Date: Thu, 22 Jun 2017 08:19:06 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 30

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.

*****

Trey was crying a little. I patted both shoulders and moved to stand by Jim
again. To stand where I was supposed to be. Where I was supposed to be
forever.

*****

Canvas Hell 30: A Touching Afternoon

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery - Wednesday

*****

All of us woke early on Wednesday. There seemed to be a fizz in the air. We
headed down to the Hygiene Hut and, sadly, were there before the boilers
were up to power. We took a tepid but not icy shower. The door to the Mess
Hall wasn't even unlocked yet, so we settled at the central Fire Ring.

Since we'd finished our project the day before, we wondered aloud about
what would be in store for us in woodcarving the next day and I suddenly
sat up. "Hey! You promised to show us your carving yesterday, Jim, and you
never did. What's up with that?"

He blushed and looked down, scuffing his feet. "Wellllll, I don't have it
with me."

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. But why didn't you show us when it was in your
pocket."

"Now that's not fair. With all the Orson/Trey stuff, you didn't remember
either! And I wanted to show both of you in, you know, private. Just
us. And when we got back to the tent last night it was already dark and,
well, I thought about it. But the other stuff with Trey last night left me,
I dunno, emotionally tired? So, I just tucked in my pack and went to
sleep."

"Well, what is it?"

Jim blushed harder. "It'll sound too stupid if I don't have it to show
you. We'll look after Canoeing, okay?"

Karl was looking at him seriously, but nodded slowly. We noticed Chef
unlock the door and most of the adults file inside. I got a head-gesture
from the Major and we trooped in, settling at the far corner. I doctored my
coffee up into the sweet sludge and Karl kept his the slightly-sub-lethal
black. We chatted as guys trickled in. Apparently, this was a day for early
risers. Something in the air.

Chef's reluctant minions started to drop things into the steam trays and
Chef himself went out and clanged the bell. At first, I was puzzled on why
they'd made egg-drop soup for breakfast until one of the minions put up a
little sign that read, 'Scrambled Eggs'. You really shouldn't need a ladle
for scrambled eggs. Also, there is something seriously wrong with a world
where sausage links go crunch when you bite them. Other than the black
crusts, though, they weren't too bad inside. Thank God for cereal and
fruit!

We headed down to the dock. The two-man kayak had other takers that day;
Sea was fending off a horde of guys wanting a shot at it. He agreed that
he'd let four pairs try it out, "AND I WILL PICK so stop the pushing or not
one of you will get near it. You hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?" They whole pack
jumped a few inches and warbled out a yessir.

He picked another odd pair. A sixteen-year-old and a kid who was probably
fourteen, maybe even younger. The soon-to-be Junior, though, was the
smaller of the pair. The younger looked like the puberty fairy had walloped
him upside the head instead of just sprinkling some pubic-hair dust. There
was no possible doubt that he was JV football, and possibly basketball as
well.

Like that, they jetted off. Another brilliant match with the power this
time coming from the kid and the finesse from the older boy, the reverse of
Karl and Nate. We asked and got permission to use a four-man canoe. Nate
very confidently took the rear seat. After watching his deft performance
with the kayak on Monday, I had to admit he'd probably be better than
me. Karl and I took the next two forward with Jim perched in the bow.

The assignment today was to fish and still keep moving. Sea spent some time
explaining how to work the paddle differently to reduce the disturbance of
the water's surface. It was slower and actually more difficult, but if you
did it right your fellow crew could catch fish. About twenty minutes later,
Nate physically took Karl's paddle away. Karl wasn't at all happy, but his
scowl was more than matched by that of every other quiet canoer on the
river. Karl had one speed and approach: Blitz Attack.

Nate really was better than me. When he was propelling us, all of us got
solid bites and both Karl and Jim caught respectable fish; mine made it
*just* to the edge of the boat before the thing slipped the hook. It was at
least four feet long and had to have weighed... never mind.

I didn't suck at the paddling, actually, and Nate caught a very nice,
trophy-sized pike. It was huge, and mean as hell. Sea kayaked over and
agreed it was trophy-worthy and took custody of the thing. Nate actually
did want his trophy catch mounted.

Jim's style was a bit wilder than perfect, but I got a very, very nice
striped bass that I let go immediately. Karl ended up with four for the
day, largely since he wasn't allowed to do anything *except* fish; he, too,
released them all. No one came close to catching anything like Nate's
monster (except me; that thing was *at least* five feet and fat to
boot). We got back to the dock a little late and washed in a rush.

Lunch was actually pretty good. Stewed wienies and kraut with a vat of
spicy mustard. Of course, this was also a cruel joke on the part of the
diabolical Chef. Sauerkraut and hot mustard with about 150 teens? Farts
were ripping right and left before the meal was even done. Thankfully,
Leatherworking was in an open-air pavilion and there was a nice breeze. Had
it been an enclosed space, a spark could have blown the whole camp to
kingdom come.

We all worked silently and attentively at our wallets. Afterwards, Karl and
I just wandered for our Free Period as Jim went to his Wilderness Survival
class. Out of the blue, Karl said, "So what do you think about Nate?"

"Nate? I think he's a really great guy. Really willing to put it on the
line for a friend. Hey, that's right. He lives in Scranton too, doesn't
he?" Karl didn't look as delighted with that as I would have thought.

"Yeah. Maybe a mile or two away. I think he'll be in Scranton High and I'm
in Dunmore, so that helps..." His voice trailed off. I turned to face him
full on and stopped walking.

"Karl? Buddy? What's this about?" He looked guilty and shifty; both seemed
so alien on his features that was normally so straightforward and
composed. He tried to move around me but I was having none of it. He
finally sighed and sat on a stump. I settled on the grass in front of him.

After sighing so many times I started worrying he might hyperventilate, he
said, "After I, you know, asked that yesterday and kinda sorta broke your
brain for a little while? Well, I asked myself the same questions about
Nate."

"And?"

Karl was really upset, I could tell, and it was taking a lot for him to
hold it together. "And I have sports all three seasons, and have a real
shot at a scholarship, at least a little one, for Baseball. Nate's gonna
think I dumped him and hate me, Patrick. And you're right. He's a great
kid." The misery was leaking through.

I kept my voice soft and neutral. "Have you talked to him about that?"

His eyes flashed to mine, "Hell, no! Are you brain-damaged or just not
listening? He'll be pissed and crushed. I can't do that to the little guy!"

"You really get hung up on the big guy little guy thing, don't you?" I let
a little acid seep into my voice. "At least I never doubted that Jim was
the smart one. Ever think NATE might have answers and not just you? If I
recall correctly, he was the one who fixed YOU last Saturday. He seemed a
lot more pulled-together than any of the three of us!"

Karl was scowling. Okay, I thought, this I can work with. I stood up and
brushed off my pants. "Never mind. I'm sure you're right. It's a lot better
to assume that it's all on you and let it crash than to, you know, risk
actually having a conversation. Yeah; don't know what I was thinking. You
ready to head back?"

"I hate you when you're right, you beanpole asshole."

I grinned. "A beanpole doesn't have an asshole."

"Of course it does, or something just like. How else would Lima Beans get
crapped into the world?"

We tussled a little then headed back. Karl was in a contemplative mood and
I let him stew. He wasn't torn up, though, like he'd been. More like he was
finally thinking about the whole picture and not just his own role in it.

Jim fell into step with us as we passed the main camp, smiling over
Wilderness Survival. We got to the tent and he pulled the flaps behind us,
unusual but not rare. He rummaged in his pack and came back with a cloth
parcel. We sat and he got extremely serious.

"Okay, I know this is probably stupid and all, but don't laugh, please?"
Both Karl and I rocked back. Where did this come from? He sighed deeply
then unfolded the cloth. Karl and I stared at it for a minute. It was three
leaves coming off a twig. Deeply-veined beech leaves like the ones in the
giant trees above us right then, overlapping slightly.

I looked at Karl, then we both looked at Jim who had a blush that could
rival some of mine. He spoke stiffly, worriedly. "It-it's us. The l-l-long
leaf in back is Patrick. I'm the smaller one in the middle and the thick
one on top, protecting the rest, is Karl. But see? Here at the stem? We all
come together like one."

Karl sniffed loudly and I was stunned to see tears there. He leaned in and
pulled Jim to a bearhug, then used the other arm to capture me as well. His
voice was gruff and coarse, but clear. "It's perfect, Jim. Just like, well,
like you. Like the three of us together."

We hugged for a bit, all three of us sniffling right along with
Karl. Eventually, the hug broke. Karl sat back. His lower lip was trembling
his muscles were incredibly tense. He started to speak then swallowed
several times, obviously trying to get his dry mouth to work. His eyes
flicked back and forth between Jim and me. For all the world, Karl, the
staunch and implacable defender, looked terrified.

"Um, Patrick? That of-f-f-f-fer. I think I, um, I want... well."

I pulled in a shuddering gasp as his meaning struck home.

"O-o-o-only can it, um, b-b-be both of you? T-t-t-touching me? Is that too
weird?"

Jim leapt on him like a leopard, kissing his chin and giggling as he
started to strip Karl of his clothes. I joined in. In seconds, a giggling
and petrified Karl was laid before us.


<eof> JUST KIDDING! That was for fellow Nifty author Jim Ford, who carps
that I always end chapters on sexual cliff-hangers. His work is really
special; you should try it.


All these years later, I'm going to take a minute, one we didn't take at
the time, to revel in what Jim and I saw between us.

Karl was short, shorter than either of us. But the muscles and hair were
enthralling. Even for a Junior-soon-to-be-Senior, he was heavily-furred. He
had two massive nipples sticking out from the chest-hair. Both pecs were
evenly coated with a dark pelt of lightly-curled hair. From there, it
descended and narrowed like an arrow to just below his navel and then
another arrow including his crotch.

Karl wasn't hard. He was too scared and nervous right then since neither of
us had started to touch him. It was still a thick slab, not terribly long
(I thought back then with satisfaction that both Jim and I 'showed' more
when soft) and his balls were a bit larger than average and the sac meaty
and thick, covered with a curlier, tighter mat of fur.

The rest of Karl's body was simply a sculpture from a renaissance master,
not the fleet and slim boys of Greek and Roman times, but a muscled, toned,
athletic body. His unfortunate unibrow highlighted a wide, thick brow with
deep-set, sensitive eyes and soft, round cheekbones. No part of his jawline
was sharp -- no part of Karl was sharp! -- and it was blurred more by the
fuzz of growth.

Of all of us, Karl had to shave each day. I remember the old-fashioned
safety razor. You turned the bottom of the handle and it cranked open the
top, exposing the incredibly-lethal 'safety' blade that figured so
prominently in six decades of teen suicides until disposables finally
pushed them out of the market. Jim always watched with a hint of fascinated
awe as Karl shaved. I normally shaved as well, perhaps once a week whether
I needed it or not, using one of the Good News disposables that had just
hit the market that spring which my father adopted instantly.

His dark hair flashed backwards like a pair of wings from his brow and just
barely covered his small ears. His neck and upper chest were breathtaking
with a prominent Adam's Apple and deep wells above and below his
clavicles. His shoulders rolled with muscles as did his furry, thick, heavy
arms. His hands were small and rough, with thick fingers and large
knuckles.

All of that is from a single 'frame' of memory, a single top-to-bottom
glance. Karl hadn't even laid all the way down before Jim forced him to
flip over. To this day, the memory of what I saw can fuel a masturbatory
session to beat the band.

Prone, the insanely-triangular shape of his upper body screamed to be
noticed. Karl's hips were not in the least narrow, but the width of his
shoulders and the tick cords of muscles in the upper arm certainly made it
look that way. Karl's back had a pattern that, over the years, I've come to
call Werewolf Hair. His shoulders had a thick pelt that narrowed to perhaps
a hand's-width, half on either side of the spine but leaving the bumps of
the spine itself only lightly furred.

And then -- oh my fucking God, and then -- the tight, dark curls that
colonized his magnificent, globular ass. A thick trench of fur hid his
crack, but nothing could conceal or minimize the shape of that incomparable
ass. I have, my entire life, been an ass man, and I've wondered for decades
if that summer at Camp Sin was the reason. Regardless, in the, wow, forty
years since, I am not sure I've ever seen one to compare. I love words,
they have been my friends since I first learned to read. However, I don't
have one. Things like flawless and magnificent are too trite and
meaningless. I can call up vision of every hair and dimple to this day.

Banishing that vision is literally painful, but back to 1977.

Jim and I started by stroking Karl's back. He sucked in a breath that was
thick with fear and worry. I began instead to massage his muscles like I'd
seen in a movie, kneading him like dough. The soft moan told me the worry
had vanished, but a little fear remained. Jim moved to his scalp and began
to caress thorough his hair and I moved down the back to that nirvana of
his ass. Kim and I were both petting it suddenly, and Karl giggled.

We worked our way down, alternating between massaging and petting all the
way to his feet, causing him to jerk and squeal. Karl, it turned out, had
very ticklish feet. We worked our way back up in absolute silence and Jim
bent low and murmured, "Turn over Karl." We both looked at each other as
the long silence stretched, wondering if Karl had fallen asleep. A long,
reluctant, fraught sigh erupted and Karl turned over.

'Holy fucking crap.' I am not sure to this day whether I said it out loud
at the time. Karl's nearly-hard dick was, at the time to both of us,
gargantuan. Jim was large, easily seven inches then. I silently prayed at
the time that Karl was done growing because he already made me feel like a
toddler. He was easily eight or nine inches long, even trying to correct
for the teen awe that created the memory. He was also thick, with a wide
flare about halfway up the shaft. He was cut (damned near everyone was cut
then), but I was fascinated with a thick ring of wrinkled skin left between
his scar and the head.

We started, though, at the top again. Jim moved above his head and began to
massage and caress his face. Karl sighed hugely at that. I rubbed his
pectorals and especially the biceps. None of us had heard to nipple play
back then, and all three of us jumped when Jim and I simultaneously stroked
across Karl's. Our buddy's eyes were wide as he looked from one to the
other of us.

He giggled whenever Jim caressed his side and when I got close to his
belly-button. I found out many years later that his sensitivity in those
area was what won him a bride. His wife... well, we'll get to that in due
time.

Karl's entire body went tense as we approach his Holy Land. He seemed to
relax when we only stroked him briefly before heading further south to
complete the journey. Before long, however, we returned to the prize. Karl
whimpered and moaned softly as we manipulated his massive cock and
sensitive balls. His breath got shorter and shorter, but try as we might we
couldn't bring him over the top.

"Um, um, um guys? I, uh, uh, uh don't think I can. Can I uh, um, try?"

Jim and I shared a look and moved our hands up toward his beautiful chest,
rubbing our hands languidly through his fur. Karl's right hand shot to his
dick and his left to his balls and he yanked perhaps a dozen times, eyes
screwed shut, before he chuffed and snorted and violently-bucked his way
through an explosive orgasm. Jim started wiping his gushing cum up before
Karl even caught his breath, using the Infamous Bandana to wipe away the
evidence.

Karl looked shell-shocked, like a warrior stunned to be alive after an epic
battle. There was no real thought in his eyes as he laid there, but a
tentative smile contrasted brilliantly with the worry-lines above his
unibrow. Jim needed a second bandana to finish his work and I helped as I
could.

With a very small, very worried voice, Jim finally asked, "Was, um, that
okay, Karl? You, I mean, you alright?"

Karl smiled slowly, softly, bemusedly. Our slow-speaking friend looked at
Jim for the longest time. "Yeah. Nate was right. I was stupid not to say
yes. But... but I think it was better that, well, both of you did
it. Yeah. Thank you. It was... I'm just real glad. Thank you."

The triangle clanged and we all jumped. The idea that all of that, all that
emotion, all those sensations, all the pleasure had taken place in the
space of perhaps an hour. Jim and I beat back Karl's attempt to dress
himself and pulled his clothes on his giggling frame for him. Dressing him
was a delightful, light-hearted romp, absent the tension and worry that
attended the preceding hour. We smiled at each other in simple contentment,
three musketeers against the world and strolled happily down to dinner. The
world, somehow, just more *right* than it had been before.

<eof> (Really)

If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 30 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 21 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 22 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 15 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Shark Reef: 8 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 6 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 4 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments)
.../incest/in-gods-love/