He nodded then said, "Okay, you've
got about ten things all wrapped up in there. I'll start with a few things
that, sadly, are going to make you both angry and probably feel stupid and
foolish. I'm sorry. I really am. But the world is not always a nice place.

"No, actually, I start here: Kissing each other is not wrong and it's not
unhealthy, but I am in an extreme minority in that view. Most people think
it is incredibly wrong and even dangerous. You shouldn't have to hide, but
you pretty much do. Many people are incredibly offended by, even feel
threatened by, two men displaying affection for each other. You have to
learn discretion, guys."

"Why?" Jim was sullen. "Why do *we* have to be discreet if other don't?"

"Well, actually, you're wrong there, Jim. Everyone needs to be
discreet. Any sort of sexual display that isn't completely private, even
kissing, is frowned on for male-female couples, too. It's not entirely
about it being between two men, that just makes it more offensive to
some. If whoever saw you kissing saw you and a girl, they might well have
had a similar, if less intense, reaction. Our society is insanely-sensitive
about sexual things.

"Next, though, is your age. I think of you as men and so do some
others. Most would consider you young boys. Any sort of sexual activity at
your age will shock the hell out of a lot of people, even if most of adults
started experimenting around your age yourself -- especially when it's two
males involved."

"Why do they care!"

For the very first time, Dr Eaglas' voice took on a stern tone. "Because
they DO, Jim. Why does not matter!" He took a deep breath and resumed in a
steadier voice. "We don't get to pick what other people care about, son. We
just don't. But to live in the same world as others, we have to at least
consider what other people feel and believe. You can choose to defy or
flaunt norms, sure, but you have to accept that other people might not like
it, and might work very hard to 'keep you in line' if you do.

"Which brings us to the next point. Every camper here is at an age where
they are beginning to firm up who they are as adults. The world is a
scary-enough place when you *think* you have an understanding of how
everything works. Right now, all the certainties of childhood are being
stripped away by changes to your bodies and your needs. You are seeing
everything in new and often frightening ways. It is bound to magnify the
shock when something a person has believed to be an absolutely truth --
that all boys like girls -- gets challenged, and challenged by someone they
respect, admire and trust."

"We didn't *ask* him to--"

Dr Eaglas cut Jim off, hard, another first. "Yes, Jim, you did! When you
three befriended Orson and treated him like an equal, you *absolutely*
'asked him' to trust and respect you." He saw the shock on my face at the
mention of Orson's name, and a note of real frustration crept in. "Oh, for
God's sake, of *course* I knew you were talking about Orson! I'm not stupid
and I'm not blind, and it's my *job* to watch out for kids who are troubled
or upset." Another deep, steadying breath.

"So, at the age of most of the guys here, anything can be a real
shock. Another thing sure to piss you off is the age difference. Patrick,
you're 17. Jim just turned 15. To a lot of people -- hush, Jim -- that
makes you look like a, well, a predator. No, don't look at me like that. I
didn't say you were and happen to know you're anything but. That's because
I have taken the time to get to know all of you. To someone else, though,
they'd see a sexually-mature young man preying on what they see as a little
boy."

Jim hissed and spluttered like a teakettle, but it was taking everything I
had not to puke all over the office. Isn't that *precisely* what I thought?
What Karl assumed? Could it even be...

"Jim, tell Patrick he's not before he makes a mess on my couch, please."

Nothing else could have snapped Jim out of his rage so quickly. Jim looked
at me, horrified and livid at once, realizing that, yes, that's exactly
what I was thinking. "P-P-Patrick? H-how many t-times do I have to tell
you! It was *me*! *I* did this! It's all my fault! This is all my fault!"

Jim fell into my lap sobbing now, yanking me off my own precipice. Jim
needed me. Nothing else mattered.

Dr Eaglas' voice came back, again the steady, soft, kindly manner that he
normally wore. "We finally get to the real problem, don't we?" Jim turned
in my lap to look at him, both of us leaking tears. "You're not worried
about Orson being mad; you're terrified he might be right. That everyone
except me might be right. That what you two have is wrong and sick and
doomed. And you know what, all that might well be true." I gasped in
horror.

"But ask yourselves, for just a minute, does it *feel* wrong? Sick?
Twisted? Patrick, ignoring the knee-jerk guilt, do you really *feel* that
you are using Jim? Jim, do you really thing that you did something *wrong*
in coming to... love Patrick? I'm asking because those are some of the many
questions I cannot answer. The answers don't even exist outside your own
souls." He fell silent and stood, knees popping, and flipped a switch on an
electric kettle.

He let us stew on that for a while. Jim and I looked at each other and away
frequently, but I could see his answers were matching mine. Nothing, ever,
had felt *less* wrong that what I had with Jim, what we had with each
other.

Eaglas opened a drawer and pulled out a tin, light brown with a huge eagle
on the front. He popped it open and spooned some dark brown powder into
three mugs. After a few minutes, he added the boiling water and handed
around mugs of real, honest hot cocoa. The steam alone healed all our tears
and the taste was simply heaven.

"Don't tell anyone, not even the other adults. If anyone knew I had this
shipped in from a friend in California, I'd be mobbed."

"What is it?" Jim asked with deep reverence.

"It's based on a chocolate powder from a company called Ghirardelli from
San Francisco. I've never found anything like it. I cut it half-and-half
with powdered cream and it comes out like this. You like?"

We both just sighed deeply as we sipped and slurped the molten nectar of
the gods. Jim and I shared a look that was deeply etched with guilt; both
our families worked for *Hershey* and here we were, traitors to the Firm.

"So, now that we're back on an even keel, you started by asking 'what do we
do' and I explained instead where you are. Let's tackle the question you
asked. First off, you can't blame or be mad at Orson. It's hard for
him. Look at it from his perspective before you do anything. Talk to him if
he'll let you, but forgive him if he can't.

"Also, if he tells people, if he's *already* told people, you will have to
deal with that as well. Is it a shining example of what a friend should do?
No. But would it be that unreasonable? After a shock and deep, personal
hurt? Would it really be unforgivable?"

That brought us both us short. What if *everyone* now knew about... us? "It
won't come to violence or anything, not here. The only ones in the camp
with that kind of character got shipped out largely due to you three. But
boys can be mean, and will be. So can adults. And it's something you should
accept early as it won't change, probably in our lifetimes." The enormity
of that statement stunned me to immobility. '...in our lifetimes...' meant,
well, it meant that this was something than could... last? I saw the same
realization, but with no dread at all just pure exultation, overtake Jim's
face.

"All I can tell you is be brave, be honest, be true, be discreet. Accept
and cherish support you get from friends and do your best to forgive the
ignorance of the rest. Be ready to talk to people, but also be ready for
them refuse to listen. It is their choice not yours. And as wrong as it is
to need this, be ready to run or, if worse becomes worst, defend
yourselves. The Buggers are far from the only evil people out in the wide
world."

He chatted with us for a while, bringing us down from the emotional
rollercoaster. We finished about the time lunch was announced by the
triangle. We found Nate, Karl and a mutinous-looking Orson waiting, a sack
in Karl's large hand. "Come on. Picnic."

We found our way to the Cabin 4 fire ring and sat. Karl passed out some
rather disgusting-looking ham sandwiches and explained, "Take two. Take the
top bread with its gallon of mustard and wipe off as much as you can. Throw
that away. Put the two sandwiches together." He was right, they became
reasonably-edible. He also passed around milk and napkins.

"Patrick, tell Orson what he saw." My jaw dropped and it took quick work
for me not to spew bits of ham everywhere. I swallowed and stared. Karl's
look brooked no argument, though.

I was in full nuclear-blush as I looked at Orson's face, filled with anger
and betrayal. "Y-Y-You saw me and J-Jim kissing. I'm sorry you saw that."

"Why?" Orson was not budging and inch.

"Because, um, uh, be, uh, because I like him a lot, Orson. I'm sorry. I
know you don't want to hear th--"

"You're LYING."

"...?"

"You set that up. ALL of you set that up. Just to make a fool of me." He
jumped to his feet and was all but shouting. "I'm not an idiot! I know when
I've been had! And I TRUSTED you! And the whole *Tex* thing, "his voice
dripped derision and humiliation, "and the *Trey* thing. I bought it
ALL. And all along you were j-j-j-just...!!" He turned to flee and Jim
grabbed him, spinning the spitting and hissing kid to face him.

"No, Orson. He kissed me -- we kissed each other -- because we
l-l-like... FUCK! Hell with it! We love each other. You can hate us for
that, but I damned well won't let you say it's not true. You want to take a
swing at me for b-b-b-being a f-f-faggot, FINE! But don't you DARE pretend
that this some sort of sick joke! To hell with you Orson! The hell with all
of you!"

Nate was the one who caught the enraged Jim before he could run, and he was
smart. He locked Jim's arms or I'm pretty sure one or both would have had
shiners the next morning.

"Are we done with the shouting, guys?" Karl was calm as the breeze. "If so,
both of you sit the hell down."

He looked hard at Orson. "You still think we played you for a fool?
Really?"

Orson looked lost. His rage and humiliation had fled leaving nothing in its
place. He slumped on the seat and shook his head in negation, whether to
the question or the whole situation was unclear. He turned to me. "Are you,
he, uh, really like that? Like he... said?" I nodded miserably. "WHY?"

Which is where I lost it. Laughing and crying at once, face in my palms, I
couldn't even make words. Why? What the hell was with that WORD? What about
'why' kept haunting me, hunting me down? 'Why' did I listen to Karl that
very first night? 'Why' did I admit it the next day? 'Why' did I kiss Karl?
'Why' did I touch Jim? 'Why' did I admit what I really wanted and really
feared? Why why why why WHY? 'Why' was it always fucking 'WHY'?

I finally pulled it together enough to look up, meeting a set of four
utterly horrified and worried faces. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve
and turned to our confused and hurt friend. "Orson, fuck if I know why. I
just know that I was ripping myself to shreds before, torturing myself. And
that ended when Jim let me kiss him. I've never been this worried, this
scared or this happy in my life. Jim's right. If you're gonna hate me, hate
us, at least do it for the right reason." I watched him blink for a second.

"I swear before God and everybody that I never made fun of you or played a
trick on you. That I never, ever, ever wanted you to know about this or be
upset or be humiliated. I'd never wish that on anyone, Orson, and
especially not someone I really thought was my friend. I'd never make fun
of you, Orson." Jim nudged me and I caught his grin and smiled
ruefully. "Okay, I take that back. I did make fun of your voice, but only
the once! That night you hit every octave on the scale singing the single
word, 'Orleans'. I'm sorry, Orson, really I am."

He chuckled and bit his lip then let out a single, weak laugh. "That's
okay, I made fun of it myself. So, um, so you just said... something like
somebody you think is a friend? You mean me? You mean that?"

"Never more so, buddy. Even if you decide to hate us for, well, for
that. It still doesn't mean I didn't see you as a real friend. Still will,
if you'll have me."

"But, um, about the other thing? You aren't, you know, gonna *do* anything
to me, are ya?" Karl snorted but Jim's voice broke in.

"Jesus, Orson, just how cute do you think you are? Don't you have a
mirror?"

"HEY!"

"Hey yourself! You asked!"

Nate giggled, then burst out laughing. Orson turned, astounded. Through his
mirth, Nate retorted, "D-don't worry, Orson! He'd haveta f-f-f-FIND IT
first!" then rolled into a ball of hysterics which Karl tried, and failed,
not to join as Orson bristled in affronted manly pride.

"Careful there, Nate." Jim taunted, "Be damned sure you've got the cards to
back up your bluff, partner." Orson hooted at the look on Nate's
face. This, THIS was the kind of semi-sexual banter he knew how to deal
with.

"I'd offer to compare, but, you know, these two might not be able to
resist!" He tried out his nascent humor to see how it flew. I could tell
Jim was less than pleased, but I just roared.

"You tell 'em, Trey -- I mean Orson"

He blushed furiously and looked at me long and hard. "Can I, um, can I
still be Trey?" His voice was small and uncertain.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna call you Bull or Hoss--"

Jim broke in, "At least not without real proof...?"

"But, um, do you want, you know, a guy who isn't, well, like that? As a
friend?"

I sighed, letting seriousness return full force but also trying to keep it
lighter than it might otherwise be. "Trey, if I can only be friends with
people like me, it's gonna be damned hard to get a poker game together. I
mean there's just the two of us."

"No there isn't."

All of us fell utterly silent as we turned to Nate, who flushed darkly. "I
heard some other guys talking about it when they didn't know I was
around. I can say for sure that you'd have plenty for a game and, if what
they said was true, maybe a whole damned poker tournament."

"Who?" Jim's voice was low and in complete awe.

Nate turned to him and frowned, "And what do you want me to tell them if
they ask me the same question?" Jim dropped his eyes in embarrassment and
apologized quickly. In the distance, we heard the single clank that
announced we had fifteen minutes to make it to the next session, which for
all of us, including Trey, was archery. "Come on, guys." Nate summed up,
"Let's see who loses a finger today." I fell into step wondering quietly,
why wasn't I as smart as Jim and Nate when I was 14 or 15? Hell, why wasn't
I as smart *now*? A tiny voice echoed in the back of my head, 'Yet another
'why' there, sport.'

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 28 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 19 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 20 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 13 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Shark Reef: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 4 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments)
.../incest/in-gods-love/