Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2017 10:48:34 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 31

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 triangle clanged and we all jumped. The idea that all of that, all that
emotion, all those sensations, all the pleasure had taken place in the
space of perhaps an hour. Jim and I beat back Karl's attempt to dress
himself and pulled his clothes on his giggling frame for him. Dressing him
was a delightful, light-hearted romp, absent the tension and worry that
attended the preceding hour. We smiled at each other in simple contentment,
three musketeers against the world and strolled happily down to dinner. The
world, somehow, just more *right* than it had been before.

*****

Canvas Hell 31: A Different Kind of Storm

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery - Wednesday PM

*****

Dinner was... odd. Karl was calmer, more relaxed, less closed-off than
normal, but also even quieter than his normal sphinxlike self. Trey and
Nate joined us, as did (to his own surprise) Willie. No one seemed to
really register Karl's mood, but Nate gave him a couple of curious
looks. Otherwise, the five of us laughed and joked through the meal.

The food was actually edible, more or less. A project of the Campfire
Cooking class, it was a thing called a Hobo (I've heard a dozen different
names since). A big hamburger patty, an half-ear of corn on the cob, sliced
potatoes, onions and carrots were wrapped up in a package of foil with
salt, pepper, butter and Worcestershire sauce then buried in coals.

If wrapped correctly, the meat will still be juicy just as the
longer-cooking potatoes and such get tender. When done under the direction
of the chef? Well, not so much. What's odd is that the charred, desiccated
patty was actually kinda good, with a little char on the bottom and
slightly-moistened by the liquid given off by the veggies. The corn was
frankly wonderful. Onions were almost done and the carrots were a little
mushy, and who needs utterly-raw potatoes anyway? There actually was a
dessert as well, peach cobbler cooked in Dutch ovens that, apparently, Chef
had not 'helped' with. It was delicious and came with a real treat, ice
cream.

We strolled to Cabin 4 and the Leaders had some variations they wanted to
try for the song, one of which stuck. He asked for volunteers, one singer
from each vocal range. All of our group immediately 'volunteered' Willie
for the highest-voiced set. He was mortified but we finally talked him into
trying. He was brilliant. He would end up being the star for the whole
thing.

Willie's clear, delicate, heartbreaking treble took the first line alone,
"As I went down in the river to pray," joined by the other high voices,
"Studying about that good old way / And who shall wear the starry crown /
Good Lord, show me the way!"

He again took the first line of the chorus, "O brothers let's go down," and
the rest joined to complete the stanza. Robert, the low-tenor that
represented my own group, did the same for the first verse of "Bachelors"
and a large-boned kid named Charles with a basso voice that presaged the
rich and luscious tones of James Earl Jones did the same for Karl and
Trey's group, the "Fathers". The refrains built as before, piling in until
the last chorus.

Here is where the genius of the Leaders really showed. In that final
stanza, all of the voices rang out, which was impressive. Charles, Robert
and Willie then repeated "Good Lord, show me the way!" Robert and Willie
repeated that line, then Willie alone, the piercing, haunting beauty of the
simple melody in his high and pure voice was... divine in several senses of
the word.

Throughout, Willie glared at us in betrayal for putting him in such a
position and he was bright-red every time he sang. The roar that echoed
when he finished on the very last run-through, though, took the boy's
breath away. Willie had never been the center of attention and never wanted
to be; he'd certainly never been lauded as a hero. We left him in a circle
of admirers with a stunned, bemused and delighted smile finally gracing his
face. Trey stayed by him, looking half like a fan and half like a
bodyguard.

Nate came away from the fire ring with us and we chatted for a bit. He kept
looking at Karl and I finally got a hunch. "Jim, I'm bushed. You ready to
head back while Karl and Nate talk?" I added a convincing yawn but was able
to do bug-eye-semaphore on the 'Karl and Nate talk' part. Jim admitted he
was tired as well and we headed off. I could sense more than see Karl's
frown in the gloom.

"So, you gonna tell me what that's about?"

"So, you remember, obviously, that Karl asked about, you know, us after
camp? Well, he asked himself the same question. Nate lives in Scranton not
far from Karl. And he decided that everything was going to crash and burn
and that he couldn't face talking about it Nate and Nate was gonna hate him
anyways and on and on. I, well, I guess I've learned from you. I called him
on it and, well, he didn't like it much."

"No. No, I guess he wouldn't. So, um, does that mean you're over that whole
freaking out thing?"

I looked at him, "Not for as long as I'm still breathing." We both laughed
and went into the tent. As we were crawling into the sleeping bags, Karl
came in. "Everything okay, Karl?"

"Yeah. And you're still a beanpole asshole." He grumped, but I could hear
the tension was gone and smiled into the darkness.

The morning dawned cloudy and it got worse through the day. Woodworking was
up first, and we were each handed a block with a large,
roughly-quarter-sized hole top-to-bottom near the back edge. "If you're in
scouting, what we're about to make might be personally useful as a
neckerchief slide. For the rest of you, it will make a nice napkin holder
or a candle-holder. You'll be carving on all sides this time, not just down
from a single plane. It's trickier, but also quicker."

There were a couple dozen examples in the center of the
workbench. Thunderbirds, arrowheads, knots, a coiled snake, owls, a cross,
a bugle, lionheads, a piece symbol, the fleur-de-lis and eagle of scouting,
stars and shields of patriotism, so many options. There was even one of a
Planet of the Apes head!

"Also, you'll be working on this outside of class as well. Each of you will
get a small kit that YOU WILL RETURN at the end or you'll have to buy
it. In it will be the four basic shapers. Except for the bladed chisel, you
can use the handles of each as a mallet for the others. I and the leaders
are here to assist you with *technical* questions. We will NOT help you
come with a design in any way. Go to it, men!"

Jim was already carving before Land finished speaking. I stared at mine for
the longest time. I wasn't and was not about to become a scout, so it was
napkin/candle-holder for me. My block had broad, thick horizontal
bands. Hmm. Almost like fingers. Like a switch thrown, I could see the hand
grasping the base of the candlestick. I could even see the knuckles. I
noted that Karl and even Nate were carving before me.

I nearly sliced off my thumb with a peel of thunder rolled over us. I
looked to see that Karl's jaw was clamped, his movements extremely slow and
methodical. I stood staring in absolute awe of the kind of control that
showed. A leader ran up and had a quick, whispered conversation with Land.

"Gents. Your attention, please, just for a second. You have about twenty
minutes left, but you need to hear this. There will be NO Free Periods
today, and no water-based activities. Oh, please, don't give me a moan you
bunch of nellies! Anyone scheduled for either, report to the Central Fire
Pit. They're expecting a lot of rain and the major had decided to get at
least the most-critical boardwalks down early. Okay, now go back to your
work and I'll let you know when it's time."

Jim and I shared a mournful look. We had Free Period next, and most of our
group had swimming / lifesaving in the afternoon. Maybe I could throw a
tow-rope to someone drowning in mud...

The rest of the day was precisely as miserable as you would have
thought. The rain started dribbling on us as we were laying pallets between
the Hygiene Hut and the Mess Hall. Lunch was dismal. It was supposed to
have been roasted hot dogs until it started to rain. The menu thus became
stewed weenies, but they hadn't had enough time to really get the water up
to temp. The alternative was a sad and soggy grilled cheese. Trey,
inventiveness personified, found that wrapping the lukewarm dog in a
grilled cheese made for something rather edible, especially with plenty of
ketchup and mustard.

Archery was a farce. No sooner had we lined up than wind whipped into a
frenzy. The idea of arrows flying very which-a-way appalled the leaders so
we were sent to pallet patrol. Yay. That meant the second half of the
morning and the *entire* afternoon were a muddy purgatory. Jim and I both
had ponchos where Karl had a windbreaker. When we were done, all of us
trooped straight to the showers to find a crowd, but not a crush. The water
was warming, though, so it did help.

We got out to find (naturally) not a dry towelette in sight. Jim and I
watched Karl try to struggle into his wet jeans and shuddered. As if with a
single thought, our heads swiveled to our ponchos, then to each other, then
back to the ponchos. Other guys were incredibly impressed and followed
suit. A lot of boys left the Hygiene Hut that day in ponchos, shoes and
nothing else. Poor Karl, with a windbreaker, didn't have that option and
was supremely unhappy about it to boot.

On the way back to the tent, Jim got an interesting look on his face and
muttered that he'd meet us in a bit before running off, buns occasionally
flashing when the wind caught his poncho. Karl and I got to Tent Canvass
Hell and I helped peel him out of the wet clothes and get him dried to some
extent and both of us slipped on athletic shorts. The rain had not made it
cool, just clammy.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, we heard high laughter and suddenly Jim was
there, trailed by Nate and Trey. All were in disgustingly-high
spirits. They pulled off their ponchos and Trey and Nate sat Indian
style. Jim was still butt-nekkid, so he pulled shorts on hurriedly but not
at all self-consciously. I noticed that it was Trey would could not pull
his eyes away. Hmm.

"Jim? What's this about?"

"Well, I thought I could smell something and went and checked. I was
right. Chef is doing," pause for horror-effect, "corned beef and cabbage."
Okay, I'm Irish. I get it. I'm supposed to like it. It's like my cultural
heritage or something. But that crap is the nastiest stuff on Earth. My
opinion was echoed throughout the tent. "So I recruited some troops and
staged a lightening raid." He was so smug it was plain disgusting.

"What?"

"He means," Nate chimed in, "the he came over and got me and Trey. Trey
pounded on the Mess Hall door until Chef went to check, and Jim and I
slipped through the back and grabbed... this!" He tumbled out a shirt he'd
used as a bindle and food rolled across the tent. A loaf of bread first,
then jars of jelly and peanut butter, and a load of assorted fruit.

"My God! How did you get here without getting busted?"

"We did!" Trey and Nate erupted. Trey took up the narrative in his
uncertain bass voice. "We were halfway across the middle area of the
boardwalk and The Major," the fear and awe in his voice was as clear as the
sudden soprano break in his voice, "stopped us! He demanded to look in the
shirt and when he did he looked at Jim for the longest time. He said, 'Let
me guess. Corned Beef & Cabbage?' I about crapped! Then he said, 'Get that
to Tent Something-or-other' and WINKED at us!"

Nate spoke up, "Yeah, what did he mean. I was sure he said Tent Canvas
Hell. What's that *mean*?"

Jim and Karl just gave me a smirk that clearly said, 'This one's yours,
guy.'

Sigh. "Okay, so the day we got here, Karl was... less than friendly and
I'm, you know, shy and all. Then I find out, well, saw Karl *with* the
Buggers -- which was coincidence is all--" break for the Buggers
explanation," and I was so bummed I decided that I'd been consigned to a
Canvas Hell. So, Tent Canvas Hell."

"Wowwwwwwww," from both of them.

"And the Major? He knows? Really? Just... wow." Trey was in flat-out awe.

I grumbled low, "Everybody knows everything around here," but apparently
Nate could hear anyway. He gave me a long look, then Jim, then me
again. The triangle rang for dinner and we laughed as we dug into the
purloined foodstuffs.

Nate won 'weirdest food' for his peanut-butter and apple-slice sandwich,
which Jim loved and Karl said was okay. I hate anything with peanut butter,
so I chose not to partake.

About the time that the 'official' dinner was likely ending, the wind
picked up and slowly built to a near-gale. Rain started to come in the form
of bullets trying to storm the fortress of Tent Canvas Hell. We looked at
each other in open fear. It felt like a thin skin of fragile fabric stood
between us and the ultimate fury of Mother Nature in a really fucking bad
mood.

A lull came and a voice rang out, magnified but Sea's megaphone. "Men in
the tents. Stay! Where! You! Are! If your tent RIPS or leaks, wait for a
LULL and make for the MESS HALL. Do NOT try to get back to your CABINS." He
repeated the message a couple time, diminishing in intensity as he moved.

I looked around at that moment. Jim was on my left, confident and unfazed,
but clearly not intending to allow contact between us to gap at all. Next
to him was Trey. I almost smiled. He wanted to panic, and wanted to be a
protector, and wanted to be unfazed. His eyes darted for man to man,
desperately trying to figure out which one would work. Nate was next. He
stared with worry and respect at Karl. Completing the circle was Karl and I
found that his eyes were already seeking mine. His face was the stoic,
brave and calm mask that we knew, but his eyes were haunted. The only
salvation was the lack of lightning and thunder which had moved away in the
morning and not returned.

Jim had seen the same thing. "I've got a pack of cards. Want to play
something?"

Trey sniggered, "Like Strip Poker?" Everyone giggled.

Karl spoke. His eyes still hadn't left my own. "That always end up in a
circle jerk. Why bother?" Trey and Nate seemed like their lollipops had
been snatched away and even Jim looked surprised. Karl looked around and
laughed out loud at the faces of mourning. "What? I didn't say it was a bad
plan! I said why bother with the cards?"

"You mean?!?"

"Well, sure Nate. I'm not that shy, really. And it's a lot tense right
now. Just a few rules. No touching unless you ask. No laughing or making
fun of who's got what (or not). And it never, ever happened."

Trey's eyes were now as wide as saucers. The risqué idea of strip poker
(with the prospect that it might lead further) was one thing. But to
brazenly say, 'Let's all jack off,' unnerved him. "I d-d-d-don't know..." I
looked at Trey. To me, at least, it was clear that he really, really wanted
to be persuaded but he was honestly scared where it might lead.

Karl spoke in that same calm, simple voice, "You don't have to. Nobody has
to, and maybe nobody wants--"

"I do!"

Karl smiled, "Okay, maybe nobody but Nate and I want to. Trey, it's
okay. You don't even have to watch if you don't like. But guys jack off and
I just don't see a reason to get all worked up about it. So, Nate. Moment
of truth?"

Nate's shorts and undies were below his knees and he was back to
Indian-sitting before I could blink. He hadn't hit his growth yet, at least
not down there. He had plenty of hair, more than I'd had then, but his
iron-hard cock was maybe five inches and pretty thin. Karl slowly pulled
his own shorts down and his slab of meat was impressive even soft.

I looked over to Jim and realized he was already stripped completely. I
pulled my shorts down; I was as hard as Nate and Jim. Trey's eyes were
still huge as he darted from dick to dick. His breathing was short and
quick as well. I was pretty sure that he'd never seen a hard cock before
other than in the mirror and now he had a buffet. I smile now at the
image. Nate's throbbing five, thin inches begin gripped tightly; me a bit
over six with that slight upward curve, hand not yet really moving; Jim at
easily seven and a bit thick using long strokes; Karl slowly growing as he
tugged at it absently, thickening first in the mid-cock flare on his way to
eight or more inches.

Nate's voice was breathy and shallow, "Wh-Wh-Wh-What do we u-u-use when we,
uh, you know." Karl reached behind him into his pack. It made his entire
body ripple and accentuated his thick, dark fur. Trey sucked in a breath
and Nate stopped breathing entirely.

Karl unfolded a couple of bandanas and laid then on top of each other in
the midst of us. He calmly spat into his hand and began to rub his cock,
the other hand fondling his huge, hairy balls. Nate shuddered and moaned
low and then started to squeak as he jetted about five quick shots onto the
bandana. He looked around in horror at cumming so quickly.

Karl smiled, "Good. Now you can take your time with the next one."

Trey's mouth hung so far open you could see his tonsils. He whimpered
slightly and ripped open his pants. He was somewhere around the same size
as Nate, perhaps a little shorter and a little thicker, and with far less
hair than the rest of us. The look on Trey's face, Nate's explosion and
Karl's calm, deep voice were too much for me and I unloaded in moments,
rope after thick rope jetting onto and across the bandanas.

Trey looked down at my cum and with a loud CHUFF added six somewhat-watery
blasts to the now-sopping mess. All eyes now turned to the two largest cock
in the tent, Jim and Karl. Both were stroking with long, luxurious
swipes. Karl spat into his hand again and Nate sucked in a breath, again
beating off furiously, serious about his 'round two'.

Jim's impish face got a soft glow and a look of utter mischief. He went up
on his knees fully and reached forward, scooping up some of the accumulated
boy-batter. I thought Trey and Nate would both have a heart attack when he
slowly spread the goo over his shaft.

Even Karl's eyes got wide and his strokes intensified, but it was far, far
too much for Nate who started pant, "oh! oh! oh! oh!oh!oh!OH!OH!OHHHHHH!"
and erupting again. Instead of less, he seemed to pump even more than his
first effort and he fell back, obviously exhausted. The exultant sound
triggered Karl and his first huff into ecstasy was all Jim needed as
well. The two of them blew like a dance, each of Karl's jets retreating as
Jim's took off and vice versa.

I couldn't take it and apparently neither could Trey. We both went back to
jacking off and blew shortly. Jim finally came around enough to fold the
bandanas like he was wrapping a Christmas present. Eight big loads were in
there. Jim set it carefully by the tent flap in the very corner, "Don't
want anyone to slip in *that* tonight."

Our orgasms passed and our breathing slowly returned to normal, allowing
the outside world to creep back in. For the first time in years, it seemed,
we were again aware of the howling fury of the storm. We slipped back into
our shorts, all blushing a bit. Trey's voice was very small. "How are we
gonna sleep in all this? And we've only got the three sleeping bags?"

Karl pondered that. "Um, guys, you n-n-n-need to know. I, uh, get
nightmares in storms." Karl wasn't looking at anyone and it was clear he'd
rather have cut off his arm than admit what he'd just said.

Nate reached out and touched Karl's knee gently. "Then I'll sleep with
you. My brother gets night terrors so it w-w-won't bother me. I mean, if
that's okay?" Karl nodded gratefully, but was clearly ashamed.

"Trey, you take my bag here in the middle. It's too small for two and I can
sleep with Patrick who has a big one--" he blushed furiously, "--sleeping
bag! I meant sleeping bag!" That cracked everyone up.

Nate quipped, "Yeah, but it looks like that's all he's got 'bigger', Jim."
Trey was hiccoughing with giggles and Jim's patented 'SCHNORK-hur-hur-hur'
laugh had Nate doubled over trying to breathe. We finally got ourselves
sorted.

I curled around Jim like we'd done this all our lives. Trey seemed really
restless but, as suddenly as a snapped finger, was out. Jim followed
quickly and I was in my 'if I pretend to sleep maybe I really will'
mode. Perhaps ten minutes passed and I just barely heard Nate whisper
something. Karl, for whom whispers were not exactly a strong suit, replied,
"I don't mind, really. Let me kick these off." Some rustling left no doubt
that he'd just shucked his shorts; he'd apparently given Nate permission to
explore and I was picturing that as I drifted away.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 31 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 22 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 23 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 16 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Shark Reef: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 6 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 5 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/

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