Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walranven

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Story Trailer at http://youtu.be/SaZiDx9NJO4


The brilliance of the fall had faded to a gray chill as the leaves yielded to the bitter winds that had begun howling through the valley. It had snowed the week before Halloween, but that did not make much difference to me because the most of the year-round residents were too far apart along the tortuous road that circumnavigated the lake to make it worth dressing up and collecting candy. Besides, I was definitely growing beyond such juvenile activities.

I settled into the academic year, happily with my school mates once again, but that year, it all seemed different. I found myself daydreaming a lot more, for one thing, and always, it seemed, about Neal. We had spent the entire summer together. In that short time, we shared some breathtaking adventures and forged a powerful bond. When he left to go back home, I was left with a suffocating absence unlike any I had ever felt. Garrett Evans, then a senior at my school, had taken note of my sullen affect and done his best to be there for me. He was a terrific guy and I think of him often.

I buried my feelings by diving into my school work, and on the weekends, we helped my Dad prepare the lodge buildings for "Christmas in the Pines". Every year, a group of churches from downstate, sponsored a Christmas retreat at the lake, and rented most of the buildings on our property. Previously, the cabins only generated revenue for our family throughout the summer months. When the churches pitched the idea to Dad, it seemed like a great way to get a nice bump in the income in the winter months. I liked it because the compound suddenly came to life with the forty or so families that made it their tradition to gather there annually. Days filled with ice skating, skiing and sledding with friends seen only once a year and nights featuring big dinners in the lodge followed by hymns and Christmas songs around an enormous fire. On Christmas morning, the hall was an orgy of wrapping paper, ribbons and bows being torn to shreds as we all opened presents and devoured a breakfast fit for stevedores.

Garrett was always there to help out; I swear he was at our place more than he was home. He and I were stringing some lights along a walking path to one of the more outlying cabins when I heard my mother's voice through the trees.

"Go on," Garrett said, stopping to warm his hands under his armpits for a moment "go find out what she wants, maybe she's got some hot cocoa for us or something." I did not need much more encouragement than that. I scrambled off down the path and promptly fell on my butt. Garrett laughed and came over to get me a hand up. "You okay?" he asked, only semi-seriously.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. I sat there for a bit; my behind planted in the snow, and looked up to him, holding his hand out. For a moment, my stomach gave a lurch and it occurred to me suddenly that Garrett was indeed a very handsome fellow. I had always greatly admired him, but in that way that any little boy looks up to a big kid. He seemed everything I thought a good guy should be, he was my hero. But this... well, I sensed this feeling was somehow different. It was sort of the same feeling, but much more intense, something that came from the gut.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Garrett looked down at me with a lopsided grin, "what're you looking at?" I found myself looking at the center of his coveralls. The thick duck fabric formed a v-shape that seemed to draw my eye directly to the slight bulge just below the belt line. Whether it was the flannel lining and various layers of clothing underneath bunching up, or something else, there was this lump there that suddenly commanded my attention. The effect it had me was startling, and my stomach did another flop. Somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, a nascent light flickered and nearly took the form of a thought. I can say now, with some authority, that this probably was the first moment I may have started to consider that I might be more interested in boys than girls. It was not one of those earth shattering, watershed moments, but it can be safely said that most dam-bursts start with a trickle. But then, being the age I was, all I could say for sure was the Garrett Evans was a sharp-looking guy that really filled out his coveralls well.

Garrett hauled me up out of the snow, brushed me off, tousled my hair and smacked my butt to send me on my way. I took off down the path to my house and met Mom on the porch where she handed me a envelope addressed to me!

"Looks like you got a letter Oliver," she smiled, "quick, open it up, I'm dying to see who it's from!" I pulled my gloves off with my teeth and stuffed them into my back pockets. Taking the thick envelope, I turned it over in my hands a couple of times, and tried to decipher who's handwriting was on it.

"Go on Ollie!" Mom cried, "Open it before I burst." She seemed more excited than I was. She took me inside and gave me a letter opener which I deftly skewered the envelope with, tearing through the top with one stroke. Several pages of blue-lined composition paper sprang free; I pulled them out and I looked down to the last page to discover the signature read "Neal"! My eyes sprung open, and I began leaping around the room like I'd won a lottery.

"It's from Neal, Mom!" All of a sudden I was buoyant and smiling and I felt my heart bursting from my chest. I was panting from excitement as I picked up the fallen pages and assembled them together, seeing that Neal had thoughtfully numbered them.

"Go..." Mom pulled my hat from my head, leaving my hair sticking up and out at crazy angles, "sit by the fire, read your letter and I'll get you some cocoa. You can tell me what he said later."

"Oh Mom, can you get some cocoa for Garrett too? He's getting cold out there." Mother smiled at me and nodded while I kicked off my boots, shed my duck pants and jacket and planted myself by the fireplace on a large floor cushion, and started reading. The cold dampness that had invaded my body since the summer had passed started to give way to warmth as I read the letter. The words played across my mind in Neal's voice, he wrote using the same plain, conversational style he always spoke in, so it seemed like he was right there with me as I read.

Neal explained about the private school he attended, talked some about his friends and family, and touched upon some of the adventures we had shared. He asked me several times if I remembered particular events, and told me how much he laughed when thought about them too. I sighed, smiled and re-read parts of the letter over several times, not wanting to read all the way to the end right away... needing to extend the experience for as long as possible. Presently, the warmth of the fire, combined with the warmth of rekindled friendship flowing through my veins and a days worth of hard work, conspired to haze my consciousness. I drifted into happy oblivion, sprawled face down on the cushion, dreaming of our time together.

Neal and I had struck out on our bikes to venture around to the other side of the lake where the marina was. The hill that loomed up behind the marina's parking area, next to the state campground, was an imposing thing of trees and granite outcroppings that offered limitless adventuring for two boys our age. It was there that the infamous Indian Cave that Garrett had showed me, overlooked the lake.

On the pinnacle, an abandoned fire-tower stood atop a flat rock. One could climb it to gain an incredible vista of the entire lake valley and the rolling foothills beyond. We both shed our shirts earlier that day, and Mom had packed us a lunch of sandwiches. Before starting up the trail to the top of the hill, we stopped by the snack shop at the marina and bought a couple of Grape Nehi sodas for the trip. We made the climb in record time and reached the pinnacle breathless and panting like dogs, having raced each other the last 100 feet or so. Together, we sprawled out, shoulder to shoulder along the cool granite and stared up into the sky, the fire-tower casting its shadow across our bodies. It was quiet, save for the chirping birds and the perpetual breeze that sometimes made the iron struts on the tower thrum in a low growl.

We broke into our sandwiches and washed them down with the Nehi, turning our tongues a horrid purple, which we showed to each other and burst into a fit of giggles. We then turned our attention to the tower, which one must know, needed to be climbed simply by virtue of its presence. I had ascended the tower's rusting stairway many times, and told Neal we could see pretty well, but would be unable to get past the padlocked door to the observation deck.

When we reached the top, Neal paused only long enough to briefly inspect the lock and gave the door a vicious kick. The rusted lock and hasp disintegrated, falling as the door swung open with a bang, into the metal room. The whole tower shook and rang like a gong; I thought sure people must have heard it all the way down at the marina below. I froze for a moment, not breathing as I looked on in amazement. Neal peered through the door and entered, beckoning me to follow.

"Holy shit!" I managed to squeak as I ventured in.

My heart pounded in my throat as my eyes played over the dented door, now swung wide, with its "No Trespassing" sign hanging askew from a single, rusty screw. Neal, oblivious to the seriousness of his crime, ran the edge of the room and looked out over the panoramic vista before us. In the center of the room was a table with a very old-looking radio rig, I flipped a few of the switches and fiddled with the big tuning knob, but nothing happened.

"Oliver! Come here," Neal cried out, "You've gotta see this!" He motioned for me and I stood beside him. As spectacular a sight as I had ever seen in my short life to that point, the entire lake lay sparkling at our feet, the boats being more easily seen from their wake than from their tiny profile on the surface. We spent the better part of twenty minutes just moving from window to window of the observation deck, gazing at the incredible Adirondack Mountains surrounding us. At one point, I felt Neal standing behind me, so I turned around. He pushed his hand against the center of my chest, pressing me gently to the window.

"Do you know what I was thinking would be the coolest thing we could do up here?" he asked in a low, conspiratorial almost-whisper. I shrugged my shoulders. Standing close, he breathed into my ear. "We could do that thing you showed me the other night." My pulse quickened as he said it. I stood there, barely able to move, scared and excited at the same time, to the point of apoplexy. Sure, I had in fact, introduced Neal to new experimentation with our bodies, but this was something of an entirely different order.

Neal reached down and brushed the back of his hand against the front of my shorts and I felt a rush of blood there. A silvery shiver coursed up my spine, spawning goose-flesh on my neck and arms. We were on the verge of compounding our crime of breaking and entering by doing something we both knew would mean certain... well, we weren't sure what, but that certain something would undoubtedly be very, very bad if we got caught.

I looked down at the bulge forming in his shorts and then back up, directly into his startling eyes. We locked gaze for a moment and then without warning, Neal pressed his lips against mine. My arms found their way around his back and his around mine, as we ground together, mashing our bodies in synchronicity. A sweet hint of peanut butter found its way into my mouth as Neal chewed on my lower lip and breathed heavily into me. Below, I felt the pressure of his boyhood against my own and I pressed my hips against him.

He broke the kiss briefly while he fumbled frantically with my web-belt, pausing once to return back to kissing me hungrily before he finally succeeded in dropping my pants around my ankles. He started moving his mouth away from mine, sinking down to the waistband of my underwear where I was straining to be unleashed. Pressing his cheek into my abdomen, he pulled the band away and exhaled a hot breath over my turgid member, making it pulse in time with the pounding in my head.

Hooking the underwear under my nuts, he turned and enveloped my penis into the fiery depths of his mouth and gently started to suckle. My knees nearly buckled and I found my hands steadying myself on his nest of thick black hair on top of his head. The expansive view around me narrowed to a pinpoint as the temperature of his mouth focused my attention on the enormous pressure in my balls. In the tower, I felt like I was on display, having my dick sucked by my best friend, for the entire world to see. It felt dangerous and thrilling all at once, and it heightened my senses to the point were I knew I would die any moment.

Neal drove the tip of his tongue against my frenulum and then rasped it along the entire length of my shaft. I let out a low moan and started to buck, my hips driving me further into his mouth. I felt my ejaculation surge into him as he swallowed feverishly. I grunted and air rushed out of my lungs as my knees gave way and I slowly collapsed to the floor in front of him. I feebly offered to do the same for him, but he gently held out his hand to help me up, pulled my shorts up and whispered that he would get his later that night.

The fire snapped loudly as my father prodded a huge log with the poker.

"You awake now kiddo?" he asked me. I realized I had been covered with a comforter as I dozed, and it was now dark out. Dad picked up my letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. There was a sandwich and some milk in a glass on the coffee table near me, which Dad indicated that Mom had left for me. They hadn't wanted to wake me because I looked so happy crashed out by the fire. I sleepily stood up from the cushion to walk over and eat when dad said, "Whoa there fella, you'd better stow that weapon!"

Confused, I looked at him with my head cocked to the side. He chuckled low in his chest, and then reached out and gave the head of the erection sticking out of my flannels a quick tweak. Blushing furiously, I turned around to secure my tackle when I noticed a wet spot on the cushion where I had laid. The look on my face must have registered with my Dad because he reached over and tousled my hair.

"Don't worry about it sport, happens to the best of us." He stood up and took the newspaper to the bathroom, leaving me to savor my sandwich, and sweet dreams.