Date: Mon, 21 Dec 2020 20:18:50 +0000 (UTC)
From: Erin Boy <erinboy_98@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mister Cameron's Boys [new 1/3]

Mister Cameron's Boys
Gay Adult Youth, teens, oral, true

Comments always welcome at erinboy_98@yahoo.com

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I first met Mr. Cameron at some sort of scout expo where different troops
and organizations had booths where they displayed stuff they were into.  He
was showing a display of postage stamps from different countries that had
scouts on them. He had a way of talking to me that I found myself being
drawn to him. He was authoritative yet in a friendly way. And he seemed
genuinely interested in me and my scouting interests. I was 15 and had only
recently changed troops from one in my own town, where I had been senior
patrol leader, to one in another town that was closer to the city and also
in another council. I was encouraged to do this by my then scoutmaster
because some dads had been asking questions about my propensity for sharing
my bed with younger boys on campouts. Mr. Cameron's troop, I learned, was
in another suburb adjacent to the city and in yet another council. He
invited me to come to one of his troop's meetings and as the church where
they met was on public transportation, and I was already commuting to
school in the city on the same system it was very easy for me to come for a
visit.

Mr. Cameron's troop was very different from other troops I had known.  Mr.
Cameron was Scottish and had grown up in England where he had met
Baden-Powell when he was himself a boy scout. He had a lovely accent and
was not a very tall man so when he spoke to you it seemed like he was not
talking down to you like you were a little kid. His troop was unique for
wearing short pants all year round. This was in New England where the
Winters could be severe. Some of the older boys in his troop, I noticed,
had woolen scout shorts. They were of a darker brown serge, which looked
nice with the lighter khaki color of the standard short-sleeved scout
shirts.  They also wore a tartan neckerchief, unlike most troops which wore
one of the standard issue bi-color neckerchiefs. They also carried 6-foot
staves which they used for all sorts of things, like making stretchers in
first aid class or lashing three together to make a tripod for cooking over
a fire.

The first time I came to one of their meetings, Mr. Cameron introduced me
to his senior patrol leader, Jack Sinclair. Jack was the same age as me,
15, and had blonde curly hair and blue eyes. He was the champion knot-tier
of the council, and had also won competitions in making fire by friction
and flint and steel. He was really handsome, a boy's boy, if you will. The
wool shorts that he wore only came down to slightly above mid-thigh and
seemed somewhat flared. Everybody liked Jack and he was really friendly
towards me as a visitor.

Some months after I first met Mr. Cameron he got in touch with me and asked
if I would like to help out with a junior leader training weekend his
council was putting on at a camp just outside the city. I jumped at the
chance and the arrangements were made. He would come and pick me up at my
home. When he called at our door to pick me up on the Friday night, I
answered the door and was ready to go, but my dad, who had also been in
scouts wanted to meet him. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries
while I fidgeted, wanting to go. I was eager to be alone with Mr. Cameron
and was disappointed when I got to his car to find Jack Sinclair already in
the front seat. I got in back and we were on our way.

Because it was November my mother had made me wear my uniform long pants,
but I had packed my shorts so I could change when we got to the camp.
There were to be two cabins full of junior leaders for the training
weekend.  Jack and I would be in charge of one and two other boys from some
other troop were in charge of the other. The adult leaders were all staying
in rooms off the side of the dining hall. It was just us four boys and the
adults that night. The others would not arrive until Saturday morning.

After we had picked out our bunks -- Jack took the one above me -- and
unrolled our sleeping bags we went back to the dining hall where the adults
were sitting around drinking coffee. At some point I had to pee and went to
use the facilities which were off the back of the dining hall. Inside the
men's room -- the only room actually as there is no such thing as a lady's
room at a boy scout camp -- there was one long metal urinal trough along
the wall opposite the door, and three stalls with flush toilets. I guess
the trough was made to accommodate a crush of boys coming in just before or
just after eating. I was standing at the end of the trough furthest from
the door when one of the other scouts came in. We had already been
introduced. He was about the same age as me and was from a troop in the
north end of the city which was where all the Italians lived. He came up to
the trough just to my right and unzipped his fly and fished out his
cock. From force of habit, I looked at it. He didn't pee. Instead he
started sliding his foreskin back and forth which made for a hard-on in a
hurry. I was no longer peeing and mine also started to get hard. Since I
had started commuting to an all-boy Catholic high school in the city I
learned the ways of the public toilets on the subway. That was where a boy
went to suck and be sucked. Tony -- I'll call him Tony, but to be honest I
only remember that he was Italian with dark curly hair and the tracings of
a peach fuzz mustache on his upper lip -- turned to me slightly as he
continued to massage the head of his cock and asked me if I was one of
Mr. Cameron's "boys". I told him "I guess so" to which he replied "you
suck?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. I crouched down and swallowed his cock.
It was about seven inches so I didn't get it all in at once, but I didn't
have time to do much more before we heard the door opening and I jerked
upright and nervously made like I was pissing. It was the other scout from
the north end, also Italian. I'll call him Joey. He stayed by the door and
said "Does he?" to which Tony said "Yeh, watch the door will ya."

Immediately I got down to business and drew Tony's cock into my mouth. A
lot of the boys I had been sucking were pre-pubertal and had cocks that
ranged in size anywhere from a roll of lifesavers to a roll of Necco
wafers, which for those of you not from the New England area were slightly
smaller than a roll of quarters. Tony on the other hand, had a very thick
cock. Maybe the thickest one I had ever sucked as I had not yet sucked that
many adult men.  And he was hard. Very hard. It did not take long before he
began to thrust into my mouth and then he came, unannounced but
anticipated, in my mouth.  In those days I swallowed all the sperm I could
get, from sweet first timers to older, slightly sour spermers. Tony's had
an unfamiliar taste. I wonder if it was from eating a lot of garlic. Most
of the boys I sucked regularly were Irish. Maybe Italians just tasted
different. The taste was not really disagreeable. I was always hungry for
cum.

As soon as I had licked him clean, Tony stepped back and zipped his fly
after carefully pulling the front of his boxers out to safely enclose his
now satisfied cock. He took Joey's place by the door and Joey came over and
began to undo his fly. "Let me," I said and crouched down, unzipped his
pants and reached two fingers into the fly of his white cotton briefs to
pull out an already stiff, uncut cock of about five inches in length. I
began to wonder if all Italian boys were uncut. He was nowhere near as
thick as Tony and he was pretty well primed from watching his buddy get a
blow job. I was soon given my second cum load of the night and it was very
sweet and somewhat watery. I think Joey was maybe a young thirteen or so.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion by having been gone too long the three of
us returned to the dining hall. I thought Mr. Cameron was observing me
closely as I sat down while he listened to one of the other scouters going
on about some business or other. After a while the men said we boys should
turn in and so Jack and I went back to our cabin. We stripped to our
underwear, white cotton briefs and T-shirts, and slid into our sleeping
bags. We talked for a bit and I learned that Jack was also Scottish, but he
had come to this country when he was little so had no accent. He did,
however, have a kilt that he sometimes wore. That intrigued me as I had
seen pictures of boys in kilts and found them sexy. I asked him what do you
wear under a kilt and he told me a funny story. This Scottish soldier was
standing guard outside the castle in Edinburgh and this American lady
tourist came up to him and asked him what he wore under his kilt. "Gi me
yer han and I'll shew yeh" he said and before she could back away took her
hand and pulled it under his kilt.  Pulling away, she said "Oh, it's
gruesome." to which he replied "Stick aroon lady, it'll grew some more." I
thought this was a great joke and I went to sleep thinking about what Jack
might have under his kilt and about the two cocks I had sucked that night.

Other stories by this author:
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