Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2022 01:03:11 -0400 From: jason peebles Subject: Sweaty Scouts Chapter 2 Chris's kiss paralyzed me, separating mind from my body. I was no longer there. It was no longer Chris. It was David's thick lips invading mine. I was back at that party, overtaken, humiliated by laughter, made powerless. Frozen in place, I was unable to deny the warm tingling sensation I had been so able to ignore the night of the party. Originating in my gut, a pulse of pleasure travelled the byways of my pubescent body simultaneously reaching my face, my nipples and my stiffening penis, which, bewitched by the grips of pleasure, swiftly ejected the final stream of piss from my dick in two, rapid, satisfying twitches, directly into Chris's hand. Chris pulled back, releasing my cock from his grip. He looked at me. Perhaps also transformed to some other place in that moment, Chris seemed almost surprised to see me standing before him; as if I had not been a party to what had just happened but had instead caught him in an act of perversion. He shook his hand a few times flinging excess piss to the ground and then reached for the zipper of his shorts. "Fuck," he said, more to himself than to me, "I'm sorry. I -- I don't know what was...," he avoided my eyes, "come on, Ryan, we should get back to camp." He zipped himself up, wiped his hand onto the side of his shorts and started back down the path. Chris's demeanor was noticeably changed. He kept his eyes down and barely spoke. The sudden withdrawal of his affection filled me with despair. Having, at seven, been abandoned by my father, I was particularly sensitive to rejection and abandonment from older men. "Are you mad at me?" I finally asked, driven to juvenile desperation by his apathy. "Just forget it," Chris replied curtly. "My friend David kissed me once during spin the bottle...," I began, thinking I might confide in him. "Just fucking drop it," Chris barked, "and you better not go around telling any of your little faggot friends about this." He grabbed hold of my scrawny arm in his overpowering grip, looked me hard in the face and then shoved me into the brush. "I'd get in a lot of fucking trouble," he said. "You would too," he added ominously. I regained my balance and joined him on the path, walking a few steps behind him, humiliated and confused. Tell anyone? Why would I tell anyone? I mean, I guess I knew I was SUPPOSED to tell someone. From the time I was a young scout we were taught how to handle situations like this: you say NO, then you GO, then you TELL. We had all repeated this mantra ad nauseum during special assemblies on stranger danger. But this was different. This wasn't a creepy old man in a movie theater bathroom or a stranger in a park. This was Chris. Chris was my friend. "I won't say anything," I called out to him. "Scout's honor," I vowed, invoking the sacred and unbreakable trust that bound each and every scout. Chris turned and held up his hand in the scout salute and I returned the gesture. "Thanks Ryan, I just don't want us both getting in trouble for horsing around, you know?" I nodded my head. "Can I tell you something, but like seriously just between us?" Eager to become Chris's confidant I held three fingers up to my head to reaffirm our trust. "Did you know I had a little brother?" Chris asked. "He drowned." I replied, a little too nonchalantly. Chris paused. "Yes," his words were measured, "he drowned. Did you know him?" JR had died the same year my father left. The two tragedies were inextricably tied together in my adolescent mind. "Well, he was a year ahead of me. We weren't friends or anything, but I knew who he was." I replied, adopting a more somber tone. "He was an awesome kid," Chris said, slowing his pace. "We were really close, you know? It fucked me up real bad when he drowned. I blamed myself, I think my parents blamed me too. We moved out of Yardsdale right after he died, tried to start over in Briarsby but, I don't know, you just can't escape something so heavy." I wasn't sure why Chris was telling me this, "I'm sorry, Chris," was all I could think to say. Chris stared intently at my face like he was trying to solve a riddle. He put his hand on my shoulder, then touched my cheek, and then the top of my head. "You look like him," he finally said. "I always thought so, even when you were a little kid and I would come by to hang out with Meghan. When I look at you, I think of, you know, what he might look like today." We stood there for another moment, staring into each other's eyes, his hand lightly stroking my hair. "Anyway, dude," he snorted, composing himself, "you look like him. And I just miss him so damn much. I was just...before, it just reminded me of goofing around with my little brother and I don't know man, I just did something dumb out of my own stupid grief." He laughed self-consciously. "OK, let's get out of here." Chris removed his hand from my head and tugged at my arm. "Come on," he said, his steps quickening as the path sloped down toward the river, "we just have to round the bend and then it's a straight shot back to camp." I tried to keep up with Chris's pace, but the path was too steep and I was stumbling along somewhere between a walk and a run, tripping over every rock and pebble on the path. Chris looked back a few times laughing at my spastic attempts while his strong, muscular legs took long, even strides. Finally finding my footing, I lengthened my stride to catch up to Chris but just as I joined his side, Chris suddenly tackled me to the ground. One minute I was gleefully bouncing down the path, the next, I was face down in the brush with the entirety of Chris's weight on my small frame and his large hand covering my mouth. "Shhhhhh", Chris whispered, his lips lightly grazing my ear, his stubble tickling my neck. I had landed on Chris's arm. His hand cupped my undeveloped pec, the palm pressed hard against my sensitive nipple. His fingers extended right into the crook of my armpit, moving ever so slightly, sending chills down my body and making me squirm and shake. "Shhhh," he repeated. I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to, of course. His left hand was firmly fixed against my mouth. The fall had knocked the wind out of me and my attempts to gasp for breath were deterred by the acrid scent of Chris's hand. The lack of oxygen mixed with the rank odor was making me queasy. "Look down there," Chris whispered, physically turning my head. Right in the middle of the lake was the unmistakable body of Rob Anderson. Rob was a big guy, not lean and defined like Chris, but thick and powerful. He was a big bully and all of the younger scouts hated him. "Looks like Anderson's playing hooky from manhunt," Chris's lips licked my ear while his warm breath bathed the side of my face. As he returned my head back to neutral, his middle finger artfully found its way between my lips. My mouth began to water from the salty savory taste of Chris's sweat. Chris's right hand, still trapped beneath me, began more actively squeezing and caressing my nipple and exploring the sensitive nodes of my armpit causing me to part my lips and draw a quick breath in. Chris's finger understood this as an invitation to further penetrate my mouth, making direct contact with my tongue. As the strange, salty flavor permeated my taste buds I suddenly realized it wasn't just Chris's sweat I was tasting. It was piss. It was my piss. It was the same hand I had peed all over back in the woods. The realization made me want to gag, yet my mouth was watering so intensely I was drooling all over Chris's hand. With minds seemingly their own, Chris's hands continued to explore my smooth soft, goose bump covered body and the warm, wet depths of my mouth while Chris himself spoke with such casual camaraderie and playful enthusiasm it was as if he was completely unaware of what his hands were doing. Or at least he wanted me to believe that. "Check it out," Chris whispered conspiratorially, "Rob's clothes are down there by the rock, if we can grab em, he might have to walk back to camp naked." Chris's hand continued to stimulate my young body, the pleasure, though undeniable, was eclipsed by the shame and powerlessness. Each time I tried to speak or protest, Chris would aggressively shush me under the pretense of keeping our cover. Eventually Chris pushed his finger so far into my mouth it made me gag. As my mouth opened to heave, Chris gently slipped two more fingers inside. "Shh!" Chris said once more, giggling as he fleshed out his plan. "If we wait until he swims to the far side, we can probably grab his stuff and book it before he can even get to the shore." All three of Chris's fingers were filling my mouth, stretching it open, rhythmically pushing in and out and being completely coated in spit. "Why you eating my fingers?" Chris whispered mockingly, "stop eating my fingers you weirdo." He continued to taunt me as he moved his finger in and out of my mouth. I tried to answer but as I started to speak, the tickling intensified and my protests were garbled by his fingers and sporadic fits of gasps and laughter. "What's so funny?" Chris asked innocently, "You must really like eating fingers if they make you laugh so much!" At this point the tickling became so intense that my body started bucking up and down and squirming from side to side trying to free myself from his touch, but it was useless. Chris was strong and powerful and could hold me down effortlessly. "Oh, now you're grinding against my junk? You trying to give me a boner you little perv?" Chris pushed his crotch hard into my ass and began gyrating rhythmically with my body. "Stop trying to give me a boner, stop rubbing up against my cock," he kept repeating, his piss-soaked hand now almost completely in my mouth. "Bet you're making your little dick hard too humping the ground like an animal," he sneered in my ear. He was manipulating my body so vigorously into the ground that the friction WAS forcing me to get aroused and while all I wanted was for this to stop, I could feel my dick starting to get hard in spite of myself. Between the friction from the ground, my burgeoning little boner, the non-stop tickling, and Chris's weight on top of me, I knew what was coming. I could feel it welling up inside of me and knew it was beyond my control. I fought even harder to get out from under him, but the more I struggled, the quicker it came. "STOP!" I finally managed to blurt out between hysterical gasps. "Stop what?" Chris feigned innocence as he continued to tickle me. "You sound like you're loving this!" With no other option, I bit down hard on his finger. "Fuck!" he yelled in the loudest whisper I'd ever heard. He jumped off me, but it was too late. I was peeing and I couldn't stop. "You better not have drawn blood!" Chris seemed somewhat amused by my retaliation as he sat up to inspect the finger. "Fuck, that hurts, but I don't think I'll need first aid" he continued to joke. He put his spit-soaked finger in his mouth, sucked it for a second, withdrew it and shook it a couple of times. I remained face down, still pissing, as a noticeable stream began flowing from beneath me. "Oh shit!" Chris said, noticing the piss pooling between my legs. "Well don't just lay there!" He gathered my body in one arm and flipped me onto my back out of my puddle of piss. I was so humiliated I couldn't even open my eyes. My body was as limp as a rag doll. I could still feel my almost five-inch erection bulging the front of my shorts, but I didn't even bother to try to hide it. Nothing mattered any more. I blew it and soon all the kids would know. Even David would probably shun me. No one wants to be friends with the little baby bedwetter. "I told you to stop," I was finally able to murmur with my eyes still closed, holding back tears. "Look man," Chris began, noticing how upset I was, "it's really no big deal. Shit happens, but let's get you cleaned up quick. I think the shorts are salvageable but we need to get them off before you soak through your briefs and the stains get more noticeable." I couldn't respond. I knew if I tried to say anything else or even open my eyes I would start bawling like a baby, so I just laid there, unresponsive. "Come on, little dude," Chris said, shaking my arm, trying to snap me out of it. Tears were welling up in my eyes and as he shook me, I could feel them starting to break free. "Alright, fuck it, buddy, just lay there. I got you. In a couple of minutes, it will be like none of this ever happened." Without waiting, Chris yanked my gray, cotton shorts down to my ankles and past my sneakers without a struggle. Normally I would have been mortified to be laying there in piss-soaked briefs, sporting a small but noticeable boner, but I was maxed out on embarrassment. I just laid there trying to disappear. "Look," Chris demanded. I didn't respond. "Will you just open your eyes for one second and look at this?" Chris asked again, this time through an audible smile. I opened my eyes. Chris was holding my shorts in front of my face. "They're more or less fine. Your underwear took most of the damage and in this heat your shorts will be dry by the time we get back to camp." I slowly closed my eyes again. He was right. There were a few wet spots on the front and a few dribbles down the leg but it seems like my boner, pressed hard against my leg by the waistband of my underwear had directed the stream of piss down my leg sparing my shorts from the worst. "Let's take care of the rest now," Christ said softly. I knew what was coming but I didn't even care. Chris lowered my briefs down to my ankles, freeing my boner. He carefully wriggled them off of one leg, and then the other. He lifted my tee shirt above my navel and started to use the dry part in the rear of my briefs to dry the piss from my body. "I pissed myself at Matt Collins graduation party last year," Chris said rather matter-of-factly, his hand applying even pressure up and down my left leg as he dried it thoroughly. Each time his hand rose up my inner thigh it would nearly graze my smooth tight little ball sack before retreating down the front again sending shivers across my body. "Yup," he continued, "I had too much to drink and I passed out in his backyard in a hammock." He switched to the right leg, rubbing my briefs up the front and down the inner thigh. His other hand simultaneously rubbed my left leg, inspecting his work. "Gotta make sure we got it nice and dry, otherwise, when you put your shorts back on, you're just gonna make things worse." Both of his hands rose up the fronts of my smooth, soft thighs in unison, turned inward toward my nuts, and right before making contact, they retreated down, so low into my inner thighs, that my asshole quivered in anticipation of being touched. Over and over, he repeated this movement, keeping me in a hypnotic state. "I had stumbled outside into the yard at some point. Everyone thought I had headed home early, but I woke up at around 6am and there I was, in Collins' backyard, drenched in piss, on top of a huge yellow stained, white hammock." Coming back to reality I realized that my little boner was not only rock hard, but it was jumping up and down of its own volition every time Chris's hands approached. I started to panic. It felt good, but I didn't want it to. I didn't want Chris to have that kind of control over my body, and I didn't want him to think I was gay for having a boner while he was touching me. I was about to protest when Chris abruptly lifted his hands from my body. Shocked by the sudden withdrawal, my eyes shot open and met his. "You know still to this day, the guys all try to solve the mystery of who pissed all over the Collins' hammock," he laughed. "Alright buddy, looks like you're all dry. Oh whoops," he corrected himself, "almost." And with that, and without breaking eye contact, he grabbed my erect penis in his left hand, held it out of the way with a grip just tight enough to send waves of pleasure pulsating throughout my body, mopped up some piss from my waist line, then holding my dick at the base, rubbed my penis up and down twice with my briefs. I yelped audibly with pleasure but he just smiled and ignored it. "All dry," he finally said proudly. He grabbed my shorts and pulled them back on me. "Good as new." I sat up, disoriented, as if woken from a dream. My heart was racing. I was experiencing sensory overload. I couldn't make sense of anything. "What about my underwear?" I asked meekly. "Oh," Chris said, as if he had forgotten all about them. "I'll hold onto them. I can give them a quick rinse during KP tomorrow morning and leave them in the sun to dry." I nodded in agreement. "And listen Ryan," he added, "this is our little secret and we can just pretend it never happened and never talk about it again." I nodded again and he reached out and wiped a couple of tears off my face. "Anderson's a real pain in the ass," Chris continued as if this had all just been business as usual. Maybe it had been. "Yeah," I replied, still a little shaken, "he gave David an atomic wedgie once. I try to stay out of his way." "You still wanna do this?" Chris asked conspiratorially, motioning down to the lake. "Yeah," I whispered again, excited at the idea of being an accomplice rather than a target. "OK. You see down there where Rob's clothes are?" Chris pointed to a large rock about ten feet from the shore. "While he's still at the other end of the lake, I want you to very quietly, and very slowly, go down the embankment, grab his clothes off the rock and run back up here. You're small, so if you stay low enough and go just off the path where the grass is thicker, you can probably get down without him seeing you. You think you can do it?" "A hundred percent," I said confidently. This was my chance. Chris needed me to pull this off and if I succeeded it could really solidify our bond, possibly even indebt him to me. I fantasized about how David might react to Chris's and my friendship. Maybe I would tell Chris that David was cool and let him hang out with us sometimes or maybe I would just keep Chris to myself. "Atta boy," Chris said, giving me a quick encouraging shoulder massage, "Go get em!" Though feats of physicality were not generally my forte, I was small and agile with an affinity for getting through life unnoticed. I made it down the hilly terrain in no time and sat in the brush watching Chris for a signal. "Go!" Chris mouthed emphatically to me. I emerged from the brush, ran toward the rock, snatched the pile of clothes and ran back up the embankment beaming with pride, not caring if Rob saw me. I was under Chris's protection. "Good job, little man!" Chris exclaimed as I ran toward him, "I mean I don't like to be a dick or anything, but this guy has had it coming a long time." He grabbed the clothes out of my hand and shouted down toward the lake. "HEY ANDERSON," he bellowed, holding Rob's clothes high in the air, "YOU'RE OUT OF BOUNDS, ASSHOLE! PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY!" Rob, visibly angry, began paddling toward the shore, but realizing he could never catch us, he stopped and addressed us from where he was. "WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? COME ON, I WAS COVERED IN MUD FROM THE GAME I JUST NEEDED TO RINSE OFF BEFORE GOING BACK, YOU KNOW HOW IT IS." "BULLSHIT ANDERSON, YOU'VE BEEN WALLOWING THERE ALL AFTERNOON LIKE AN AFRICAN RHINO!" Chris hollered back. "DON'T BE A DICKHEAD, CHRIS, GIVE ME BACK MY CLOTHES," Rob pleaded. "OH, YOU CAN HAVE YOUR CLOTHES", Chris yelled back deviously, flinging Rob's socks, tee and shorts haphazardly around the embankment, "BUT THESE BABIES ARE COMING WITH ME." Chris twirled Rob's large, white, fruit of the loom briefs over his head like a lasso. Rob began paddling angrily toward us once more. Chris, examining the briefs, smiled wryly and then said more to himself than to me, "oh, this is gonna be good. NICE FUCKING CUM STAINS," he finally yelled down to Rob before grabbing my arm and pulling me back down the path. "Come on dude, let's get the fuck out of here!" Chris and I ran down the path toward base camp. After we were well out of sight of the lake, Chris slowed down and started laughing. "That was great," he praised me, "oh my god, the fucking look on that guy's face, serves him right for being such a douchebag his whole life." "I thought you were gonna make him walk back naked?" I asked. "Nah, no one wants to see his hairy ass and his tiny little dick, plus if he shows up at camp naked, he'll probably rat us out since he's already busted himself. This way he'll just be really late after finding all his clothes, and then he can just say he got lost or whatever and he won't get any demerits for being out of bound and ditching the game. Anyway, these babies are the grand prize." Chris held the briefs up proudly like a trophy. "What are you gonna do with them?" I asked naively. Chris held Rob's underwear to his face and took a deep breath, "damn, these things are rank," he said with a shit eating grin. "Haven't you ever been on a camp out?" he asked incredulously. He chuckled. "Oh shit," he remembered, "that's right, you haven't! We take these bad boys in the morning and we hike them up the flagpole before first call. That way when all the scouts come out for the morning salute, they'll get a good laugh." Chris explained. "How will anyone even know whose they are?" I asked naively. "Leave that to me kid. Word travels fast. And even if it didn't, the size would pretty much give it away!" I wondered nervously if that would be the fate of MY underwear. I had begun to think of Chris as a friend, but maybe it was all a ruse. Maybe he was lulling me into a false sense of security just to play a bigger prank in the end. Maybe it would be MY underwear on that flag pole, yellow with piss, while the whole troop laughed and pointed at the baby. I looked down at my shorts. The wet spots were noticeable, but I supposed they could have just as easily been sweat. I tried to shake off my paranoia. "Thanks for being so cool before, Chris. With everything. I was just embarrassed, and..." "You're funny dude," Chris interrupted, "but I really have no idea what you're talking about," he winked pointedly. It was too much. He was totally overdoing it, so corny it was even worse than a dad joke, but it made me smile because I believed him. I believed that he wouldn't betray my trust and I believed that as much as I wanted him to like me, there was some part of him that wanted me to like him so much that he was even willing to debase himself to make such a lame joke just to make me feel better. "You're not like the other kids, Ryan, you're actually pretty cool," Chris said, putting his hand squarely on my ass, giving it a good long rub and a stinging smack. Chris's touch had been tainted, it now filled my body with intense ambivalence; pleasure mixed with shame, impotence mixed with a confusing power, a profound frustration over not having agency over my body's physical response. I hated it. It was far too overwhelming for me to navigate and I wanted it to stop. Chris was my friend. I could trust him. If I just told him how he was making me feel, surely, he would stop, right? "Chris," I started, "I.." Chris looked down at me smiling, the sweat glistening over his stubble adding a shiny lacquer to his prominent dimples. He put his hand on my shoulder. "What is it?" he asked with the genuine concern of an older brother. My heart started pounding again. Chris liked me. He cared about me. I had always fantasized about being one of the cool guys, but shy, small and awkward, I had seemed destined to remain a loser forever. But with Chris on my side, maybe everything could be different. I stammered for a second, unnerved by his touch and his smile. Did I really want to rock the boat here? Things were going so well. What had he really done that was so terrible? Had he done anything more than show me the ropes, educate me, help me out? Sure, he liked to horse around, but so did David, so did a lot of the boys. What if I said something and he didn't want to be my friend anymore? He'd probably think I was being a crybaby. That's what my mother always called me. This is probably just the way guys are with each other, I reasoned. It's just like the way David threw himself on me and kissed me at that party. Everyone had laughed, it was no big deal. It was no big deal. I looked up at Chris as he patiently awaited my declaration. "I..." I hesitated again, this time slowly drawing my hand back. "I...I think you're pretty cool too," I finally said mockingly while propelling my hand as hard as I could onto Chris's firm, thick, muscular ass. "You motherfucker!" he exclaimed, but before he could get the words out of his mouth, I took off running toward camp with Chris in close pursuit. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, you little punk," I heard him shouting through his own laughter. I ran as hard as I could knowing I could never actually outrun him but enjoying the chase nonetheless. Sure, I could have told him to stop touching me, that it made me feel funny, but why risk alienating myself? I felt confident that Chris would calm down with all the physical stuff, but even if he didn't, I'd probably get used to it. Ultimately it might train the "crybaby" out of me and make me tough. Make me just one of the guys. It would be nice to be just one of the guys. Much to my surprise, it took a couple of minutes before Chris caught up to me. I had been running my hardest, my eyes stinging with sweat as I gasped for breath. I could barely see five feet in front of me. Chris tackled me to the ground using his large powerful arms to pull me toward his body and shield me from the impact of the fall. "I'm gonna go easy on you since you probably just broke every goddamn bone in that little hand messing with this ass of steel," he whispered in my ear, "but do me a favor, champ, and give me one last A plus performance, we got a pretty big audience." With that, Chris started pounding on the ground next to me, and throwing me around, pretending to beat me up. At first, I wasn't sure what was going on. I had been running so hard I hadn't realized I had crossed over into camp. A bunch of boys, seeing the commotion, ran toward us, hooting, hollering and laughing. I thought they were cheering Chris on, encouraging him to do his worst, laughing at me. But as they got closer, I could hear them cheering my name. I was the last boy standing, I had run into the camp before Chris had tackled me. I had won the game.