This is a story of friendship, commitment, love and trust. It is not a sex story. However, this story deals with love between male teenagers. If you are offended by stories involving love between two teenage boys, please do not read this story. There may be some sex scenes in this story; however, sex is not the main theme. If you are under age 18 or 21 or it is illegal to read this story where you live, don't read it. Reproducing this story for distribution without the owner's permission is a violation of that copyright.
Author's Message: two more chapters.
I guess I cried for a while after Dawson left. I had to let him go and trust that our love was strong enough for him to come back. I knew he had issues to handle because he never talked about his life prior to Paris unless it was when his g-dad was with him. His g-dad had raised him since he was a baby and I could always see the sadness in his life connected with g-dad's death. I once asked him what happened between the time when his g-dad died and when he arrived. He avoided the question. When I pressed it, he went cold and stern and all he said was "When Sam died I died. There was no life, nothing until I was reborn in Paris. Any other questions?" I guess everybody has little secrets.
I walked up to the café to find the Alex and Ian. They looked at me and I think they pretty well knew something was wrong. Ian looked like shit.
"So?" asked Alex.
"He's gone," I said just above a whisper, "to Nice for a few days but..."
I looked at Ian the news hit him really hard and the tears trickled down his cheeks, "I'm sorry, Dieter, it's all my fault." He began to cry. Alex put his arms around Ian and Ian buried his face into Alex's chest and wept."
"No, Ian...it's just something he had to do. He told me to tell you he was sorry for teasing you and that he really loves you and Alex and Sven and as soon as he sorts himself out he'll be back."
"Does he ever talk to you about us?" I asked. Ian's eyebrows rose. "Ian, I'm gay, okay, I'm totally in love with Dawson, and I know that he loves me."
"Oh, duh, Dieter! Like it's not obvious, I just didn't realize that he felt that strongly about you."
I was surprised that Ian didn't make some nasty remark about me being gay.
Alex had this knowing smile on his face.
"Okay, Alex out with it! You've got one of those looks again," said Ian.
"It's just something that happened a short time ago. He said he saw a gay couple walking down the Boulevard Saint Michael and it got him to wondering about things like when they get married, is there a bride and groom? Or is there a groom and a groom? And where do gay people get married? I asked him if he was planning on getting married to Dieter. Oh, man did he blush - crimson!" laughed Alex.
I could feel myself blushing.
"You think that he has issues with being gay?" asked Ian.
Alex looked at me and then smiled, "No, I don't think so...I think the only issue he could have is with you."
"With me? Why?" I asked.
"Because he loves you and he's a little nervous that if you knew all about him you'd hate him and he told me if you hated him he would be devastated."
"I could never hate him," I said, "Has he told you anything about his past?"
"Nothing about love or romance except how he feels about you."
Sven showed up. We were all pretty miserable but Sven seemed to cheer us up, and then Ian read us Dawson's favorite story, it was hilarious.
I heard Alex getting ready for work as I slept on his floor. "Did Dawson leave you the key to his room?"
"Well, no but I found it in my pillowcase this morning when I woke up."
"Oh...hmmm. He said in his note that if we miss him too much just have a look at his stuff."
"Well, I'm going to work half day today. I'll be back at noon then maybe all of us can go have a look."
"Okay, I'll meet you at the café." I fell back asleep until about ten and arrived at the café around twelve. I had a strange calmness and I knew Dawson was doing okay. I'll be honest there has always been a `connection' with Dawson since the time he showed me how to draw. He was hundreds of kilometers away from me, but I just knew that things were okay.
We all went to Dawson's room. None of us knew what to expect as Alex unlocked the door.
As the door opened we saw an envelope on a piece of string hung at the entrance. Alex took the envelope, which was addressed to `My Friends'. Inside was a note, which Alex read out loud:
"Hey Guys! Welcome to Dawson's gallery of fine art. Ian, now you know why I had to share your bed - really I'm not kinky – ha-ha! I didn't have any more room in my tiny gallery - there are exactly 43 paintings on display (one for each flea!) So this is your own private showing because most of the paintings have to do with you guys. I think you will be able to tell which one is my favorite. Well, enjoy the gallery and come back as often as you want. I will be back. I love you, Dawson. PS. For best results turn on the light switch! Duh!"
I gasped as the light went on... straight ahead of us was an incredible portrait of Dawson. "Wow!"
Sven took a couple of steps closer, "Oh my God! It's incredible! Come! Look for yourselves," he said holding back tears. We stepped forward and I gasped. I couldn't speak for a moment, "How did he do that?"
"He's a genius – a real master," said Ian softly.
I looked at Alex and tears were streaming down his face. He looked at me, "God I miss him," he smiled. From the door the painting looked like a portrait of Dawson, but when you got closer you realized that the portrait was made up of small scenes of us four guys. It was unbelievable that anyone could do such a painting. There was another note attached to it.
"To the ones I love,
Never before have I felt so loved
I have traveled the world far and wide
If there is a God who looks over me
It was signed Dawson.
We probably spent two hours in that tiny room, laughing, crying and joking around.
With our spirits heightened we returned to the café where Sven said, "Okay, trivia time! Who knows what G-dad stands for? Ian?"
"Ehehehehe! Wrong!" exclaimed Sven, "Alex?"
"I would have said the same as Ian."
"Dieter?" I shrugged my shoulders.
"G-dad - means Great Dad. When Dawson was six all his friends would talk about their dads. He knew Sam, his grandfather, hated being called grandfather so he came up with the name g-dad short for Great Dad. Okay, here's a question: What is Dawson's favorite movie and why?"
"That's easy," said Alex, "The Never Ending Story because he actually believes Fantasia exists."
"Okay here's another question," Sven said, "What is Dawson's favorite music group and why?"
"Pet Shop Boys! Cuz he likes to shake his boody!" laughed Ian, "And I swear he has a cute boody! What's his favorite song by that same group?"
"'It's A Sin'," said Alex, "I will never forget when he and Dieter danced to that in the square. Dieter, I meant to ask you how many hours did you two practice?"
"About twelve hours." Of course, I didn't say that it was the closest I ever came to jumping his bones. We did this one part, which was so erotic that it was evident that we both were very hard. Dawson looked at his crotch and said, "I think we should cut that part. Not a good thing to happen in front of an audience." And then he giggled.
"Okay, I've got one," said Ian, "Who is Paul McCormick?"
"His teddy bear," answered Dieter.
"Nope," responded Ian.
Alex shrugged his shoulders. Sven smiled.
"Sven?" asked Ian.
"His best friend when he was ten whom he met at a survival camp," Sven answered.
"Well, you don't count because he tells you everything," laughed Ian. "I've got a story if you want to hear it."
"Dawson wrote it?" I asked.
"No, he told it to me and I wrote a story about it."
"Sure," we replied.
Ian ran to his room to get the story and returned.
"This story is pretty close to what Dawson told me." Ian began to read:
My G-Dad, Sam, had sent me here, Wilderness Survival Training Camp, to build my character. Now you may think that ten years old is too young for such an adventure, but I think Sam needed a break from me. I was a little nervous and scared this being the first time in my life that I was ever away from Sam for longer than a day.
Actually, I was a lot nervous; to the point of tears and crying when I left. But boys aren't supposed to cry so I'll skip over all of that.
On my first day, there was a mix up, and I ended up in the Blue Team with a bunch of guys who were way older than me. The mistake didn't seem to matter at the time, at least not to me.
They use the buddy system here; a guy called Paul McCormick was my buddy. I think Paul is the coolest guy in the world for several reasons. First of all, I've learned more from him about surviving off the land than from the `experts' here. Secondly, he always calls me by my name, "Dawson", instead of some stupid nickname. Finally, he lets me sleep with a night-light on.
On the day to test our knowledge in survival I was walking with my team members to the field where the helicopters were preparing to take us out to the boonies, when one of my teammates asks, "Hey Daw! Where's da art?"
Being the avid artist I replied, "Oh, shoot! I forgot it on my bunk! Paul can you take my stuff? I gotta get my art pad! Pleezze?"
"Sure! But you'd better hurry bud!" he replied taking my backpack and stuff.
I ran to the cabin retrieved my art pad and ran back to the helicopter. Blue Team was already in the helicopter.
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" shouted the counselor over the din of the helicopter.
"DAWSON PHILLIPS, I'M ON THE BLUE TEAM," I yelled.
Remember, I said that the little mistake of getting on the Blue Team didn't seem to matter? Well, the next moment I found out how wrong I had been.
The counselor looked over his list, "SORRY, YOUR NAME IS NOT ON THE LIST FOR BLUE TEAM. GO OVER TO THE OTHER COPTER! WE'RE RUNNING LATE!"
"NO! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE BLUE TEAM! MY BUDDY PAUL IS ALREADY ON BOARD..." the copter started to lift off.
"GET OVER TO THE OTHER COPTER NOW!" He grabbed my hand and ran me over to the other copter, while the one carrying Paul moved into the air.
Before I could object, I was strapped in and on my way to the boonies with a bunch of complete strangers. I did not recognize a single face.
The flight to the drop off point was only forty-five minutes, but by the time we got there I had to pee so bad, it was all I could do not to pee in my pants. As soon as we were on the ground I jumped out of the copter and ran into the woods to relieve myself. As I finished zipping up my fly, I heard someone call out, "Okay, you guys buddy-up!" I turned to run back to the group, but in my haste I stumbled, fell, hit my head on a rock and things went dark.
I'm not sure how long I lay there unconscious; my head hurt like the dickens! I carefully felt my head. There was a lump the size of Chicago on my forehead, but luckily no blood. I usually faint at the sight of blood, especially my own. Having checked myself out I became aware that everything was quite, too quite! My heart sank and my stomach did a flip! Slowly I turned around, hoping that my ears were deceiving me, but to my horror the field was empty! No sign of human life!
PANIC SANK IN! I ran out to the now empty, deserted field where the helicopter had landed.
"HELLO! WHERE IS EVERBODY? HELP! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS? HELLO! CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? HELP!" I screamed frantically looking all around.
"HELLO! HELP!" I yelled over and over until my voice was hoarse.
There was only the sound of the wind blowing gently in the aspens and the whimpering of a lonely ten-year old boy, wandering around the field getting nowhere, flinching, jumping, and yelping at every strange noise or movement real or imagined.
"PAUL! WHERE ARE YOU? I NEED YOU'RE HELP!" I cried, but to no avail.
I carried on aimlessly wandering around the area until I kicked something with my foot. Looking down I saw the object, my art notebook. As I looked at it lying on the ground, a gentle wind blew, flipping the pages and pausing at my drawing of Paul. I reached down and picked it up. On the opposite page I had written something Paul had told me, "The first rule of survival – DON'T PANIC!"
"Great, Dawson, you've just broken the first rule," I said to myself.
I sat down and stared up into the blue sky watching the soft billowy clouds drifting by and trying to reason things out. The last thing I heard was `buddy-up'. Everyone must have had a buddy and so no one missed me. I figured I had at least a week before anyone noticed I was missing.
I started thinking of all the things Paul had taught me. I took an inventory of my resources by emptying my pockets – two pencils, my notebook, one Swiss Army knife, some fishing line and a hook in my wallet along with two strike-anywhere matches, and a squashed candy bar in my jacket.
"If I am to survive," I thought, "I will need water, food and shelter." Looking around I judged that this might be a good place to land a helicopter, but not to survive. I thought about the trip here and remembered seeing a large pond or lake just before we landed.
Stuffing everything back into my pockets, I headed off in the direction of the pond. It only took me a half an hour to get there. It was a beautiful place. It's a good size pond or a small lake. I'm not sure what makes a pond a pond or a lake a lake. Lake or pond it's in the middle of a small meadow about fifty yards from the woods. There is a large flat rock that jets out from the shore into the lake about twelve feet.
As I walked out onto the flat rock and peered into the crystal clear water I saw at least ten large trout swimming around. "This is my place," I thought as I surveyed the area, "Dawson's Meadow."
I noticed at the edge of the woods there was a clump of large boulders. This is where I would set up my camp; by late afternoon I had built a lean-to against the boulders and collected a huge stack of wood for a fire.
I was starving. It was time to fish.
This was only my second time fishing, but I remembered Paul said I needed bait, a worm, grasshopper, or grub. I found a grasshopper and gingerly threaded it on to my hook.
Six grasshoppers later, I finally learned that you had to jerk the line a bit when you felt the fish nibbling on the bait; I had caught my first fish, a foot-long trout!
Luckily, Paul had shown me how to clean and gut a fish and an hour later, as darkness approached, I was cooking my fish over the campfire. Despite the ashes, because I had dropped it into the fire twice, the fish tasted really good.
Adding another log to my fire, I curled up on the ground next to the fire. I enjoyed the warmth of its flames and the security of its light.
As I lay there I felt quite proud of myself; I have survived my first day! It's not to say that I'm not scared, after all, it's dark! I'm hearing all sorts of sounds, I've never heard before, and I'm only ten years old! But, I know I can survive!
I opened my art notebook, turned to my drawing of Paul, and sleepily staring at it, I thought, "Good night, Paul. Thanks."
"The End," said Ian.
"Did that really happen?" I asked.
"Yah, it did," replied Sven, "He was on his own for about two weeks. He told me. I believe him too."
We messed around until six and I think we were all waiting for Dawson's call, which didn't come at six or seven. Everyone was worried. Ian was nearly crazy!
"Sven, he's your brother. You should be worried! It's eight o'clock!"
"Look, Ian I know my bro and if he was in trouble he would have called at six. Something good is happening. I just know!" At that moment the phone rang and Ian jumped to answer it.
So do you like this story? Let me know - Sam.