Summer Camp Day is part one of a two part story, and an extension of Eliot Moore's delicious series Fourteen...

If you haven't been reading Fourteen and you like what you read here, you should definitely give it a try. Eliot has been kind enough to let me play in his sandbox, use his characters (and some of my own) and look into things he didn't cover.

In my first Fourteen inspired story, The Chillicothe Interlude: The Knife's Edge, we met the parents of Jeremy Gates, better known as Fourteen. (it's co-published as Chapter 24 of Fourteen).

I loved the base story but something was missing, and that was the story of Remy and Grey Gates. I needed to know how they were reacting to the events in Fourteen...I corresponded with Eliot at first to encourage him to fold that into Fourteen, but then I sent a draft of my story; he liked it enough that we agreed I would finish it and publish. Eliot deserved co-author credit for that story.

In Dustoff (co-published as Chapter 27) we follow the continuing story of Levi Fisher, started in Chapter 8, to follow him via Sky Harbor International Airport to an ancient temple in Vietnam, where he sets up a mysterious and moving reunion with his long lost love. I consider Dustoff the best story I've ever written. I hope you will like it.

Chapters 1-8 of Fourteen introduce Patrick Hunter and John Cannon. I thought they were the most interesting characters and relationships in the series (so far); and I knew readers would want to hear what became of them. In Summer Camp Day we learn how and where they met, why they became attached so closely, and especially what happens to them after they exit their part of Fourteen.

The conclusion of this story will be in We've Got Shoes.

Fourteen, both the series and these extensions, is about many things, most of all about Jeremy Gates and his journey to young adulthood, and how he is shaped by the people, especially the men, he meets on that journey. I hope my modest stories will contribute to an understanding of who those people are, how they affect him, and how they became the people they are.

As I am a hopeless perfectionist, no story is ever done, revision is frequent

Thus Summer Camp Day will be found in its most current version and with some

limited illustrations at:https://gayadult49.wordpress.com/2019/12/16/summer-camp-day

Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly  to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html 

Part I. Summer Camp Day

June 19, 2015

1109 Hours

Olde Time Park

Colorado Springs, Colorado

On this hot Friday, two very well-built young men, one notably taller than the other, both sweaty and quite casually dressed walked toward the parking lot, outbound through the amusement park, threading their way against the current, throngs of mostly young kids; nearly every one in a colored T-shirt matching their groups; less often packs of young teens but all the same wearing some summer camp shirt or other. They were being wrangled more or less ineffectively by their camp staffers but most of those were no more than teenagers themselves.

It's Summer Camp Day at the Olde Town Amusement Park.


Nearing the periphery of the lot, here outside the main gate, the crowd had thinned; it was close to noon and many in the lot were carrying food baskets to the public picnic areas and the small lake that bordered the Park.

John, a man at the peak of manhood, wide shouldered, powerful pecs, flat stomach, narrow hips, sporting well worn Levis -- work worn, not selected for fashion -- and a tight gray tee shirt (with pretty healthy sized sweat stains at his pits) had squeezed five hundred bucks out of the park maintenance manager; faking knowledge of how to repair the old ride. Well, he did really know how to do it, just he'd have never gotten paid nor even had the chance without a lot of lying.

He'd seen the RIDE CLOSED -- OUT OF ORDER signs as they walked past the tilting kid's ride the week before. Ignoring the ropes and DO NOT ENTER sign, it was trivial to pop the lock on the door. It took twenty minutes snooping around inside the engine house, Now just by looking at the thing he knew how it worked. John was no slouch when it came to machinery. It is, after all, designed by engineers. Machinery when you think of it, is totally logical and rational.

People, not so much.

But John didn't care about most people. Actually he only cared about one. I never have figured out why I care about him. Just suits me I reckon.

So they'd come to the park again and as expected the ride was still closed, it had been closed all season, one of the younger workers told him.And they started asking questions.


They had roamed the park for fifteen minutes asking various employees -- when they could get them to tear their attention from all the youth seeking it. John persisted and when he'd asked enough he got to the man himself, told him he could fix that ride, that he'd worked on one just like it out in California in Santa Cruz.

Of course he hadn't ever even seen this one, never been to Santa Cruz, maybe he saw something close to it in San Diego once... but hell it was all 1950s technology and John could always do that shit. He wasn't as good with the modern stuff that was so electronics intensive, he just didn't have the training, you don't get that sort of education in juvie or on the streets, or when he was working in daddy's Auto Shop. But John instinctively knew his way around the old mechanicals even when a ride was technically a stranger.

Machines made sense.

Until he could run it he couldn't tell for sure what was wrong but he'd spied some grooving on a shaft that shouldn't be there, then figured there had to be clutch wear and slippage, probably the bearings were shot and no one paid attention to repairs when it started to go bad, until the thing had shook itself half to death.

No telling how long it might take to get parts to fix it but he didn't have to fix it he just had to make the guy confident he could. Give him enough confidence in that he'd pay something. If he could, well once the parts were in he could fix it. No doubt in his mind.

And nothing ventured nothing gained, thought the hard young man with rough features and calloused hands.

November 11, 2015

0230 Hours

Log Cabin America #329

Branson, Missouri

The dark was only broken by a little spill of indirect moonlight through the adjacent bathroom doorway. John had closed the bar down the block, struck out with the barmaid. He was tired, a bit drunk, but as he entered the room, the light was off, he saw the contours of a body in his bed.

Ah, well. It's been almost a week. He's needing it.

John's not really in the mood... but Patrick must be wanting it or he wouldn't be there.

This had been happening rather often recently; usually weekly or more. Not that John minded that much, it was familiar even if it wasn't his preference. I only do this for Pat, he said to himself. Ever since he was 16 he'd been porking Patty, mostly out of convenience he told himself.

John was good at lying to himself, as good as anyone else anyhow.

Patrick was naked. Waiting. Breathing with a touch of panic. Remembering the way it was.

"Keep that face down, bitch..."

John kicked off his shoes, stripped off his tee shirt and shucked his pants and underwear, grabbed some lube from the bedside table. Should I lube him or just me? Ah he wants some pain this time I think. No lube.

The fit blonde stuck his smooth shaved butt up in the air. It belonged to a man, not a boy from its muscular indented form. But it was a boy in the bed all the same.

"Yeah, stick that pussy up for me, little gay boy. I mean you want to get porked, you better do some work."

"I'm not gay. I don't want it, you make me do it."

A muffled protest which John chose to ignore.

"I see you've shaved your pussy. Good move, Patty girl. Damn your cunt looks good."

He breathed into the younger man's ear, hard upon his back, his own cut body forces the boy down, whispers his abuse intently.

"I should go back to that bar and get a few more guys...you'd like that wouldn't you? Get five guys a night again, just like when you were thirteen back in the Terminator...?"

Pat moaned his humiliation. His face flushed. But his cock stayed hard.

If I got five guys to do Pat in turns, would he go for it? Maybe I wouldn't keep having to do those boys? Nah. It's me he wants in his ass and he needs to humiliate the boys. He won't give that up. Won't be long now, it's been, fuck, six months since we did those twins.

Besides John can't think like that. He saved Pat from that, told those other guys in the Terminator that Pat was his exclusive bitch and they couldn't get anything off him any longer.

That's why Patrick stays with him even now. He feels safe, especially when John mounts him, dominates him. It was what protected him in that bunk room, if John is on him no one else can be. He feels safe; he is safe.

But why do I stay with Patrick?

It wasn't as if the sex bothered him. He preferred women, really he did. But sex with a boy, or a man, sex where someone was in submission, that too was familiar -- and hot. Dominating someone, making them submit to you, that was intense and maybe better with a guy; dominate women, the bitches half expect it anyway. Dominating a man, that hit hard and deep.

Just last week they had shared a woman, did it whenever possible. Usually one at a time. When they saw how ripped both of them were the women were usually game for that. It wasn't too easy but now and then, and specifically, last week, with some good weed or some booze or -- somethin' -- to get them to take both men at once...now that was hot. I could feel Pat's cock moving in her ass while I fucked her.

Pat liked women. When he could fuck women he didn't need the protection John provided.

John liked women. Not to talk to, he wasn't a talker, though he could do it, but for sex, he definitely liked them.

Patrick needed John, regularly, to fill a hole all those rapes had burned in his soul; that was fine, John could do it, like riding on a horse you know, comfortable.

But when Patrick needed -- that other thing, once, twice a year -- it would happen. Patrick had a knack of spying the opportunities; John knew how to clean up messes after. It was his job to bury the messes, bury their past so it didn't come back on them, haunt them.

If we keep doing it, sooner or later we get caught.

John wasn't the sort to inflict pain or fear, not unless it was earned. Or requested. Unlike some he didn't really care for it but he'd do what he had to protect himself. And Patrick. Truth is John was sure he did it all for Patrick.

But he didn't really like the endings...and those were his job...Patrick could hardly comprehend what he did, wouldn't let himself know.

And John didn't know why he liked Patrick.

Summer Camp Day

1045 Hours

Olde Time Park

Colorado Springs, Colorado

So he got the manager to pay him to fix the ride and they both understood as to how there might not be parts available but he'd pay $1500 if he got it running, five if they only got a complete bill of parts on order, a clear plan to fix it; and nothing less. The alternative was for the harried manager to make days of phone calls all over the country and pay for someone to travel to work on the thing with no better guarantee of success.

He had an audience, tools, the ride control keys; he put on a great show, then he spied that the camshaft driven by the clutch and shaft was wonky bad and not hitting all the actuators for the ride's relays that controlled the off-axis sudden movements -- all the fun parts of the ride.

How the hell did that get bent? Some angry workers got frustrated and hit it with a pipe wrench maybe?

He couldn't fix that; they'd need to machine a new camshaft, but he adjusted the actuators a little and they began to work a bit, then he easily stripped out the damaged drive shaft and the mechanical-electric clutch that controlled it, That was the clincher for the manager, he could see John knew his stuff.

In the end John put together an honest diagnosis and comprehensive parts list, knowing some of the common part numbers from memory... The camshaft would have to be machined from old blueprints, that probably meant a week or two; possibly the minor drive shaft and a new clutch and some random parts were something they actually had in their spares inventory but the ones that weren't, heck he could reel off the phone numbers for the suppliers in LA or Chicago out of his head. It wasn't his first rodeo.

So John agreed to come back when the camshaft was ready, finish it up and get the rest of the money for the job.

Of course as it worked out he never did return. He didn't need a stay in adult prison; especially not the permanent kind.

June 19, 2015

1823 Hours

Black Forest National Park, Wyoming

The forest was pretty enough, it was much cooler here, six hours drive North. The breeze coming through the open windows was sweet and not too brisk, the landscape Ponderosa pine, lush, green and invigorating. The very model of "fresh air." Also very rugged and very remote land. You could get lost here and never find your way out.

Just what we need, Patrick thought, and glancing into the back of the Jeep, now, that's a captive audience.

They'd finally woken from the drugged sleep, and were of course panicked, terrified, finding themselves trussed up like turkeys, stacked, bound and gagged in the back of the old Jeep, their heads wrapped in musty smothering blankets, as John drove through the fading light, all but hell bent for leather down a dirt logging road in mountains the unfortunate pair didn't know and in fact couldn't see.

The old Jeep was chopping hard on the rough rutted, washboard surface, rushing into the growing twilight.

It was satisfying to see them struggle, all like he had, when they threw a blanket party back in Terminator. That too started with a blanket over the head, Pat knew exactly how that felt. Hands would grasp his limbs, drag him to the floor. He'd never even know who it was...

He really wanted to see the faces; couldn't wait to see their future as it dawned in their pretty eyes. Dawn it would, and probably around dawn after a night they'd think would never end... but it would. And to Patrick, it was that after he sought, an after like his own; he sought to recreate, share with them; ah, not so much with them as for him but it was all the same in his mind. To see how he had changed their lives, to see what they knew of themselves after Patrick. To know they were just meat holes for whoever wanted to fuck a pretty boy. And that it would happen to them again and again and again.

Hmm...maybe we can get one to fuck the other, leave them with that for their future...

What is that saying...misery loves company?

It nicely sums up Patrick's aims yet so understates them at the same time.

The one, the more bossy of the two, he did all the talking for the pair, he had jeans on, so it mostly stayed in his boxers but the crotch turned dark and damp. The other, a trickle of urine ran down the hairless muscular young thigh, running out the leg band being as he was wearing shorts. For the moment.

Patrick loved the scent of fear. He couldn't see the eyes but he did see the pee, it delighted him, showed him what he knew they felt. Urine brought him back to his second day in juvie ...

This was going to be cruel.

But then Patrick had been had been taught cruelty in a world class school of cruelty. He didn't do it to be cruel but to show them the cruelty they needed to prepare for.

And he felt it was fair after all... on his second day at the Terminator he'd peed his pants too.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

1500 Hours

Ventura Youth Correctional Facility

Camarillo, CA

A report in 2019 by the L.A. County Office of Inspector General found that "detention staff at Los Padrinos Juvenile Hall "feared for their safety" and "consistently reported feeling outnumbered and overpowered by youth."

Had Patrick heard that report ten years before he'd have laughed his very sore ass off. If the staff felt that way, imagine how safe a smallish, pretty thirteen-year-old virgin felt when he was actually outnumbered and overpowered "by the youth...?"

But he only had his dignity stolen, shoved and pushed in his week there waiting transfer to VCYF on Sunday, until everyone understood how weak and vulnerable and a misfit, once bright eyed and friendly -- was at the bottom of the pecking order.

Anyway he was in Terminator now. It's way out in the middle of nowhere in the Central Valley. Farm fields (worked by the lucky ones who get moved to the Ventura Conservation Camp next door) and a bunch of low buildings; the ten foot barbed wire fence wouldn't really keep any determined kid in, but where the hell would you go?

They called it Terminator because the Terminator came looking for Sarah Conner at Camarillo, the State Mental Hospital. It was a few miles away to be precise but it was more badass and fun to put the label on VYCF, it was Camarillo, they were all teenagers really, so they took the name. Of course they'd closed the hospital in the '90s but hey, with time travel it didn't matter did it? Besides in that movie John Conner had been a bad-ass thirteen year old juvenile delinquent. That couldn't be a coincidence. He was one of them.

Besides the abuse and terror in the movie felt right at home at VYCF. Not so much the staff but a lot of those boys would kill you as soon as fuck you.

You know. If the label fits...

A thousand kids of all ages, all of them in trouble. Put them into groups of fifteen to thirty and shove most of them into a crowded bunk-room and lock them in at night with a staff that couldn't give a damn and usually napped at their posts ignoring the cameras.

What could go wrong?

Of course it had already gone wrong, back at Los Padrinos. But Patrick had only been hit and kicked and punched and had his food and footwear stolen there and basically routed out and marked with the stink of his weakness.

The staff at Padrinos might feel afraid but they had separate rooms for the kids there and better vision and paid more attention.

In the Terminator it was different. Here he was the punk of the bunk.

Patrick was walking back to his block from "school" on day two of a million when he suddenly realized -- he had allowed his mind to transform that first night into a sort of initiation ritual. The new guy gets it in the ass, then he's a buddy. No harm no foul no bad feelings. Everybody makes a joke, it's over.

"Hey look how funny the new kid walks, man that ass must be sore!" whispered one of the middle school boys, since they were supposed to be silent walking between buildings. "But yo, tomorrow he won't limp. He won't be able to!"

Repressed giggles from half the boys in the bunk.

And he had his second dawning of the second day. It was no joke. He was going to be gang raped again that night.

He was not just another inmate. He was the entertainment, the release, the designated target, the shared community cum sock for bottled up teen hormones, teen depraved indifference, and deep teenage rage; a rage like his own after it all happened. The rage of countless teen boy recipients of every manner of abuse, misuse, neglect; the beatings rages, the hunger rages, the verbal abusive rages...the rape rages.

Oh. And a few will rape him, not with enthusiasm, not for pleasure nor rage nor boredom nor mindless rutting instinct but rather to deflect, to avoid becoming targets themselves.

No one at the Terminator wanted to be a Patrick.

Summer Camp Day

1045 Hours

Olde Time Park

Colorado Springs, Colorado

John got the check and met up with Patrick who had been left flirting with some older teen girls, counselors by their wristbands, in the Town Square section of the Park, or whatever the hell they called it. Their little charges were allowed the run of the place with rendezvous times and places drilled into them; so the counselors could do the same.

And of course Patrick was grabbing the female attention, pretty as a new copper penny all blonde and buffed and six three and solid as hell, and looking a deceptive sweet smooth-faced sixteen. He was sporting an old A&F tank top that let his defined, veined shoulders and biceps show to advantage, and a surfer-like tan. Some were peeking at his pecs and ribs from the side where he'd slit the shirt seams along the side and meticulously picked out the loose threads to make it look finished.

"Hey girls, I gotta go, but I'll be back..." he called his best Terminator impression over his shoulder as the pair walked away and the girls giggled and called out, "Patrick! Come look for us when you're done!!" And they ate him up with their eyes.

Yeah the pussy was all about Patrick and Patrick was all about the pussy.

John knew it was just a lie Pat told himself, but hell everybody lies to everybody; especially to themselves. Pat liked the pussy, no doubt about that; he'd be the harpoon in the poon as often as possible, enthusiastic with his fucking as always; he did not disappoint the girls.

But something else stoked the fires, did the smelting for copper boy Patrick.

Something silent, something dirty, something about being held down, alone, maybe with others holding your arms and legs, (or maybe you've surrendered and lay waiting and passive) struggling while you feel that weight on your back, that hot breath on your neck and a kid savagely stuffing his cock up your burning tortured asshole, boning you as hard as he could, trying to stick it up into your brain and make you scream while the next boy waited his impatient turn. And the futility. Knowing it would happen every day, again and again as long as --

Pat couldn't keep the punks off him in juvie. Of course he was barely thirteen when he went in and dumb and innocent and pretty as hell, so sure he got his ass reamed out right away, five boys his first night, John was one of them. He was like chum for the sharks in that bunk.

John left the next year; Patrick was supposed to go a few months later but he stabbed a kid who pushed his dick into him once too often and he ended up staying for three more years. John heard from several guys that Pat was passed around even to the youngest boys, he being fourteen and eventually sixteen and having grown tall and powerful, but even so was having to spread his cheeks for 12 and 13 year old gang bangers, lay there in humiliation, sent to the back bottom bunk where what went on wasn't too visible. Visited night after night after night by those raging teen boys.

He'd worked himself into shape that first year, especially with John showing him the ropes. But the confidence never came. Even when he topped six feet and was buffed he could never keep the punks off.

Too much cock up his ass, too many rapes, I suppose, John mused; hard to persuade them to give it up once they're getting it and when Pat protested it inflamed some of them to push him even harder. And strong as he was Pat couldn't bring himself to use that strength in a way that counted. Besides once they had his number they'd just group beat him down and take what they wanted.

Still the shiv he'd pushed into that kid made some of them back off.


The twins had been easy pickings. Lurking between buses smoking a joint of skunky weed, Pat looking the well-muscled teen sports hero type everybody looks up to... despite his twenty years he looked sixteen, innocent, open and friendly. The twins in turn were full of mischief, Reese Culver more than his brother Ronan, names Pat acquired with a fist bump and a lie.

"Paul, he introduced himself just in case, "and my cousin Jerry. We've got some weed that will put that skunk to shame, guys, in our jeep. You want to smoke some with us?"

And Patrick congratulated himself on having laced a couple of joint for just such an opportunity.

Thirteen, blond, blue-eyes and identical. Pat was fascinated by the possibilities.

He liked to be creative when he had a boy he could play with; he wanted to teach all the lessons he'd learned those four years on the bottom back bunk, see the recognition that he was just a helpless cum sock for anyone with the balls to do him, and a load to dump in him. B

ut it was impossible in just te few hours or few days that he'd have to do the teaching. Still, he got to see hope die and resignation take over in their eyes. That was enough.

Now two of them, both of them young, innocent, cocky, really, and full of life...

Let's say there's a lot of potential here.

They cashed the check at a check store in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

April 2009

Ventura Youth Correctional Facility,

Camarillo, CA

Terminator House

He'd taken to Pat, after a few weeks he decided to kick all the other little punks off his ass and made him his personal pussy. At first he hadn't minded sharing the kid some but Pat got under his skin and he decided he wanted him exclusively. Being three years older and a very hard boy, well a man really, not one of the others would challenge him; John got it his way. Later he took to feeling sorry for the boy, thinking about how those little bastards had raped him around the place, and he knew once he left they'd be all over him again.

John wasn't a sentimental kind of guy but Patrick pulled strings and pushed buttons he didn't even know he had...

But wtf you do what you do and you ain't going to stay in juvie past your discharge date, no piece of ass was worth that...

July 20 2014

1600 Hours

Zuma Beach, Malibu

After Patrick finally got discharged John ran across him on Zuma beach one day, John climbed over from the next beach, Point Dume, the nude beach, he'd been trying it out with this girl he was fucking, just a lark. She wouldn't get naked only topless but John was daredevil and decided to see what people would think of his pretty, nice, dick. He'd bet her he'd get more attention than she would, he guessed right and she stormed off in a huff when he started flirting with the guys and girls; leaving him stranded. So he went over the rocks to Zuma knowing there would be someone he'd be able to bum a ride with, when lo and behold, Patrick.

By that time Patrick was a walking wreck though he was still a fit dude looking every inch the hot teen surfer. Patrick was edgy, a ticking time bomb. Maybe others didn't see it but he knew his boy. They got a ride to Patrick's place he was living with three other guys in a dump in North Hollywood. John figured at least a couple of them were porking Patty.

In the year they were in juvie he'd plowed that kid's ass every night and many days but he also got to like him and they had a good, largely silent relationship. Silence was John's style. And that day on the beach the two of them just attached to each other again. Nothing much changed save they were both out of custody.

That night he fucked Patrick for old times' sake and found the new times were good too. John knew this boy was going back in the tank if he left him to his own devices and...decided not to leave him. John wasn't the sort to feel guilty or sentimental but when Patrick was around...well he was different.

That's why Pat stays with him even now . He feels safe when John mounts him, dominates him. It was how he was protected in that bunk room, if John was on him no one else could be. He was safe. It was easy to see why Pat stayed with him.

But why do I stay with Pat?

It wasn't that the sex bothered him. He preferred women, really he did. But sex with a boy, sex with submission --well not his submission of course, but... that too was familiar and hot. He was resigned to this and truth to tell he enjoyed it, but he kept feeling.... ?

And ever since they'd slowly drifted across what, maybe five states, doing their thing. Pat would work in whatever low skill jobs he could find, John was a mechanic, an electrician, a bricklayer, a carpenter, a framer, drywaller, anything you needed he was your guy, all pretty much self-trained.

Just last week they had shared a woman.

John liked women. Not to talk to, but for sex, he definitely liked them.

If we keep doing it, sooner or later we get caught.

John checked to be sure the revolver was clean and reloaded.

Never know when you'll need it.

If you are enjoying the stories, please drop me a note at when you can.gayadult49@gmail.com  I respond to all such messages but flames are ignored.

If you are interested in other stories I've written here are some links:

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/stories-in-the-human-calculus/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/a-fathers-love.pdf

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/i-can-see-clearly-now.pdf