Hi there,
This is a continuation of my story One Hundred Quarters. You should read that one first.
The setting is the late 60s, when kids' sleep-away camp was a whole lot different than it is today. Before the paranoia and the imagining of rampant stranger-danger behind every bush kids had a lot more unsupervised time to have their fun and discover the world and themselves. The sheer volume of the following adventures is unlikely, but I know from personal experience that these sorts of things really did go on.
Please stay safe and healthy, whatever that takes. Personal freedom loses some of its luster when you're on a ventilator.
Please remember to donate to Nifty. It's the right thing to do.
Comments are incredibly welcome, and I intend to answer everyone.
Man that kid is cute!
He's about a year older than me I'm guessing, so probably going into sixth grade. He has a sweet round face that lights up when he smiles and I could gaze into those striking blue-gray eyes forever.
He actually reminds me of my best friend back home except — forgive me Jerry — this kid is way cuter. Don't get me wrong, my Jerry is plenty cute and the best friend a guy could ever have, and I love how he lets me please him, but this boy is something special.
I'm standing in a gravel parking lot in a crowd of boys and parents. My folks left a few minutes ago after dropping me, the very first time in my 10 years I've ever been anywhere completely by myself. I'm not scared or anything; I wanted to come and the place is crawling with adults and teenage counselors, though at this moment all I can see is this one beautiful boy.
He's been hugging his Mom goodbye for at least 20 seconds and I can see annoyance entering his lovely eyes. He tries to gently push away but Mom is having none of it and finally he has to speak up. I can read his lips from ten feet away as he whispers, "Mom! Not in front of everybody!"
She finally releases him and as he pushes back from her he notices me watching. I'm afraid he'll get mad at my intrusion but instead he gives a wry smile and rolls his eyes. I smile back and nod as if to say, I know, right?
Our eyes linger for a moment until his Dad says "C'mere, sport!" and sweeps him up into a hug, lifting him off the ground to where he has no choice but to wrap his shapely bare legs around the man's middle and let himself be Dad-kissed.
At least it was on the cheek.
Dad gives him a double swat on the cute round butt and deposits him back on his feet saying, "Be a good boy now, you hear? We'll see you in two weeks."
The kid looks even sweeter to me with his face flushed bright pink. As his Dad physically pulls his Mom away by the elbow the boy glances around to see who besides me may have witnessed this humiliation, then satisfied no one is mocking him he gives me another brief smile.
So far I'm liking this summer camp thing.
The fact is if Pretty Boy had paid attention he would have seen many such scenes of parentally-inflicted embarrassment, including mine about five minutes earlier when my mother similarly slobbered all over me. Dad held it to a quick hug and a shoulder pat, for which I am grateful.
Pretty Boy slings his backpack over one shoulder and moves slowly with the crowd toward the flagpole in the center of the camp, where we have all been instructed to assemble. I dodge and elbow my way between kids to a place right next to him.
He even smells good.
He senses me there and turns, smiling when he recognizes me. I smile back and we lock eyes for a beat longer than boys usually do. They're blue for a second and then they're gray, and then they're blue again. I open my mouth to speak but I'm cut off by a man's voice booming out over the crowd.
"Settle down, guys!" he calls, sounding like a gym coach. "Listen up!" Most of us fall silent but a couple of high voices are still laughing behind us.
"Hey!" the man barks. "You comedians in the back! You don't want to spend your first day washing dishes in the mess hall, do you?"
Now the only sound is the wind in the trees. Pretty Boy turns wide eyes to me and mouths, "Holy shit!"
I do my best to stifle my laugh.
"Welcome to Camp Wannemok," the man says. "Now we've all heard the joke of calling it Camp Run-amok so don't even bother! Some kid said it in the first five seconds when I came here as a camper when I was ten, so it isn't new and it doesn't make you clever."
The man smiles expectantly so I know it's his idea of opening with a joke. The crowd stands pretty much silent.
"So," he says, flustered, "there's that."
Boys shuffle their feet restlessly.
"Actual running amok will not be tolerated!" the man continues, back in gym teacher voice. "We want you to have fun but there are rules here. Your individual cabin counselors will go over them with you. Basically don't try anything stupid and we'll all have a great two weeks."
Pretty Boy shifts his feet and his shoulder accidentally bumps mine. The touch is electric but I can't tell if he even notices. In a second he shifts away again and I miss the contact.
"Here's what's happening the rest of the day," the man announces. He consults a clipboard in his hand and is about to launch in when another, somewhat younger man steps up to him and says something I can't hear.
"Oh, right," the first man says. "I'm Mr. Caldwell and I run the place. This is David, the head counselor. He's in charge of the older teenagers who supervise each of the cabins and the various activities. If you have a problem while you're here take it up with your cabin counselor, and if he can't help you go up the food chain to David. I am the last resort. If you come directly to me you'd better have a gushing head wound or something."
That actually gets a chuckle from some of the boys and Caldwell looks pleased.
"So, the rest of today..." he repeats in a much better mood. "First you will be assigned to your sleeping cabins. Do not ask to switch things around so you can bunk with your buddies. The cabins are pre-assigned and we're not gonna make ourselves crazy trying to accommodate special requests from a hundred boys. Make friends with your cabin-mates and then you are bunking with your buddies."
I begin wishing really hard for Pretty Boy to be in my cabin, though I know it's a long shot."Inside the mess hall there are three tables where counselors will give you your assignments," Caldwell says. "It goes by age group and the tables are marked. Please read the signs and go to the correct table. We're talking about your age as of today; that is, if tomorrow is your 12th birthday you still go to the table marked 10 and 11. Sorry, there are no almosts."
My eyes find Pretty Boy and I admire his lovely profile. I analyze his looks again and I'm sure he is not yet 12, and so there is still a shot at bunking together.
"When you have your assignment you will grab your gear and proceed directly to your assigned cabin," Caldwell says. "There will be no goofing off and no stopping at your buddy's cabin first. You need to meet your counselor, choose your bunk and stow your gear and then it will be time for lunch. Remember, if you're late for chow you get stuck with the green meat."
Jaws drop all over the crowd and protests erupt.
"Kidding!" Caldwell laughs. "Come on, come on! There's no green meat. In fact the food here is great. I eat the same stuff you do, right there in the mess hall next to you guys."
Pretty Boy and I share a smile and a chuckle. Maybe Caldwell will turn out to be OK after all.
"OK, settle down," Caldwell says, still smiling. "Just a couple more things. After lunch you go back to your cabin and have a sit-down with your counselor to learn a few rules and procedures. Then it's free time until dinner, after which we have the Welcome to Camp bonfire!"
Cheers ring out and Pretty Boy turns to me with a big grin. "Cool!" he says in his high, sweet voice, the first time I've actually heard it at full volume. I like it a lot, and all this smiling eye contact gives me great hope.
The crowd begins to break up as kids move toward the mess hall. "Leave your backpack outside," Head Counselor David says as he herds us forward. "It has your name on it, right? Like you were told to do?"
Mine does — as if my Dad would let me miss an instruction — and I'm pleased when Pretty Boy drops his pack next to mine along with the 30 or 40 that are already there. I try to get a look at his luggage tag but it's the kind that has a little leather flap over it. I guess I could just ask him his name but he hasn't asked mine yet so I just kind of follow suit.
I don't want to be too pushy.
We crowd through the double screen doors into the mess hall. Three of the 20-or-so picnic-type tables have been moved to the middle, where campers are lined up and teenage counselors are sitting with clipboards.
"That one," Pretty Boy says and takes me by the hand to lead me through the crowd. I am happily surprised, both at the physical contact and to know that he doesn't want to get separated from me. I grip his hand and follow tight behind.
We are a ways back in the line and I am surprised that he doesn't release my hand right away, and maybe it's wishful thinking but it seems like when he finally lets go it's a bit reluctantly. I get a look through the crowd and, sure enough, the sign taped to the front of the table says 10 - 11.
Someone jostles me from behind and I am forced against Pretty Boy's back. He turns to look but isn't annoyed. In fact he smiles.
When we finally reach the table a high-school-aged boy with curly dark hair and glasses looks up from his clipboard and asks, "Name?"
"Benny..." Pretty Boy says but stops short, and I see sudden tension in his shoulders. "...Ben... Wilson."
"Wilson, Wilson..." the counselor says, scanning down his list. "Yep, Benjamin Wilson." He puts a check mark next to the name and says "Cabin 12."
I decide immediately that I'll always think of him as Benny, though I'll kind of miss Pretty Boy. I'll call him Ben if he wants me to but Benny will forever be his secret pet name whether or not I ever get to actually pet him. The thought makes me smile.
"Where's cabin 12?" Benny asks.
"Find it!" the boy curtly says. "Next!"
"Marty Daniels," I say without hesitation. I don't mind the nickname and I don't feel like it makes me sound childish. I've always been Marty and I'll probably always be Marty.
"Daniels, Daniels..." the teenager says. "Yep, Martin Daniels. Also cabin 12." My heart inflates until he looks up with a snarky smile and adds, "Maybe if you work together you can count to 12."
Benny once again flushes adorably pink and I melt a little bit more. I put my hands on both his shoulders and steer him away from the table.
"Come on," I say gently. "Don't worry about that jerk."
I guide him around the crowd back to the double doors, never releasing his shoulders until we step out into the sunshine and retrieve our backpacks.
"Let's go count to 12, Ben Wilson," I say with a cheeky grin, and Benny shoots me his smiling blue-gray eyes.
"OK, Marty Daniels," he says and we're off.
The jerk is right and it's easy to find our cabin. There are 24 of them in six rows, clearly marked with their numbers, with a wide dirt path between every two rows. They are of the same rustic construction as the mess hall except one-eighth of the size.
Inside it's a single room with three sets of wooden bunk beds in a row and six metal lockers against one wall. They look just like the hall lockers at school except they are dark brown instead of beige and have no place to put a padlock. Along the other wall is a door that I presume is the bathroom.
Two boys are already unpacking their stuff onto adjacent bottom bunks.
"Hi!" the bigger one chirps. He can't be more than 11 because the cabins go by age group but he's sure a bigun'.
I've seen smaller eighth graders.
"I'm Ricky," the big boy says in a surprisingly high voice, and then indicating the smaller kid adds, "and this is Carl. Isn't this a neat cabin?"
"Yeah," I say even though there's absolutely nothing here except six beds and six lockers. "Pretty cool. I'm Marty and this is Ben."
Everyone smiles back and forth and Carl raises his hand in a tiny wave. They seem like nice enough boys to spend two weeks with and Carl is a fairly attractive, pretty average 10-year-old. I must've sucked off a dozen boys just like Carl when I was raising money for camp and I enjoyed every one.
I'm not attracted to Ricky in any bonerizing way but I suppose almost anybody can be fun with the right attitude.
"Can you pick your own bunk?" I ask.
"Yeah," Ricky says. "We did, anyway."
I turn to Benny and ask, "Do you want top or bottom?"
"What do you want?" he asks. It gratifies me a lot that he cares if I'm happy with the choice, though what will really make me happy is to give him what he wants.
"I don't care," I say. "I just wanna be by you."
I cringe inside, hoping real hard that it didn't come off quite as creepy as it sounded to my own ears. I've known this kid for all of 20 minutes and even though we definitely have a spark of something it's way too soon to even consider anything more. I don't even know if I want to start that stuff here at camp, though I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't blow this kid in a heartbeat.
Benny grins and his blue-gray eyes light up the room, but suddenly he gets self-conscious.
"Um, yeah," he says. "Me too."
"Here's how me and Carl figured it," Ricky offers. "We wanted to be able to look over and see each other, and talk to each other and stuff. And in case you didn't notice I'm kind of big, and when I have sleepovers at my friend's house back home and sleep up top he says I wake him up because I shake the shit out of the bunk bed every time I move."
Carl pipes up in a cute little voice, "I like the bottom anyway so we took two bottom bunks."
It isn't exactly helpful for Benny and me since there aren't two bottom bunks left, but then it occurs to me that we already like these guys and we have no idea what our other two cabin-mates will be like. What if they're assholes who like to kick the underside of the top bunk just to be a dick? I think we'd better play it safe.
"I like the idea of looking over and seeing you," I say to Benny. "Let's take the two tops above Ricky and Carl."
Benny beams his approval. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
I throw my backpack onto the top bunk closest to me, which happens to be above Ricky. My sly little lizard brain notes after the fact that I won't be able to see Ricky from up there but I will be able to see Carl, and that suits my voyeuristic tendencies as well. I imagine Carl and Benny changing clothes in full view and I feel blood pumping in a familiar location.
Steady, Marty. Don't make it weird.
Benny looks at me questioningly. "Why unpack up there, and then have to move everything back down to your locker?"
I smile sheepishly. "Good question," I say and pull the backpack down again. "So what, just grab a locker?"
"I guess," Benny says, and proceeds to unpack directly into locker number six, the closest. I step beside him and put my stuff into locker five. Ricky and Carl are finished unpacking onto their bunks and just sitting there next to their clothes.
"We're waiting for the counselor," Carl says.
Benny and I nod and each climb into our bunks, smiling at each other as we settle onto our backs.
"Pretty comfy," Benny says, and I nod. Then when I realize how close together the beds really are I reach out my hand and gesture Benny to do the same. We can hold hands across the gap and Benny grins.
"Neat," he giggles, and like in the mess hall only reluctantly releases my hand.
Unless I'm reading way too much into it.
The screen door squeaks open and a boy steps in carrying a duffle bag. He's bigger than three of us but he doesn't come close to Ricky's size. I immediately register how very cute he is, damn near as pretty as Benny. He has big blue eyes and wears his sun-streaked brown hair over his ears like my favorite Monkee Micky Dolenz. He is fit and athletic with especially developed thighs and calves. I instantly flash an image of him naked.
Boy my queer little brain works fast!
I glance over to Benny and he is looking at the new kid as well, though of course anyone would given his sudden appearance. Carl is looking too but I can't see Ricky.
"Hi," the kid says to the room in general, smiling easily. His voice is high and clear and I'm sure it's nowhere close to changing. He's relaxed and confident, apparently quite comfortable being the center of attention. "I'm Donny Davis, and I guess I'm your new cabin-mate."
"Hey, Donny," Ricky says warmly then proceeds to introduce the rest of us.
"Two bunks left," Donny observes, "so I guess I get to pick top or bottom." Then in a tone that sounds to me like some sort of private joke he says, "Oh, I'm definitely a top."
I don't get it and I turn a quizzical look to Benny, who frowns and shrugs.
Donny walks straight over to locker number five and opens it, exposing my belongings.
"Who's stuff is this?" he asks in mild annoyance, but still smiling.
"Mine," I admit.
"It's not your locker, genius," he says, shaking his head but I can tell he's more amused than angry. When I return a blank stare he gestures me toward him. "C'mere," he says.
I crawl down to the foot of my bunk and peer over the end to where he is pointing. There, big as life, is a rough wooden sign with the number one crudely wood-burned into it. I crane my neck to see that all six bunks have such a sign, and I can't understand how four of us completely missed them. Our only defense is that the signs are exactly the same color as the wooden rails they are attached to so they sort of blend in.
Sort of.
"Shit, sorry," I say and jump down to the floor, foregoing the ladder entirely. Benny climbs down and starts moving his stuff as well, since he is in bunk 3 but his stuff is in locker 6. Ricky and Carl begin putting their things into lockers 2 and 4 respectively, while Donny takes rightful possession of locker 5.
"Nice pajamas," Donny says in a gently mocking tone as he notices Carl's two pairs of PJs. "Do they have feet in them?"
Carl blushes and quickly stows them out of sight, mumbling something about his mother doing the packing.
I watch Donny closely as he effortlessly launches himself into the upper bunk on the other side of Benny, using only one ladder rung to boost himself. I decide that whatever sports we play here at camp I want to be on Donny's team. He notices me watching him and gives me a friendly smile. It looks absolutely genuine, so maybe his mocking comments have only been good-natured teasing.
The jury is out on that.
I can easily imagine this boy giving me gentle orders, guiding me to give him exactly the pleasure he desires, exactly the way he wants it. He doesn't look like Ryan or sound like Ryan and he's obviously younger than Ryan so there won't be any delicious slime any time soon, but his attitude and confidence are spot-on.
I imagine a beautiful hairless cock standing before me straight and full, long and thick, Donny's strong hands on the back of my head gently pulling me down and his soft yet forceful voice urging me on.
My dick is stone-hard in my shorts.
The screen door squeaks its now-familiar announcement of new arrivals, wrenching me out of my thoughts. A small, very young-looking boy steps in, nothing but blond curls and bubbly happiness. He's a robust and healthy kid; all-boy and a yard wide my Granddad would say, and he's positively bursting with energy. His bright blue eyes are wide as he drops his backpack and spins around to take in the cabin and all of us.
"Cool!" he gushes, barely able to contain himself.
He isn't pretty but he's tremendously cute.
I notice that the screen door did not bang shut behind him and I see someone quite the opposite follow the boy inside. He is 17 if he's a day. A whole lot of curly brown hair spills in all directions off of his head and he has sideburns trimmed even with the bottom of his earlobes. He wears camp-style shorts with lots of pockets and his muscular legs are covered with dark curly hair. This guy is about five minutes short of full-on manhood and carries himself with unquestioned authority. Suddenly the entire vibe of the cabin has changed.
This could be bad.
"Charlie! Charlie!" the small boy cries, rushing to the near-adult. I'm shocked when he throws his arms around the guy's waist and hugs him tightly. "Thank you thank you thank you for bringing me here. This is so cool!"
Charlie smiles and tenderly smoothes down the boy's shining blond hair. "Happy to do it, Timmy," he says. "We're going to have a lot of fun."
Timmy breaks away as abruptly as he'd hugged. "Which bed is mine?" he eagerly asks.
"Right over here," Donny says with a bright smile, not intimidated at all by Charlie as far as I can see. He points to the lower bunk beneath him. "At camp we call it a bunk. Welcome to cabin 12 Timmy," he says and both Charlie and Timmy grin.
"Bunk number 6," the boy announces. "So locker 6 must be mine, right?"
Donny throws me a smirk and I blush. Even the littlest kid got it.
Timmy can only be 6 months younger than me because he has to be 10 just to come to camp but for some reason I see him as about 8 or 9. He is in fact physically small for his age but it's more the way he acts. Timmy exudes the full, free excitement of childhood and it's endearing as hell.
"OK you guys," Charlie says, taking charge. "As soon as Timmy is settled in we'll go over a few things and then go to lunch."
Timmy carries his backpack across the cabin and stuffs it into locker 6.
"Settled!" he says, and we all laugh. Timmy beams and suddenly the vibe is light and happy again.
"OK then," Charlie says, chuckling. "As you probably figured out my name is Charlie and I'm your cabin counselor. I'm not here to be some kind of policeman and enforce a bunch of rules, but I will if I have to. The rules are there to keep you safe and I have to make sure you follow them, but I'm really here to help you have a good time and get the most out of camp."
Charlie steps in front of Ricky's bunk and gestures toward him. "First let me get to know your names." He laughs a bit and says, "I mean, I know your names because I have a list but I want to put a face with the name."
"I'm Ricky," the big boy says in his strangely high voice.
Charlie points to me and I pipe, "Marty."
We have the pattern now of lower bunk, upper bunk and so Carl, Benny, Timmy and Donny all quickly rattle off.
"Obviously you and Timmy know each other already," Donny ventures.
"Yes," Charlie says. "Timmy is my best friend's little brother. He just turned ten last month and became eligible for camp."
"I've been wanting to come my whole life!" the boy interjects and we all laugh again. "What's so funny?" he asks in all seriousness, but smiles along.
"Oh, I believe it," Donny says with a fond, but teasing, smile. "You were sitting in your play pen with wet diapers wishing you could go to camp!"
We all laugh again and Timmy makes a pretend mad face at Donny, which quickly turns into a grin.
"There'll be lots of time for everybody's life stories," Charlie says, "but just to quickly finish this one, Darren and I have been friends forever, and we came to camp together every year from when we were ten until we turned sixteen and couldn't come anymore. I applied to be a counselor just so I could come back, and now I'm in my second year. Timmy's been watching us come here every summer and really bummed that he couldn't come too, so I promised his mother that if she let him come when he turned ten I would keep an eye on him."
"She let Darren come when he was only ten," Donny observes.
"He had me with him," Charlie explains, "plus he was almost eleven and big for his age."
"I'm a little runt!" Timmy says and grins hugely when it gets another laugh. This kid is a real attention hound.
When it dies down Charlie begins, "We're only going to cover the basics right now. The biggest rule is I have to know where you are and that you're OK multiple times a day. You'll have a lot of free time and you can go and do what you want but I'm supposed to physically lay eyes on each one of you several times a day."
Charlie makes eye contact with us one after another, making sure we know he's serious.
"Like in the morning nobody leaves for breakfast until I see you, OK? Just a quick 'Good morning Charlie' is enough."
Donny says, "I like to go for a run real early in the morning, like at dawn. Is that OK?"
"I'm sorry, no," Charlie says. "Not unless I'm awake so I see you... but don't wake me up!"
We all laugh again. So far this cabin is a barrel of laughs.
"You need to find me at lunchtime too," Charlie goes on. "If you get to the mess hall in the middle of lunch just come by the counselors' tables and give me a wave. If you get there before me then keep an eye out and make sure I see you when I come in. If you decide to skip lunch you still have to come to the mess hall and check in. Same thing at dinner, I have to see you."
"You're gonna get sick of lookin' at us!" Donny says. More laughs.
"Here's a rule that some guys don't like so much," Charlie says. "Bed check is at nine o'clock every night. You must be in this cabin for the night by nine o'clock. You don't have to go to sleep if you don't want to, but you have to be here. It's really not so bad, though. After all day running around and swimming and playing and everything nine o'clock feels like the middle of the night."
We all look around to each other, accepting that it's probably true.
"There's no leaving the cabin during the night except to go to the bathroom," Charlie continues, "and then you have to come right back."
I'm confused. "But, isn't that the bathroom?" I ask, pointing to the door in the side wall.
Charlie laughs a little. "No Marty, the cabins don't have bathrooms. This is camping, not the Holiday Inn."
More laughs, but this time I don't think it's all that funny.
"That's my bedroom, Marty," Charlie says. "Which raises another point: I am here for you. If you have any problem during the night, like if you wake up sick or something, come knock on my door. You don't need permission to go to the bathroom; like I said, just go and come back quick, but if you have a real problem by all means wake me up. That's what I'm here for."
"Charlie?" Benny asks, his only word since Charlie and Timmy arrived except for giving his own name. "If that's not the bathroom then where is it?"
"There are outhouses to the right as you step out of the cabin and also the shower house has full indoor facilities. That's to the left and all the way down."
"Outhouses?" Carl says with his nose wrinkled.
"Don't worry, they're not that bad," Charlie says. "They have concrete floors and real toilet seats and we keep 'em pretty clean, though it does stink pretty bad when it's hot. Most guys only pee there and do the other thing at the shower house."
"I don't know about you guys," Donny says, "but I don't think I'm gonna walk to some smelly outhouse to pee when the forest is full of Nature's urinals!"
We boys think it's hilarious but Charlie just shakes his head.
"There's a bonfire tonight, right?" Ricky asks.
"Yeah," Charlie says with a smile. "It's pretty cool."
"Yeah, but it's barely getting dark at nine o'clock this time of year. Does that mean we're having a bonfire while it's still light out?"
"No, that's a good point," Charlie says. "For tonight only bedcheck will be after the bonfire's over, probably about ten-thirty."
We all smile at that.
We're moving along the chow line pushing trays in front of us. Caldwell is as good as his word and the food looks really good. It's hamburgers with or without cheese, nice crispy fries and chocolate pudding — and you can go back for seconds!
The crowd of boys also offers some tasty-looking treats. They range in age from 10 to 15 and some are downright mouth-watering. My eyes dart around the room and I try to contain myself. I still think Benny is tops, but there are some real contenders!
The food stations are manned by older teenage counselors and when I get to the fries I see the jerk who gave us our cabin assignments. He recognizes me and gives a little smirk, so I put on a big smile and say, "I counted to 12 and didn't even have to take off my shoes!"
The kid laughs and breaks into a huge smile. "Good one," he says, and I think maybe he's not so much of a jerk after all.
We're allowed to sit anywhere we want but our whole cabin sort of naturally sits together, gabbing about our friends and families back home, the fun things we want to do at camp and generally making friends like kids do. I'm a bit surprised that Donny sits with us because I saw him stop to exchange a few smiling words with several boys in the chow line and at tables we passed on our way to an empty one. Obviously he has other friends he could sit with but he chooses us.
It makes me happy.
We bustle back into cabin 12 full of energy and ready to bust out for some fun. Charlie is there already and has a large paper bag waiting open on Ricky's bunk.
"These are official Camp Wannemok t-shirts," he says. "Everybody gets two, one blue and one green, for when we play games that split up into teams. They're all boys' mediums I'm afraid but I can trade for bigger or smaller for those who need them."
Charlie is looking at Timmy as he says it, but Ricky at the other end of the size spectrum is the one who blushes in embarrassment. He isn't fat exactly, though he's no hard-body athlete by any means. He's just crazy big for an 11-year-old.
Charlie puts his hand on Ricky's shoulder and gently says, "Don't worry. We have them in adult sizes for the counselors. I can get a couple of those if you need them."
Back to the group he says, "Don't wear them all the time or they might be in the laundry when you need them for games and competitions. Wear your own shirts for everyday messing around."
Just the phrase messing around gives me a twinge between the legs. I can't help a longing glance at Benny, who doesn't notice because he's admiring one of his new t-shirts, and I take the opportunity to drink in his beauty. There's no doubt anymore, and probably never was.
I want him.
Just then the room brightens as the sun moves from behind a cloud and a shaft of light pours in the window. I note a glint of something metallic reflecting the light, and it's coming from my bunk! I climb up to take a look and find something smack in the middle of my pillow.
It's a quarter.
Thanks for reading Part 1 of Close Quarters. Part 2 will be along shortly.
If you like my stuff have a look at my story archive here on my Prolific Authors page.
If you email me I will add you to my mailing list and notify you whenever I post on Nifty. I won't use your name for any other purpose and I will remove you from the list upon request.