Date: Thu, 04 Mar 2010 13:09:28 -0500
From: thorin@hushmail.com
Subject: Aden and Jason: River's End

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* Disclaimer - this is only a work of fiction *
*  there is no explicit sex, so it's probably *
*  not illegal anywhere or for anyone.        *
* Please enjoy                                *
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It's early morning, but I'm not exactly sure of the time. The black
night that had enveloped the tent has given away to grey. The air
is cool but our bodies are hot, and so the sleeping bag that had
covered us is tossed to one side. Aden's face is inches from mine
and his bright eyes and warm smile are all that I see. And that is
enough.

He lies on top of me, our bodies pressed together; chest on chest,
hip on hip, thigh on thigh. The fluid between our bellies is still
warm and slippery. He shifts his weight about to remind me that
it's there. It will be sticky when we part and will eventually dry
to a crusty hardness. It has a distinct odor that I have begun to
love. It is his smell and mine intermingled. My father calls it the
odor of sin and fornication; for me, it is the sweetest of perfumes.

My hands are wrapped around behind him, crossing just below his
shoulder blades. Both our bodies are dewy with a light film of
sweat. He is propped up on his elbows and we are whispering, being
careful not to wake those in the tents close by. Our movements are
stealthy, as we try to keep secret exactly what is happening inside
of our Gore-Tex cave. His body in nut brown from the summer sun,
appearing almost black in the early morning grey, and it stands in
sharp contrast to the whiteness of his groin.

It has been a year since we first met and our relationship began.
He was twelve and I was fifteen. He has grown a lot in the last
year, almost matching my height, but his body is still willowy and
light. He has a few dozen pubic hairs that form a scraggly mustache
on his groin. He is both proud and fascinated by them, and I
sometimes catch him twirling them between his fingers. "Whispies,"
I call them, or "wanna-bes," which always brings a playful laugh
and a strong punch in the arm.

It has been the strangest of weeks and today it will all come to an
end. One last run down the river; then tomorrow morning we pack and
head for home. I will be off to begin my summer work at my father's
camp; Aden will join me a week later as a counselor-in-training. We
are both trying to make the most of this last day before the
separation.

"Don't you think we should get started?" he whispers. He is anxious
to begin. In fact, he hasn't slept much all night. His tossing and
turning has kept me awake, despite his efforts not to disturb me.
But, the fatigue is OK and will make him a better boater. You
always kayak better when you're relaxed and it's hard to be tense
when you're tired, and I know how tense he will be once we begin.

"Dude!" I chuckle, "it can't even be 6 o'clock. The others will
kill you if you wake them now."

He's disappointed and it shows on his face. He fidgets about
uneasily, then, with a small sigh, he props his head on his hands
and stares straight forward.

"Why don't you try to get more sleep," I whisper as a suggestion. I
continue to run the tips of my fingers around his back, outlining
the edges of his shoulder blades and his spine. "The time will pass
faster and you'll get a bit more rest." None of us wants to hit the
river before the sun has peeked over the lip of the gorge and
strikes the water below. Although we all have water resistant gear,
we'll all end up wet before the day is done, and having the sun on
us will help to keep us warm.

"Yeah, right," is his whispered reply, coming out almost like a
sigh, "like that's going to happen." Then his face lights up again
and a mischievous smile appears. "I know what we can do," he says,
and he reaches one hand down between us.

An honest and involuntary groan escapes me. I'm sore; there's no
two ways about it. We've done this each night as we've entered the
tent and again each morning before emerging. And that doesn't count
the occasions that found us apart from the group and with time on
our hands.

Aden is insatiable; there is no other way to put it. I think he's
the horniest thirteen year-old on the planet. And it's more than
just raw appetite, he is also eager to explore, to learn, to
heighten the intensity of the experience. He is an apt and willing
pupil and I have quickly taught him all that I know. Yet, a
combination of ingenuity and occasional online research means that
we have continued to grow as lovers. Still, we have yet to go "all
the way." He is willing to try, but I'm not ready to push him that
far.

I consider resisting his suggestion, but his touch has keened my
interest. My hands travel down his back, my fingers feeling every
bump along his spine. They linger in my favorite spot, the small of
his back as it joins his butt, they continue over his bum and to
the top of his thighs, and then they begin the journey back. He
flexes his butt as my hands pass over and I feel the dimples that
appear. He knows that's another favorite spot of mine and my hands
linger, making slow circles, enjoying the feel of the muscular, yet
silky-smooth globes. Suddenly I find I'm ready again.

Our eyes are locked together, our souls joined as much as our
bodies. "Aden," I begin, "do you know how much I lo..." But the rest
is lost as he locks his lips to mine in a ferocious and passionate
kiss.

***** *****

The six of us paddle down the slow, wide Talim River, toward the
beginning of the section know as "The Gorge." There the quarter
mile wide river will squeeze down and 1,000 cubic feet per second
of water will force its way over and around truck size boulders in
a channel a few hundred feet wide. The group is strangely quiet, in
sharp contrast to every other trip I have made. Five of us, me
included, have run the gorge twenty times or more. We know every
possible line and enjoy challenging each other to attempt more
difficult routes and maneuvers. But this is Aden's first time, and
the tension all revolves around him.

He is quieter than anyone, if that is possible in a group where no
one says a word. We all know exactly what he is feeling. He has
butterflies the size of fruit bats in his stomach and the eagerness
of this morning has turned to dread. He's questioning, as we all
did on our first time, whether he is really ready for this. Perhaps
he's wondering if he needs more practice. I also know he feels
committed, even though we would all turn around in a moment if he
expressed the slightest hesitation. A strong part of kayaker
culture is to respect anyone who declares that something is over
their head and no one pushes another boater beyond what they are
ready for and feel comfortable doing.

But, you can only paddle so slowly and eventually we reach the
first rapid, a Class IV called "Goosebumps." We join together in a
large eddy above the rapid to talk about it and how we will run it.
Really, this is all for Aden's benefit; there is only one line
through Goosebumps, and we all know it. Any deviation from that
line is disaster. I'm struck by how we've arranged our boats in a
protective circle around him. No one planned it, but it is an
accurate reflection of the group's mood, and I think about how much
that mood has changed over the course of the week.

Five of us, Donavan, or Donnie, Jesse, Brad, Eric, and I have
boated together for a number of years. We all love whitewater
kayaking and spend as much time as we can on the water. But, when
my relationship with Aden began last summer, I found myself
spending all my time with him. The others assumed I had a new
girlfriend and I could never bring myself to confess that I was
spending time with a twelve year-old boy. But the call of the
whitewater was too strong for me and I knew I wanted to bring these
two worlds together.

Aden was thrilled with the idea of joining me on the river. In
fact, his physical agility and his daredevil attitude make him
perfect for the sport. It was trying to explain to the others why I
was bringing someone along who was the age of a little brother that
brought silence and a few stares. In the end, they all agreed with
no more than a shrug.

I was surprised at how the week worked out, but, looking back, it
all fits together. Although Aden's bright outgoingness appears as
natural to him as the color of his hair, he is really quite
deliberate about it. He set about carefully to win the group over,
and before long, he was being pushed about and teased the way one
does a favorite little brother. Donnie, my closest friend, and the
most open-minded of the group, was the first to be seduced by
Aden's charm. Jesse, my other close friend, with his quiet and
observant character, was the last. In fact, I still sense a
wariness in him, and I wonder if he suspects that Aden and I are
much closer than just friends.

Aden and I spent the first four days below the gorge where the
river is wide, the current less pushy, and the rapids limited to
Class II. There I carefully taught him the maneuvers he must master
to be a successful kayaker: how to spot and enter eddies, how to do
peel-out turns, how to ferry across the current, how to read the
ripples and waves, and how to always keep his boat up on edge to
avoid allowing the river to grab it and flip him upside down.

The other four spent their time in the gorge. Each night we
gathered back at camp for dinner and they regaled us with their
successes and reminded each other of their mistakes. Aden listened
attentively to it all, anxious to move away from the "splash-and-
giggle" rapids of the lower gorge and to join the others in the
bigger water.

An interesting transition took place as the week wore on. One
morning, at breakfast, Donnie declared that he would spend the day
on the lower Talim with Aden and me; just to help out, he said. The
next day it was Jesse. And finally, yesterday, we all spent the day
on the lower gorge, all drawn to Aden's brightness and sense of
fun. Knowing Aden as I do, I know it was a difficult day. Five
boaters gathered around, pushing him to complete challenging moves
and critiquing every mistake. But his smile never dimmed and he
gave as good as he had. He left the river exhausted, but pleased.

The hope had been from the very beginning that Aden would run the
gorge on the last day, and we all agreed he was ready. The only
question revolved around Goosebumps, the only Class IV in the
gorge. We sat around the campfire debating whether it would be
better if "we" walked around the rapid or ran it. Aden sat staring
into the fire, his arms resting on his legs, saying nothing. He
knew that the conversation was all about him. He knew that the
group had run Goosebumps all week; so for them to decide it was
suddenly too much and that they would walk their boats around it
meant that it had to be about him.

Goosebumps is not a particularly difficult rapid. It has a clearly
marked tongue of green water that races past pour-overs and holes
and into a large quiet pool of water below. There are no "must
make" maneuvers or difficult paddle stokes. What makes Goosebumps a
Class IV is the consequences of missing the line. Outside of that
fast, but calm, column of green water is a frothing cauldron of
whitewater that no one survives right side up. Most boaters who
miss the channel find themselves dashed repeatedly against the
rocks. Broken noses and dislocated shoulders are common.

The debate went back and forth for some time with no resolution;
each person, in turn, outlining the pros and cons of each approach.
Then it occurred to me why. The decision was mine. Without looking
at me, they were all watching, waiting for me to decide what was
best; to decide how much risk I wanted to take. Like Aden beside
me, I stared silently into the fire. I was confident he could do it
from a skill level, but the thought of what could happen if he made
a mistake held me back. The group grew quiet; Jesse poked lazily at
the fire with a stick. Finally, still feeling the conflict, I
quietly said, "Let's run it."

Aden pumped his hands in silent delight, trying not to call
attention to himself. Donnie gave him a shove. There were nods of
agreement from the others, as well, but I didn't hear. My eyes were
locked on Jesse's across the fire. He stared at me for the longest
time, as if weighing not only the decision that had just been made,
but the entire week as well. Finally, he gave a small silent nod,
and I felt better with his approval.

***** *****

Donnie is lead boat and he paddles steadily toward the lip of
Goosebumps. I follow about 40 yards behind; Aden another 40 yards
behind me. The rapid drops quickly from the flat water of the
approach and one can only hear the roar, not see the mayhem that
waits. Then, as Donnie reaches the lip, he does something that
catches me by surprise. The tongue we are lining up for is about
three feet to the right of a large rock called Marker Rock, on the
lip of the rapid. As he passes, Donnie reaches out and taps it with
his paddle, something I've not seen him do before. But then I
realize he is reinforcing the approach for Aden following behind.
And so, as I pass Marker Rock, I too, reach out and tap the rock
with my paddle, and then drop into the rapid.

No one ever forgets their first drop into a rapid like Goosebumps;
the sights and sounds are overwhelming. The tongue we ride is a
section that has been scoured clean of large rocks, and so the ride
is relatively smooth and the paddling almost effortless. The rapid
is short; perhaps 50 yards from beginning to end, but all around
you the water leaps and boils. For a novice, their world collapses
and they see, perhaps, five feet around them. And so it seems they
have entered a watery hell from which there is no escape.

When you take that much water, churning down over the rocks, and
force it into a quiet pool at the end, standing waves develop.
There are four at the bottom of Goosebumps, the first about six
feet high. My boat, traveling quickly down the descent cannot rise
fast enough to top it despite its small size and light weight. So,
about halfway up, my bow crashes through and the top of the wave
sweeps across the deck of my boat and slaps my chest and face. The
remaining waves are smaller and I am quickly through them, spinning
my boat to face upstream and watching for Aden to enter the rapid.

Donnie and I sit silently next to each other; anxious, hoping he
has remembered where he needs to be and safely maneuvered there. It
seems like we wait forever. Then we see the tip of his paddle on an
upstroke and, an instant later, the bow of his boat juts out over
the lip and we both let out a whoop realizing that he is exactly
where he needs to be.

The look on his face as he sees the rapid for the first time is no
different than that of any other first-timer, but it is still
priceless. His eyes are as wide as tea saucers and his mouth is
agape. But, then he does something that surprises both Donnie and
me; he continues to paddle.

Paddling at that moment isn't wrong; in fact, it's exactly what
you're supposed to do. A common saying amongst kayakers is that a
bad paddle stroke is better than no paddle stroke for keeping a
boat in balance. Yet, the fear one feels seeing Goosebumps close
up, for the first time, makes all novices freeze. Their arms come
up against their chest and their paddle blades project out
uselessly to each side. But, despite a small hitch as he first
drops over the lip of the rapid, Aden paddles forward fiercely. We
watch him descend quickly through the rapid and to the first wave.
In slow motion, I watch the wave sweep across his deck, I watch him
turn his head and close his eyes, and then I watch as the wave
smacks his upper body before shedding off the stern of his boat.

His eyes are ablaze as he joins us in the pool, his smile wider
than I have ever seen it. Donnie is pounding the side of his boat,
the drumming of the hollow plastic shell drowning the bedlam of the
roaring water as it echoes off the canyon walls. Aden is so psyched
that he can barely speak. He wipes the water from his face and
stutters a few half sentences as the others paddle up and join us.

Jesse is last. He has appointed himself sweep boat for the trip.
His kayak drops over the lip of the rapid and he paddles calmly
down the tongue and through the waves as if the whole thing was
nothing more than a quiet pond. His eyes are fixed on Aden as he
paddles up to join us, and, although he appears stern, I see a
clear mixture of relief and pride in his eyes.

Shifting quickly to me, he asks, "So, how did he do?"

"Actually, he did great; he was right on line and didn't have any
trouble."

"No," Jesse says, "did he freeze at the top?" His voice is harsh
and demanding.

"No," I shrug "surprisingly he didn't," and I look at Aden
curiously.

His smile is wide and he is staring at Jesse, almost mockingly.
Without looking away, he says to me, "Jesse told me that everyone
freezes at the top of Goosebumps and that is what gets them in
trouble. He told me that if I stopped paddling when I went over the
edge, he would kick my ass."

The two continue to stare at each other, Jesse with pretend
sternness; Aden with mocking laughter. Finally, a broad grin breaks
across Jesse's face.

"Ya done good kid," and he slaps the deck of Aden's boat with the
flat of his paddle.

***** *****

I sit in the dirty eddy behind "The Anvil," a rock that sits in the
middle of the last rapid of the day, "River's End." I had forgotten
how ugly this eddy was. Instead of the usual calm water that pulls
you forward toward the rock that protects you from the current,
water pours in from all sides, and your boat slowly oscillates back
and forth as the eddy tries to eject you back out into the main
channel.

Donnie, still playing lead boat, went down first. He stopped in the
eddy behind the Anvil and signaled me the conditions. He taped the
top of his helmet twice with the palm of his hand and then held up
one finger. That lets me know that the line was a good one but that
the eddy will only hold one person at a time. That means there is
no chance of gathering and discussing the bottom of the run.

I sit in the eddy, the bow of my boat facing upstream,
concentrating first on the water that throws me back and forth, and
second on the river below. I take quick glances over my shoulder at
the ledge that marks the bottom of the rapid and the end of our
run. There's a large rock that splits the ledge and my challenge is
to "boof" off the ledge and into the eddy behind the rock. But,
first I must find another rock called "Snaggle Tooth."

Boofing is critical to dropping over ledges. To not "boof the
ledge" would mean that you drop bow first into the water below, ram
the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall, and eject yourself from
your boat.

Snaggle Tooth sits, invisible, just under the surface, somewhere
along my route, and about five feet in front of the ledge. Unlike
most river rocks that have been rounded and smoothed by years in
the water, Snaggle Tooth is a small, sharp, upright rock shaped
like a canine tooth. Even a beginning boater like Aden can handle
the side-to-side rocking that comes from hitting the many round
boulders one encounters in the river; a rock like Snaggle Tooth,
however, flips you upside down in an instant.

The ledge is not unusually big; about a three and a half foot drop.
It stretches across most of the river, but there is a "sneak route"
that avoids the ledge, on the right. Aden will travel that way. I
would have, as well, but Aden insisted that I run the same line as
the others. I have stuck by his side all day; guiding him down the
easier lines while the others played in the holes, surfed the
waves, and boofed the ledges. The line he is running is straight
forward and clear so I agreed to leave him on his own for the first
time.

I glance back over my shoulder each time the eddy allows, and
finally I find it; the tell-tale ripple that marks the position of
Snaggle Tooth. Fixing it in my mind, I face forward again and begin
my run, paddling aggressively upstream and into the current,
leaning hard downstream to bring the upstream edge of my boat up
and preventing the river from grabbing it and flipping me over.
Looking right, I spot a standing wave in the current and line
myself up to surf on it and to use it to shuttle myself into
position. Finally, when I reach the right place in the current, I
sweep hard on my left to bring my boat about, reach out with the
right blade of my paddle, plant it in the water, and pivot about.

As I come around, I find I am right where I want to be. My plan is
to boof off the ledge angled toward the large rock that splits it,
and drop into the eddy behind it. I paddle forward smoothly;
Snaggle Tooth passes just to my left. Then I set up for my boof
into the eddy.

I speed up as I approach the ledge, and, as my bow crosses it, I
reach out with my paddle and grab the lip of rock that creates the
ledge and pull myself forward. At the same time, I throw my hips
forward to bring even more speed to the boat. Then, as the middle
of my boat passes the ledge, I crunch the muscles of my abdomen,
bringing my head forward, but, more importantly, bringing my thighs
up. The effect is to keep my boat parallel to the water as I drop
over the ledge. My kayak hits the water in the eddy flat with a
resounding "boof" that gives the maneuver its name.

I paddle to the back of the eddy and join Donnie in the calm water
below the ledge. Sitting back from the ledge gives us a view of the
boaters upstream and gives room for the others to boof into the
eddy. We watch as Brad and Eric move down into the rapid and grab
eddies just above the Anvil. The plan is for them to sit there, and
act as back up for Aden as he takes his run. That will then allow
them to boof the ledge into the same eddy as Donnie and me.

Donnie and I are side-by-side; he's holding our boats together so
that we can talk.

"So, twice this morning?" I hear him say.

"Huh?" is my reply, confused about what he might mean.

"You and Aden, in your tent, twice this morning." There is a laugh
in his voice.

I know my face is red. My mind is blank; it feels frozen. I can't
think of what to say. I wonder if I can act like I don't know what
he means and pull it off.

He's watching me closely, I can tell, even though I keep my eyes
upriver, pretending to be interested in how Brad and Eric are
boating.

Now he's laughing out loud. "Dude, he squeaks when he cums. Didn't
you know that? Took me a few days to figure it out. It's sexy as
shit, if you ask me"

I'm in shock; my thoughts are jumbled together. When I think about
it, it's not a surprise that I never noticed the noise. Usually
Aden is a complete symphony. Not shy about sex in general, Aden is
also not shy about voicing how he is feeling. It runs from low bass
moans to soprano gasps. As quiet as we have been trying to be, if
he squeaked at the end, I wouldn't have noticed.

"It's OK, Jason, don't look so freaked out," Donnie adds, and he
grabs some water on the end of his paddle and flips it at me.

I finally turn and look at him. I wish I could compose myself, but
I can't. I feel like a frightened little boy. "Do the others know?"
I ask.

Donnie laughs again, "Yeah, we all do. We've talked about it quite
a bit while boating the last few days. We weren't sure what to
think at first. But, its clear how much you two care for each
other, so, in the end, I think we all decided that we're OK with
it."

There's a pause. "Jesse's the only one I'm not completely sure
about. He's been quiet about it." Donnie turns toward me, "You
forget he has a little brother Aden's age. I mean, I think he's OK
with it. I know he thinks the world of Aden. Thinks he's the best
kid around. I think he wants to be OK with it. He thinks you're the
best. But I don't think he can get his own brother out of his head
when he thinks of you and Aden together."

I turn to watch up river. Aden has started his run and looks solid,
but I can't concentrate. I'm full of fear, confusion, and dread.
God! If word gets out, Aden and I are fucked, there's no two ways
about it.

"So, do you love him?" is Donnie's next question.

I thought I was reeling before, yet now I feel I've been hit with a
knock-out blow. But, then, before I can react, I hear Donnie say,
"What the fuck!!"

I look upstream and see that Aden has changed his line. He's headed
for the eddy behind the Anvil and I realize that he's going to try
to join Donnie and me by boofing the ledge

He catches the eddy perfectly, just as he's been taught and just as
he's practiced all week, but he struggles to keep his boat behind
the rock. To stay in an eddy like that, you have to see the shifts
in the current before they begin. It's a skill that comes with
experience and its experience that Aden does not have. His boat
begins to oscillate back and forth and it's just a matter of time
before one end or the other gets thrown out into the main channel
and the eddy spits him out.

I can see him realize his predicament. He fights to keep his boat
lined up with the rock and to regain some stability, but his boat
ungulates back and forth in broader and broader sweeps; first to
the left, then to the right. Finally, he does the only thing he
can; he paddles hard forward and angles out into the main current
to escape the eddy.

The current is stronger than he expects and stronger than he is
used to. As the nose of his boat leaves the protection of the eddy,
it's swept around to the side. He's sideways now in the current,
but that's OK as long as he maintains his downstream lean. But,
then he hits the same wave I used to surf across the channel.

Instinct tells a novice boater to lean away from obstacles in the
river, but instinct is wrong. Aden needs to lean into the wave and
not let the upstream current broach the deck of his boat. Instead,
in the split second he has to consider his options, he sees the
wave as the problem and leans away from it and, just as quickly,
the river rolls him upside down.

A kayaker wears a neoprene skirt that attaches to the cockpit that
he sits in. That skirt, and its attachment to the boat, locks him
in. That skirt also keeps water out of the boat, even when the
kayak and the kayaker are upside down. There is a grab loop at the
front of the skirt to release the kayaker. Until Aden reaches
forward and pulls the loop, he is locked in the boat upside down.

Instantly, three brightly colored kayaks flash out into the current
to help Aden. Brad and Eric are in position to help quickly and
Jesse is powering down from the top of the rapid. Donnie and I,
both downstream and on the downside of the ledge, can do nothing
but watch.

Aden, hanging upside down in his boat, has two choices. First, he
can drop his paddle, curl forward, hug his boat tightly so that his
hands emerge out of the water, and, after tapping his boat three
times to let Brad and Eric know he is OK, can then run his hands up
and down the bottom of his boat. That is the signal for one of the
two to move forward and bump his boat with theirs in a place where
his hands will find their bow. Then, using the bow of their boat as
leverage, he can snap his hips and roll upright. His other choice
is to reach forward, pull the grab loop and swim free.

A panicked boater usually chooses to bail out, wanting only to free
themselves from the boat as quickly as possible and to breath air
once again. The safer option is to stay in the boat and attempt the
bow rescue. Aden has been upside down enough times this past week,
and practiced enough bow rescues, that that is what we expect him
to do.

Then, for the second time today I hear Donnie say, "What the fuck?"

We both watch as Aden's hands appear on the same side of the boat,
paddle still gripped firmly. That can only mean he's going to try
to roll up, himself.

"Can he roll?" Donnie asks, incredulous.

"Fuck no!" is my response. "I mean, he's been practicing and come
close a few times, but he's never hit one."

Aden's choice is a good one for a kayaker with a bomb-proof roll,
but a risky one for a novice. His boat continues to move quickly
downstream, rushing past boulders that would normally strike the
bottom of the boat, but which will now strike the boater. He's
currently tucked up close to his boat, as safe as anyone can be.
But, to complete the roll, he'll have to un-tuck and expose his
head and shoulders to everything lurking under the waves.

All we can see are his hands, but, by watching those, we can tell
what he's doing. They are holding the paddle parallel to the boat
and we know he is collecting himself under the water; reminding
himself of the sequence of moves necessary for a successful roll.
Then we watch as they windmill to the side, attempting to bring the
paddle perpendicular to the boat in position to act as a lever; and
we know that he has, at the same time, come out of his tuck and is
hanging straight down in the water.

I want nothing more than to rush upstream, grab his boat, and flip
him over. I feel helpless sitting downriver, watching the situation
unfold, unable to even offer support. Then, what I least want to
see happen, happens. His boat jumps slightly in the water and
lurches to one side and I know that means he has hit something
underwater.

Donnie and I watch as his hands instantly release his paddle and
disappear under the surface. What little air he had remaining in
his lungs was likely knocked loose from the blow and he is now
reaching for the grab loop at the front of the cockpit. I wait what
seems like an eternity, but which is probably seconds, and suddenly
see his head bob up. He is now swimming free in the rapid.

Although the entire drama has taken only 15 to 20 seconds, Jesse is
now there beside Aden and the flotsam he has abandoned. Jesse is
the biggest and strongest amongst us, playing linebacker for our
high school football team. Despite his size, he normally paddles
with more grace and finesse than any of us, but this time he has
used all strength to be there for Aden.

He's beside Aden, but out of Aden's reach; and that is the right
place for him to be. There are rescue loops built into the bow and
stern of every whitewater kayak made. If the conditions were right,
Jesse would put one of the rescue loops within Aden's reach, have
Aden grab hold, and tow him to a quiet spot on the river's bank,
but conditions aren't right. Aden has traveled too far downriver
and is too close to the ledge for Jesse to rescue him. If Aden
grabbed hold now, they would both go over the waterfall together,
and Aden's weight, and the drag of his body, would take away
Jesse's boat control. Jesse's boat could easily injury Aden in the
fall, on top of which, we would then been rescuing two boaters
instead of one.

Instead, he remains close, coaching Aden as he fights through the
waves. Aden floats down on his back, his feet in front, and his
head upstream. His focus is mostly on what is in front of him, but
he occasionally glances over toward Jesse, and I know he is
listening to Jesse's coaching and encouragement.

A river flow of 1,000 cubic feet of water means that just over 30
tons of water thunder over the ledge every second. The water drives
down and continues along the bottom for some yards downstream
before it rises to the surface again. There, back in the sunlight,
it circulates back upstream and into the boil once again. Objects
flowing downstream and over a ledge typically recirculate a number
of times before the river releases them.

Aden has finally reached the ledge. Jesse stays with him to within
about 5 feet of the edge then peels off to boof the ledge off to
one side and out of the way. Donnie and I have ferried out into the
current close to where we believe Aden will drop over. We're in the
upstream current but just short of the boiling water of the fall.

Aden drops, tucked into a ball exactly as he should. Dropping over
with his arms and legs extended risks such as having a foot or hand
get trapped in a crevasse as he is driven to the bottom. And driven
to the bottom he is; hundreds of pounds of water pouring down on
top of him.

The upstream current is strongest closest to the ledge. Aden needs
to resist popping to surface too soon, and so my heart falls when I
see his head appear just past the boil of the waterfall. I start to
move forward to help, but I feel Donnie's paddle against my chest,
and I know he's right. If I move too close to the boil myself, I
will get caught in the upstream current. The bow of my boat will
get pulled under the fall, it will be pounded down to the bottom of
the river and my kayak will begin to cartwheel. So, instead, I
watch Aden helplessly, our eyes locked, as he is pulled back under
the fall and pounded again.

Donnie and I wait, scanning the water to see where he will pop up.
The seconds tick by and I grow more anxious, although the longer he
is under the water, the further downstream he is likely to surface.
Then, under my boat, I see a flash of color. Aden has resisted the
instinct to fight for the surface and is swimming along with the
current along the bottom. Donnie spots him just as I do, and, as
one, we spin around for a rescue further downstream.

Aden pops up about 10 feet behind us and we are there almost as his
head breaks the surface. I place the bow of my boat within easy
reach and wait as he slowly orients himself. He is sputtering and
coughing as he reaches out for the loop on my bow. He wipes the
water from his eyes, but continues to cough. He has, without a
doubt, inhaled some water, and his lungs work to move it back out.
Jesse has already joined our group. Brad and Eric, staying behind
to gather Aden's paddle and boat, join us a short time after.

Aden takes some time gathering himself together. I notice a deep
gouge in the front of his helmet and I'm certain that's where he
hit a rock while upside down. Finally, his breathing begins to slow
and he looks into the five faces all gathered around him.

Donnie's smile is big; Brad and Eric look tired, but relieved.
Jesse looks like I have never seen him before; his face is pale and
all the muscles in his face are taut. I feel nothing but relief.

Aden looks from one to another and back again, still coughing
occasionally. Finally he catches my eye and a huge smile breaks
across his face; his eyes sparkling.

"That was fucking awesome!" he says.

***** *****

We're in the pool next to our campsite and it would be easy to tow
Aden over to the bank, shuttling his equipment ourselves. But Jesse
insists that Aden move to the bank and gear up. He stays with him
while Aden empties the water from his boat.

The two talk; or, I should say, Jesse talks. Aden listens and nods.
He is smiling in the beginning and I suppose that Jesse is talking
about Aden's spill. But then the conversation seems to turn
serious. Aden loses his smile. He quietly watches the water drain
from his boat and picks absently at one of the decals on the deck.
I paddle to the beach with the others but sit in my boat, bobbing
gentle up and down in the small waves by the shore. The others grab
their gear and head up the path. Aden is finally back in his boat,
his spray skirt attached, and, under Jesse's guidance, he ferries
across the current to where I wait.

Aden and I sit in our boats looking at each other. His smile is
smaller and his eyes show clear concern. Jesse has beached his
boat, popped his spray skirt, and is climbing out. He works
silently, gathering his gear, ignoring both Aden and me.

I sit and look at Aden and he looks back. The joy that came with
his rescue has given way to a much more complex set of emotions. I
can't help but replay the incident and shudder. It could have been
much worse, I realize, as I relive the many anxious moments of
watching Aden swimming free in the river. Mostly though, I find
myself fighting back tears. Aden sits quiet, his boat next to mine;
seeing my struggle and giving me space to regain control.

It is Jesse that finally breaks the tension. He has his boat over
his right shoulder, his paddle in his left hand. He has stopped at
the end of the beach, at the beginning of the path to our campsite,
and he is looking back at us.

"Christ, Jason, kiss the kid already!" he says, and turns back
toward camp.

***** *****

It is pitch-black in the tent, even the glow of the embers from the
campfire has died beneath the ashes. Aden lies on top of me, just
like this morning. I feel his gentle breath upon my face. Because
of the darkness, I know him only by his touch and by his smell. I
have the feeling he is looking at me, studying me, but I also know
he can't be; it's too dark.

The evening is cool; our bodies are warm. The energy we had when we
first entered the tent is gone and we lie relaxed and at ease. Just
a few minutes ago, I made Aden squeak again, and what sounded like
a chuckle from Donnie, turned to a cough.

"I know what you're thinking," he whispers, "That you never should
have let me go down the gorge today."

I'm caught off guard. I'd be lying if that hadn't occurred to me.
But I also know it would have never worked. Aden is Aden, and Aden
does what Aden wants to do. Aden will always challenge himself and
Aden will always want to keep up. As quickly as the thought
occurred to me, I dismissed it.

"Look, Jason, I thought I could do it. I saw you slide into that
eddy and it looked so easy. I wasn't going to follow...I don't know...I
just got to that spot and thought I could do it too."

"Relax, Aden," I whisper back, and, leaning forward, I find the end
of his nose and plant a small kiss. "We all freaked a little bit
when you swam, but it's all a part of boating. We've all done stuff
like that."

He sighs and snuggles closer, laying his head on my chest. He has
his hands on my shoulders and is rubbing gently back and forth.
Then I feel him shift, I feel his head lift, and the next thing I
feel are his lips brushing softly against my cheek, then I feel his
teeth nibble the end of my ear.

"Aden," I begin, "what did Jesse say to you today; when you guys
were getting you boat back together?"

Aden freezes, then turns his head and rests it face down on my
shoulder. He is quiet for a long time, and so I wait. Then I feel
his body shake, followed by tears that fall gently on my shoulder.
This is not like Aden at all, and I know that a part of it is a
reaction to all of the tension and trauma of the day. I hold him
tight, giving him time. He is silent, but his crying continues, so
I wait. Finally his trembling slows.

I sit forward and bring my legs up at the same time, trapping him
between my chest and legs. I want him as close as I can possibly
get him. I want to feel every inch of his body against mine. I
squeeze him tight. His arms come around my neck and he hugs me. The
heat from our body rises up, carrying with it the musky smell of
our groins. I drink it in.

Aden's voice is small. "He talked about you, about how much you
mean to him, and about how you're his best friend."

I'm surprised at what I hear. Jesse is my oldest friend, but he's
always so reserved. It's usually impossible to tell what he feels.
To hear that he considers me his best friend is a revelation.

Aden continues, "He told me he's been worried about you. He said
that he knew you had a secret, and said how little he's been seeing
of you. Then, when I showed up this week, he said he knew why."

"He said that, at first, he was so pissed at...at...both of us, that...
But, then he said he saw how happy we were together. He says that I
make you `light up.'"

Aden pauses, then give a small laugh and a sniffle. "Funny," he
says, "I don't see it."

Then he places a hand on each shoulder and pushes me firmly back.
So I lean back and brace myself on my hands, lowering me knees and
widening the space for Aden, curious about what he has in mind. His
arms are on my shoulders; his hands are cupped lightly behind my
neck. That, and the feel of him sitting on my lap, is all I know
for sure, but, despite the darkness, I know he is smiling.

His hands leave my shoulders and gently stroke my face. He stops
with a hand on each cheek.

"Well?" he says. And it is clear he is waiting for an answer, but
I'm silent, not knowing what to say.

"Well?" he says, drawing it out this time, and I'm confused.

"Well what, Aden?" I reply, not at all sure what he is waiting for.

"Come on, Jason, say it!" he insists, and then he goes quiet and
waits for me to figure it out. I wish I could see his face, just so
I could get the smallest clue. Then it comes to me; I know exactly
what he means.

"Aden, do you know how much I lo..." and then his lips are pressed
against mine. I let his weight slowly carry us back onto the
sleeping bag. His tongue meets mine and I feel his breath deepen.
My hands come around, and, planting one on each side of his bum, I
press his groin hard against mine. He moans softly, and grinds his
hips. He is hard, and I am well on the way. Our kiss becomes more
fevered, more passionate. I drink in the moment; I give myself over
to the feeling. And I know that if Donnie is still awake, and if he
is patient, he will soon hear Aden squeak once again.