Date: Thu, 29 Dec 2005 16:37:17 -0500
From: Simon Taylor <simon13greengrass@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Summer of My Awakening

This is purely a work of fiction and any similarities between the characters
and events here to actual people and events are purely coincidental.  I
write for the pleasure of boy lovers who endeavor to be positive and loving
role models, teachers, lovers, friends and caretakers of boys, and it is for
that reason that I write these stories.

Other stories on Nifty by simon 13greengrass (find them in the prolific
authors section):

Summer Camp Romance
Sitting For Jason
Little General
We'll Make More
Five Sessions with Francisco
Therapy for James
Sweet Gibberish
No More Bananas
Dreaming As One
El Gato


The Summer of My Awakening

	I was introduced to my true self in my first and only year as a counselor
at a summer camp outside of Indianapolis.  I was as green as the hills.  At
twenty-three years old, I had no idea that it would change my life the way
it did.  It was like undergoing surgery to have my eyes opened for the first
time.  It was that summer that I realized I had previously had no idea who I
was and I knew for the first time and for the rest of my life who I was.  I
had made the decision to take the job as a means of making money between
semesters at college, and at the time, had no conscious notion that I had
done so inspired by the idea of living, sleeping and showering with boys.  I
had no conscious recognition of the fact that the boy on the cover of the
camp brochure, shirtless at the beach with a handsome smiling face and a wet
torso, had anything to do with my choice of this particular camp--"coed",
said the brochure, "but largely boys".
	Boys.  Boys.  Boys.  I was so stupid to the fact that when spoken, that
word would sing through my skull and down to my penis.  I was jolted every
time, but didn't know that, consciously, until that summer.  I went to bed
at night fantasizing about cuddling naked with boys and kissing them,
touching the smooth skin of their flanks and bellies, and never once did I
consciously think that maybe that was an indication that there might be
something different about me.  So powerful is the unconscious--the ability of
the human mind to simply not see that which it is not ready to acknowledge
or has, to this point, never been forced to see.
	Green as the hills.
	 I had been mostly gay-identified for a year or so before coming to the
camp.  In the first week, during orientation, I had received no vibes of
interest from the other guys at the camp. So I had a fling with one of the
females.  She was a 20 year-old, flat-chested, boyish-looking girl named
Beth and I banged her several times in that first week and we were quite the
noted item.  Now we flirted openly on the beach, where she was a lifeguard,
and everyone assumed that we were still an item, even though we had only
made out a few times since the kids had arrived.  In the break between
sessions, she wanted me to go with her on a camping trip with a bunch of
other couples from the camp, but I claimed that I had family obligations and
begged off and instead, spent the evening doing laundry at my mother's house
and cruising, without luck, the gay section of the porn shop, shaking my
head at each man I met and saying, "He's too old".  They were all too old.
I didn't even notice that even the ones my age were too old.
	That isn't to say that I wasn't bothered by these thoughts.  In fact, they
gave me notable anxiety and there were quiet moments when I asked myself,
"What the hell is going on with me?"  An answer was never forthcoming, or
rather I wasn't willing to hear it.
      It was the fourth and last session--the fourth and last group of boys
that summer.  The first three had been uneventful, for the most part, in
that I was still able to lust after my charges and stubbornly remain in
denial about it, even as I was tucking them in at night or supervising them
in the shower or even masturbating at night with them in my head.  I was
bothered by it, somewhere way back in my brain, but it was only like a wisp
of smoke from a fire far in the distance.
      I had eight boys in my cabin between the ages of eleven and thirteen.
There was Jack, a muscular thirteen with blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles
and an impeccably built body.  He was a natural leader, although he was
somewhat quiet and reserved.  There was Sam, a slender twelve with a mop of
unruly brown hair and a dimpled chin and Ramon, a handsome Latino thirteen,
nearly fourteen, bigger and taller than the other boys and a bit of a bully.
  He always wore a necklace--a silver heart--around his neck, which he claimed
was from his girlfriend.  Glenn was a pudgy white boy with freckles.
Puberty was doing a number on him at thirteen, giving him terrible acne and
body odor.  David was a smallish and cute eleven, very wiry and hyperactive.
  He had a loud and whiny voice that made my ears hurt and sometimes
irritated the other boys in the cabin.  Tristan was an effeminate twelve
year old with dark hair, dark eyes and an olive complexion.  He flounced
around the cabin in his underwear hoping, I suspect, to get the interest of
the other boys.  They seemed indifferent.  Even I, in my subconscious
ogling, could easily lose interest in his girly strut and affected gestures.
  Patrick was a slender, square-shouldered boy with short brown hair and a
slim, sturdy build.  He was thirteen with a lightly freckled and rather
plain face.  And then there was Raul.  Very small and immature for his
eleven years, he had black curly hair and dark brown eyes.  His Latino-brown
skin was smooth and radiant.
      On the first day of that last session, Raul was terribly homesick,
sniffling on his bed.  I called him over to my bed, which was off in the
corner in plain view of the boys.  I had made a curtain out of twine and
blankets that I could pull around me at night for some privacy.  The boys on
the bottom bunks created their own privacies by hanging sheets from the
springs of the bed above them, making their beds tent-like.  Patrick's was
made with a sheet and a large Spiderman beach towel that he had brought from
home.
      Raul came over to my bed and sat next to me.
	"Homesick?" I asked him.
	He nodded and sniffed.
	"First time at camp?"
	He nodded and sniffed.
	I went on to recite a long list of the fun things we do at camp: swimming,
canoeing, archery, horseback riding...Raul listened attentively, then said,
"I'm scared of the dark."
	It was still afternoon.  In orientation, we had been told that homesick
campers don't usually think about such things until the sun goes down and
they're faced with the darkness.
	"I'll sit with you until you fall asleep," I promised.
	"Can I sleep with you?"
	He looked at me innocently.  I was as unaware as he was of the effect that
this question had on me, even as my cock stirred in my pants.  It was an
innocent request after all.  He was just scared.
	"Sure," I said.  "If you want to."
	This cheered him up a little and he decided to give camp a chance.  He had
a ball throughout the day, as did the others.  Ramon had managed to alienate
all the boys in the cabin except for Raul, who he treated very well, and
Tristan, who was developing a crush on him.  Ramon was utterly unreciprocal
with Tristan, chosing to ignore him most of the time.  However, Ramon seemed
to like Raul very much.  The bully in him seemed softened by the scared boy
and they were both Latino as well and would murmur in Spanish to each other
from time to time.  Raul got along with everyone.  They all treated him like
a little brother.
	"Cool necklace," Raul said once to Ramon.  "Can I have it?"
	"Fuck no."  Ramon's goodwill toward Raul had its limits.
	Jack and Sam hit it off and included Glenn in most of their conversations
and jokes, and Tristan, who never missed an opportunity to undress in front
of everyone, kept changing his clothes from one "pretty" outfit to another.
No one seemed to notice but me.  He had a beautiful boy body, really, but
there was something in the way he moved it that left me disinterested.  He
seemed to be aspiring to be a girl.  He wore four different outfits on that
first day and finally, after he just pulled on a snappy little baby blue
short set, Ramon looked over at him and sneered.
	"You change your clothes one more time and I'll fuckin' pop ya."
	I was hard on the bullies, determined to never let the boys bully one
another. I had a vague understanding that such was the case because of my
own experiences at the hands of bullies.  I handed Ramon a small plastic
garbage bag and sent him outside to pick up trash around camp.  "Don't come
back until you've filled this," I said.  The boys all laughed and jeered at
him as he slouched out the door.  I turned to find Tristan gazing at me as
if he expected me to hoist him onto my white horse and ride off into the
sunset with him.
	It was a squirrely crew to say the least.
	Patrick was somewhere in the middle of the pecking order. He was more
popular than Ramon and Tristan and Glenn, but not as popular as Jack and
certainly not as popular as Raul, who was everyone's favorite (mine
included).  Patrick talked to me a lot about anything he could think of,
battling the other boys for my attention by butting into conversations or
talking over them.  When Tristan sashayed across the cabin to stand in front
of him, blocking his view of me, Patrick kept right on talking, craning his
neck around to see me.  Tristan huffed, exasperated, and marched away.
	That first night, I wasn't sure if Raul would still want to sleep with me.
He had had a wonderful day and hadn't shown any more signs of homesickness,
and even when darkness fell, he remained positive and engaged.  At the
campfire, with Patrick on one side of me and Raul on the other, it was
Patrick who brought up the question, leaning over my lap to talk to Raul.
"Are you still gonna sleep with him?" he asked.
	Raul nodded quickly.  Patrick looked disappointed.  "Every night?"
	Raul nodded again.  He seemed comforted by that arrangement and I,
imagining the feel of this boy's body next to me in bed, said nothing and
probably thought less.  Raul looked up at me and smiled.


	I was aware of Patrick watching closely as Raul climbed into my bed.  I sat
on the end of the bed, holding my guitar and looking forward to slipping in
beside that beautiful body.  I always played guitar for my boys at bedtime
or read them stories.
      "Play some Korn!" shouted Jack.
      "Korn will not put anyone to sleep," I said.
      Patrick seemed to be trying to burn a hole in Raul with that stare.
The boys were all changing into their pajamas.  Raul wore a pair of black
sweats and a tee shirt that he had worn all day.
	"If you're going to sleep in my bed, you have to put on a clean shirt," I
said, and he scampered off to find one.  When he pulled off his tee shirt,
the sight of his slender little torso and little nipples had me hypnotized.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him.  As he dug in his suitcase to find
another shirt, I stared blatantly.  I was only vaguely aware of Patrick's
voice calling to me.
	"Hey, Kevin!"  He raised his voice a little and sounded more persistent.
"Hey, Kevin!"
	I reluctantly looked away from Raul to Patrick.  He was sitting on his
bunk, the beachtowel pulled aside, with his shirt off, smiling at me.  It
had the effect of a gentle statement, commenting on that shadowy part of my
consciousness from which I was ogling Raul.  I surprised myself.  Had I been
that obvious?
      Patrick seemed to be searching for something to say, stammering
around.  "What are you doin'?" he asked finally when nothing else came to
mind.  He had a yummy torso himself--tanned with some freckles across his
shoulders.  Brown nipples the size of dimes.
	What was I doing?  I was ogling Raul, I thought.  Oh my God, I was ogling
an eleven year old kid!  "Nothin'," I said vaguely.  "Why?"  I played my
guitar aimlessly.
	Patrick shrugged.  When I looked back at Raul, he was just pulling a blue
tee shirt over his head, down over his lovely torso.  I caught Patrick
glancing over at Raul, then back at me.  He raised his eyebrows and hunched
his shoulders and looked like an exclamation point.  I favored him with a
smile, seeing something in him in that moment that I found attractive, even
sexy.  He gave me a very boyish look, tough and cool all of a sudden, and
made a big production of putting his pajama shirt on.  I stared at him as I
had stared at Raul--blatantly and obviously.  It didn't seem lost on him, for
when he poked his head out from the top of his shirt, he was looking at me,
noticing, smiling.
	My head was reeling from Patrick's subtle gesture--the way he seemed to
lightly touch me with his finger in a place never touched before.  It was
the first crack in my armor.  It was like a clarion through the fog.
	Tristan, dressed in salmon-colored pajamas with yellow piping, walked over
to me with his hands on his hips, his lips pursed with dissatisfaction.
	"Kevin," he said flatly.
	"Hm?"
	"Ramon called me `sissy butt'," he said.
	"He is a sissy butt," Ramon jumped in.  "Look at the way he walks, all
girly-like."
	"Ramon..."  I started.
	"Why are you staring at the way he walks?" asked Jack, and a few of the
boys snickered and nodded.
	"I'm not!"  Ramon sounded defensive.
	"You're the one talkin' about it," added Glenn.  He looked over at Jack.
"Wasn't he talkin' about Tristan's butt?"
	Ramon blushed.  Tristan smirked at Ramon.  The other boys all nodded and
agreed.  Ramon plopped down on his bed, his back to everyone.  "Shut up, all
of ya."
	I looked at Tristan, who had turned to me expectantly, waiting for me to
say something.  I motioned to him to come closer and leaned forward, my
mouth an inch from his ear.  "Does it bother you that Ramon is noticing your
butt?" I asked.
	Tristan gave me a reproachful look, but then smiled and crossed his arms,
jutting his hip out, trying to look impudent.  "He called me a sissy."
	"No," I corrected.  "He said your butt was a sissy."  I lowered my voice
even more.  "If you don't want him to notice your butt, then stop shaking it
in front of him."
	He threw his head back dramatically and flounced away, gesturing animatedly
with his hands.  "He's just jealous because he's got those ragged pajamas on
and I have these nice ones!"
	Ramon, in a tee shirt and thermal long underwear pants, turned on his back
and glared at Tristan as he wiggled his salmon-colored ass back to his bed.
When I looked at Patrick, he was staring at me again, lying on his belly on
his bed, chin resting on his hands on the pillow beneath him.  He was still
staring at me when Raul crawled into my empty bed.  I wondered if the other
boys would say anything, but no one uttered a word, and as he settled in
between my sheets, I turned off the lights and told them all to be quiet.
	There was a small area away from the rest of the cabin that had a chair,
desk and a lamp where I would sit and play guitar or read the boys to sleep.
  I took my place in the chair and tuned my guitar, thinking all the time
about the lovely boy in my bed, trying not to look overly anxious about
getting to him.  As I started to play to the sounds of the crickets, there
were the usual whispers and giggles that come with the first night, but
after a while, the cabin was silent but for my voice in the dark.  After the
fourth song, I heard the heavy sleepy breathing of several of the boys and I
quietly put the guitar away.  I went out to use the bathroom, which was
outside and about twenty yards away, and then returned to the cabin.  I made
a quick check of all the boys and they all seemed to be asleep.  Raul was
lying curled up in the middle of my bed, the light from the desk lamp
spilling over him.  I undressed quickly and pulled on a pair of gym shorts
and a clean tee shirt.  As I pulled up the shorts, I looked over to see
Patrick, lying in his bed peeking at me from around his beachtowel curtain.
He closed his eyes quickly, pretending sleep.
	I turned off the light, pulled the curtain around my bed, and climbed in
beside Raul.  I had to move him over to fit, and when I did, he rolled
toward me and snuggled in.  He was asleep still, but his warm little body
moved into mine and his arm snaked across my chest.  I was hard instantly.
In my head there blossomed sparks of light and I felt as if my finger had
been put into a light socket.
      In that tactile moment, with Raul's breath crawling on my neck, the
crack in my armor widened, and through it poured the beginnings of my
understanding.  The voice with which my body sang was simply too loud to
ignore.  I heard it because it sounded so sweet, curling in my ear and
sending my hand lower, down his back to his waist.
      I stopped
      I thought about exploring his body there in the pitch darkness of the
night.  Eleven year old boys sleep hard, and Raul was tired from his active
day.  I couldn't bring myself to do it.  His request to sleep with me came
from fear, not lust or desire.  It would be wrong to take advantage of him.
I slipped a hand under the back of his shirt, across the smooth flesh of his
back.  I lay there, battling my desires, fighting them off, chastising
myself for even thinking about it.  I had a responsibility here.  The boy
trusted me.  He was homesick.
      My balls ached.  My mind was racing with the ideas in my head and I
worried that they would take over, dominate my will.  I reached down and
pulled my cock out of my shorts.  With Raul curled into my side, his steady
breathing in my ear, I whacked off desperately, yanking as I thought about
him, my hand up the back of his shirt.  I came quickly and copiously on my
belly and finally lay still in the darkness as my breathing and my resolve
returned to normal.  I cleaned myself up and lie chastely beside Raul and
fell asleep.


	He slept with me the first few nights as he got used to being at camp and
seemed less and less homesick.  Every night was the same battle between my
conscience and my libido, and every night, my conscience won out as I
masturbated quietly with Raul in the nook of my arm.  It was all I thought
about all day, no matter what we were doing.  I was giving peripheral looks
into myself, terrified at what I was seeing.  Patrick began to intimidate me
with his raw sexuality and his forwardness.  On the second night, I was
supervising showers.  The task had taken on the dimensions of a study as I
contemplated every curve and angle and nook of those slippery bodies,
tasting blatant lust on my tongue for the first time.  Patrick had lingered
behind the rest and I, with an armful of towels draped over my raging
hardon, was standing just outside the door, studying my cabin from the
distance.  I could hear a lot of commotion and wanted to get back to make
sure it was all right.  Patrick, toweling himself off, called to me.
	"Hey, Kev."
	I turned to see him, standing there pulling on the head of his cock, making
it rise slightly.  I was both hypnotized and unable to look at it and, as a
result, practically spun around and spontaneously combusted.  He gave me a
wrinkly-nosed smile.
	"You wanna suck it?"
	To say that I was speechless would have been an understatement.  I stopped
breathing and my legs felt paralyzed.  My tongue felt like a huge, wet rag.
Patrick's cock was quickly rising and he gave himself a few strokes and
raised his eyebrows questioningly.
	I looked into the face of my lust and blinked, cowered.  I gave him a
disregarding shrug and looked like I didn't appreciate being joked with.
"C'mon," I said with mock irritation.  "I gotta get back to the cabin."
	Patrick smiled, embarrassed.  He had made a bold proposition and I had not
reciprocated.  I thought that it must be that his instincts had read me
correctly and now he was second-guessing them.  I was already wondering why
I had responded that way, even wondering what I might have said if I hadn't
responded that way.  I couldn't just say, "Sure!" and drop to my knees.  I
was mortified further when I realized that that is what I had wanted to do.
	I was just starting to spread my wings.  Indeed, I had just discovered that
I had them.  Sleeping with Raul every night, along with Patrick's advances,
were shaking me awake, slapping me sensible, as honest as cold water.  I was
awakening to my addiction to that energy that is so uniquely boy.
      Later, as I changed my clothes, I caught Patrick peeking, pretending
sleep.  I was enboldened by his earlier comment and I decided to give him a
bit of a show.  I dropped my pants and underwear and took off my shirt,
standing there naked in the dim light.  With my back to him, I watched him
in a mirror on the wall as he covertly ogled my ass, his eyes wide.  When I
turned around, I had his full attention.  I purposely didn't look at him so
that he would have the opportunity to stare.  I could feel his eyes on me as
I lazily pulled on my shirt, then my boxers, and finally my gym shorts.  By
the time I was tucking my cock away, it was half hard.
	The following night, I had been outside talking to the other counselors and
didn't get in until later and Patrick was already asleep, sprawled on his
back.  One arm was under his head and the other was stuffed down under the
blankets.  I leaned into his little tent and, under the guise of tucking him
in, I pulled the blanket back and up enough to see that his hand was stuffed
down the front of his pajamas, stroking his little hard on with slow languid
movements.  Horny little boy, I thought.  I was also slowly recognizing that
I had a rampant passion for horny little boys.
	Patrick had started to capture my attention in other ways too.  I
rough-housed with all the boys and one of the games we played was a spanking
game.  They would charge me and I would wrestle them over my knee and spank
them.  It was initiated innocently, really, and all of the boys would lie
there submissively for a few seconds and then cover their asses with their
hands and squirm away, except for Patrick.  Even Tristan the sissy butt
would laugh and squirm away.  Patrick stopped responding that way on the
second day.  He leapt on top of me and I manipulated his body over my knee
and slapped his ass twice, lightly, through his blue jeans.  He let out a
yelp but he wasn't in pain.  He didn't struggle to get away.  He didn't
cover his ass with his hands.  He just laid there and made a very half-assed
attempt to get up.  I slapped his ass twice more and he feigned great pain.
I felt my cock begin to stir.  Just then, David tackled me, shoving Patrick
to the floor, and it was his turn to get spanked and twist away to escape.
	Ramon didn't like to get spanked.  He liked the wrestling game enough, but
he protested more than the others when I spanked him, and so I stopped.  By
the fourth day, while I was being besieged by campers and overwhelmed with
the demand, Ramon, sitting on his bed with his shoulders square, shouted,
"Attack me!"
	I saw David dive at him.  It surprised me because David always seemed so
afraid of Ramon, but the older, bigger boy caught him and the two wrestled
on the bed for a moment.  David was on top, trying to push Ramon back on the
bed, but Ramon slipped a shoulder underneath David and pulled him down over
his lap, delivering a few slaps to his bottom.  I, meanwhile, was wrestling
with Raul.  He was so small that it was easy to flip him over and get to his
ass with a few friendly smacks.
	It should be noted here, although it is doubtful that anyone will believe
me, that I'm not really into spanking.  I'm certainly not into pain, neither
as a giver nor as a receiver.  And, truth be told, I wasn't spanking them
hard enough to cause any pain.  It was yet another subconscious gesture on
my part, this time an attempt to get my hand, even momentarily, on their
lovely asses.  But I found myself getting hard whenever we played this game.
  I think it was the ass-centricity of it all--it was all about their butts.
It was the point of the game.  They leapt on me knowing that it was going to
go there and I fielded them, mid-air, knowing that's where it was going to
go.  Glenn's fleshy buns wobbled when I smacked them, which kind of turned
me off, but Raul, Patrick, David and Sam had a way of tightening their asses
upon impact that got me excited.  I was very new to the idea that I loved
boys.  I was far from having enough experience to know what I liked and
didn't like to do with them.  At the time, I found myself enjoying spanking
very much.
	I also didn't quite know what to do with Patrick's submission--his
willingness to lay there and get spanked.  I didn't have a script for that
reaction and so I tended to invite another boy to leap on me as Patrick lay
prone on my lap, waiting for more spanks.
	The boys in the cabin were getting along well.  Ramon still teased Tristan
and Tristan began to get hurt by the teasing.  It was problematic because
the boy with whom Tristan had become so smitten was also his principal
provoker and I was concerned about how that dynamic would play out.  Tristan
made little gestures to Ramon--offering him his dessert at dinner, lending
him his swim goggles, complimenting him.  Ramon was unresponsive.  He had
learned that if he called Tristan something offensive, he would have to pick
up trash, so he took to trying to ignore him, but nobody in the cabin but
Ramon was ever bothered by Tristan's incessant prancing about in his
underwear.
	"Put your damn clothes on," he would snarl.  Tristan would look
crestfallen.
	"He don't have to," Jack would say, ever the voice of reason.
	"Yeah, why do you care?" Glenn would ask.  "We're all guys here."
	"I ain't so sure," Ramon would say, eyeballing Tristan.  Tristan pouted at
him.
	"It don't bother us if he wants to walk around like that," said Sam.
"Why's it bother you?"
      The innuendo of these questions always made Ramon uncomfortable.  I
began to think that Ramon's disdain for Tristan wasn't entirely genuine.
      Later that day, when the spanking game broke out, Ramon sat on his bed
and invited his cabin mates to leap on him as well.  He was becoming my
assistant in this game, so to speak.  I caught a look in Tristan's eye as he
watched Ramon land a few smacks, harder than I delivered, on David' behind.
Tristan looked jealous and stimulated at the same time.  David wiggled and
squirmed to the floor and rubbed his own ass, laughing, but I could tell
that it smarted.  Tristan took Ramon's empty lap as an invitation and threw
himself onto it.  I was wrestling with Raul at the time, feeling the taut
muscles in his lovely little body as he struggled against me, but I could
see that Ramon gave a quick glance around the cabin to see if anyone else
had noticed that Tristan was lying in his lap.  No one did.  Ramon slapped
Tristan's butt twice and Tristan lay there smiling, making a frail attempt
at sounding pained.  He lifted his ass slightly and Ramon stared at it.  I
delivered a couple blows to Raul's luscious rump and the boy squirmed and
tried to get away.  I tickled his ribs and he flailed.
      Ramon was blushing, staring down at his lap full of submissive ass.
He spanked Tristan a couple more times, then gave the little buns a quick
squeeze, looking around to see if anyone noticed.  He squeezed them again,
hard, and Tristan shoved his face into the bed, in pain now but willing to
submit to the older boy's groping.  Ramon pinched the buttocks and I heard
Tristan yelp into the mattress. He spread his legs and stuck his ass up in
the air and Ramon spanked him twice more, then placed his hand between
Tristan's legs, nearly cupping his balls, and rubbed there softly before
pushing the writhing boy off of his lap.  Tristan landed with a thud on the
floor.  I noticed the bulge in Ramon's pants.  Something similar was lurking
in Tristan's shorts and, of course, mine as well.  I wondered how many other
stiffies were in the room.
      Patrick was adjusting himself with his hands in the front pockets of
his jeans.  I couldn't tell with Jack or David, but Raul was bulging and
Glenn looked a little larger than usual as well.  There could be no more
arguing that this was just an innocent game.
      At dinner one night, Patrick looked over at Raul and said, "Are you
gonna sleep with Kevin every night?"
      It wasn't designed to make Raul feel bad about being afraid of the
dark.  It was angling for something else and I thought I knew what it was.
      Raul nodded, then shrugged as if he hadn't thought about it.  I stayed
quiet, although it seemed like I should have something to say in the matter.
      That night, the boys were getting ready for bed as usual and I paid
close attention to Patrick as he got undressed.  His body was lean and taut
and well-developed and I was surprised that I hadn't noticed how sexy it was
before.  I was feeling an attraction to Patrick that caught me a bit by
surprise.  His beauty was so ordinary and yet so rare, emanating from a
strong character and subtle charisma.  I seemed to be noticing him for the
first time and was surprised when he turned around, pulling his pajama pants
up over his bare ass and looked me square in the eye.  I had been caught
looking.  He smiled and gave me a little wave.
      In studying the boys in the shower, I had commited them all to memory.
  Glenn's teeny peeny was barely visible in the folds of fat.  David and
Raul had long, slender uncircumcised cocklets that hung and dangled like
small pendulums when they walked.  When David was naked, you could see the
bones beneath his smooth skin.  Ramon was tall and sturdy with a thick cock
and a tiny smattering of hair above it.  He wore his necklace in the shower.
I never saw him take it off.  Tristan and Sam had average-sized weiners but
Tristan, bless his heart, had a pert, well-rounded little ass that got
further accentuated when he sashayed around the room.  It was, I determined,
his most attractive feature.  Jack was wonderfully built with a muscular
body, flat washboard tummy, and a fair-sized hairless cock.  His balls were
enormous, I noticed.  He would have to grow into them.  Patrick had an
entirely smooth, slender body, with a perfectly shaped ass and a circumcised
cock of some length that hung down over his small nuts.  He had square
shoulders and a tight, flat belly and his thighs were sleek and shapely.  A
beautiful body, and I hadnīt dared to enjoy it before.  Now, I was blatantly
studying it and he would give me knowing smirks that embarrassed me.  I
found myself incredibly attracted to Patrick and to Patrick's body--this
attentive, affectionate boy who had taken such a shine to me.
      I lay beside Raul that night, soaking him into me, smelling him,
stroking his back with one hand and my cock with the other, and I thought
about Patrick, lying on my lap, offering up his bottom as my plaything.


      The next day, a most amazing thing happened.  Down at the beach for
fishing, my boys were lined up on the dock, waiting for the boat to pull up
to take them out onto the lake.  They were all excited and could hardly
stand still.  Ramon, like me, hated fishing and was complaining the whole
time, saying he didn't want to go.  He looked more interested in the boat
ride.  The counselors who were teaching fishing were pulling their boats up
to the dock when Ramon leaned out as if he were going to step into the boat,
although it was still a good three feet from the dock.  One foot landed on
the edge of the boat, the other stayed on the dock, and Ramon was stuck.  I
made a move to grab him but, before I could get to him, Tristan grabbed him
by the back of the shirt.  Ramon made a move to leap into the boat, even
though the counselor rowing the boat was telling him to get back on the
dock, and he lost his balance, tumbling into the water and taking Tristan
along with him.
      The rest of us laughed as the two boys came up, sputtering.  Ramon
cussed and wheeled on Tristan.  "Goddamn you!"
      "I was trying to help you!" Tristan said plaintively.
      "Big fuckin' help!"
      They were both soaked, and it was a coldish day, so I ordered them
both back to the cabin to change and told the rest of the boys to get in the
boat.  "I'll be up to the cabin after I get the life jackets on these guys
and send them out," I told them.
      Ramon and Tristan came shivering out of the water, Ramon mumbling
under his breath and Tristan following behind at a distance, telling him to
wait, apologizing, calling after him.  Ramon ignored him, marching away in
his sodden sneakers.
      Shortly thereafter, the fishing instructors offered to get my boys
into the life jackets so that I could tend to Ramon and Tristan.  Patrick
looked disappointed as I walked off the dock toward the cabin.  "I wanna
stay with you!" he yelled.  I waved to him and told him I'd see him in an
hour.  I got up to the cabin much quicker than Ramon and Tristan had
expected I and heard them talking as I stepped up onto the porch.
      "If you didn't grab me I would've made it into the damn boat, you
little faggot!"
      Ramon would pay for that remark.  Something made me stop and listen,
wondering what Tristan would say.
      "I was trying to help you, Ramon, honest!"  he whined.  "I didn't want
you to fall in the water!  I was trying to help!"
      "Why?"
      "Because I like you," Tristan said bravely.  "I mean...I know you don't
like me, but..."  His voice trailed off.
      There was a small beat of silence.  "Ya ain't so bad," Ramon said
begrudgingly.
      I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.  Had I heard that right?  I
leaned toward the window and looked inside.  All of the windows were
screens, this being a summer camp, so they kept bugs out but didn't do much
in blocking noise.  Ramon had pulled his shirt off over his head and was
kicking off his shoes while he unbuckled his belt.  Tristan was peeling his
wet pants down over his thighs, his lovely little ass showing through the
wet baby blue briefs.  He had stopped suddenly with one leg up, staring at
Ramon.
      "Really?" he asked.
      Ramon looked uncomfortable and he shrugged.
      "I thought you hated me!" Tristan marveled.
      "Naw," Ramon said, pushing his pants down his wet thighs.  "You just
act sorta...ya know...girly."
      "I thought you liked girls," Tristan said.  He was a clever little
monkey, wasn't he?  He stepped out of his wet pants and pulled his shirt up
over his head.  He wasn't taking his eyes off of Ramon and I couldn't blame
him.  Standing there in nothing but wet briefs and that necklace, Ramon
looked dashingly handsome and sexy.
      "I do," Ramon blustered.  "I mean I like girls who are girls, ya know?
  Not a boy who acts like a girl."
      "I could try to act more like a boy," Tristan said hopefully.  He was
shivering, wet and dressed only in his wet underpants.  "Would that help?"
      Ramon looked doubtful.  "I don't think that's gonna happen," he said.
He watched carefully as Tristan pulled his underwear down to his ankles and
stepped out of them.  For a moment, Tristan didn't notice Ramon watching,
but when he did, he froze in his spot, not moving except for the shivering.
      Ramon looked as if he was making a decision.  He walked quickly over
to one of the windows, peering left down the pathway that led to the lake.
If he had glanced right, he would have seen me there on the porch.
      "What are you looking for?" Tristan asked.
      "Kevin," he said.  "We'll see him coming up the path."  He pulled his
wet briefs down over his strong legs and kicked them off.  His big boy cock
swung with his movements.  Tristan looked confused.  Ramon yanked the
blanket off of his bed and pulled it over his shoulders, glanced down the
path again, then at Tristan.  "Come here."
      "Huh?"  Tristan was confused.
      "Come here," Ramon said gruffly.  "Damn."
      Tristan walked over to where Ramon stood and, to my surprise, Ramon
opened the blanket and pulled Tristan inside.  Tristan was stunned and
delirious almost immediately.  I heard him gasp as his naked body came into
contact with Ramon's.
      "What...what are you doin'?"  he asked.
      "You're cold, ain't ya?" Ramon asked.
      "Yes."
      "So am I."  I could tell by the way Ramon was moving that he was
rubbing his cock back and forth against Tristan's belly.  Tristan snuggled
in, and for a moment, they stood there, Ramon rubbing against Tristan with a
remarkable gentleness.
      "I thought you liked girls," Tristan said.
      I thought he should shut up before he ruined a good thing.
      "Ain't no girls around here, are there?" Ramon said in a breathy
voice.
      It was wonderful to see Ramon being so gentle.  For all his rough
edges and bluster, his heart had somehow been softened (or his cock
hardened) by Tristan's blatant adoration of him and his incessant flirting.
      "I like this necklace," Tristan said as a way of making conversation.
He held it in his hand, looking at it closely.
      "My girlfriend gave it to me," Ramon said.
      "Is she pretty?"
      "Hell, yes.  Big tits."
      "You wanna kiss me?" Tristan asked.
      "Don't push it," Ramon clipped.  They were standing so close with
Ramon's arms around Tristan that they might as well have kissed, I thought.
They were nose to nose, breathing heavily.
      Ramon's eyes were closed as he grinded against Tristan.  He moaned
suddenly and dropped the blanket, baring them both to my view.  Tristan had
a hold of Ramon's cock, which was stiff and poking at the younger boy, and
Ramon had both hands on Tristan's ass, kneading them gently.
      "You can pretend I'm a girl," Tristan offered.
      "Shut up."
      Tristan squeezed and tugged at Ramon's pecker, looking up into his
eyes to see the pleasure that it brought him.  "You have a beautiful dick,
Ramon," he said.  He was studying it carefully.  Ramon was speechless.
      "I watch you all the time in the shower," Tristan said.
      "I know."
      "I wish you were my boyfriend."
      "For right now," Ramon said.  "I am."
      Tristan smiled delicately.
      Ramon turned Tristan around and pushed him up against the window.
"Watch for Kevin," he grunted as he stepped up behind him.  He was spitting
in his hand.
      "Whatcha gonna do?"  Tristan was looking back over his shoulder at
Ramon as if he had a pretty good idea about what he was going to do.
      "You ever been fucked?"
      Tristan nodded.  "Yeah."
      Ramon rubbed the spittle against Tristan's anus and the boy closed his
eyes and moaned.  Ramon wasn't being gentle now.  He was poking at Tristan's
hole gracelessly and Tristan was wincing and groaning in pain.
      "Keep watch for Kevin," Ramon said, noticing that all of Tristan's
attention was now on his own asshole.  Tristan took a quick look, then
lowered his forehead to the screen as Ramon crammed his fingers inside him.
      If I had been coming up the path right then, Tristan would never have
seen me.  He was lost in his own reverie, eyes closed, mouth slightly open,
as Ramon started to push his cock inside him.  He cried out at one point and
I wondered if I shouldn't go in and stop it, but I heard Ramon respond
quickly.
      "Lo siento, marica," he said.  "Marica" is a Spanish derogatory name
for a homosexual.
      "What does that mean?" asked Tristan.
      "It means, `sorry'."
      Ramon went more slowly, although he was clearly rushed, hoping to get
this deed done before I arrived.  I could tell that his cock was moving up
Tristan's ass because the younger boy had stopped breathing, biting his lip,
eyes shut tightly.  Ramon was grunting at the effort of getting his cock
inside.  His teeth were clenched and he was holding Tristan's hips firmly.
      "Keep a look out!" he barked out of nowhere.  Tristan made another
quick glance down the path, then threw his head back, mouth open.
      "Aaaah," he said, as if incredibly relieved.
      Ramon pulled back a little, then pushed all the way in.  His eyes
looked glassy even to me at my distance.  He was all the way in.  What a
sight.  Ramon, a head taller than Tristan, holding him by the hips as he
started a quick fucking motion.  Tristan, hanging onto the window sill, his
body shaking with every thrust, head bumping against the screen.  My cock
was stiff in my pants. Ramon was rough, knocking Tristan off balance with
his savage thrusts, grunting and panting.  Tristan reached down and grabbed
his own cock, stiff with excitement, and started stroking the length of it
to the rhythm of Ramon's fucking.
      "Is he coming?" Ramon managed to grunt.  What a loaded question with
so many possible meanings in that moment, but Tristan seemed to know what he
was talking about.  He took another glance down the path and shook his head.
      "No."
      Ramon growled and grabbed Tristan's shoulder, somehow thrusting in
even deeper as he pulled the boy back onto his stiff rod.  I heard the wet
slap, slap, slap of the fuck--flesh against flesh. Tristan made a gurgling
noise and a loud grunt that would have brought the attention of neighboring
cabins had all the other campers not been out at activities.  Ramon grabbed
his hair and pulled his head back.
      "Sssssh!" he hissed in his ear.
      With Tristan pulled back, I could see the sperm jetting from his cock
and Ramon's rough treatment seemed to heighten his excitement even more
because he smiled and fell back against him.  Ramon, also stimulated by the
rough play, made a few more quick jabs inside Tristan, then fell forward on
him, mashing him against the screen as he emptied his balls into Tristan's
ass.  The orgasm seemed to last forever.  Ramon looked like he was trying to
shove Tristan through the holes in the screen.  Tristan, his little cock
dripping, surrendered to Ramon, smiling blithely as his body was being
banged against the wall.
      Standing on the porch with my incorrigible hard on, I took another
step toward understanding myself.  These two boys, in their insistent
sexualities, had acted out my fantasy.  I found myself envying Ramon and
desiring Tristan.  I stepped noiselessly into the cabin.  When I rounded the
corner into the room, Ramon was still embedded in Tristan's ass, the last of
his tremors shaking his body.  It was quite a sight to behold.
      "Glad to see you guys are finally getting along," I said.
      At the first sound of my voice, Ramon jumped and pulled out of
Tristan, turning to look at me, then turning away to hide his dripping hard
on.  Tristan gave me a satisfied smile at first, but when he noticed Ramon's
response, he suddenly looked serious.
      "Um...we're just changing," he said.
      "Yeah," Ramon said, grabbing at his dry underwear.  "We were...just..."
      "Changing," I said.  "Yes.  Changing your attitudes about each other."
      "No," Ramon said, shaking his head, pulling on his underwear.  "It
ain't like that."
	"I watched the whole thing," I said.  I pointed toward my viewing spot.
"From the window."
      Ramon batted at Tristan's shoulder.  "I told you to fuckin' keep
watch!"
      "I was," Tristan lied.
      Tristan was making no effort to get dressed.  He stood there wiping
the sperm from his own cock with his hand, sneaking it to his mouth for a
taste.  Ramon was getting dressed at a furious rate.  He pointed at Tristan
and spoke to me.
      "He wanted me to," he said.  "I wasn't gonna, but..."
      "I said I saw everything," I reminded him.  "And I heard everything."
      Ramon turned ashen.  He stood shamefacedly looking at me--a mouse
cornered by a cat.  I felt, for the first time, an incredible tenderness for
him.
       "Don't worry," I said gently.  "I'm really glad to see that you're
finally getting along.  Your secret is safe with me."
      Tristan smiled at Ramon as if I had given him permission for Tristan's
hand in marriage.  Ramon was still in a frenzy, pulling on his clothes.  He
was eyeing me suspiciously.  "Are you serious?"
      I nodded.  "Completely," I said.  "And I'll see if I can get you guys
some more alone time.  Not easy here, but doable...if you want."
      Tristan looked elated.  Ramon looked thoughtful, pulling up his pants,
zipping them.  He shrugged and nodded, feigning indifference.  "Okay," he
said. "But I only do that `cause there ain't no girls around here," he said.
      "I know," I said.  I looked at Tristan.  "Would you get dressed?"
      Ramon and I both sat down and waited for Tristan to get
dressed--actually watched him while he pulled on his tee shirt first, then
bent over and stood on one foot, then the other, to put on his socks.  Ramon
was still uncomfortable with Tristan's idiosyncrasies.  "Why does he wait to
put his underwear on last?" he whispered to me.
      Tristan heard him and just smiled at him.
       "He knows that you like to look at his bare butt," I whispered back.
      Ramon frowned at Tristan, slightly irritated.  Tristan gave a small
giggle and stood up, socks on his feet, bending over again to take an
inordinate amount of time to search his suitcase for dry underwear.  His
ass, a little red around the anus, a dribble of sperm oozing, winked at us.
Ramon looked disgusted, but didn't take his eyes off that rump.  I felt that
twinge of envy again at the proprietary interest Ramon had in that dripping
pink hole.


      Ramon, Tristan and I were silent as we sat on the beach, waiting for
the rest of the cabin to return, each in our own thoughts. Tristan was
smiling smugly and Ramon was poking at the sand with a stick, pretending
that he didn't notice.  I imagined that Tristan was reliving those moments
in Ramon's arms.  He was replaying, over and over, Ramon's confession that
he was his boyfriend, even if just for that moment.  Ramon appeared to be
understanding that he had intensified Tristan's crush on him with their
tryst.  He wanted to keep a distant and pedestrian point of view of the
whole experience.  They were just guys (well, he was anyway) and sometimes,
guys helped each other out.
      My head was spinning with images of Ramon and Tristan.  It was as if,
in a darkened room, I had once again encountered myself, bumped into me,
caught sight of myself in a flash of light.  Beth happened by and shouted my
name and I waved back disinterestedly.  She was a million miles away from my
thoughts.
      All I knew about men who wanted sex with boys was what I read and
heard in the news.  Child molesters, perverts, sexual predators.  I couldn't
see myself in them and yet could only see them in me.  The fragile and
tender feelings that I had for Raul and Patrick didn't feel like those of a
monster, and yet I felt like a monster to claim those sensations as my own.
I had a dim sensation of being in over my head.  This was like a terminal
disease with which I was diagnosing myself.  It would change my life forever
and be with me until I died.  Still, I wondered if I could control my
feelings, refocus on Beth, change the direction of my life before it was too
late.
      I heard my name being called.  The rest of the cabin was returning to
the dock, gliding slowly across the water. I saw Patrick stand up in the
boat and wave and a counselor pull him back down into his seat.  It was the
first time that I noticed that I was missing Patrick, not Raul.  My
attention had shifted.  Patrick and I smiled at each other as he and the
other boys clambered from the boat, laughing, shouting, racing toward us.
None of them had caught any fish, but that didn't seem to matter.  They had
had a good time.  Patrick edged out Raul in the race to get to me first and
he threw his arms around my waist, practically knocking me over.  Raul swung
on one of my hands on the way to the dining hall for dinner and Patrick
walked beside me, holding onto the other.
      I was more skeptical than ever that it was in my power to resist these
feelings of excitement and joy that came from being in the company of boys.


	That night, there was a campfire down by the lake and all the cabins
collected there to roast marshmallows and sing songs. It was cold and we all
huddled close to the large fire.  Ramon was hanging out with the older boys
who were more his size, joking and talking.  He completely ignored Tristan,
who always seemed to be standing no more than three feet away.  Tristan
watched Ramon as if he were an engrossing television show.  From time to
time, Ramon would frown at him in an attempt to make him stop staring.  I
noticed that Jack had taken Raul under his wing, letting the little boy move
about with the cool kids that were Jack's friends.  Patrick, dressed in a
pair of baggy shorts and a tee shirt, came over to me, shivering and
snuggling into me.
	"You need to go back to the cabin to get some warmer clothes on?" I asked
him.
	He looked content to be snuggling into me.  "Will you take me?" he asked.
	I nodded and he nodded and I asked another counselor to watch my kids.
Patrick and I started back toward the cabin alone.
	I walked with Patrick as if I were a zombie controlled by someone
else--Patrick?  My alter ego?  I wanted to be alone with Patrick more than
anything else, but I didn't know much more than that.  When Beth and I
fooled around for the first time, we had walked toward my cabin, speaking in
soft tones to each other, and both of us knew what we would do when we got
to my cabin, even though we never talked about it directly.  It was all in
the look in her eyes, the way she moved and laughed and held onto my arm as
we worked our way down the craggy path.
      Holding my hand, Patrick prattled on about the fishing trip and asked
what we were going to do tomorrow.  Thoughts of holding his body in my arms
stuffed my head like cotton, and yet he seemed oblivious on some level, even
as he bumped against me with his shoulder and, at one point, slipped his arm
around my waist, that he was wandering with me into waters I considered
frighteningly mysterious, even treacherous.  I thought, at one point, "I
should put more distance between us, right now, and make it clear to him
that I have professional standards and ethics and that nothing untoward will
happen between us."  However, the feel of him in my arm, the sound of his
voice, the handsome smile and expressive eyes all trumped that bit of
rationale.
      When we reached the cabin, I plopped down on my bed and Patrick
rummaged through his suitcase to find warmer clothes.  He prattled aimlessly
about something and it became obvious that I wasn't listening, so he turned
and dove onto me, grabbing me around the neck and trying to put me into a
headlock. It wasn't hard to break his hold and flip him over.  As soon as he
was across my lap, everything felt different.  Without the other boys in the
room clamoring for their turns, without their laughter and presence to make
it all feel like just a game, this suddenly felt very serious, and I was
suddenly very afraid.  The air seemed to crackle with sexual energy.  I
spanked Patrick a few times; the slap sounded loud in the empty room. As
usual, he yelped and pretended to struggle.  Abruptly, I pushed him off my
lap onto the floor and told him to hurry up and change his clothes.
	He looked disappointed.  I didn't why I did it.  It seemed to be the result
of the collision between what I wanted and what I was frightened of.  It
seemed contrary to what I wanted and certainly to what Patrick wanted, but I
knew that they would be expecting us back at the campfire.  I knew that we
were in a very different situation all of a sudden and the sexual tension in
the room scared me.
	Patrick was a bit embarrassed and confused and I felt bad.  He dropped his
shorts to the floor and stepped out of them, then pulled his tee shirt off
over his head.  I could think of nothing else but touching that impeccable
body.
	"Hop on me again," I heard myself say, smirking in mock anger.  "And I'll
do it without the clothes between!"
	I didn't know why I said it.  It was meant to lighten the mood, but it was
also meant to invite him to leap, in the state of undress in which he was
currently, onto my lap.  It was meant to reconnect with him, but also to
taunt him to action.  It worked.  He smiled at me and his eyes brightened
and I knew then that I was in over my head.  He turned and lunged at me,
dressed in nothing but his boxers and socks.  Catching this flying angel in
my arms, feeling his smooth flesh in my hands, caused an electric twinge to
go through me.
	His strategy had seemed to change.  He had gone from trying to put me in a
headlock to, it seemed, trying to get as much of his naked flesh pressed up
against me as was humanly possible. I also seemed to forget my mission for a
moment.  I pulled him into me gently, my arms around his waist as he
straddled my lap, knees on the bed.  We both made struggling noises but we
weren't really struggling.  He growled through gritted teeth and I grunted.
Then I turned him and he sort of fell obligingly across my lap, laughing
melodiously.  His lovely little bottom squirmed slightly and I carried on
with the game.
	"I warned you," I said.  "You don't think I'm serious?"
	"No!" he responded, giving me permission in his goofy way.
	I pulled his boxers down in back, exposing his wonderful buns.  I yanked
and he, under the guise of struggling, lifted his hips so that I could pull
the boxers down over his long legs.  I dropped them onto the floor.  He was
still laughing and pretending to try to get away, but I only had one hand on
his back to hold him there.  My head silently exploded with stars and
blinking lights.  I could feel my heart thumping madly in my chest.  I
slapped his bare ass twice and it resounded through the room.  He laughed
and shouted and I slapped him one more time.  I was being very gentle.  It
felt like I had a baseball bat in my pants.  I felt his hard cock poke me in
the leg as he lifted his hips in mock struggle.
	With the naked boy on my lap, I suddenly had absolutely no desire to hit
him.  The game seemed to come to a screeching halt.  It had taken us this
far, but now it didn't seem to fit the situation.  The room fell silent.
All we heard were the sounds of our breathing.  I stared down at his body,
at his bottom, on the precipice of new territory.
	If I wasn't going to spank it, I would have to do something else, otherwise
he should just put his boxers back on and get dressed.
      Yes! I screamed silently to myself.  Tell him to put his boxers back
on and get dressed!
      I touched his ass gently, smoothing my hand over the delicious globes,
down his thighs.  Patrick lay quietly as if this is what he had wanted from
the start, and indeed it was.  I poked a finger down between his buns and he
spread his legs and raised his hips.
	"You can't tell anyone about this, ya know," I said.  My voice sounded
choked and pinched even to me.
	"Okay," he answered quickly.  He seemed to be going short of breath as my
finger found his hole and rubbed across it.  I had never touched a boy there
before and I didn't know what made me do it--what manner of instinct.  I had
had sex with men, but a boy is a different animal altogether--masculine and
yet delicate, with smooth porcelain skin.  Patrick spread his legs a little
more.
	"Do you like it?" I asked.
	"Yeah."
	I looked at his naked body.  "You have a..." I stopped myself, embarrassed.
	Patrick looked at me over his shoulder.  "What?"
	"Nothing."
	"C'mon, what were you gonna say?"
	I swallowed hard.  "You have..."  I cleared my throat.  "You have a beautiful
body."
	He looked unconvinced, wrinkling his nose.  "Really?"
	My hands traveled over him as if of their own accord, gliding across the
soft, smooth surface as if he was an ocean and my hands were surfboards,
skipping across the contours of his back and shoulders, down over his ass
and into the recesses behind his knees, over the strong calves.  "Oh, yes,"
I gasped.  "Very beautiful."
	He looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Ain't I too skinny?" he asked.
	I laughed, not just because it would make him feel good, but because it was
genuine.  Too skinny?  My eyes travelled over his body and I smiled at him.
He was perfect.
	 "You look just perfect to me," I managed to choke out.
      He studied me for a second, smiled and wriggled his ass, a tacit
encouragement to me to continue touching him.  I kneaded each bun softly and
ran my hands up and down his thighs.  I was intensely drawn to his asshole
but felt sick and perverted by what I wanted to do with it.  What would he
think?
      After this prolonged stroking session, he raised his ass and
whispered, "Touch my butthole."
      The words would have knocked me down if I hadn't been sitting already.
  I sat immobile for a moment and he turned and looked at me again. "I like
it.  C'mon, touch it."  I touched it, poked at it, and he turned his face
back away and rested his head on the bed, giving a low growl in his throat.
When I licked my finger and slid it across his hole, he took a deep
inhalation very suddenly and held it.  My finger dabbed and probed and his
pink hole seemed to open a little by itself.
	"Oh, yeah," he said, letting out his breath all at once.
	I thought I heard something outside but knew that it was my imagination.
It was a raccoon in the bushes or an acorn bouncing off the roof.  Still, it
got me thinking clearly rather suddenly.  "We gotta get back," I said, still
probing his hole.
      He ignored me.  He reached down and shoved his cock and balls down so
that they stuck out between his legs in back, accessible to me.  I
intuitively reached down between his legs and stroked them, causing Patrick
to sigh deeply again.  He lowered his hips and I stroked his little cock
from behind.  It was obvious that he was experienced and I suspected that it
was obvious that I wasn't.
	"We gotta go," I said again, almost pleadingly.  My logical mind was
furious, wishing that he would obey me and get up and get dressed and remove
me from this danger, but he just cooed in response.
      "We gotta go.  We gotta go," I said.  My fingers pulled on his cock
and he pressed his face into the bed.  He moaned into the blanket.
	"We gotta go," I said, my voice suddenly clearer, more forceful.  "Patrick,
we gotta stop this and get back to the others."
	He was no help.  He had elected to be silent, neither refusing nor agreeing
but clearly nearing a climax.  Well, I reasoned.  If he's close....maybe I
should just take care of it for him.  I mean, I've pulled the snake out of
the box.  How else am I gonna get it back in?
	At the time, this was a matter of stating the obvious, so willing was I to
utilize anything to justify continuing the stroking of this soft and slender
behind.  When my finger found his hole again, he raised his head from the
bed and spoke with a throaty, lusty voice.
      "Stick it in."
      Stick what where?  Did he mean...?
      "Spit on your finger and stick it in there," he panted.
      I spit and inserted my finger up to the first knuckle, all the while,
pulling on Patrick's stiff cock.  He writhed his hips and whimpered.  I
pushed my finger in just a little more and his panting became a gruff
gutteral heaving.  He was arriving fast.  I pushed my finger in further,
then out and in and out again, then deeper in than before.  It slid in
easily and I'm sure that he and I both were imagining what it would be like
to replace that finger with my cock.
      He raised his hips higher, clammering to his knees, his face pressed
into the bed.  He gritted his teeth, grunted and fell into spasms of
pleasure and a tiny burst of clear jam came from his cock.  The boy kept
falling and falling into the orgasm, or maybe he was having multiples.  It
was hard to tell.  When he turned his face toward me, I could see the smile
on his lips and it was obvious that he was in ecstacy.  I eased on my
jacking and his breathing slowed to normal.
      I was already thinking about getting back to the others.  How long had
it been?  What could I possibly say about why I had disappeared alone with a
boy for so long?  Was I fucking crazy?
      "Get dressed, hurry up!" I said, rousing him from the bed.  This would
never happen again, I said to myself.  I must have been crazy to let this
happen, but I won't let it happen again.  I could get fired!  I could go to
prison!  Never again!  Never again!
      "Hurry!" I said, urging him to his feet.
      He moved reluctantly, staring down to where my cock looked like it was
trying to fight its way out of my pants.  He stood over me, sinewy and
lithe, little cock still stiff and dripping, and studied my lap.
      " I wanna see it," he whispered.
      "Not now," I said.
      "Just a peek."
      "Later," I said.  So much for never again.  I stood up quickly and
stabbed him in the chest with it.  "Sorry."
      It really was an accident, but Patrick saw it as a joke, flirting and
driving him crazy.  He made a tentative grab for it but I deflected his hand
and started toward the door.
      "Get dressed," I said.  "We gotta get back.  And you remember what I
said about not telling anyone, right?  About what happened...."  I felt
panic rising in me.
       "I'm not stupid," he snorted.  "It's cool.  Don't worry about it."
      Don't worry about it?  I had just molested a thirteen year old boy and
I shouldn't worry about it?  Yet I felt much more relaxed by Patrick's cool
demeanor.  He was whistling quietly as he pulled on his boxers and pants and
rummaged through his suitcase for a shirt.  All the while, he was watching
me.  "When can I?" he finally asked.
      My cock was starting to go down, but it threatened to rise again at
that question.
      "I don't know," I said.  "We have to be careful.  We need a safe
place.  We need..."
      "I could sleep with you," he said.  "Instead of Raul."
      It was the first time I had ever heard Patrick speak Raul's name with
jealousy.  Did he think that Raul and I ....?
      "It's my turn anyway," he said.  "Raul's had you every day so far."
      "True."
      He smiled as if it was agreed.  He would sleep with me that night.  We
both knew what that meant and he was bouncing around the room at the idea,
singing some cheesy pop song while he pulled his shirt on over his head and
slipped his shoes on his feet.  I was already chastising myself for having
agreed.  We headed out the door, down the path.  I was nervous about what
people would think of us coming back together after so much time.  I wasn't
sure, but Patrick and I had taken over twenty five minutes, ostensibly just
to change his clothes.


	We arrived back at the campfire, stepping from the darkness into the light
from the fire as if appearing from nowhere.  No one seemed to notice our
arrival, all of my campers were busy and having fun. I saw the counselor who
had agreed to watch them emerge from the bushes with a woman in tow.  He
looked over at me with a wave.  I walked over to him and wondered what I
would say.
	"When did you get back?" he asked me.
	"I've been here a while," I said vaguely.  "I was..."
	"I wasn't gone long," he said to me suddenly.  "Just twenty minutes or so.
The kids were all playing and making s'mores so..."  He indicated a young
woman, another counselor, standing near him, smiling at him.  He gave me a
conspiratorial smirk.  "Ya know how it is.  I couldn't help myself!"
	I knew exactly how it was.  I smiled and shrugged.  "It's all right."
	I had lucked out.  I had found a counselor more irresponsible and
self-serving than I.
	Patrick, meanwhile, had joined the other boys at the campfire, loading up a
stick with marshmallows and chatting amiably.  I found a spot on a log to
sit and collect my thoughts, which were consumed with Patrick and what I was
going to tell Raul.  How would I break that news?  I felt like I was in a
dream, sitting there surrounded by the goings-on of camp life, friends and
campers laughing and joking, someone playing a guitar in the distance, the
sounds of out-of-tune singing.  It was like a dream--like I would soon wake
up to reality, and my little encounter with Patrick would prove to be just
my overactive and unbridled imagination.  I was deaf to the voices around
me.  The smoke from the fire rolled into my face and I closed my eyes,
thinking, trying to catch up with my thoughts that threatened to race away
from me.  I must have had my eyes closed for some time because I next heard
Patrick's voice beside me.
	"Here," he said.  I opened my eyes to a s'more in his sticky hand,
chocolate seeping down over his palm, marshamallow stuck to his fingertips
and seeping from the nail.  He shook the s'more at me.  "I made this for
you," he said.  He held another one, for himself, in his other hand.
	I took the s'more and he sat down beside me on the log, not close enough to
be conspicuous but close enough for me to feel the heat from his body.  He
licked his fingers and watched me carefully.  "You awright?" he asked.
"What's wrong?"
	"Nothing.  I'm fine," I said, biting into my s'more.  Raul was laughing and
joking with Jack and Ramon and I wondered how I was going to tell him.  I
was trying to accept the fact that I clearly didn't have the self-discipline
to keep Patrick at arms length.  Patrick chewed his s'more and indicated
Raul with a nod of his head.
	"I told him," he said.
	"What?"
	"I told him," said Patrick.  "I told Raul and he's cool with it.  It's only
fair, ya know."
	"He wasn't upset?"
	Patrick shook his head and looked at Raul.  "Does he look upset to you?"
	He certainly didn't and I found myself both relieved and a bit hurt.
Sleeping with Raul, although not a sexual experience, had been very sweet
for me and, I believed, for him too.  Still, now that I was free to sleep
with Patrick, I wanted it to be bedtime right now and I quickly glanced at
my watch.  Twenty more minutes.  Shit.
	"Patrick," I said quietly.
	"Hm?"  His mouth was full of s'more.
	"Have you....done stuff....before...ya know...?"
	He didn't answer, but I could hear him chewing. When I looked at him, he
gave no indication that he intended to answer me.  I gave him a questioning,
expectant look.  He swallowed and shook his head.
	"No."
	I didn't believe him.  I was certain that he was lying.  "Are you sure?" I
asked stupidly.
	He chuckled and nodded.  "I think I'd know, don't you?"
	He didn't want to talk about it, or rather he was discreet enough to not
talk about it.  I appreciated that--that he could be discreet.  I tested him
further.
	"I don't believe you," I said, smiling softly.  "You seemed to know what
you want."
	He smirked to himself and shook his head, taking another bite of his
s'more.  "Maybe."  He chewed, looking at me for a long time, then swallowed.
  "What about you?"
	"Huh?"
	"Have you...ya know...?"
	"Not with a boy," I said very quietly, leaning toward him.  "With women and
men, sure, but..."
	I looked over at him, into his eyes, and he was smiling at me, marshmallow
in the corners of his mouth.  "I'm your first?" he asked, touched.
	This conversation was starting to unhinge me.  Beyond the topic, which
clearly wasn't a typical `round-the-campfire sort of conversation, I was
getting excited again and more scared than ever.  He was going to be the
teacher, this thirteen year old boy.
	We chewed our s'mores for a few moments.  "I think it's probably a good
idea if you start out in your bed," I said.  "Then, after the guys get to
sleep...."
	"Cool."
	Twenty minutes passed like sixty and I finally collected my campers and
headed toward the cabin.  In the dark, we discussed showers.  Half the cabin
was supposed to shower that night and the other half the following morning.
It was a way of keeping the showers uncrowded.  No one wanted to shower that
night, so I made the decision that three would shower now--Ramon, Tristan,
and Patrick--and the others would shower in the morning.  While a substitute
counselor kept watch over my boys, I took the three to the showers.  They
were uncomplaining, knowing that there were good reasons why I had arranged
things in this manner.
	We had the showers to ourselves.  It was a bare brick building separated
into three parts--a bathroom, a large counselor shower and a large camper
shower. I quickly took command.  "Patrick," I said.  "Why don't you go
shower in the counselor's showers, and Ramon and Tristan, you guys use the
camper showers."
	I stood in a place where I could see both showers, ever the responsible
supervisor, and the boys all smiled at me.  I knew what they were thinking
and they were right.  Patrick was sure that I had sent him to the other
shower so that I could watch him shower and he could show off for me. This
was partially true, although knowing that he would be sleeping with me, I
wanted him to be clean.  Ramon and Tristan were convinced that I did it to
give them time to themselves.  This was entirely true.  I watched the three
boys shuck their clothes and step under the water.  With me covering the
door, the two shows began simultaneously, and I took another large step
toward embracing who I was.
	Ramon glanced around, sized me up quickly and decided that he didn't mind
me watching.  I had watched last time, after all.  Tristan was soaping
himself up, determined to wash himself quickly before the fun began lest he
not smell fragrant enough for his beau.  Ramon, with his usual
gracelessness, stepped closer to him and rubbed his cock against Tristan's
soapy ass.  Tristan, hands soapy, turned to Ramon and ran his hands over
Ramon's well-defined chest, down over his ribs, up over his shoulders and
down again to his hips.  Ramon kept stepping closer, driving Tristan back
against the wall.  When Tristan's backside bumped into the wall, he took a
hold of Ramon's stiff cock with his soapy hands and I heard Ramon groan out
loud.
	Patrick lathered his hands and ran them over his body, smiling at me,
giving special attention to his prick, which quickly stood up stiff under
the jetting water.  He smirked at me, squeezing his cock with one hand and
slipping his fingers between his ass cheeks with the other, inserting a
finger as he cleaned his hole.  He bent over, showing me his asshole and his
finger planted deep inside, and he finger fucked himself as the water poured
over him, making his body shine in the dim light of the shower house.
	In allowing myself the pleasure of watching him, giving in to my lust for
him, surrendering my inhibitions to openly leer at his soapy body, I once
again encountered myself in that dark place, this time with a friendly
acknowledgement and acceptance, a camaraderie.
	When I looked over at the other spectacle, Ramon had spun Tristan around
and pinned him to the wall, working his own soapy fingers into Tristan's
ass.  Tristan, the water pouring over his head, was sputtering in complaint
until Ramon grabbed him by the hips and moved him over a foot, out of the
way of the rushing water.  His cock was poking around at Tristan's hole
without success until Tristan impatiently reached back and grabbed Ramon by
the root and guided his cock to its target.  I could tell when Ramon entered
him because Tristan smiled and closed his eyes and put his cheek against the
wall and Ramon gave a moan that was too loud to not be conspicuous.  I
coughed nervously to cover the noise and looked over at Patrick.
	He was leaning forward, one hand on the wall of the shower and the other
back between his ass cheeks, finger fucking himself with deep thrusts of his
middle finger.  His legs were bent and bowed and the water ran down over his
back and hips and down his legs.  He looked back at me over his shoulder and
panted, eyelids drooping with lust.  I wanted so much to approach him, to
toy with his soapy behind and slippery balls.  He grabbed his cock with his
other hand and turned sideways so that I could watch him masturbate and
finger-fuck himself at the same time.
	Ramon and Tristan were in the throes of passion which, for boys that age,
didn't last all that long.  Ramon hadn't been inside of Tristan for three
minutes and he was already looking very close to his orgasm.  To my pleasant
surprise, I noticed that Ramon's hand was around the front of Tristan, soapy
and slipping up and down Tristan's exicted staff in rhythm to his fucking.
Tristan, hands and forehead on the wall, eyes closed and smiling, seemed to
just be letting Ramon have his way with him.  Ramon's fucking was graceless
and savage, with hard thrusts that shook Tristan's whole body.
	 I heard a grunt and turned to see Patrick erupt.  A small pearl squirted
from his cock and he threw his head back, his body trembling, his fingers
sliding in and out of his ass.  "Oh," he grunted loudly.
	"Ugh," Ramon seemed to answer, his own orgasm shaking his body as he
emptied himself into Tristan.  "Ugh!"
	"Oh," Patrick moaned.
	"Ah," Tristan choked, his body shaking in Ramon's arms, water sprucing down
their bodies.  Tristan's seed was splashing against the shower wall.  "Ugh."
	"Ah..." Patrick sighed as the wave subsided.  He had been as oblivous to
the noises on the other side of the wall as they had been to his.  "Ah."
After a few moments of looking like he had just woke up, he smiled at me.
	"Ugh," Ramon grunted, and he stood still, his nose against the nape of
Tristan's neck, as his orgasm ebbed.  Tristan seemed to have fallen into a
trance, eyes closed, smiling broadly.  Ramon shook the sperm from his hand
and withdrew from Tristan.
	"Finish washing up, guys," I said to all of them.  "Use shampoo."
	For a half a minute or so, all three of them moved a little sleepily in
their post-orgasmic stupors, grappling for shampoo and stepping under the
rushing water.  Then they were suddenly all business.  I watched them, bent
over at the waist to conceal my hard-on.  If my cock could speak, it would
have screamed Patrick's name and praised the beauty of his pliable and
hungry hole.  It would have sung about my raging desire to fuck him as Ramon
had just fucked Tristan.  I handed them all their towels and moved to stand
by the door, hoping that my cock would go down if I didn't look at their
naked bodies anymore.  It was useless.  All I could think about was the view
that Patrick had given me, the slippery finger sliding in and out, the
inviting smile on his face.  When the boys emerged, dressed with their
towels over their shoulders, my cock was still as stiff as ever and it was
with this mighty pole leading the way that I led them back to the cabin,
thankful that it was dark outside and that no one was there to see my cock
enter the cabin long before I did.
	The other boys were all in bed, talking amongst themselves, and the
substitute counselor took my entrance as his opportunity to leave.  Ramon,
Tristan and Patrick got into their beds.
	"We've talked about it," said Jack, the self-appointed spokesman for the
group.  "And we want to hear `Mighty Eagle'."
	It was a story that he was referring to.  It was always a favorite with
boys this age.  I was anxious to get to bed, more to the point, get to
Patrick, but I reasoned that the chances would be better of getting a quiet
bunk if I read a story.
	"Okay," I said.  "'Mighty Eagle' it is."
	We turned out all the lights in the cabin except for the flashlight that I
held in my hand to read by.  There were a couple of floodlights outside at
the bathroom that cast some light through the windows, but otherwise, it was
very dark in the cabin.  I opened the book and positioned the flashlight
between my chin and my shoulder and started to read, walking around the bunk
as my voice recited the tale about a young Indian boy who, due to his
integrity and courage, learns to fly.  It usually took about fifteen minutes
to read the story--a fair amount of time for them to fall asleep before the
end of it.  We usually had to read the last page the next morning for that
reason.
	As I started on the second page, I wandered over to Patrick's bed.  No one
slept in the bunk above his, so it was a great place to rest the book while
I was reading.  As I stood there, I could hear Patrick rustling around
beneath, just on the other side of the Spiderman towel.  His head peeked out
and he looked up at me, then disappeared back inside.  I continued to read.
	Then I felt Patrick's hand.  It snaked out from around the curtain and
touched me through my shorts.  It was such a surprise that I lost my place
in the story and my mind raced, assessing the situation and the danger.  The
room was very dark and Patrick was completely concealed by the curtain
around his bed.  All of the boys were in their beds, none even close to
having a view of that side of Patrick's bed where his hand pulled back the
towel and kneaded my cock.  His bed creaked as he repositioned himself.
When he touched me again, my cock was stiff and getting stiffer.  He reached
up the leg hole and touched my balls, then reached up and pulled my shorts
down.  I continued to read, although I had no idea what I was reading
anymore.  I felt the cool air on my cock and balls.  His fingers felt
impossibly soft as he wrapped them around my dick and stroked it.  He cupped
my balls and lifted them gently.  I knew what was going to happen before it
actually happened because I felt Patrick's warm breath on my cock and felt
him pulling me closer as he leaned forward.  A second later, his tongue
teased the tip of my cock, and his lips sucked at the underside.  I lost my
place in the story and stammered around until I found it again.  Meanwhile,
Patrick slipped my cock past his lips and into his mouth, slowly, like a
long kiss.
	He had definitely done this before.
	With his mouth working on my cock, he stroked my thighs and balls, even
reaching around and pulling down my shorts in back so that he could run his
hands over my ass.  This was almost enough to snap me back to reality.
Almost.  Anyone coming into the cabin would enter to the sight of my bare
ass, even if they couldn't see Patrick with my cock in his mouth.....but I
would hear them long before that when they opened the screen door, I
reasoned.  I'd have my pants pulled up by the time they came into view.  I
couldn't imagine moving from that spot.  Patrick was taking charge down
below. He grabbed my hips and pulled my dick deeper into his mouth and I
took to a steady fucking motion, sliding my cock in and out between his soft
lips.  He stroked my ass with a mix of authority and adoration.  A sudden
and loud slurp erupted and all movement stopped suddenly.  We waited to see
if it had been noticed.  I plodded ahead with the story.  I read the same
sentence over three times in a row while Patrick was using his tongue to
swirl around on the underside of my cock, and since nobody commented on it,
I thought that they were asleep or very close to it.  I felt my orgasm
coming, having built up from such a long series of horny events in the
day--watching Ramon fuck Tristan, the orgasmic ass play with Patrick, his
J.O. show in the shower while Ramon fucked Tristan again.  The pressure in
my balls might be considered a lethal weapon and Patrick was about to get it
all in the back of his throat.
	I skipped a couple of paragraphs in the story and polished off the last
line.  It was all I could do.  I stood there, my knees weak, while Patrick
sent me over the top.  My climax seemed to be on the verge of happening for
a very long time, the pleasure extended beyond what I could imagine, until I
finally blew.  I have no idea what kinds of noises I made in doing so
because my brain felt like it was splintering into a million points of
light.  I sincerely hoped that the other boys were asleep.  At any rate, I
delivered six, seven, eight mighty spurts of cream into Patrick's mouth,
then I don't know where because it was out of his mouth and his hand was
stroking it boldly as my orgasm finally subsided.  I heard a wet cough below
and I wondered if I had drowned the boy.
	I stood there, clinging to the bunk bed while my knees regained their
strength.  Patrick, ever courteous, pulled up my shorts for me and, with a
final squeeze and slurp, tucked my dripping cock away.  The room was silent
but for my breath, coming back to normal, and Patrick shifting in his bed
below, probably searching for something to clean up with.  I walked on
wobbly legs back to the desk and put the book away, then out the door to the
bathroom with my toothbrush and shower gear, my head still abuzz with what
had just happened.
	It's all I thought about while I showered and my dick stayed half stiff
throughout, as if it were just resting up for what awaited me in my bed when
I got back to the cabin.  I thought about the chances I was taking and how I
seemed to be on a speeding train, completely out of control, engineered
entirely by Patrick.  It seemed that he had been hip to me from the start,
back on that first day, even while I remained in my own ignorance and
denial.  He saw through me, into me.  I hadn't paid much attention to him at
first, being so in awe of Raul, whose beauty was so exotic and obvious.
Now, it was impossible to imagine how I had not seen Patrick for the sexy
boy that he was?  He was suddenly my obsession and Raul a cute little boy
for whom I had a chaste, even paternal affection.
	Clearly, Patrick had set his sights on me and captured me.  I looked back
at the endless gestures he had made, the undivided attention with which he
wooed me, the strip teases he performed for me.  All those suggestive smiles
that finally turned my head.  I remembered how he had so confidently reached
out and taken my cock in his hand and how hungrily he had sucked it.  I
remembered the commanding way in which he had grabbed my hips and stroked my
ass.
	When I got back to the cabin and to my bed, I found Patrick there.  I could
see his green thermal pajama top when I cast my light from my flashlight
toward my bed.  He was lying on his back, hands behind his head, looking at
me.  I was nervous and buzzing with excitement.  Everything I wanted was in
that bed, waiting for me, and yet I slowly folded my clothes and performed
other unnecessary tasks, stalling for the fear I felt.  I was perplexed by
this odd and contradictory behavior.  My hands trembled as I set my alarm
clock and put my toothbrush away.  I would have thought that I would leap
into the bed as into a pool, ravishing that gorgeous boy with kisses and
licks and strokes.  After a while, Patrick spoke up impatiently.
      "Hurry up," he hissed.
      I stepped to the bed and pulled the curtain around us, took off my
shorts and, in only my boxers, climbed into bed.  As soon as I was under the
blanket, I became aware that Patrick was naked from the waist down.  His
stiff cock poked me in the thigh and his arms snaked around my neck.  My
cock popped to attention.  I took him in my arms, feeling his warm
nakedness, and I heard him moan low.
	"Shhhh," I said.
	"That was you," he whispered.
	"Oh."
	He had my cock in his hand and my hands were cupping his ass.  His breath
was suddenly in my face.  He kissed me on the lips softly and it sent a
shiver through my entire body.  He had definitely done this before.  No one
kisses that well on the first go.
      He was suddenly in charge, climbing on top of me and straddling me,
kissing me passionately.
	"Patrick," I said when our lips parted.
	"Hm?"
	"You've done this sort of thing before, obviously," I said.  "Right?"
	It really wasn't a question. It was a request for confirmation.  I was sure
that I was right.  He answered quickly.
	"No."
	"That's impossible to believe," I said.  "You know too much!"
	"Shhhhh."
	"It's just impossible to believe..."
	He raised his head and looked down at me in the dark.  I could just barely
see his features in the floodlights from outside.  "Look," he said, somewhat
impatiently.  "You told me to not tell anyone what we're doin', right?"
	"Right."
	"Well, you're not the first person who's told me that, and I gave my word
and I keep my word."
	I felt like the dumbest man on the planet.  I couldn't shut up though.
When nervous, my mouth goes into hyperjabber and I don't seem capable of
shutting up.
	"Was it a man?" I asked.  "I just want to know if..."
	He kissed me again. His lips were impossibly soft and pliant and his tongue
pushed its way into my mouth.  My cock slid into the crack of his ass and he
purred.  He crawled up my body until he was straddling my face and he bent
forward, feeding me his stiff little cock. I willingly sucked it in.  I had
sucked cock before, but never anything as small and pert and delectable as
this lovely little tool.  It was silken and hairless and smelled of soap and
boy musk.  As soon as it hit my tongue, I realized that it was to this that
I was addicted--always had been and always would be.  How could I not know
for so long what I knew so intimately and completely in that moment?  I used
this opportunity to wet my fingers and rub them across his asshole.  He
fucked my face for a while, making the bed creak a little with the rhythm,
then suddenly stood up on the bed, turned around, and sat down.
      If he had been a man, even a good-looking man, or (perish the thought)
a woman, I would have convulsed with repulsion at the sight of that ass
coming at my face.  I would have moved in superhuman ways to avoid it.
However, my tongue was waiting for Patrick's delicious hole as it
approached.  When my tongue made contact and I heard him sigh heavily, I
lapsed into a dream-like stupor and savored that hole, shoving my tongue as
far into it as possible and sucking on it with my lips.  He put his hands on
my hips to stay aloft and I reached around and stroked his dangling cock and
balls.  He was quiet, more than silent, as if all time and space was
suddenly located there between those lovely cheeks.  Certainly for me, my
whole universe was contained in that crevice.
	I reached up and, more roughly than I had intended, pushed his face down to
my cock, and he grabbed hold of it and pulled it into his mouth.  He bobbed
up and down on my dick.
	I had fucked men before and never worried about hurting them.  But for
Patrick's little hole, I had great concern about causing him pain, even as
it opened to greet my tongue and he panted in pleasure at the insertion.  I
slid one, then two, fingers into him and he groaned.  They slipped in and
out with considerable ease and he seemed ready, but I was hesitant to
initiate it.  Sensing my reluctance, Patrick let my cock slip from his mouth
and stood up, stepping noisily around until he could kneel over me again,
face to face, cock to asshole.  He took hold of my wet cock and guided it to
his anus.  I was consumed with worry and lust.
	"Are you sure you can...oh God..."
	The sensation of my cock head rubbing against his hole was incredible.  He
lowered himself down on me and I felt the head pop inside.  He grimaced in
the light from the window and I grabbed his hips to stop him.
	"Patrick, we don't have to...oh God..."
	My cock was slipping into him where he was warm and wet.  I heard him
inhale suddenly through his teeth and he stopped suddenly, resting with my
cock about half way inside him.
	"I don't want to hurt you, Patrick.  If it hurts too much, just...oh God..."
	My cock slid all the way in, home, where it belonged.  I don't have a huge
cock, but it is large when you put it into the asshole of a slender thirteen
year old boy.  "Are you okay?"
	He didn't answer.
	"Patrick, are you...oh God..."
	He began to rise and fall on top of me, sliding my dick in and out of him,
fucking with an amazing dexterity of hips and legs.  I lost all sense of
logic and rationale and became a rutting animal, driven by my own animal
lust, and I pumped my hips in time with Patrick's, shoving my cock in to the
hilt and back out to the head and back in again.  Patrick covered my lips
with his and settled in, letting me do the fucking, the pumping, as he rode
me and kissed me.  He was wild with passion.
	"Oh, God," he gasped.  "Yeah!  Yeah!"
	That bed creaked like crazy.  I was sure that everyone in camp was
wondering at that moment who was getting banged.
	It wasn't really that bad, just a mousy little creak in four-four time, but
in that quiet room, it was a curious sound, and I had a room full of curious
boys.  I hoped that they were all asleep; I was quite sure that they were.
For an instant, I imagined that they were all awake and standing just on the
other side of the curtain, listening, knowing who was getting banged.
	Patrick was more than experienced; he was multi-talented, as if he had been
trained in a brothel.  His lips sucked my tongue, his legs and hips moved in
perfect unison with mine, and his sphincter loosened with every thrust and
tightened with every out stroke.  He had definitely done this before, and
often.
	He reached down between us and grabbed his cock and yanked it madly,
strangely in time with the persistent squeak of the bed.  He leaned over me
and kissed my cheek, my ear, my neck, then my lips, which opened up and
received his tongue as his ass received my cock.  I was surprised to feel my
orgasm coming again, so quickly it seemed, although I had no idea how long I
had been fucking the boy.  I suddenly realized that I was covered with sweat
and Patrick's forehead and nose glistened in the light from the window.  My
body stiffened with my climax and I exploded.  My body rippled like a huge
wave, hips jutting and legs stretching, and I tumbled blissfully through the
next several moments.  I heard Patrick chuckle into my ear.  When I stopped
trembling, I was aware that Patrick's stroking had picked up speed and I
felt his hand bumping against my belly as it worked on his throbbing little
rod.  He grunted and smiled and fell over the top, body shimmering in the
light as it rippled with pleasure.  His sphincter squeezed my cock with each
spasm and I watched him in the light as he finally came to rest.  I felt the
moisture on my belly, dripping from his cock.
	I kissed his nose and we lay there, catching our breaths, forehead to
forehead, until he finally rolled over, taking me with him, and cocked a leg
over me, making sure to keep my prick inside him.  He gently pressed his
face against mine and I inhaled the smell of shampoo, soap and Patrick.  We
settled in that way, wordlessly content.  His finger stroked the hair on my
chest for a while before finally coming to rest there, unmoving, as his
breathing sunk into the steady and deep rhythm of sleep.
	We couldn't sleep like this!  Even as I was settling into that satisfied
blissful restfulness, I told myself that we needed to get dressed.  It
wasn't so late that another counselor might not come to my cabin to ask for
a favor or invite me to play ping pong in the lounge.  I had to get us
dressed!  This idea only sounded good to my head.  The rest of me--my arms,
holding him close, my cock, still stiff and slipping around inside him, my
hands, stroking his smooth buns, my legs, leaden and drowsy....they were all
in hearty disagreement.  Indeed, my whole body seemed to be melting into the
boy in my arms, and he into me.  I couldn't move and Patrick also seemed to
be slipping away into the quiet.
	I dreamed that Patrick and I were alone in the woods, naked and sleeping
beside two candles that burned too close to each other, so that their wax
melded together, the colors swirling and blending, the wicks crawling
through the melting wax toward each other.  They dissolved into each other
until there was just one candle.
	I woke up an hour later to the sounds of shuffling feet right outside my
curtain.  My head was suddenly clear and I was aware of how vulnerable I
was, naked in bed with my boy.  There was a scratching sound at the fabric.
"Kevin?"  A little voice called.  Raul.  I recognized the voice.
	My cock had gone soft and had plopped out of Patrick's ass, but our limbs
were still intertwined and our naked bodies shone in the light of the moon,
which had risen in the sky like a spotlight.  "What?" I asked, not moving.
	"I gotta pee."
	"So go," I said.
	There was a silence as I gently moved Patrick's leg and arm from me and I
rose from the bed.  Raul's voice sounded pinched.  "I'm kinda....um...."
	"Scared?"
	"Yeah."
	"Hang on," I said, stepping into my boxers.  My cock was sticky with cum.
	I pulled the blanket over Patrick, happy that he still had his pajama top
on.  With the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, it all looked reasonably
innocent.  I pulled on my shorts and tee shirt and stepped into my shoes.  I
found Raul standing by the door doing the I-gotta-pee dance, a flashlight in
his hand.


	When I opened my eyes in the morning, I was staring into Patrick's face.
He was watching me carefully as if he knew that I would be opening my eyes
at that precise moment.  He smiled at me.  Our bodies were pressed together
and I noticed his hand inside my boxers, stroking my hard cock.  I glanced
at the clock.  6:24am.  Six minutes before it would go off and I would have
to rouse the boys to take showers.
	"It was my cousin," he whispered.
	"What?" I asked, but I knew what he meant somehow.
	"My cousin," he said.  "You wanted to know who it was.  It was my cousin.
He lives in Bangor now with his boyfriend."  He smirked.  "Get it?
`Bangor', `banger'?"
	It was funny, but I didn't laugh.  "Is that true?"
	He nodded.  "Yeah," he said.  "But do you get it?"
	"Yes, of course.  How old is he?"
	He shrugged.  "Twenty-four, twenty-five," he guessed.  "I don't really
know.  But his boyfriend is ten.  He likes `em really young."
	"He taught you well," I said.  "I mean, really well."
	He beamed at me.  "He called me an `eager student'."
	And Patrick had taught me well, I thought but didn't say.  It was still a
source of embarrassment to my male ego that a thirteen year old boy had
shown me the way to my true self--had taught me how to really make love.
	I kissed him gently on the lips.  He increased the pace on my cock.  It
felt great but we had to get up and get ready for the day.  "We don't have
time," I whispered.
	He craned his neck to look at the clock, then looked at me with a gleam in
his eye.  "Five minutes," he said.  "We can do it in five minutes."  His
hand was making that obvious.  My cock was thrumming with pleasure.
	I reached down and found him hard and he thrust his hips forward to
encourage me.  I took it between my thumb and forefinger and began to
masturbate him with quick yanks.  He hummed in his throat and kissed me on
the lips.  There was that squeak again, like a whisper in the morning in the
quiet room.  We frantically pulled at each other and I was amazed at the raw
sexuality of him, just thirteen years old.  He was breathing heavily into my
mouth, gasping through his nose, lost in his bliss.  We were both
approaching our orgasms quickly.  It seemed to be measured by the intensity
of that squeak as it picked up speed and galloped toward the horizon.  I
exploded on his belly, my whole body jerking, and I felt my own belly being
sprinkled as he let out three soft grunts in quick succession.
	Looking at the clock, we had one minute to spare.  Giggling, we wiped the
cream from our bellies with tissues and clambered from the bed.  Patrick
pulled his pajama pants on and I righted my boxers.  I was pulling up my
shorts as the alarm sounded.  I yanked the curtain back.
	"Up n' at `em!"  I shouted.  My cock was still up, and watching Patrick
scamper to his own bed made me want to go at `em.  He slipped into bed,
pretending to be just waking up, rubbing his eyes and stretching, faking a
yawn.  The cabin was coming awake.


	Patrick and I had become inseparable.  I was so drunk on love and desire
for him that I was sure everyone at camp saw it as well.  It made me
inhibited when we were together, being careful to not betray the nature of
our relationship.  Still, I was convinced that the strong desires that I had
whenever I looked at him were apparent to anyone looking at me.  How could
they not be when they paralyzed and hypnotized me so?  Patrick remained
affectionate, hanging on to my hand when we walked around, hugging me close
while waiting for dinner outside the dining hall, favoring me with smiles
that beamed with love and adoration.  While at the waterfront, taking a
break from swimming, he found me sitting on the beach by myself and plopped
down beside me in the sand, his towel wrapped around his shoulders, his
teeth chattering.  There, we spoke a little about his cousin.
	"I guess we started...ya know..."
	"Uh huh."
	"When I was about nine.  He...ya know..."
	"Uh huh."
	"The first time on my tenth birthday.  First he used a...ya know..."
	"Um...no."
	"Dildo."
	"Ah!  Uh huh."
	"Just to get me ready, and then he..."
	"Ya know."
	"Uh huh."  He shrugged.  "I liked it.  A lot.  Plus I loved him. When he
went away, I hated him, but I'm over it now."  He leaned into me and smiled
up into my face.
	"Any others?" I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
	He shook his head.  "No.  Just Sean.  He visits from time to time, but we
don't do...ya know...anymore."
	"Uh huh."  I was happy to hear that he hadn't made his lovely behind public
property with free access to all goers.  I imagined that he would have a lot
of goers with that rump of his.
	Tristan continued to follow Ramon around and Ramon continued to shoo him
away with meaningful frowns and scowls.  Tristan was oblivious and I
actually had to take him aside to talk to him when Ramon gave me a pleading
look.  Tristan was shouting a cheer from the sidelines of a basketball game
where Ramon was playing.  Dressed in a matching turquoise short set, all he
needed were pompons to top off the look.  He inserted Ramon's name into the
cheer which caused an uncomfortable ripple to pass over the crowd and had
sparked the pleading look from Ramon.
	"Tristan," I said, sitting alone with him under an elm.  "I understand that
you like Ramon, but..."
	"I love him," he professed softly.
	"Yes, well," I went on.  "If you love him, you don't want to make him feel
uncomfortable, right?"
	He nodded.
	"Well, shouting his name in cheers, following him around everywhere he
goes, standing too close to him when you're in public...all that makes Ramon
very uncomfortable."
	"I just want to be close to him," said Tristan.  "You don't know what it's
like."
	I knew exactly what it was like.  Patrick and I would have had to be
surgically separated as of late, so strong were our desires to be near the
other.  Even now, Patrick was watching us from a distance, making sure that
Tristan wasn't moving in on his man.
	"I do know what it is like," I said.  "But if you continue to pester Ramon
like this, he won't want to...well...", I lowered my voice to a whisper, even
though we were far away from the others.  "He won't want to have sex with
you.  You don't want that to happen, right?"
	Tristan was not the brightest bulb on the tree, and he was enormously
ignorant of his affects on those around him, but he understood this equation
immediately and he nodded.  I admired him for the freedom with which he was
himself, regardless of the jeers from those around him, and I was impressed
by the fact that he had somehow managed to bag Ramon, a fine masculine
specimen who was the envy of his peers and the object of some attention from
the girls at the camp.  Still, he seemed oblivious to any reality that did
not exist in his own fantasy world.  He probably didn't really understand
the generosity and sensitivity implied in being respectful of Ramon's
limitations and boundaries, but he clearly understood the concept of losing
his man and no longer being the target of Ramon's rampant and virile libido.
	"Do you understand?" I asked.
	He nodded, then gave Ramon a devious glare as he drove to the hoop with a
lay up.  "I'll make him pay," Tristan said, not taking his eyes off of
Ramon.  "for his rudeness."
	I sighed, quite sure that I had failed in my attempt to persuade Tristan.
"I'm sure you will."


	That night's activity was square dancing, located in the dining hall.  As
soon as I heard about the activity, I knew that Ramon would not be
interested and I grimaced when Tristan announced at the table that he was
ready to dance that night.
	"Square dancing is so gay," remarked Ramon, then he looked at Tristan as if
just remembering who he was talking to.  "I don't go for that."  It was
meant to warn Tristan up front to get no strange ideas in his head.
	It was too late for that.  Tristan's head was overflowing with strange
ideas and he looked crestfallen by Ramon's verdict.  I knew that most of my
boys would be much more interested in the games that were set up around the
dining hall, more geared toward the younger boys who still thought that
girls had cooties.  I also knew that those games would hold limited appeal
to Ramon, who much more enjoyed more physical games.  I had the perfect
solution.
	When the activity started, I secreted Ramon and Tristan away, telling them
that they had to go back to the cabin for "something".  They both knew what
that "something" was and followed me willingly.  With all of the camp
located in and around the dining hall, it would afford them the privacy they
needed.  Both boys were hard by the time they got to the cabin and I sent
them inside, telling them that I would keep watch while they did their thing
inside.
	"You gonna watch?" Ramon asked suspiciously.  I got a sense that he would
rather I didn't but, if I did, it wouldn't stop him from enjoying himself.
	I shook my head and lied.  "No, I will be too busy keeping watch."
	"We need a code word," Tristan said excitedly.
	"How about, `Stop fucking, there's somebody coming'?" Ramon cracked.
	Tristan batted flirtatiously at his shoulder and laughed girlishly.  Ramon,
away from the other boys, gave him a devilishly handsome grin, toying with
his necklace, and Tristan gave a melting sigh.
	"I'll shout hello to whoever comes up the path," I said.  "If there are any
questions, you two had to come back to change your clothes."
	They went inside and I took my post on the porch where I could hear them
clearly and, with minimal effort, I could see them.  I heard them shuffling
about inside, and then there was silence.  I got up and peeked inside to see
Ramon groping Tristan's ass through his pants and Tristan working on Ramon's
belt buckle.  Ramon's pants were bulging, and once unzipped and unbuttoned,
his cock spilled out of them, hard and throbbing.  When Tristan took a hold
of it, I heard Ramon groan.
	"Kiss me," I heard Tristan say.
	"Shut up," Ramon responded.
	Tristan pulled away.  His turquoise shorts had an elastic band and he
pulled them down, along with his yellow bikini briefs, to his ankles and
stepped out of them.  Ramon was already moving toward him, mesmerized by all
that bare flesh.  Tristan shed his tee shirt and stood there in nothing but
shoes and socks.  He smiled at Ramon, who was reaching out to touch
Tristan's hip.
	"Kiss me," Tristan said again.
	"Naw."  Ramon was irritated.
	"Kiss me, or you can't have me," said Tristan, and he stepped away from
Ramon, turning his lovely ass to him and stroking it luridly.  Ramon didn't
know how to respond.  His brow furrowed and he studied Tristan for a moment,
then shook his head.
	"Why do you have to be like that?" he asked.
	Tristan smiled, clearly understanding the power he held, flashing that
irresistible ass at Ramon, running his finger in the cleft.  He wet a finger
and dabbed at his bud, then slid it in slowly, watching Ramon with a smile.
He was bluffing, I knew, but did Ramon?  Tristan lived for the moment when
Ramon crammed his cock up his ass.  He would relent if Ramon refused.
	Ramon's mouth was open slightly, his cock jutting out from his open pants,
as he looked at Tristan's ass and the little finger sliding in and out of
it.
	"If you want me," Tristan said.  "You have to kiss me."
	"Tris," Ramon said, trying to sound firm but sounding more plaintive.
Tristan slipped his finger out of his ass and turned to Ramon.
	"C'mon," Tristan said, approaching Ramon now.  "Kiss me."
	"That's so gay."
	"Just do it."
	"I ain't doin' it."
	"Then you ain't havin' it."  Tristan was trying to sound tough but only
succeeded in sounding bitchy.
	"Shit, Tristan."
	Tristan had put his arms around Ramon's neck and pressed his naked body
against him, fingering his precious necklace.  With his cock hanging out of
his pants, Tristan's soft flesh sent a message through Ramon's cock to his
brain.  "Kiss him."
	Ramon lowered his head, then stopped and looked sternly at Tristan.  "You
ever tell anyone about this and we're through," he said.  "You got it?"
	Tristan, who would have agreed to anything at that point, nodded quickly,
and I watched as Ramon lowered his lips to Tristan's and kissed him.  It was
no little peck either.  It was a mashing movie star kiss and Ramon pulled
Tristan closer, into his arms.
	Its effect on Tristan was immediate.  He was suddenly panting and
desperate, pulling Ramon's pants down without parting those lips, reaching
up under his shirt to stroke Ramon's muscular chest.  Ramon appeared
surprised, even startled by the "on" button he had inadvertently pushed that
suddenly shifted Tristan into high gear.  They kissed for a long time,
looking as if they were trying to climb inside each other, and Tristan was
more aggressive and passionate than I had ever seen him.
	He then kissed Ramon on the neck and collarbone, shoulder and chest,
licking a nipple, working his lips down to Ramon's flat washboard belly.  He
lowered himself to his knees and took Ramon's cock in hand.  He opened his
mouth and took it all in at once, wrapping his lips around Ramon's
formidable prick and bobbing on it with complete abandon.  With his hands,
he stroked the shaft and cradled the smooth balls.
	Ramon was suddenly swooning, letting his head fall back, eyes closed, hands
on Tristan's head, moving it slowly as he fucked the boy's face.  He
suddenly became verbal.
	"Oh, shit yeah," he growled.  "Suck that cock, marica.  Suck that cock
good."
	Ramon had obviously watched his share of het porn.
	"Oh, that's my boy," he said, taking a handful of hair and fucking
Tristan's face in earnest now.  Tristan surrendered his head to Ramon,
allowing him to set the pace.  He reached around and stroked Ramon's ass.
	"Ugh, ugh, ugh," Ramon grunted.  "Oh, fuck yeah!  Que rico!  Chupame,
marica.  Chupame!"
	He was delirious to the point of rambling in Spanish, and although Tristan
didn't understand a word, he obeyed and sucked him more.  I was hard
watching Ramon's stiff, wet cock slide in and out of Tristan's lips.  Ramon
worked one foot out of a pant leg and stepped forward, pushing Tristan back
as he sucked, back until he was lying on the floor and Ramon was kneeling
over him, straddling his face, driving his cock in and out of Tristan's
mouth.  Tristan masturbated himself manically, his hand flashing up and down
on his little stiff cock.  Suddenly, Ramon gurgled in his throat and threw
his head back.  I half expected him to howl like a wolf.  It was obvious
that he was cumming in Tristan's mouth, spurt after spurt, and Tristan lay
submissively, swallowing, eyes swimming dreamily, until Ramon finally
stopped and lay still, his cock twitching in Tristan's mouth.
	I thought that would be it. I thought, once spent, Ramon's homophobia would
kick in and he would be up and pulling his pants up, rushing to get back to
his buddies at the activity.  But to my surprise, he gingerly pulled out his
dripping cock and then pulled Tristan's legs up, maneuvering in between
them, dick still standing at attention.  Such stamina!
	"Okay, Tris," he said gruffly.  "Now I'm gonna fuck you `till you forget
your name!"  He slapped Tristan's asshole with his cock.  Tristan laughed.
	"Si, marica, laugh," he said.  He hunched forward and spit on Tristan's
hole.  "Now I'll make you cry!"
	Tristan was enflamed by Ramon's bravado.  Ramon, a quick learner, had
discovered the "on" switch of his little lover and he intended to use it.  I
thought he would shy away from kissing Tristan now that he didn't have to.
With Tristan pulling his legs up, it was obvious that Ramon had been given
complete access.  Further, having just deposited his load into Tristan's
mouth, I was sure that Ramon's homophobic disposition would never allow him
to put his own mouth there.  But he did, and with great abandon, and as soon
as their lips made contact, Tristan was turned back on, writhing beneath
him, grabbing Ramon's cock and pulling it to his asshole.  Ramon penetrated
Tristan quickly, despite the younger boy's groans of discomfort.  He was
rather rough about it, I thought, but Tristan just wrapped his arms and legs
around Ramon and held on.  Ramon's hips started pumping and they were off.
	I had forgotten that I was supposed to be keeping watch, but fortunately,
when I remembered, I found no one around, so I went back to the show.
Ramon, with his pants and boxers around one ankle, was drilling Tristan
pretty well, shaking the boy's body with every thrust, and Tristan's hand
flew up and down on his own cock until Ramon reached down and took it in his
own hand, stroking it to the same rhythm as he fucked his hole.  Tristan was
clearly in Heaven.  He came moments later, covering Ramon's hand with his
cum, and when Ramon continued to stroke it, Tristan came again.  Each time,
his little body shuddered violently, and when their lips parted in the
middle of his orgasm, Tristan blurted out, "I love you, Ramon!"
	I held my breath, waiting to see how Ramon would handle that. He didn't
stop fucking Tristan, but he covered his lips with his own, probably as an
attempt to shut him up.  Ramon, freshly spent, fucked Tristan for a long
time and I, checking my watch, figured that they had been at it for a good
half hour already.  I needed to get them back to the activity.  Who needs a
half hour to change their clothes?
	Then I heard Ramon again, babbling in Spanish, and knew that he was ready
for another spurt.  "Ay, Tristinito, que bueno!  Chevere!  Si!  Si!"  Then
their lips were mashed together and Ramon's hips shook and stopped pumping
and he emptied his balls into Tristan's ass.  Their bodies shook and
trembled like an amoeba in an epileptic seizure, all legs and arms.  When
they both stopped grunting and lay still there on the floor, Ramon raised
his head and looked down into Tristan's face.  It was a moment of tenderness
that I didn't expect from Ramon, and it only lasted a second before he was
struggling to get to his feet and pull up his pants.  Tristan lay on the
floor, legs spread, sperm oozing from his anus, watching Ramon get dressed,
smiling stupidly.
	"C'mon!" Ramon barked.  "We gotta go!"
	Ramon buckled his pants and walked out of the cabin to wait for Tristan to
dress.  When he came out, I was sitting on the step, pretending to be
oblivious to them.  He sat down next to me and gave a deep sigh.
	"Did you watch?" he asked.
	"No."
	"Liar," he scoffed.  "I saw you."
	"Oh, well, in that case, yes."
	He was quiet for a moment, then gave me a sidelong glance.  "I ain't a fag,
ya know," he said.
	I said nothing.
	"But," he said, smirking, jerking his head back to indicate Tristan.  "He's
one hot fuck."
	"He likes you very much," I said.  "So be careful not to hurt him."
	Ramon looked pensive, and as we heard Tristan coming out of the cabin, he
muttered, "I won't."


	When we returned to the dining hall, Patrick came running to me.  Ramon and
Tristan disappeared into the crowd.
	"Where have you been?" Patrick asked.  "I've been looking all over for
you!"
	"I had something to do," I said vaguely.  "Have you been dancing?"
	Patrick shook his head.  "Hell no.  I don't dance."
	I wondered why they bothered organizing square dancing for the campers.
There were far more boys than girls in camp and most of the boys had the
same feelings about square dancing that Ramon had.  Most of the girls were
out dancing, partnering with each other when there was a shortage of willing
boys, and I wondered at the double standard in our culture that allowed two
girls to be dance partners while Ramon and Tristan, lovers that they were,
couldn't.
	"I need to change my shirt," Patrick said meaningfully.
	His shirt was fine, clean and comfortable.  Of course I knew what he meant,
but having just been absent for so long with Ramon and Tristan, I couldn't
disappear again.  Still, my cock stirred at Patrick's suggestion, as if he
had string attached to it and could command it like a dog on a leash.  I
shook my head firmly.
	"We can't leave now, Patrick," I said. "You're shirt is fine."
	"But my shoes," he said quickly, pointing at his sneakers.  "I can't dance
in these!"
	"You don't dance, remember," I pointed out.  "And the only other shoes you
have are sandals."
	"Well, these pants..."
	"Patrick, we can't go now."
	He looked disappointed, and after watching the live sex show between Ramon
and Tristan, I was horny and disappointed as well.  I wasn't sorry for
giving Ramon and Tristan their time together, but I was sorry now that it
meant that Patrick and I would have to wait until later.  Patrick stayed at
my side for the remainder of the square dance, holding my hand and leaning
against me.  At thirteen years old, he was at the borderline of the age when
it would no longer be acceptable for him to be so physical with me in
public.  Many would say he had already passed that point, but at camp, the
rules of the outside world could be bent a little.
	Thanks to Patrick, I was getting to know myself for who I was and always
had been and for who I had become--a lover, a boyfriend, a beloved, a lover
of boys.  Being loved by Patrick was, to me, a rare honor, a gift, a
treasure.  His attentive gaze, his familiar touch, the special softness that
his voice adopted when talking to me.  And when I climbed into bed beside
him and he rolled into my awaiting arms, the addictive electricity and
energy that surged between us only intensified.


	In that last week of the camp session, the final session of the summer,
Patrick and I made love every night.  I became adept at arousing him, albeit
it was not great challenge to do so.  He, like me, seemed to be perpetually
horny.  I fell so deeply in love with him that it changed my physical
appearance, and people would comment to me, "You look great!  So healthy
with a glow about you!  You look so happy!"
	Such comments made me nervous--that they could see a change.  I wondered how
long it would be before they were able to connect it to Patrick, hanging on
me, pressing his head against my chest, holding on to my hand.  Still, I was
helpless to fight it, even if I had wanted to.  Patrick and I were drawn to
each other, and while we made love every night in my bed, we would, from
time to time, slip away for a quickie in the afternoon or during evening
activities.  Once, we did it in the boathouse while the rest of the boys
from the cabin were out paddleboating.  He and I started out in the same
boat, navigating the lake, but we turned around and went back to the dock,
ostensibly to get a splinter out of Patrick's finger, but when we got to the
first aid kit in the boathouse, we noticed how quiet and secluded it was,
all of the instructors out on the lake with my kids, and Patrick started to
knead my cock through my shorts.
      "Patrick," I objected half-heartedly.  "This might not be the best
place to...oh God..."
      His hand was inside my shorts, pulling my cock out.  "We'll have to be
quick about it," he said.  He stroked my cock sweetly and then crouched
before me.  "Watch for someone coming," he said.
      "Oh, someone's going to cum, all right," I murmured, peering out the
grimy window of the boathouse.  I could see the boats far in the distance.
Patrick sucked on me for a while, on his knees, pulling his swim trunks down
and tugging on his own cock.  I was immediately inflamed with lust and
passion, and in my haste, I reached down and grabbed Patrick by the armpits,
hoisting him up and turning him around all in one graceful, if not forceful,
move.  He landed with his hands on the window sill, his face close to the
glass, and I yanked his trunks down to his ankles. I bent over and rammed my
tongue inside his ass, wiggling it lewdly and sending shivers through the
boy's body.
      "Mama mia!" he snickered, then gasped.  "Oh God!"
      He bent over to allow me better access, and when he was good and wet,
I stood up and spit on my damp cock.  "We have to hurry," I said.
      Patrick looked back at me, smiling.  "This is like fast food," he
said.  "Fast fuck."
      "Drive through," I quipped.
      He wiggled his hips lasciviously, eyes sparkling, anus wet and
invitingly agape. "You want fries with that shake?"
      I indicated my throbbing cock in my hand.  "Ready for a Whopper?"
      He laughed.  "Extra mayo, please."
      I was inside him quickly and he, after so much practice, received me
without as much as a whimper.  As soon as I was all the way in, he started
grunting and groaning and he reached down to stroke his cock in rhythm with
my thrusts.
      "Oh, yeah," he choked.  "Fuck."
      I obliged happily, slamming into him harder than usual, lifting him
off his feet, holding fast to his slender hips.  He hung on to the window
sill and I drove in and out of his hot hole.  After less than ten minutes of
screwing, his cum slopped out onto the wooden floor and I exploded inside
him, bucking wildly and knocking to the floor a bunch of canoe paddles that
had been leaning against the wall.  The clatter masked my own cry of
pleasure.
      We emerged fifteen minutes later, smiling, and Patrick still had the
splinter in his finger.
	I took my boys out camping in the woods and manipulated things so that
Patrick and I shared a tent.  As I zipped the tent shut, Patrick was pulling
off his clothes and whispering, "Camping makes me so fucking horny!"  This
proved to be true as Patrick was more heated and excited than usual as he
pulled manically at my clothes.  We were interrupted briefly when Sam
reported that Ramon and Tristan had gone off for a pee fifteen minutes ago
and hadn't yet returned.  Sam was convinced that they had been eaten by
raccoons.  I got dressed, leaving Patrick naked and horny in our sleeping
bags, zipped together to make one large one, and snuck down the path that
led away from the campsite to a clearing that was commonly used for the
purpose of relieving ourselves.  There, in the light of the moon, I found
Ramon on his knees, cramming his cock in and out of Tristan, who was lying
on the ground with his knees up to his ears, panting and moaning.   Their
lips were mashed together.  They had been half-watching for the bob of a
flashlight or the sound of footsteps coming down the path, giving them
plenty of time to dress, but my stealthy approach surprised them.
	"Kevin!" Ramon spat.  "You scared the fuck out of us!"
	His cock was still inside Tristan.  "Apparently not," I said.  "Look, the
other boys are starting to wonder where you guys are, so hurry up and get
back to camp."  I was somewhat surly, having been dragged away from Patrick
for this errand, and left them to finish up their lovemaking.
	As I crawled back into my tent, Patrick was lying there naked, his legs
spread wide, his luscious hole shiny with Vaseline.  He pulled his finger
out and pointed.  "Hurry up," he panted huskily.  "I'm ready!"
	Ramon and Tristan's was an ephemeral romance.  I warned Tristan as the end
of camp neared that Ramon was apt to go back to his regular life, which
didn't include him, and even Ramon made passing remarks about his girlfriend
who he was anxious to get back to.  When Tristan solicited him for his phone
number and address, Ramon was obviously evasive.  Tristan, however, was in
love.  I still think the other boys in the cabin knew this but they never
said anything about it--the way he fawned over Ramon and gazed at him.  Ramon
looked irritated at those moments, but when the two of them were alone, he
became quite an amorous lover, kissing and fucking with uncharacteristic
tenderness.
	With three days left to go of the session, Patrick lay in my arms in my bed
after a long session of lovemaking.  The moon was waning and so the cabin
was quite dark.  His was a disembodied voice with no face to see, but I
could hear the raw determination and emotion in it.  "After camp," he said.
"I'm going to come to your house."
	I said nothing, thinking about that.
	"Okay?" he asked.
	"Well...," I started, then stopped.  In the real world, the non-camp world,
thirteen year old boys holding hands with twenty-three year old men was not
acceptable and would rouse a fair amount of suspicion.  Even him showing up
on my doorstep might raise a few eyebrows in the neighborhood.  I lived with
a roommate in an apartment in Indianapolis near the university, and while he
was a liberal sort, I doubted he was liberal enough to accept my boy lover
without qualms.  There were many complications, but Patrick had already
thought this through.
	"You're studying engineering, right?"
	"Uh-huh."
	"So I suck at math," he said.  "I'm going to need help with algebra because
it kicked my ass last year.  I got a D.  My mom said that I need a tutor,
so..."
	In the silence, I marveled at such a good idea.
	"And then next semester is geometry!"
	"I see."
	"And I want to learn how to play guitar, too."
	"Since when?"
	"Since now," he said.  "You can teach me."
	"That I could do."
	"And when my mom goes out of town for her business trips, instead of me
going to my grandma's house in Fort Wayne, I could stay with you!"
	"You've thought all this out, haven't you?"
	"And you can teach me how to build and fly model planes," he added.
	"I don't know how to build and fly model planes," I said.
	"Well, you're going to have to learn."
	It suddenly sounded so feasible.  "Are you sure your mother will be cool
with all this?" I asked.
	I felt him nod, his head against my chin.  "Sure," he said happily,
reaching down and finding my cock with his hand.  "No problem."


	For the final night of camp, there was a big bonfire and the whole camp
gathered to sing and say their goodbyes.  Tristan was a mess, crying and
burying his face in his hands, and Ramon wanted nothing to do with such an
emotional spectacle.  He shamefacedly moved away from Tristan and
disappeared into the crowd.  I sat next to Tristan, knowing why he was
crying.
	"There's always next year," I said.
	He didn't answer, but he moved closer and leaned against me. I put my arm
around him.  "There are other boys, Tristan," I said.  "Maybe at your
school."
	He shook his head and sobbed.  "I only want Ramon."
	"Ya know," I said.  "In Circle Centre Mall in downtown Indianapolis, there
is a Nordstrom's Department store, and in that store is a men's room, and in
that men's room is a stall.  Very quiet bathroom, I hear."
	I had been in that stall on more than one occasion, having it off with men,
but he didn't need to know that, and thankfully, he didn't ask.  He raised
his face from his hands and looked at me as if wondering what my point was.
	"Two boys, for example, could agree to meet there every once in a while," I
said.  "At Nordstrom's."
	He suddenly looked as if he understood.  He stopped crying and sniffed.
	"Circle Centre Mall?"
	I nodded.  "On Maryland Street," I said.  "Accessible by bus from any part
of the city."
	He looked pensive, then doubtful. "Ramon at Nordstrom's?" he said.  "He'd
hate their selection."
	Tristan wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.


	On the last day of camp, as they boarded the various buses to their various
neighborhoods in Indianapolis, all of the campers were emotional, hugging
each other and exchanging phone numbers, promising to see each other next
summer.  Patrick and I stood next to each other, watching this magical time
come to an end.  He had my phone number and address on a piece of paper in
his pocket.  As he stood there, he held onto my hand quietly, watching the
commotion around him not looking up at me.  I watched Tristan and Ramon,
talking and standing near each other as Ramon prepared to get on his bus.
Tristan was crying and Ramon looked embarrassed, although no one else seemed
to notice.  Then, to my surprise, I saw Ramon reach behind his neck and
unlatch his necklace, his prized necklace, and hand it to Tristan.  Tristan
was as surprised as I was, his mouth hanging open as he stared at this rare
gift.  It was better than a kiss.  Ramon turned without another word and
mounted his bus, leaving Tristan there, speechless and wet-faced.  Ramon had
once again managed to surprise me with his warm heart.


	As for Patrick and me, he was right about his mother having no problem with
Patrick spending so much time with me.  Under the guise of math tutor and
guitar instructor, I had custody of Patrick for several nights during the
week, and he spent nearly every weekend with me.  I did help him with his
algebra and geometry homework, naked in bed with him pressed up against me,
and he was a good student, but he never learned anything on guitar.  He
could pluck my heartstrings, but he never learned to play guitar.  He became
a fixture in the house and my roommate didn't suspect a thing, even as
Patrick slept with me in my room.  Luckily for us, my roommate found a
girlfriend and spent nights at a time sleeping at her house, leaving the
apartment free for Patrick and me.  I struggled to keep my grades up.
Patrick was a huge distraction, but no more or less than my roommate's
girlfriend was a distraction for him.
	One sunny Saturday, Patrick arrived with news.  "Guess who I saw last
night."
	"Who?"
	"Tristan," he said.  "He's a cheerleader for his school.  Do you believe
that?"
	I did.
	"Their basketball team played ours," he went on.  "And there was Tristan,
shaking his thing with the girls."  He snorted and shook his head.  "Can you
picture that?"
      I could.
      "We talked a little," Patrick said.  "He told me to tell you that he
meets Ramon every Saturday at Nordstrom's.  He said you'd understand what
that meant."
	I did.