Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walranven

Direct comments to dashiell.walraven@gmail.com

or visit http://dashiellwalraven.wordpress.com

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


After pulling on my thick, flannel-lined coveralls, I started to head outside to start bringing wood from the pile to all the cabins. Mom grabbed my arm as I passed her and pulled me back, applying a cool hand to my forehead.

"Mom," I asked impatiently, "What are you doing?"

"Checking for fever," she said, smiling. "You just picked your way through the french-toast this morning and I don't think you took two bites of your eggs." Her brow furrowed in concern. "You okay honey? Feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, freeing myself from her grasp, "I'm just excited is all."

"I know," she nodded, "Neal is coming and your all jumped up for that." She didn't know the half of it; or then, maybe she did, because she let me go and patted me on the butt as I turned around and went outside.

I trudged through the thick snow, retrieved the tractor and wood cart, driving it over to the wood pile. There, my thoughts began to wander as I got into the routine of putting the wood into the cart. The wood was heavy, but I was equal to the task. My thirteenth birthday had come with a few benefits, including a deepening voice and increased muscles. I was starting to enjoy my newfound strength, and relished the opportunity to go cross country skiing with Neal.

The smell of the wood bark clung to my nose and it evoked a remembrance from summer. The gray cold of the morning started to drift away as the memory came back to fill my senses. Neal and I had gone to take a piss behind the cord wood. It had started innocently enough, I fished my penis out and started pissing; writing my name in the dusty ground. I had just enough in me to manage the last "r" and finish with a fancy flourish. Neal laughed uproariously at that, having never seen anybody write in the dirt with their piss.

"Hey," he said as he bent over to inspect my work, "You've got pretty good `dickmanship'!" He laughed at his own joke.

"Let's see you do it!" I challenged.

"Naw," he demurred, "My handwriting stinks."

"Yeah well, so does your dick," I said, stuffing mine back into my shorts. He laughed again and socked me in the shoulder. "Ow!" I protested, and gave chase when he took off running. By the time we reached the shore of the lake, we were both breathless, gasping and coated in sweat. Neal bent sideways at the waist, trying to ease the stitch in his side from running so hard. I coughed and spit into the soft sand as I began to catch my breath. Neal was still wheezing a little, but starting to straighten up himself.

"You run pretty fast for a stick-boy," Neal said, heaving himself up and into the lifeguard chair. He leaned back, still breathing a little heavily, "You almost caught me," he said, draping himself across the chair.

"You had a head-start on me," I reasoned, "no fair." Neal shrugged and absently tugged on a lock of hair peaking down over his brow. I looked up at him, one leg slung over the opposite arm of the chair, the placement causing the little rise in the front of his shorts to be accentuated. I gulped a little as my eyes played over the tantalizing lump. He gave a gentle little laugh and I realized he was watching me as I looked at his stuff.

"I like the way your Adam's apple moves when you swallow," he said quietly, "it's kinda cool."

"Seriously?" I asked, looking up at him. I squinted against the sunlight; the sun behind him made his hair look a radiant, deep blue-black. He reached out and lifted my chin with his hand. I swallowed again, without thinking about it; I was getting that funny feeling in my belly again. I was starting to become familiar with the slightly queasy sensation because it only happened around Neal. It was a fluttery, quickening feeling that started in my gut, and spread up into my chest, making my heart feel like it was racing. Neal's fingers gently grazed my jaw line, and then moved to brush along the little divot above my upper lip.

"Whoah...," he breathed, "in this light, I can totally see your moustache." I didn't say anything, just letting his fingers play over my mouth and face. He traced the line of my eyebrows. "Your hair is so red in the sun," he breathed. The warmth of the day seemed to center itself in my chest as I stood there, blinking into the sunlight. I glanced to his middle again and saw that he was hard, the fabric of his shorts pushed out; a small, dark spot starting there.

"Hey! What are you two doing?" came the soprano voice of Kevin Jameson, one of the local boys from town. I about jumped out of my skin, torn from my reverie. I panicked for a moment, knowing if Kenny approached too closely, he would see Neal's erection. I needn't have worried, Neal casually repositioned his leg and his hardness disappeared in the folds of his shorts. Kenny bounded up to the chair and gazed up at the both of us with his huge eyes. I looked back down at him, speechless and unsure of what to say.

"I was checking out Oliver's new moustache," explained Neal.

"Cool!" shouted the ever-excitable Kenny, "Lemme see! Lemme see, please?"

"Go ahead Oliver," Neal said with sly grin, "show him."

I sat down on the concrete base of the lifeguard chair and let Kenny inspect my face. He got so close I could detect something like Kool-Aid on his breath. He muttered in admiration as his little fingers touched the dusty shadow of fine hair gathering across the top of my lip. His fingers smelled like peanut butter.

"Cool-beans," he whispered and then looked right up at my eyes, "got any hair anyplace else?"

"Huh?" I asked, not comprehending his question.

"My brother and Da-da have hair around there willies," he spoke in a low, conspirator's tone, "you got that yet?" Blushing, I nodded. "Lemme see..." Kenny said, reaching down for the elastic waistband of my shorts. I brushed his hands away as Neal's laughter pealed from overhead.

"Show him yours first Kenny," Neal chortled, "then maybe he'll let you see his." Kenny didn't even hesitate. He tugged the waistband of his bathing suit down and tucked it under his little balls. He stood there before me, his bare penis a perfect little acorn stuck as if with glue, about 4 inches below his slightly pudgy belly.

"Kenny Jameson," came the shrill voice of his mother behind us, "what on God's green earth are you doing in front of those boys?" Kenny let his waistband go and it loudly snapped back. The look of shock and embarrassment on Kenny's face was too precious for words, both Neal and I cracked up.

"It's okay Mrs. Jameson," Neal said, peering over the back slats of the lifeguard chair, "he's just being a silly boy." He flashed her his trademark, lopsided smile, and it was done as fast as that.

"Don't be bothering the older boys Kenny," she said with a smile of her own, "you gonna get to swimming or what?" Crisis averted, Kenny scampered off to frolic in the shallows while his mother set down a blanket in the sand and lay down in the sun.

"Sheez..." Neal hissed quietly through his teeth, so low only I could hear him, "would ya look at those?" I looked over as saw Mrs. Jameson laying along the blanket, the suntan oil on her body made it look luminous. Her ample breasts stood firm, the slightly cool breeze caused little eraser tips to appear beneath her bikini top. I looked back at Neal, his gaze was firmly affixed to her boobs, his hand drifted absently down and adjusted the throbbing rod still concealed in his shorts.

"Nice," I acknowledged, not knowing what else to say.

"C'mon, let's swim," he said, getting down from the chain. We both sprinted for the water's edge and dove in, getting past the first shock of the water temperature, and quickly becoming adjusted to it. Neal started to swim toward the dock, but I just walked. Where the dock was positioned, I could easily walk out. It wasn't that deep, only to about waist-high. I caught up with Neal, who made his way around the other side of the dock, facing the lake and away from the shoreline. He stood there, eyes cast skyward toward the mountain that loomed on the other side of the lake, where the fire tower stood.

"What you looking at?" I asked, trying to follow the line of his gaze.

"Nuffin," he said, "I was hoping the cold water would make my dick go down, but it hasn't." I looked down and saw that indeed his shorts were fully tented out. That feeling started again and I felt my guts go all fuzzy once more.

"Mrs. Jameson's titties really got you goin' huh?" I asked, quietly.

"Oh yeah," he whispered. Without saying another word, I reached down and slipped a hand passed his waistband and into his shorts, wrapping my fist around his penis. Neal shuddered and leaned his head against my shoulder. With both hands, he slowly pulled his shorts down far enough so they cleared his penis and I started slowly stroking him. I felt Neal's hot breath on my arm, his cock pulsing hotly in my hand. Looking down, I watched my hand move along his length, under the surface of the water, the ripples making difficult to see completely.

Neal began to breathe deeply in time with the movement of my fist across his turgid member. I didn't speed up, even when his breathing become more urgent and his muscles started to tense. Taking my time, I let him build up slowly, watching the muscles in his abdomen tense tighter and tighter. He clenched his jaw, and finally hissed in a ragged gasp. I felt his penis swell in my hand and we both watched as two milky jets spurted into the water and hung there in suspension. Neal shuddered against me, and then cleared his head with a shake.

"Thanks," he muttered softly, "hey, look at that." I looked down where he indicated, without releasing my grip on his dick. There, in the water, a small perch hovered near the floating, ejaculated semen. With a yellow-silver flash, the little fish sucked up the two bolts of jism and darted off. We both looked up and stared at each other before dissolving into laughter.

The warm sunny day dissolved slowly into cold reality as I realized I had filled the wood cart to the top. I climbed aboard the old tractor and kicked the start pedal; it roared to life. As I sat astride the tractor seat, I felt how hard I had become underneath my coveralls, but the heavy layers of clothing didn't show much. I absently stroked the front of my pants with my gloved hand and suddenly realized with a start that I was already one whole hour closer to the arrival of Neal and his family. I smiled, thumbed the throttle, and the tractor lurched forward as I drove off toward the cabins with a huge load of wood.