Date: Sun, 29 Jan 2017 15:47:29 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 10

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/canvas-hell) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between young-adult men. Go away if any of that is
against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if
you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to
Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

We basked in each other's gaze for a moment, then set about repairing the
damage. The Magic Socks were whisked into Jim's kit as I untangled all
three bags. Jim had clutched and twisted the whole set in his frenzy. We
opened the 'window' flap and then the front flaps to get a breeze
through. I'm betting that all of the boys walking downwind still wonder why
they got instant boners from the smell we unleashed.  I whispered that to
Jim and he dissolved in giggles. That was how Karl found us. Jim still
giggling and me with a stupid smile plastered on.

***** Canvas Hell 10: Dreamtime

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery; masturbation


Karl was obviously on a serious high from his class. He did really love the
maths behind the Orientation & Cartography. Today, they measured their
paces so they could translate waling pace that into feet. At the end of the
class, each boy had been given five compass coordinates and a number of
feet for each and set out, told to call out when they thought they were at
their target. The three that ended up closest to their individual targets
won a pocket triangle with each side stuffed with equations and conversions
and angles. Karl spent a blissful 20 minutes talking about all the things
he could do with it whilst Jim and I just smiled, lost in our own release
and the pure, animated joy rolling off our friend.

The lunch bell rang and we started for the Mess Hall. Jim pulled up short
and told us he was supposed to have lunch with Dr Eaglas. Karl blushed hard
and admitted that he was going to the office for dinner that night. Jim
headed to the side of the Hygiene Hut whilst Karl and I made our way to
what they euphemistically called lunch.

We felt briefly sorry for Jim until we got closer to the serving
area. Crispy-edged pigs-in-blankets smoked gently after losing their battle
with the Oven Monster. Next to them were "camp beans", apparently meaning
those beans unlucky enough to be caught near camp. Not even the bravest of
the boys dared the cold option, though. Supposedly tuna salad sandwiches,
we agreed that nothing edible (or derived from that which once had been)
could possibly be that colour. The best descriptor we had was "brownish
with a blue sheen".

Whatever guilt we had at eating without Jim vanished in the smoke of
outraged betrayal when he described his visit to Dr Eaglas. Turns out the
man has his own camp stove and cooked up plump, crisp sausages with peppers
and onions. Jim wouldn't answer about anything but the lunch, though. He
seemed a little spooked, but also more at ease than previously. Dr Eaglas
went up even further in my book when I saw how much a simple lunch and talk
had on my small friend. I just prayed that he could work the same miracle
on Karl that evening.

We had met on the way to the Activities Pavilion. We arrived for Archery
and were each armed with a bow and a quiver full of "arrows" with rubber
balls for arrowheads. It was still a blast, though. They lined us up in
ranks and had us watch each other, then explain to a leader what wasn't
working. It was bizarre but incredibly effective. None of us knew anything
about archery, but trying to put into words why the arrow went straight up
made us each think of how we held the bow, pulled the string, notched the
arrow, released.

By the end of the class, Jim, Karl and I could each get the arrow quite a
way down the field in the general direction of the targets. We were far
from the best and far from the worst group. With the rest of the boys, we
policed the arrows and returned everything to the AP just before the belt
rang to end the sessions. We hurried to Tent Canvas Hell to change into
trunks as we had swimming stuff next.

As we changed, I watched Jim. He was not at all shy about getting a good
look at me and Karl. Karl tried not to notice, and I just winked at him. He
had a better angle on Karl; all I could see was the curve of his hairy ass
and even that sent a surge of lust through me. By the time we reached the
dock, I dove in without being told, in desperate need of the cooling
effects of the river water. I came up spluttering to hoots and a few
shouting, "Nice one, Red!" They helped me clamber back onto the dock to the
laughter of several.

Sea split the group again, most of the leaders went with the boys learning
to swim or just gaining confidence in the water. Sea gathered the lifeguard
students, down to eight now, and led us in our chant, "Don't Drown! Keep
Count! Use Floats!" Today we would practice the simplest rescue,
towing. Each pair was given a float. On boy swam about twenty yards out and
treaded water; the other was to holler, "Man Down!" our generic
announcement of a swimmer in distress the dive in with the float and
proceed to tow the victim back to the dock.

"PATHETIC!" was the roar that greeted us. "Russ, swim out there and be a
real victim." While the leader swam out, Sea rounded on us. "You are
supposed to be rescuing a person who is terrified and maybe drowning. You
think he's going to cooperate? RED!" I jumped about a foot. "Go get him!"
With that, Sea dove like an otter into the river and watched as I shouted
and dove. I swam toward Russ, who was splashing and thrashing around. I got
close enough to hand him the float when Russ scrambled over it and grabbed
me. I went down like a rock.

When I emerged, coughing, Sea was there roaring in my ear: "RULE ONE! DO
NOT DROWN! Congratulations, Red, you just became Victim Number 2, and we're
down a rescuer! Get back to the dock!" I shakily swam back, utterly
crushed. "Greentree! You're UP! DO! NOT! DROWN!"

I found out later that Sea had chosen me precisely because I was better
than most. The only one that didn't "drown" was Rogers, next to last, who
was in such a state that he wouldn't get close enough to the victim to get
the guy the float he was carrying. When we gathered back on the dock, Sea's
normal, fatherly and helpful voice was back. He lectured on how best to
deliver a float. How to toss it from a couple yards away and tow using the
rope. How to spot the blind panic that was the first sign that the victim
might be in as much danger from himself as the water. By the end of the
session, each of us had successfully towed a struggling partner back from
certain death without actually dying in the process. We were inordinately
proud of that accomplishment.

When the session ended, Jim re-joined us and we all trooped to the showers,
with a short detour to Tent Canvas Hell for dry duds. When the bell rang
for supper, Karl remorsefully trudged off to Dr Eaglas and Jim and I were
just as depressed at the prospect of whatever Chef had decided to do to us
tonight. First up was a chicken noodle soup of sorts. Chunks of canned
chicken floated around in a watery broth with carrots, celery and the
occasional forlorn clump of not-quite-rehydrated noodles. At least it was
warm and filling.

The same could not be said for the Chili Pie: Chili with beans over corn
chips with cheese between them. In theory, the cheese would melt beneath
the steaming chili, thus keeping the chips crisp. That would have worked
save for two critical errors: whatever they used for cheese bore more a
resemblance to grated hot-wheels track and had a melting point just short
of nuclear fission; and the chili with beans was slightly warmer than a
fresh-caught fish. If we'd heard of masa back then, we'd have had a name
for the corn-sludge at the bottom, but no mere name could redeem the goo
that floated on top.

Karl was still MIA when we headed to the Cabin 4 Fire Ring for the
sing-along. He showed just as the leaders were explaining the process for
the night, and we had no chance to converse. For the first time, we'd try
to sing through an entire verse, handing to the tune off to each group in
turn.  Our groups cue was "Kankakee" and our lines were "Rolls along past
houses, farms and fields. / Passin' trains that have no names," and hand it
over to the last group. We were BRILLIANT! We only started singing after
the second group instead of the third, then stood there like idiots when
group 3 sang, "The train pulls out at Kankakee..." It was a shambles.

Orson's voice had decided (at least temporarily) that he would be a
baritone for the evening which relieved him immensely. The real saving
graces was, shockingly, Willie, who had a feel for the rhythm of the
song. We learned quickly just to follow him (to his mortification). Willie
still thought Karl and I were gods and it took a lot of persuading to
convince him to keep the lead. He did though, and his confidence (and grin)
grew tremendously.

By the third time through, we merely sucked. By the time the night was
finished, the overall group still sounded much like a bag of cats, but one
that was really trying to stay in sync. The night was cool and crisp after
the rain, so we decided to stick around the fire ring even after the
leaders had released us. We proved to Willie's satisfaction that Karl
really did suck at toasting marshmallows, as the charred corpses of
unsuspecting confections evinced. The display of human weakness really went
a long way for Willie accepting us as buds.

Jim, Karl and I were in high spirits indeed when we finally stumbled back
to Tent Canvas Hell. Jim in particular was bouncing around like Tigger on a
sugar rush. Knowing that bedding down with this ball of energy would be an
unmitigated disaster, I challenged him to a race to the Activities Pavilion
and back to the tent. He went tearing off like a hare and I crashed after
him... for exactly ten yards before quietly returning to Karl who softly
hooted with glee. We made it the last few yard and fell into the tent
laughing. About ten minutes later, an enraged Jim stumbled up.

"Jim! Finally! We've been here for ages! What did you do, go by way of the
dock or something?" Karl kept a straight face for something like six
seconds before we both erupted in laughter. Jim was, shock of shocks, less
than pleased and grumped his way into his sleeping bag, various pieces of
clothing getting thrown out with completely unnecessary force as Karl and I
chortled, readying ourselves for the night as well.

Oddly, Karl seemed far less tense than previously. I had expected him to
hide and evade any looks, but he acted as if nothing was different. If
anything, I got a much longer look at him as he struggled out of his
over-shirt without unbuttoning it. His thick, muscled torso writhed under
the tee-shirt. Since he'd already shed his jeans, the crotch of his
tighty-whities giving some luscious hints of what might be concealed. I
looked away guiltily long before Karl got his shirt situation under
control. Jim, on the other hand, was unashamedly staring.

Karl noticed, "What?"

"Wow, Karl," he muttered breathlessly, "do you think I'll ever have muscles
like that? And all that hair?" Jim realised what he'd just said and blushed
furiously... but didn't stop staring.

It was Karl's' turn to redden. He looked to me for help and all I could do
was shrug. "Of course, Jim. I'm two years older. But I'm built different,
too. Look at Patrick. He's a lot taller and just as strong. Just cuz he
ain't covered in hair don't mean anything. Would you mind looking like
Patrick in a couple years?"

And now my own nuclear blush popped up as both Jim and Karl looked me up
and down appraisingly. I could certainly see Jim's eyes spend a lot of time
around my crotch and I prayed that Karl didn't notice the smile on Jim's
face. "Nope. You're right, Karl, I wouldn't mind looking like Patrick
either."

I shivered myself into my bag, trying to avoid the instant hard-on that
threatened whilst the other boys settled in as well.

I laid for a while, listening to the two of them slowly slip toward
sleep. First Karl, then Jim. I relived the feel of Jim's dick under my
hand, the feel of his intense, desperate pulses of orgasm. The look of
Karl's muscles, hair and swelling crotch. Jim's lean arms and Karl's thick
chest as each pulled the bowstrings. I drifted to sleep with those images,
and I struggled with myself as they flowed under rules known only to
Morpheus. Jim's hands on Karl's pecs as he pulled the bow. Karl, suddenly
shirtless, embracing Jim from behind and guiding his arm at the bow, thick
chest-hair brushing Jim's now-naked back. Karl's hand moving down Jim's
sides toward his hips. Jim smiling, beaming as when he caught that fish.

Jim, now naked, his throbbing cock pulsing at me. Karl reaching around and
petting Jim's delectable, bee-sting nipples; down to those rippling boy-abs
under the thinnest layer of fat; back up to shoulders as he leant forward
and nibbled gently on Jim's neck. Jim reaching forward, insinuating his
thin, strong hand into my shorts. Petting with agonizingly-gentle strokes
across my rock-hard dick. Butter-fly touches to my balls and back to stroke
my prick. Gently, firmly, torturously-slow. Faster now, harder, faster,
softer. My dream-self tried to scream but nothing could come out but a
strangled groan as Jim's hand brought me closer and closer and closer to
Rapture. Suddenly I was erupting, exploding with silent, violent spasms and
shuddering but inaudible gasps.

I felt Jim's hand pull back into his own sleeping back and opened my eyes
to see him smell then lick his fingers as he looked at me, smiling. Still
in the grips of that post-orgasm haze, I realised that this part was not a
dream. Jim had returned the favour from earlier and brought me to a climax
the likes of which I'd only dreamed. My lazy eyes moved past him and I
caught the faintest glimmer of Karl's dark eyes, no more asleep than I. As
I faded from orgasmic bliss back into the arms of sleep, blissful and
content in a way I don't think I'd ever known, I wondered what Karl saw,
thought, felt. The rest of my night passed without interruption, but filled
with dreams of sunlight on water, flowers and bumblebees, and the warm
embrace of friends.

<eof>

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My pace in posting since I dropped my first story on 21
December will *not* continue. Overall, I posted 32 stories or chapters in
the first 30 days I was on Nifty. The holidays are over, however, and my
free time is equally-curtailed. I will work to have at least one chapter
posted to each "live" storyline (like this one) every couple weeks. Sorry
to disappoint.

Stories so far:
Canvas Hell: 10 chapters, more coming,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/canvas-hell/ 
Karl & Greg: 12 chapters, more coming,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/karl-and-greg/ 
Temple Street: 5 chapters, currently on hiatus,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/temple-street/ 
The Heathens: 1 chapter, more coming,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens 
Mud Lark Holler: 1 chapter, more coming,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/mud-lark-holler 
Off the Magic Carpet: 1 chapter, not sure yet,
www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/off-the-magic-carpet 
Virtual Master: 1-off, www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/virtual-master
Beaux Thibodaux: First chapter dropped today, Adult/Youth