Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2024 11:33:29 -0500 From: Jacob Schwann Subject: PEN&COB #8 bisexual incest + + P&C #8 PEN&COB Welcome! This revision of earlier Nifty bisexual incest et al. submissions is in the manner of Victorian erotica, being soft and slow as well as hard and fast. Herein are recounted the amorous misadventures of young Cobby, his sister Penny, and their family and friends. Authors' note: We'd love to hear from you. Please let us know what you think. Our email is always open at cobschwann@gmail.com. Support Nifty! (using link https://donate.nifty.org/). + + + + + Letter #8: CAINAN CAMP - Chapter I On The Way Epistler: Jacob Cygnet Schwann Date: 1931 Place: Cainan Lake Camp, far north of 'Nickel City' SUMMERTIME - SCHOOL's OUT...! ...I was eleven and wanted to be thirteen. But I wanted more than that. I wanted to get away. Away from raging Mom, crazy Dad and the spooky Parsonage. AWAY...! Then - a miracle! Old Aunt Elsa and Immense Cousin Max got me into our interbred cult's sleep-away camp -- Cainan Lake Camp. WOW! For sure I would miss my faithful pooch Patches, and my friendly foe - my sister Penny. But I would be away. AWAY! Away to far north Ontario below the Ishpateena Ridge. The night before I left, I splashed in the tin washtub behind our old Parsonage. Chilling water dripped from my contrary red hair and my bone-thin pencil-prick. Someday I would knock brick walls over with it -- just not this day. Hmm..., I thought of long-ago when I was nine and me and my wacky dad had splashed in that same tub. All wet and soapy he pulled me high across his shoulders and low over his belly until that frothy white stuff spouted from his prick-tip knob. [Letter #x ] Then the day I set behind Little Sister Penny in the Parsonage cast-iron claw-footed bathtub. "Hey, what's this?" she giggled. There it was! `King Tinkler' popping up for air right between our legs. And when Mom captured me that same day, she hummered on me until I chirped, charged, crumbled and cried. I shall never forget. [Letter #4 ] Forget? What did Old Aunt Elsa recite? -"We must never forget! -For us Cainans there is only the eternal Hellene goddess of deathless Memory -- the Titan `Mnemosyne'. --We shall never follow the inconstant Latin `Lethe' goddess of fleeting Forgetting. -May we of the consanguineous Cainan Clan never forget!" Sunrise came with a warm and slobbery boy-ball kiss from my bright-eyed, black and white border-collie, Patches. Then the three-hundred-mile rail-ride from Shallow Lake beyond "Big Nickel" Sudbury up to Temagami Depot. By the end, almost all of us kids left on the train were heading for Camp Cainan. We climbed in the back of the rundown farm truck -- yelling, laughing and singing. The endless rutted logging roads meandered beneath leafy birch trees and evergreens on the way to long, narrow Cainan Lake. Therein were reflected the pine hills and granite outcrops of the Ishpatina ridge. Think of remote wilderness and endless forest, clear, pristine lakes, rolling hills and granite outcrops, loon calls and moose. And - think of bushwhacking and black flies, gnats, midges, mosquitoes, no-see-ems, punkies, sandflies and ticks. `Praise-Be to The Great Mother' for our Old Cainan Aunts' bear grease spread of repelling sweetgrass and blue-spotted gum-evergreen - it worked! Cainan Lake Camp was a run-down cabin and tent city - sand therefore it was heaven. I turned to watch the little ten-year-old kids by the lake strip, splash and play naked sun-and-sand games like `duck-duck & Let's Goose!' With their slender bodies, wee penises and puffy little pussies they bustled fiddling about. I was older now, so I dug my hand down my pants pocket to adjust things. There must have been forty or fifty of us camp kids from different Cainan Faith Community outposts across the provinces. Also a few from as far as the Green Mountains and even Newfoundland. Of course, we all were related, being `kissing-cousins' of some degree or other - given the consanguineous Cainan Clan's notorious kindred customs. And here we were secure and safe from any marauding bands of law-and-order societies like the feared Black Coat Incest Vigilantes. Most campers had our familiar dark, ox-eyed gypsy look - like I had. And a very few had misbehaving bright red hair -- like I had. For sure, a sign of the outcast, `red-headed step-child'..., ...the `Mark of Cain'. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter II Tall for my age..., ...I spent a lot of time outdoors with not much on, so I tanned through my freckles. I rode my bike up hills and raced Patches through the woods which trimmed me up. Yet I was stringy with a coltish build - scrawny even - but getting tougher and rougher. My chest and tummy were hairless and smooth, other than my stiff nipples and nubby, outie belly button. When I tugged on my piddling pecker, it got longer than my middle finger but not any thicker. The stretchy, mushroom-top foreskin had a tiny slit. I liked to rub a finger along the bottom of the bulgy head where the skin joined. That made me shudder and shimmer -- sinking, searing, soaring. My nuts were small marbles in their snug sack -- kind of cute. I had heard about boy-pudding, but none so far. Yet that summer I started tripping on things. My feet grew and I hit my head on the upper bunk frames. So, being cocky, I vowed to make `The Stone Crew' the following year when I came to camp - even if I was still too young. Yes - Stone Crew! Of the several sleeping cabins spotted around Cainan Lake, the ones named `Quartz' and `Granite' quartered the Stone Crews. Those select strapping boys who had the honor of building and maintaining the many stone walls and rock structures around the camp. These were the older, taller, cheerfully confident kids, the better-looking, well-formed, muscley ones with winner-instincts. For the fun of it two or three times a week, they hefted and hauled rocks and boulders from the fields and ledges on stone-boats. They skidded them to the camp 'slog & ship-shape' sites -- clearing fields, anchoring and bedding stone walls and cairns, raising sheds and hearths and chimneys. The `Stone Trolls' worked, showered, swam, ate, slept, and joked together. When they stripped and ran into the lake, or strutted into the dining shed in their clean camp shirts and shorts, everyone turned to watch. You could see how each in his own way was well-built and good-looking, lean and hard, with sinewy strength. They were super. I wanted to be Stone Crew. My big cousin Steven Drake was Stone Crew. He was seventeen, no now eighteen and very good natured - a cheerful, talkative fellow. Well-spoken and enthusiastic, he was slender with fine features and the distinctive appearance of natural good looks. A most gifted young man. By his very nature he was good at sports and girls -- everything. Steven was the star around his home town -- baseball, football, boxing, track, best scholar, chess player, pianist and dancer. I could not take my eyes from him. Lots of thick brown curls fell forward over his tortoise-shell spec-cheaters. His hair, his eyes and his smile made friends for him wherever he went. Not as broad or brawny as some other Stoners, yet Steven thought he had a damn good body. He did too; I am the first to say it. He stood nearly six feet, at first sight of a slight build, but a hefty enough fellow to eyes that knew where to look for the points of a young man's strength. His torso was most often bare. Steven sauntered around in just those loose-fitting, soft cotton trunks - his official grey two-button fly Camp Cainan boxer shorts. All eyes followed his taut body when Steven pranced about the floating dock, the shorts filled with those beguiling bulges and tight butt. He was built like a chiseled Greek statue with muscles rippling everywhere. As he lay full length beside the lake, there were the charming twists and turns of his slender body. An Olympian athlete's chiseled arm rested in the sand - a classical musician's fine hand cupped the chin. We younger kids gasped, "Have you seen him?", because when skinny dipping he had what we wanted. He was called `The Handsome Camper'. Other Stoners laughed and said Steven was "too pretty to himself - `The Matinee Idol' ". That was because he was flashy and always spoke in arch dramatic phrases, as if reciting lines in a play. And he wanted to get into theater and moving pictures. "I do have a `flypaper memory' for verse, and," he laughed, "I love `Playing The Role'." They all said that by nature Steven was `entitled'. Looking older than his years, he enjoyed performing `The Mature Gentleman' - gracious and amenable as though from some sense of `noblesse oblige'. And so, he deserved to look down his nose even on those boys who were taller. And the rest of us sought to play up to him. Steven did spend time with certain junior campers - the ones who `had his eye', as was said. The ones overflowing with pent up `boy-juice'. The ones with the desire to `get it off' as often as possible, without being fussy about who or what might provide that pleasure. When he turned his puppy-dog eyes on you and asked you to do something, it became the most important thing in your life. There was nothing lovelier on earth than the smile and look with which 'The Chosen One' rewarded us: WE - his humble friends, his young admirers. Then there was the time I dared to smile at him. And he smiled back! That felt like fire to me - as alluring as hot skin against hot skin. In any event, he did give me broad smiles. That was most often when he wrestled me to the ground, tickling and goosing me until I might pee in my pants. "D'ya feel `it' lad?" Steven muttered with his hands on me, turning shame and pain into sheer joy. "D'ya feel how `good' it feels! D'ya!" I was over the moon. To have an older teen take interest..., ...in someone as young and dumb as me. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter III Skinny Dipping Then came that day..., ...toward the end of the summer. The morning was cool with wisps of mist rising off of Cainan Lake. As it warmed, Steven called me to swim out to the float with him. Sunlight danced on the surface water to reflect flickering caresses on his bare body. The wet trickled along his arms and legs, drenching the hair of his head. I was struck with the fantastic fact of his presence. I could not say anything; I only managed to nod. I got naked, like he told me to. My belly knotted and crimped and I dove in. The shock of skinny dipping was the best. It was hard to understand why it felt so different, but it did. A 'free feeling', almost like being weightless. And then there was the electric sensation as the cool water in the depths washed over my `little worm'. That had to be sinful. In the clear lake I had no trouble seeing Steven's broad shoulders and fine back muscles. He moved in a confident crawl, head underwater, coming up for air every couple of strokes. There were the white globes of that firm, bare ass lowering and rising. In an instant I had a carrot-stiff bone. Somehow, Steven was upon me. He grabbed the two handfuls of my own small bottom. Then like lightning our bodies ran into each other under water. His tree-trunk cock bumped hard over my little-twig prick. Steven was undaunted by what had just happened. He emerged and leapt `all nekked' out onto the float, laughing. The water trickled down his sleek body, his hair sticking to his noble head. I was awed with the rigor of his presence. And thrilled. So thrilled that my skinny pisser got stretched and stiffer than ever before. My cousin hauled me up onto the float all starkers. Smiling, he pulled me near him. He looked me up and down for the entire world to see. It was as if I were a prize fish he had sought, hooked, and landed. I gazed openmouthed, water dripping from us, both as naked as the day we were born. His handsome face grinned. He pushed his hand through my frizzy red hair and down my cheek. "Ah, so yes, `the lad's "flaming hair" has escaped its moorings'," he recited from somewhere, " `and hangs fiercely round his "red-freckled" forehead'." He rested his hands about my neck and then tightened his fingers -- as if to snuff me in a slow-choking stranglehold. "Ya feel how good `it' feels, don't ya! Nature trembles with bliss when one's Mind bows in homage to such Boy Beauty as yours...." I coughed and gagged from his love-choke, growing dim and dizzy. All was swirling, `starry-night' for the moment. Astonishing feelings coursed through my body and mind. I felt the strong smoothness of his palms slip over my shoulders to slide along my back. They came to rest on the pinched rounds of my bare butt, just holding there, enfolding, pressing, possessing. Struck dumb, I nodded. "Uhmm...." Steven lay back on the warm wooden planks of the float, sprawling mother-naked. Flat out relaxed, his perfect body glistened in the sunshine with his great cock flopped at ease over his biggish balls. I sat close so our legs touched. Wow! That was a touch to make for a life time of fantasies. " `Look' at you, Jacob. Eleven soon to be twelve, more than five foot tall, perhaps eighty-some bare-skinned pounds." He sighed ever so slow as if reading from a poetry book. "Ah, nature trembles with bliss when the mind bows in homage to `Beauty'. Look! Fire-red hair flames and falls gracefully in curly ringlets, snuggling upon the temples and neck. Sun beams glimmer on the snowy down of the upper spine. Look! The fine lineation of the ribs and the symmetry of the chest emerge through the sheer skin on the torso. Look! The armpits are sleek as a statue's. Silky and glistening are the hollows behind the knees. What `breeding'! What `Ideals' of contemplation, of `Heavenly, Platonic-Perfect Form' are expressed in this languid and youthfully flawless body! Ahh..., the gods do like to use the shape and color of such `a human youth' to make manifest the heavenly, universal-conceptual `Forms' of `Truth', of `Beauty', and of `Love'. Mmm..., an ideal to impel a Praxiteles." He sighed. "And ah, the `felt-pain' of the inability of one's own mere words to truly describe `BEAUTY', rather than but to praise it." Steven's adoring gaze and senseless speech should have made me cringe. Yet somehow it delighted me. It was like when our pup Patches made a big show of being glad to see me and burrowed her slobbery, shivery snout deep in my bare crotch -- oooh! "Your l-l-legs are getting hairs," I sputtered like a fool. The sun glistened on the blond fuzz there. "I w-w-wish mine were." Steven did not reply at first. He seemed preoccupied. With great intention he ran a sinewy hand down my scrawny, naked thigh. This sent shocks over me. "Yours are more than `fine'," he whispered, close enough for a kiss.... ...And I was left in turmoil. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter IV Man in the Moon In clean shirts and shorts..., ...we went to supper in the mess tent. Steven displayed athletic ability by vaulting over a row of chairs to get to me. The camp kitchen staff watched him tousle my hair as he put a hale arm around my thin shoulders. "My-oh-my," I heard the grizzled old cook Charlie say, shaking his head. "He collectin' another trophy, eh? This time he took hisself a real cute one. Mmm, mmh...!" Steven knew that in a few months I would have my twelfth birthday. In `pre-celebration' of that event, would I spend a hush-hush, `Name-Day Night' with him in the deserted, decrepit, screened-in sleeping cabin - way up in the wild woods? "Me...? Why?" "Because you're not `like' the others. Because I do not `see' anyone but you. And you do not even `realize' it." "But, the rules...?" "Rules are `made to be broken'!" Well, yeah! The atmosphere for successful seduction and a ticket to the Stone Crew loomed large. At least that was my hope, even if I did not know all that it might mean. After lights out, late that warm, crystal-clear night, I crept away with my blanket roll. I followed slipping and gasping as my cousin led the quarter-mile or more up the ravine in the moonlight. Branches whipped my face. I stumbled in the dark alongside the falling waters of a brook. With his long legs Steven strode up ahead. Of a sudden, his hand was before me. I stretched and grabbed. His strong fingers embraced mine. With tugs and pulls and laughter he had me spring up the scree behind him. Oomph! I collided with his shadowy form. We stood in the moonlight, he so tall, me so small. He pulled me close. I cuddled up to him in the dark. He slipped his arm around my shoulders. I rested my cheek on his chest, listening to the sound of his breath, feeling the sturdy thump of his heart. It was beating fast, as fast as mine. His arm slid about my waist. His palm firm on my hip as he stroked my thigh, then the crack of my butt. We stood touching, snuggling in the night. " `The sun has sunk below the horizon after "the darkening sky" has descended over us all, and "shadowy night shapes" slink out secretly from beneath the clouds.' " So reciting, he raised an arm high, pointing to the nearly full moon. "Look! `Cain and His Thorns', as in 'La Divina Commedia' " Steven murmured in the dark. I looked up. On the pale moon face I saw dark and grey patches. My cousin glanced into my eyes. All I could see now were stars, moons, and Steven. "There's a `medieval legend'," he said in his soft baritone voice, "that speaks of `the exiled wanderer', the outlaw Cain, one or our `scriptural ancestors' -- the other being Canaan. The gods cast-out Cain from the face of the earth for he had shed blood, a brother's blood. They set him 'The Curse' -- that blazing badge of shame upon his forehead. And they marked a dog to go with Cain, to protect and guide. For all dogs instruct us: 'Let us prostrate ourselves and bow; let us kneel before our Maker'. Having rejected Cain's sacrificial burnt offerings, the divinities banished him up-up-up to the moon. And so Cain fled with his spurned `sacrifice', that bundle of sticks. Look! There he is now - all shaded about with his nixed twigs - `the Man in the Moon'." He pointed to the dusky spots on the all-but-full face of the moon. He was silent, and then he spoke low and slow. "I want to 'take' you under the moonlight, Jacob. Do you 'understand' what I mean? `Take you'? Have you ever felt such about 'The Moon'? Have you ever ached with the sheer 'beauty' of it?" Steven was forever spouting odd bits and pieces from poems and books. And he quoted from somewhere: " 'In the daylight all things are visible..., but in the dark night many things are imagined'." My handsome cousin led me up the high hill and into the deep woods to an old camp sleeping shack. Shining moonbeams sieved through the screened walls. It was overgrown and damp and dark in there.... ...."Like a cave to be explored," he said. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter V Shooting The Shit Steven guided me blind..., ...through the rickety screen door and over the loose, slick floorboards. Then, from behind, he wrapped his arms snug around my waist. I felt his hips grind against my bum. I knew what it was. And he was not even trying to hide it. I turned to him. I rubbed my hands up and down his forceful arms as if to warm them. I realized how cold his body was, and mine and I shivered. Then his palms cupped my bottom, holding and pressing my butt there. I was not sure if I liked it. "Nice." "Hey!" I chirped as Steven pinched me through my pants. He whispered one of those things he must have read, " `Sired of a mortal by darkness, take heed of the night creatures, my child'." We headed toward the two remaining wooden bunk-beds. They were pushed right-tight next to each other in a corner. The shadows were deep but I could see Steven take off his glasses and button them in a breast pocket of his shirt. So, this was going to be for real. We dropped our canvas sneakers. Steven undressed without a trace of self-consciousness. I followed suit and tossed my shirt and trousers and socks onto the rusted bedsprings of the lower bunks. We kept our underthings on for warmth. Steven wore nothing other than his sleeveless string undershirt and his official grey two-button fly Camp Cainan boxer shorts. He leaned close so his arm touched mine. I felt his heat and smelled his scent. His dark figure clambered up the end of the bunk and went over the top. I reached for the upper rail but just stood there. The slight breeze over my thin arms and legs gave me goose bumps. I was excited and scared. All of a sudden, a muscular limb descended to clasp my forearm. "Hey, my `sexy slim', you are as `sudden as a kingfisher and slippery as a fish'," Steven recited, perhaps quoting from somewhere. "Grab on!" I clung to him. Dark shadows were cast through the screen walls by the bright moon. I scrambled and clambered up onto one of the frayed camp mattresses. The two wobbly bunks had been shoved tight together. I fell onto Steven's strapping form. I felt his heart beat as he rumpled my crazy red hair and laughed. I grinned like an idiot. Cousin Steven was my hero; Steven was my friend. He was more than a friend. We unrolled our tattered bedrolls on the abutting upper bunkbeds. I watched his silhouette in the dark as he crawled beneath his blanket. May ours be a 'good night'," he said. My heart beat fast. I sensed him near me. His body was somehow animated despite its stillness. I could hear him breathe, his breaths like the gentle crashing of waves. Soon we were shooting the shit in the dark - about life, and about perverts being perverty. We recited every dirty joke we knew and talked about dancing with girls with no shirts on. And about sex. Except for Steven, most of us campers were all gawky, misshapen, semi-pubescent youths with hormones running wild. All we could talk about was hoped-for sexual conquests with imaginary girls. As Steven said, `talking' was about all we had ever done. "Do you jerk-off?", Steven asked in the darkness. "None of your beeswax." Back then of course I could not shoot. I was still dry at that point. So I went on, "Doesn't everyone beat off? Not girls, of course. They don't have anything to tug on." Steven chuckled, "Oh, they stick a finger in their pussies and move it like it's a boy's dick. Can you `come'?" "Can I what?" I said. "Cum! That's what they call it when you squirt. Cumming!" Steven spoke with authority. He told me about when he was twelve. His cock was getting thick all the time and growing quite long. Then one day he came home from school. He went in his room and got undressed and had a big hardon. He took it in his hand and stroked it. And it felt good. So, by nature he kept going. It just kept feeling better and better until he `came' - a blast of `boy cream' felt beneath his balls and flaring all over his body. That was the first time he had `cum' and it was the best ever. He said he rested for a few minutes then of course did it again. And again. My cousin added that this would soon happen for me, too. His saying that..., ...made me the happiest kid alive. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter VI 'Phook' & 'Koont' Steven had seen a girl naked; I asked him who it was.... ..."My sister." Steven told me he walked in one day when she was getting into the bath. He had not known she was in there, but he saw her all bare. "She has the body of a curvaceous girl, and her nipples are pale pink." His half-sister, my cousin Suzie Drake, was one year younger than Steven. Steven and Suzie lived with their own different mothers, the twin Drake sisters, separated from their older common father, our own Uncle Doctor. Suzie was gorgeous; she looked like that movie star, `The Vamp.' We called her `Baby Vamp', or `Pin-up Suzie'. "I stood there in the `doorway' to the bathroom," Steven declaimed as if on stage, "staring at a beautiful pair of lifting `milky-white breasts' tipped by puffy, pale-rose nipples. Her bubs had started to `bud', she was free of pubic hair, and she continued to parade in front of me. My cock stiffened in my Camp Cainan shorts. I went to pee but my penis wouldn't let me because it'd got too hard. My sister `looked' at me. I couldn't help but `look' back at her because she `looked' so nice. I'd've `fucked' her right there," Steven said, "but of course she's my sister. Even so, I'd `fuck' her. We'd be `friends' - 'Special Friends'." I stared into the dark with my mouth open in shock. What line was he giving me? Had I heard him right? Steven pronounced the word `fuck' like `phook', as if he were a Frenchman with a beret and a pencil-thin moustache. In my mind's eye I pictured handsome Steven stripped to just his grey Camp Cainan shorts standing in a grand, steamy bathroom. He would be extending his hand to his beautiful bare sister and saying, "May I have the honor to `phook' you?" He was the sort of youth to whom one could deny nothing. So of course she would melt to the floor, opening all to him. I had to ask, "Steven, aren't you.... Aren't you afraid.... Afraid of being caught?" Our common ancestor Grandfather Josiah had more or less been drawn and quartered at the Hanging Tree for messing that way with his own little sister [Letter #6 ]. "You mean the Black Coats, the `enforcement' arm of the local law and order society? Yeah, those incest vigilantes can do a job on you. She and I'd be careful though." Liking the sound of it, Steven said again, "I'd `phook' my own sister right there in the bath." Steven sighed, "She'd be good `koont'." Steven read a lot of adult books, and when he spoke words like that, they did not sound naughty. He made them soft and long and they sounded very Frenchy and loving. Not `fuck' but `Phook'. Not `cunt', but `Koont.' "Best bit of `koont' on earth my sister is. When she likes it. When she's willing." "What is `cunt'?" I asked. "You don't know `koont'? It's my sister or yours, down there. It's what you `get' when you're inside them, and what she `gets' when you're inside them, it's what `IS', with you in her." "Cunt?" I snapped. I thought that was a dirty word. "It's like fuck, then." "No, no," murmured Steven, sleepy and drifting away. " `Fuck's' only what they `do'. Animals `fuck'. You've seen dogs, the brutal act where the male, using the stiffest and pointiest part of his pelvic region, repeatedly `stabs' a female in her crotch until he feels satisfied. It isn't real `sex' unless there is some sort of `stabbing' going on. But I'm talking about being `genteel' and `proper', about `truly loving' and admitting of the 'Ideals' of `Phook' and `Koont'...." ...I could not keep my eyes open, and I fell asleep. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter VII 'Sexy Slim' And then something happened.... ...It was strange to talk about. I woke up all of a sudden. I do not know what time it was or anything but I woke up. The night was dark and cool. The moon had moved. The crickets and owl hoots were still there. I felt something on me, somebody's hand. "HUH?!" Boy, I bet I jumped about a thousand feet. It scared the heck out of me. What it was, it was my cousin Steven Drake's hand, sort of petting me on the nape of my neck. He stroked me two or three times. The light touch held me as in a vice. As if choking me. "Huh?" My blood tingled through me. Another wave of prickling fire raced down my neck as Steven moved his hand to grope beneath my undershirt. He squeezed the skin of my chest and belly. "Huh?" I cried. "What the heck ya doin'?" "Hmm...? I'm simply lying here touching `A Beautiful Lad'...." His voice sounded low and goofy. "Hey, Jacob, what do you usually wear when you sleep?" "Huh?" I was very shy. "My underwear or pj's," I replied. "Just a suggestion," he spoke so soft, "but try sleeping in the nude." He struck a match and lit a little candle stub stuck on the bedpost of the bunk. I glanced and felt a chill as the stains on the mattress were revealed - dark, brown, reddish -- blood! I realized of a sudden that Steven had `bust' many virgins here on this very bunk. The thought of that, of Steven doing as he wanted in this shack out in the middle of nowhere -- that fired me up. I felt pressured and hot and frightened of him and yet wanting him. Then I watched entranced as he took his time peeling off his undershirt. His chest was smooth and very well defined. Then he pulled down his official grey two-button fly Camp Cainan boxers. His belly and his hips and his thighs.... My cousin's dick, even not quite erect, was huge. So huge, I now knew, as to have brought forth those blood-spotted sheets of consummation from others before me. In the soft glow my mouth gaped and I rubbed my modest hardon just watching him. Then he watched me. Being of a fearful disposition, I got flustered and nervous. Yet when he instructed me to strip down, I did. Of course, I got tangled in my undershirt as I pulled it up. I could push my underpants part way down at first, and had to kick them off and they sailed from the bunk onto the floor. There I was. All bare. I had gone soft again in the night chill. I lay on my back, exposed and quivering by the light of the flickering flame. I was strong enough, but spindly with that bit of baby fat at the same time. And way behind some older kids in development. Not surprising, my face had no hint of peach fuzz. "Nice...," Steven murmured. "Nice." He made me feel that I was more than fine, just by saying that one little word. I felt relieved, pleased even. The two of us being naked corrected the balance of things. It made us equal. I felt that strange oneness with the world, with myself, and with my friend. Steven gave a small smile and studied me while he ran his hand over his own carved chest. He caressed his brown nipples in a circular motion. He licked his fingertips. He rubbed the moisture over his now stiff nipples. He kept his eyes on me the entire time. Steven whispered, "Why Jacob Cygnet Schwann, you have a great body for a little kid. You're built like an athlete, a `boxer'. A little `boxer'. Slight as you are, you have a classic `gymnast's frame' with the broad little shoulders and the slim little hips and the firm little `grabbable globe' of a butt. `And godlike Ganymede was the loveliest born of mortal men; wherefore the eagle-like Gods caught him away up on high to themselves, to be cupbearer and wine-pourer to almighty Zeus, by reason of his beauty, that he might dwell among the Immortals.' By the gods you are a `sexy, tight, slim, little hound'. My `Sexy Slim'!" Of course, I went young-boy hard in the instant. I was amazed and excited to please Steven. With a dreamy smile he gazed into my eyes. His face looked so serene and inviting. I wanted to be close to him. I was desperate to be so. I could feel the pull of his body, like little strings drawing me toward him. I yearned to join with him, but I could not move. Just as I knew that I would never have such courage, Steven bounded all bare over to my mattress. The old bunks shook. We lay next to each other stark naked in the night. I nestled as close against his warm, strong body as I dared. He shifted toward me in a friendly cuddle. He rested his head upon my shoulder. His hair brushed my cheek. I did not dare breathe. My heart stopped. I was paralyzed by uncertainty. The abyss of possibility. The vertigo of fulfillment. And my leg bumped something, something rather firm. Of course, I stared and got a close-up look at Steven's semi-hard cock. It was big and thick. Steven had pale skin where he had not tanned, but his dick and balls were pink. It made them look even bigger.... ...and he had all that bushy brown pubic hair. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter VIII Feel It "Wh-wh-what's it like having hair down there?...," ...I muttered, looking at Steven's. As though inviting a full inspection of his equipment, he lifted his hips in the air to give me a better view. I took a deep breath, "No, just the hair." So saying, I reached forth in the near darkness. I brushed my fingers against the whiskery brown curls. It was the first time I felt a man's pubic hair since my own dad's fine, blonde strands in the bath so long ago. "Wow. Different from the hair on your head, huh?" I took a chance and touched the loose skin of his `rock-sack', as the Stone Crewers called theirs. Steven's body flinched at my contact and he moaned a bit. I stroked the tips of my fingers along his boy-nuts themselves. The plump balls jumped upward in the testicle pouch to hug the base of his dick. Steven whispered, "This gives me such a hardon." He put his hand to my chest. He began to feel me. To examine me. To explore me. His trembling fingers gripped my skin. I winced. "So smooth and cool. Yummy! Jacob, you're some `boy'. I feel your muscles under here. Look how the muscles under your skin wriggle when I drag my fingertips over them." And I propped myself up on my elbows to watch. It was so. His stroking my bare tummy made the skin sort of scrunch toward his hand. Like a dog working his leg when you scratched him. "Ya feel `it', don't ya?" Steven sang his tune. "Ya feel how `good' it feels!" I rested my hand on his arm, and held it. He nodded and I shook while my fingers explored his strong forearm and his firm biceps, his rounded shoulder, his virile chest and taut nipples and down his hard belly. "That feels `good'," he said. "So go ahead. Feel it." He guided my hand to his cock. I could not help it; my fingers seized Steven's big full-size penis. It was a marvel how mobile it was. I was surprised that it felt hard inside and soft outside, with the sliding about the thick, fibrous shaft. How warm his prick was in my hand, in particular above the loose collar of skin on the head, which was the most silky of all. I could feel the man-force beneath. Steven gave a modest sigh, "Mine is merely what you might find on any of the classic Greek Kouroi statues. Well..., let's get started then." "Uh-h-h, so...," I strove to say something, anything. "Go ahead," he moaned. I began to stroke it. Holding onto another guy's giant penis was strange. It got swollen and harder. But it did not feel all that bad or anything. And for sure my own little bone was like steel. "Feels so `good'!" he gasped. "Feels `terrific'." He told me this while I kept my fingers around his big hardon. In due course Steven said to do what he showed me. He shut his left fist, then thrust the forefinger of his right hand in the hole made in the palm of his hand by the fingers, and moved it back and forth. Steven told me to make a ring of my fingers and hold my hand still. He would slide his penis in and out of my fist like inside a girl. I did and he did, as he thrust his hips at me. "Ah! There! That piece of loose skin covering my penis head, the `foreskin', the `akroposthion' as our Immense Cousin Max will tell you. Roll it back and forth. Hmm.... Ugly maybe, but it `most definitely' gives a guy more `pleasure' when pulled down. You'll see.... Whew!" He panted and then picked up his sister-soliloquy where he had left off. "But good `koont' is a lot more than what we're doing here now. `Koont' is them, do you see? Our sisters. And they are a lot beside an animal, aren't they? Sure they `phook', but when you're within and surrounded by them and freely giving, and she is openly receiving and offering, the whole thing is `koont'. That's the beauty of our sisters - the give and take of `koont'." He grinned at me, "And Jacob, I'd certainly `phook' your young sister." "Penny?" I asked in surprise. He had made it sound so classy, to `phook' my sister. "My little sister? She's not that cute." Steven looked at me in the candlelight like I was stupid. "Are you blind? She's completely cute!" I was amazed at how easy it was to picture my kid sister, all bare, in that steamy bathroom with Steven and Suzie, along with yours truly. `Sexy Slim', Steven had called me. This was followed by the image of the Black Coat Incest Vigilantes coming in through the window after us..., ...with rope and knives. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter IX `Eaters of Our Own Blood' My wrist got tired stroking..., ...and making a ring for Steven to pump his prick in, so I switched hands. That proved awkward and I went back to my dominant left hand. I increased the tension, and rubbed him up and down. I heard Steven's shaky voice, "Hey, Sexy Slim. You keep this up, and I'll come for you." I was not certain what he meant..., `come for you'. Like he was going to come after and paw at me some more, or `cum' like cumming? By then he was shifting back and forth with short grunts and an ever-hardening penis. His hands grasped the blankets, clenching and relaxing. Steven sighed and groaned as he thrust his swollen cock in my fist. I thought I felt something a little wet. I hoped he was not peeing on me. I continued stroking. But Steven grabbed my wrist to make me stop, his dick being sensitive. Then he was quiet for a while. He shifted up on his side against me and the old bunks shook. Steven groped me which made me jump. He drew his hand across the skin of my arms and upper body a few times. "Yep. You have a good body, Jacob; a little light but toned, and your chest is starting to develop, too. `Sexy Slim'!" Cuddling with this older, stronger boy was thrilling, and a bit scary. Yet I was proud someone wanted to be with me. Then, of a sudden, Steven leaned too close. He moved to lick my chest and nipple. Then his tongue lapped deep in my armpit. Tickly and weird! "We are `Eaters of Our Own Blood'," he murmured. "Uh-h-h..., hah! Hey...! You bit me!" "Because ya looks and tastes `yummy'," Steven laughed, licking his lips. "As fresh as a raspberry. Everything on ya is yummy -- lips, chest, navel, and here...." I was in shock at the feel of his hands on my bare legs. He was spreading my thighs apart. One heard all sorts of improbable stories about Steven. Might they be true? Then, as I lay on my back, he crawled over on top of me. In fact, he stretched above me, lowering on me, face to face. The heft of his firm, naked body settling on top of mine was incredible. My breath was pressed from me by his great chest. Below, our knees touched. His whole solidity set at my middling middle. I could not believe. The short space of time seemed an eternity. Steven grinned at my open mouth and wide eyes. "All okay, Jacob. It's part of `the game'. You're doin' great." He tucked an arm around my back and hugged me to him. I gasped. I felt his hardness press and move against my thigh. I should have pushed him away as he settled, but.... His weight did not seem so heavy - it felt good. I had wrestled smaller kids before, feeling their cute, budding boy-bodies and their stiff little peters. But this was the first time I ever rubbed together with a naked young man. I flashed on bathing in the tin wash tub with my father back at the Shallow Lake Parsonage. I had gone slipping and sliding on Dad's strong, soapy body. Now I felt Cousin Steven's hot breath pant against my lips. The slight tickling gave an electric feeling. I thought he would kiss me. But instead, he looked deep into my eyes like a hawk. I sensed the stiffness of Steven's great cock near my smaller one. He pressed his stomach hard against mine. He started to move his hips up and down. He ground between my legs, which separated them further. My body was on fire. My mind was an inferno. Then he shifted. His cock rubbed mine. My blood boiled and bubbled. My stiff cob lifted and tinkled. I was tormented - yet strangely untroubled. Soon, by some reflex, my arms folded about his strong back, and my legs crossed around his muscled thighs. Had I done this with Dad? My hands slid down to his sturdy butt cheeks. I felt them hollow and fill, toughen and soften, as he pegged away on me. I could not have described it then, but the feeling of him upon me was beyond belief. The weight of his firm, naked body on mine. The strength of his hips grinding amidst my legs. The feel of his rump flexing in my hands. The press of his balls on mine. Our dicks rubbing between our bellies. The heart-stopping crush of his body. His heavy, hot breath on my neck; on my face.... I about blacked out. "Your tight boy-body gives such a `nasty' feeling to my cock," he puffed. Steven bumped and grunted. He thrust fast and heavy between my thighs and his prick slid over my tummy. I started to giggle. "I can't stop tupping against your fine slim body, Jacob. To feel my hardon slide all over the place.... There!" he chuckled. "Each time I push onward, the front of your pelvic bone rubs just under the head of my cock. Ah, que c'est délicieux!" Steven ground and grunted. He began to moan and that steamed me up. The tickling in my groin grew. All at once I felt an exquisite unpleasant fullness in my throat. My need-to-pee sensation let go like a sting all through me. I was floating up to the celestials, yet all the while sinking deep into the mire. All felt thick - an enveloping, ever-rising light; yet bottomless - a limitless, swampy darkness. And I kept twitching. Later Steven told me that I had yelled and jerked, even though it was dry. He lifted himself up and seemed to study my face in the candlelight and then he grinned..., ...and humped all the harder upon me. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter X 'Please Jacob!' Puffing in my ear..., ...the Handsome Camper rode me quick and rough. His lips sucked my neck, leaving a blue-black bruise for a week. The slight fuzz of his upper lip glistened wet. Tiny beads of sweat spread over his hard, flexing belly. He swished his tight butt left and right over me in sudden jerks. He fell back. I stayed right with him, just as he said to. Steven gasped, clasping me to him amidst his wresting twists and spasms. "Please, please Jacob...," he implored, his eyes searching mine. His hands fondling my body. "Oh please, please...." Close to tears- he begged. He begged! This perfect older boy pleading, pressing - like my soapy, desperate Dad in the tub. He could not stop. He could not help it. In awe, I grinned. I understood. It was me! I had something -- and he had to have it. That strange thrill of being favored and needed by this big beautiful boy flooded through me. I was desired! Desired...! ME! "Oh, beautiful boy! Such a beautiful boy..., so soft.., so hard.., so warm and perfect..," he chanted. "Please Jacob...! Please, please.... Uh, huh, OH.... PLEASE!" With a sudden strong shove his hips drove at me. Belly to belly. Pressing, pressing, pressing on me. He lifted - his arms stiffened straight up, his upper body arched backward into the air; his chest expanded. All aquiver, he hung so for seconds at a time -- in a cobra's imperative strike. His breaths changed to deep coughing gasps. His hips surged up to crash onto me. "I COME!" Steven cried out. "Ah! Hmm! Unhh....UNHH!!" I was not certain what was coming. I felt his full weight shudder, and I heard his great groan. I sensed liquid squeezed and busted out every which way. His creamy stuff blew, steamy wet hitting my midriff, chest and face. "Whoa cuz," I giggled, "...you pissin' on me?" He shook in a fit. Then - heaving, hot, heavy - he lay dead weight upon me, breathing was hard. At last, Steven twisted and flipped all the way over onto his back alongside me. He sucked air; desperate to breathe. He sprawled in naked glory on the bunk, head and arms tossed to the side, legs flung out, perfect body collapsed and glistening. Saliva, sweat and semen everywhere. In the candlelight I could see spermy spend shimmering on his chiseled chest and gut. And on my own. Steven told me what it felt like when the seed came out. "Like the most `perfect', skinny-dip high dive," he fought to get his breath, "deep into the `shock' of clear, cold, crisp lake water...." I could not imagine anything could feel that good. "What's it like for the girl?" Steven struggled for breath, laughing, "You know when you got an itch in your ear? And you stick your finger in there to rub it?" He wet the tip of his index finger in his mouth and -- surprise -- he put it `wet-willy' into my own ear canal and he wiggled it around. This made me glow and giggle. "So, which gets the better feeling? Just the tippy-tip of my finger? Or the deep inner whorls of your ear canal? Your inlying ear, of course! Ha ha! That's what it's like for the girl, my sister Suzie tells me. So, it's better for her than for the guy." After a pause, Steven declaimed regarding siblings. "...And who is the first and the strongest attraction for a guy? His sister, of course - so dear, so close and so exceptionally ready. You know, a sister will do things to you that a brother can never forget. Like a hundred times better than the two of us chaps jerking off together, as we have now." I wondered how my cousin came to know so much. I asked, "Steven, have you and Suzie...? You know, have you...? With your own sister...? Have you ever...?" ...But he did not hear me. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter XI Dry Fire With a smile..., ...Steven wiped his finger back and forth in the spunk filling his bellybutton hollow. `Sperm Lake' he called it. He opened his mouth. He brought his long, narrow tongue out. It was very pointed. Using it almost like a spoon, he scooped up some of the cum from his hand. With a dramatic flair he drew it back into his open mouth. And he swallowed it. "The Fire God Moloch demands child-seed sacrifice," said Steven, who was always reading. "The imperious deity of our loins must be appeased by our offering of baby-batter. Remember Jacob, I lapped of your bodily sweat; my own youthful kin. And now I slurp my own semen. This is what they mean when they charge us Cainan incestophile cousins with being `Eaters of Our Own Blood'. We are brothers in blood. I eat yours; you eat mine." Just so, he instructed me to suck the drips off his gooey diget like a calf on a teat. The finger was stiff and soft. The cum -- his cum - tasted like slick, sweet and sour snot. Then Steven had me raise my arm and sniff and then lick my own armpit. I too was to be an eater of both our secretions -- his and mine - our own `blood'. "And now it's your turn," he said. "I think we can get you the feeling, but you can't make sperm yet.... Why don't we try?" Steven told me to stay on my back. He hovered over me, rubbing my body. His grip squeezed around my neck. Tight; and tighter. Turning blue; I choked. My eyes grew glassy. I floated in space. I saw stars like in a dream. Steven's fingers went over my ribs and belly and on down. It was not like tickling, it was more like charging me up. He reached out and took hold of my cob, my penis. I jumped, but it felt too good to even mention. He started to stroke me. No one but me ever touched my now eleven-year-old penis. But here someone else was not just touching it, they were jerking me off. Steven's method of masturbation felt strange and wonderful. "Ya feel it?" Steven whispered, "Ya feel how `good' it feels, don't ya! Tell me what ya feel." Breathless, I struggled to speak. "Where you're touching me.... It's like fire sparking.... Not flames.... Not yet to catch...." He grinned, "Let's see if I can `stoke' it. Get it to `catch'." I did love the feeling of Steven holding me and fondling my cock. I wanted to say more about how good it felt. But I could not speak. Things started to change. Fast. Such a strange constriction built up all over, in particular my tummy. It did not matter because the stroking felt better than anything I had felt in my life. And then the tension or pressure started to increase. It was scary, like swimming and sinking and soaring in a sunny seductive spiraling sucking suffocating swamp. Intense. I wanted Steven to slow down or stop. I could not say anything at first, but then I had to say something. "S-S-Steven.... STOP.... S'no good. I'll explode!" "Don't worry," he chuckled, "I used to think the same thing once upon a time." Steven kept going, his body close, his hands on me. I was wiggling and breathing fast. I found myself making little whimpers. It felt odd and good all over. I shook. Who knew such thrilling and exciting feelings existed? Compared to touching myself, this big, beautiful boy at me was a million times more intense and pleasurable. I sensed an exquisite unpleasant fullness in my throat. It kept building. I was flailing, diving, drowning; spiraling up and plummeting deep in a tempting, terrifying marsh. A pain shot through my belly. Then something seemed to crack and let go -!TWANG!- Like a loosed arrow. Followed by a kind of spasm deep, deep in my crotch making my body twitch. I let out grunts that sounded too loud. I had no control. All I could do was let my body jolt as I tried not to fall off the bunk. It scared me. Everything felt alien to me. For a moment his hand and our naked bodies lost all meaning. Everything meant nothing to me. I was without feeling. We were floating - floating in some clear viscous atmosphere, dissolving together as one being. Lost, so lost. Aaah...! But then, to my amazement and delight, everything about Steven and we two cousins charged right back. Here I was. Here he was. I wanted nothing other than to feel him and kiss every part of him again. Had I passed out? No, but I had cried out, he said, even though mine was just a practice `dry fire'. "Ya feel `it', don't ya? Ya feel how `good' it feels! I heard ya moanin'...." Steven stroked me with gentle hands. "But I don't feel any sperm or anything. You'll be making it soon, Jacob. It'll `come'...." ...and so we giggled. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter XII 'Special Friends' All hot and sweaty we lay there..., ...panting like after some race. We listened to the night - the breeze in the trees - a small branch falling to the forest floor. He slumped to one side as our bodies untwined. He wiped the last of his white stuff off me with the edge of the itchy blanket. I was afraid to ask about it all. But I held that spermy cover up to sniff his tangy smell and touch my tongue to it -- like sweet sour cream, he said. We stayed that way for a while. The moon was sinking. The dark midnight woods beyond the decaying screen house seemed gloomy and scary like a jungle. Was that shadowy moonlight? Or a bright striped tiger in the night woods? Steven recited, " `Light winds stir the creepers, owls hoot like sentries exchanging passwords, and a rook talks in its dreams; the little odd squeals and rumbles of wildlife come faintly from the forest'." I shivered with cold. Then Steven pulled the bed-clothes over the two of us. We reveled in the tactile sensations enveloping our bare bodies. We whispered about how it felt. As sleep overtook us he pushed me over onto my side facing away from him. Then the Handsome Camper curled in ever-so-close behind me. It did feel special to be embraced from behind. Under the blanket, both of us were bare as angels in heaven - or raw as devils in hell. "We are `Good Koont!', Jacob. You and I together are `good koont'. What we have is also `Good Koont'. Feel it?" Steven moaned. I sighed. "Feel how good `it' feels? Ever lie this way with nothing but a blanket bunched between your body and your `special friend's'? What you and I are doing together right now?" "Gosh no, Steven. Not like this. I'd be afraid to." "I understand, but in your head, do you ever picture doing things like this with boys?" I thought of the Monkey-Ward Christmas wish book with the boys in their underwear. And the kids stripped down and swimming in Cainan Lake. And the bigger guys soaping up in the camp shower. "Well..., yeah...." I had started to have sexual fantasies in the last year or so. Although I did not realize what they were. I would lie on my stomach in bed picturing myself in the jungle grass with naked young tiger-men. I would stroke their soft furry stripes and sense their strength within. I loved the feel in my crotch as I rubbed. And I was sure it must be wrong to have such thoughts. "But just in my mind...." "The tragedy is when we've got sex in the head, instead of down below here where it belongs." Steven drew a deep breath, "I have long since stopped bothering about whether it is right for one boy to look at the body of another boy and see beauty in it. I do look! And it is right!" He paused and whispered, "Ah! Is there any greater thirst than that of a younger boy for his elder - and is there any greater lust than that of the elder for his younger boy?" Steven said that sex between boys was innocent and only became a `vice' with age. Of course, `perversion' and `depravity' were outlawed and punishable by death. But that was different from the delights that went on between `Kindred Family' or `Special Friends'. " `What shall we do to the evil ones who wish us bodily harm'," Steven quoted, " `if we condemn the good ones who show us tender love?' " The candle guttered and died. It was pitch black. Steven wiggled in closer to my back. I felt his warm, strong palms encompass first one of my round butt cheeks and then both together. Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him under the bedclothes. I felt his at the small of my back. "If we remain simply `special friends', and not, heaven help us, true `lovers' " Steven sighed, "we can play this way, and never have a care, and go our `separate ways'. But if, heaven help us, we are ever so cursed as to `Fall In Love' and become like Plato's ideal `True-Lovers', then we will care too much, and we will never consent to be apart. If so, our hearts must ultimately and inevitably be torn in two, and then, heaven help us, we shall die a most painful and despondent death. Therefore, my young cousin, may we two be simply `special friends', and take our necessary leave of one another, and not die!" Yet I vowed someday for us to be more than that. I vowed to be `True Lovers' with Steven. And to never-ever be apart. Yet as I dropped off in sleep my mind was strange. I was flooded with images. Images of me making spoons just this way..., ...with my own little sister Penny. + + + + + Letter #8: Chapter XIII Camp Cainan Boxer Shorts Bright streaks of sunshine..., ...pierced the forest canopy. The daybreak sunbeams made last night's shadowy jungle into a bejeweled morning woodland garden. It was as though light came through an immense stained-glass window of every shade of green. Bird song and forest murmurs abounded. A strong arm shook my shoulder. I looked down over the edge of the bunk bed. Steven was up. He had his glasses on and was already dressed in his shirt and work pants and sneakers. "Believe me, Jacob," Steven announced. "Just `holding' you at the end of last night's `adventures' and not pursuing my `advantage' so to speak, not taking any `bottom action', but instead playing the `gentleman', and in fact stopping `cold-turkey' as they say.... That was the most difficult thing I have ever done. `Believest thou me'." I felt high on my bare back. A bit of Steven's slimy morning wet was still warm there. I was proud. Proud to be one of his boys. To be 'The Boy', perhaps. Was this what it was like to have a crush on a swell fella? Was this love? YES! I sat up. I let him see me stark naked in the chill. Now I knew he liked that. I searched for my underwear on my hands and knees. They were gone. Steven had them. He held my stained white undershorts up to his nose. He sniffed with his eyes closed, then stuffed them in his pocket. "Hey Master Jacob, you `sexy slim' you, try my boxers. I'm not wearing them anymore. They'll show off that perfect bum of yours. And soon your `budding package'. Keep `em. They are yours. Think of me whenever you pull them on." And with that, Steven tossed up his very own official grey two-button fly Camp Cainan boxer shorts. I snatched them. In wonder, I pulled one of his coiled dark brown pubic hairs from the fly. We both laughed. He watched with approval as I grinned and drew them on. I tied the drawstring tight and tighter around my narrow waist. Every camper knew how that soft fabric showed Steven off to advantage. So as a joke, I stuck my hips out to demonstrate my own little boy bulge. Steven smiled. "Ya feel it?" Steven turned to me, "Ya feel how `good' it feels, don't ya? You are kick-ass, more like a twelve-year-old, no - a thirteen-year-old already, Jacob. I can't wait to be `with' you sometime for your next birthday and thereafter. And I will! Yet for today, it is `best' if we not be seen in camp together." "But.... But I-I-I love you!" I sputtered and called out to him. "I LOVE you, Steven. I do. I will. Always. I love you. For ever and ever." Steven was in the midst of leaving the screen house. He stopped with his back to me. Silence. He paused a long time. Then he turned to face me. "Oh Jacob, that is wonderful. Wonderful! Now, go out into the world and love some more. Love! But..., as for the two of us, NO! No, dearest Jacob, no never. Let us, you and I, not use `inflammatory declarations' - such as `Love', `Lovers', `Heavenly Lovers Forever' - between we two kissing-cousins. To do otherwise is to risk `arrest, torture and torment' at the hands of a `misguided and intolerant' society - the Black-Coat Incest Vigilantes. Let us, Jacob, you and I, rather term ourselves simply `FRIENDS'. Yes, just `friends for the moment' right now. Perhaps someday we shall grow to be special friends. Yes, `Special Friends': confined here on Earth well below the Heavenly Ideals -- with every `physical' and `sexual' and `immoral pleasure' which that may entail. And all shall be just for `today'; one day at a time only." Steven sighed, and took a breath. "And so, `Friend Jacob', we shall return to camp separately, so as to prevent any suspicion and gossipy talk of `lovers for life', as that is most certain to prove fatal in time. We remain simply -- `friends'." Just friends? I was stunned. We were not lovers? We were mere friends? To be left behind? But I loved him! I gaped as Steven turned his back and stepped away from the screen house. My eyes dripped tears; my chest clenched with sobs; my soul bereft in grief. Striding away, Steven went alone -- alone - onto the path back down to Cainan Lake Camp. That turned out to be Steven's last summer at camp - something about a forbidden sexual tryst with the camp director's almost-teen daughter. My cousin had promised to fix things in order to get me on the Stone Crew the following year. Cousin Steven was as good as his word. So, tormented between delight and desertion..., ...I concluded my best yet growing-up adventure at Cainan lake Camp. Yours truly, JACOB +++++ + + + END OF PEN-COB LETTER #8 llllllllllllllllllllllll + +