Date: Fri, 13 Jan 2017 20:31:15 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell: Canvas Hell 6

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.

*****

His eyes found mind. I could see his lips trembling, pouty and flushed. He
swallowed over and over again, as if trying to control himself. He reached
a hand, shaking like palsy, to the head of his own cot and grabbed the
bandana that started this whole thing. He leant forward to wipe at my
chest. When his hand touched me, we both let out low "OH!"
groan/moan/gasp. He went to pull away. To this day I don't know where this
came from (the guts, the strength, the willpower) but I grabbed his wrist
and held it in place.

***** Canvas Hell 6: The Storm By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery; masturbation; trust; intimacy; phobias; tenderness

Karl looked trapped, his hand locked to my chest as my cum slowly
liquefied, but neither of us looked away. I released his wrist as he began
to wipe. Somehow, I know he could not do more, so I teased the cloth out of
his hand and cleaned up my abs and, eventually, my pubes, cock and
balls. Karl's eyes never left the cloth, never left my hand.

His breathing was deep, desperate, exhausted. I finally finished. I didn't
know what the fuck to do with the cum-bandana-cum[sic]-rag, so set it at
the head of my own bed atop my backpack. I looked at Karl with a desperate
need for affirmation that things were 'all right'. He just kept staring at
the bandana. Finally, I crawled under the cover, still atop the sleeping
bag but under a thin sheet of a camp blanket.

I'll admit that I was exhausted from the emotional seismograph that was my
day, and from the epic cum, and from Karl's presence, but I knew sleep was
ages away, Karl sat frozen, so I retreated 'to type' and pretended sleep. I
was really good at this. About ten minutes later, Karl slowly, scared out
of his wits, reached out and gently, silently lifted the bandana with my
fresh cum from the backpack above my head.

Through slitted eyes, I saw Karl bring it to his nose. His eyes seemed to
roll back and he whimpered softly. I never let my breathing change at all
as I watched him strip off the day's clothes, having obvious trouble with
the innermost layer; his own seed was matted into his pubes and peeling off
the y-fronts was obviously difficult and painful.

I watched him sit there on his cot-side, staring from the bandana to his
own cum-drenched crotch. Abruptly coming to a decision (or a capitulation
to his needs?), Karl stripped and cleaned himself with the soggy cloth. He
sighed and suddenly stiffened. I had fooled him before. Was I *really*
asleep this time?

"You're really a shit, you know. I know you're awake. I know you're
watching. It's sick and twisted and I am not gonna do anything, you know
that, right? I'm not doing anything, ever, if you can watch me." What he
said hurt; it hurt bad but I never varied my breathing.

"Oh, GOD!" he whisper-moaned with a shuddering voice thick with desire then
fell back on his cot. Karl's hand clenched the cum-drenched bandana. It
slowly, achingly, moved south. His dick was thick and dark, and BIG. I
couldn't see much more in the gloom of the tent. With a collapse of all
restraint and resistance, Karl wrapped his own cock in the cloth, my cum
directly against his own dick, using it as a sort of liquid-rich envelope
to pleasure himself.

He whispered, "If you are really watching me, I will hate you
forever. Forever. Forever." Those were the last coherent words, a mantra
that slowly faded to gasps and weak moans. It took Karl about six minutes,
caressing with a control I surely didn't have, to reach his own climax. I
could see that silence was NOT what Karl was used to, and he struggled to
control his cries as orgasm wracked his body. He arched again and again,
slamming back to Earth only to launch the next volley. He came as long as I
had earlier. In the midst of aftershock, Karl managed to drag the camp
blanket over him and was asleep before his erection faded.

I was so... I didn't know what I was... what I was feeling, but it was
HUGE, indescribably life-altering. I was... a different Patrick than I'd
been five minutes before, and a *very* different Patrick than an hour
ago. I thought to the Christians shouting from street corners. Was this
what they meant by 'reborn'? If so, I understood their impassioned pleas
for unbelievers to join them. That thought carried me to dreamland. And the
dreams...! Sorry, but there are some things I can't even share with you.

I woke the next morning and, as previously, exited quickly to water the
giant beech. My movements apparently woke Karl. I heard him splashing on
the other side of the Tent Canvas Hell. Neither of us was able to meet the
other's eyes as we rounded the corner, gathered our stuff and proceeded to
the Hygiene Hut.

We were not the first there, but close. After taking care of the bathroom
needs, we got the showers at about the same time. We resolutely went to
opposite walls and allowed the leaky plumbing to drench us. That morning,
though, nothing I thought or resolved prevent me from sneaking glances at
Karl. At one point, I went from his ass (oh my God, is there anything so
beautiful?) to his face, only to see his eyes leave my own crotch and lock
with my gaze. I blushed furiously and began to vigorously scrub, well,
SOMETHING. I rinsed and fled without having a chance to confirm the
impression I got of his cock from the night before.

Karl was not far behind and I handed him a pile of the useless towels as he
emerged. Without making eye contact, we dried, brushed our teeth and
dressed. We left together for the Mess Hell... sorry, the mess 'hall'.

Expectedly, Jim was waiting outside the door, quivering with anticipation
and hero-worship. Neither of us had much spark that morning. We zombied our
way through the line. I forgot myself and accidently got something called
oatmeal. This thin, sticky gruel was the perfect match for my mood. Jim
chittered and chattered like the disgustedly-happy avian alarm-clocks
around us.

We added Jim to the Coffee Conspiracy when I got my steaming milk-glass
from George with a wink. Jim didn't like coffee and swore never to touch
the nasty bleep again, but Karl and I shared the sacred beverage between
bites of ersatz foods. Jim kept a running and ecstatic chatter. Karl and I
basically grunted, um'ed and yeah'ed through it until Jim finally wore
down.

Thankfully, we all ended our unfortunate meal about then and exited the
Mess Hell, I mean 'hut', um, 'hall', whatever. We have probably 20 minutes
before they rang us for the first class of the day. Patrick and I had
Woodworking and Jim had Tracking for the first session, then we all had
different things for the second portion.

"So, what did you guys do after I left?" Jim's voice was upbeat, happy and
innocent and both Karl and I were mortified.

I decided to take the ball. "Well, Karl helped rinse me off and I showered,
but then we kinda realised that I had nothing to wear."

"Whoa! What did you do?" Horrified fascination dripped for Jim's words.

"Karl was so cool. He checked and made sure it was clear and I, well,
streaked to the tent." We were sitting next to a tree near the Activities
Pavilion and Jim dissolved in giggles at the image.

"Don't laugh, Jim," Karl said. "I think Patrick durned near had a litter of
kittens when he realised. He was a trouper and ran across to the tent like
a streak of white and red."

I punched him in the arm in mock horror and all of us laughed. Somehow, my
brain realised what was coming next before Jim said the words.

"And then what?" His big eyes looked from one to the other of us as if we
were Starsky & Hutch, the two coolest guys on the planet.

'Well, when we got into the tent I was so horny I begged Karl to watch me
jerk off to a mind-blowing explosion. He did, then as soon as he thought I
was asleep he shot a massive, vocal, energetic load using my semen as
lube.'

"What do you mean, then what? We went to sleep you doofus!"

"Oh... well... yeah."

Karl was relegated to my peripheral vision as I knew that looking at him in
any way would launch Global Thermonuclear Blush, but I saw him relax with
relief.

We were saved from further probing questions by the triangle. Jim headed
reluctantly to Tracking as Karl and I went to Woodworking. Jim was, as with
Wilderness Survival, next to the forest and Karl and I were in the massive
Activity Pavilion.

As we walked together, Karl mumbled, "Thanks."

"For what? We went back and went to sleep. I don't recall anything else, do
you?" There was an unmistakable note of pleading in my voice and Karl was
more than pleased to grant what we both wanted.

"Exactly."

We were, oddly, both almost giddy with relief and started chatting like Jim
had this morning (frankly, like Jim did whenever he spoke). Woodworking
turned out to be as fun as Leatherworking and much for the same
reasons. The tools were amazing, varied and fascinating. The wood was
supple and pliable under us and I could see the tantalising shapes of
magnificent creatures trapped within the grain. I felt Karl's mounting
fascinating. We met glances and smiled like co-conspirators.

We split again for the second session before lunch. Neither of us saw
Jim. I headed to a different part of the Activities Pavilion for Campfire
Cooking and Karl went to the open area near the central flag for the basics
of Orientation & Cartography. I'd occasionally glance at Karl as he stood
in rapt attention, eyes glued to a map, instructor, compass or other
implement. My future cooking classes would be at Cabin 2's fire ring; today
we learned about heat conduction, Dutch ovens, searing and simmering. The
description and images had us all drooling in spite of the train wreck we
knew to expect for lunch.

When we were done, I hit the Hygiene Hut and found Jim emerging from it. He
had what I can only call an angelic look of peace, relief and calm. I
suddenly had an unfounded and unworthy flash as to the reason, considering
he'd had a Free Period just before. Regardless, he waited for me and we
converged on the Mess Hell just as Karl came round the corner. We gathered
the dreaded inedible edibles and found a table near the exit (to make
tray-clearing and/or stomach-pumping more convenient).

For the first time, Karl dominated the conversation. Angles, paces,
declination, perspective, triangulation. Terms whizzed past me and Jim. It
was clear that Karl was smitten with the mathematics that his new subject
entailed. Jim and I shared baffled and bemused expressions. When Karl got
to terms that sounded like he made them up (perihelion being the straw that
broke my camel-back), I interjected. "So, if we get lost like last night,
you can get us back, right?"

Karl's eyes got wide and he started to stutter before Jim and I cracked up
with laughter. Karl was a bit grumpy until I told him that only the
combination of his newfound love, his and Jim's Wilderness Survival and my
Campfire Cooking could let us escape the lingering death of starvation if
we got lost. Mollified, Karl asked about our own courses and we chatted for
a while.

"So, what about Free Period, Jim?" Karl asked with an outright leer.

Jim looked at Karl then caught my own unrestrained and disgusting
smirk. Jim froze and the blood first drained from his face then rushed back
in a blush that I would have a hard time matching. "If you can, so can I!
It's what Free Periods are for, right?" Jim's fragile air of bravado and
guts in making that challenge sent Karl and I into waves of distracted
mirth, slapping his shoulders and using words like 'stud' and 'stallion'.

Jim revelled in the comradery and attention, still embarrassed but clearly
delighted. I reminded myself how much it would have meant for me, three
years ago, to be befriended and treated as an equal by Juniors. The mirth
died but the contentment and sense of accomplishment remained. I was making
Jim's summer easier, better, more memorable. I loved (and to this day love)
that feeling more than anything else I could express.

We wandered together, laughing and joking, Karl enthused about the
Cartography stuff and I talked about all the cool things I never knew you
could cook over an open fire. Jim was like a puppy, gambolling and
delighted to take part in the discussion. When the triangle rang, we headed
to the Activities Pavilion as that is where the first archery session would
start. All three of us shared that class.

Today was perfect for the pavilion, as the arrows never made an appearance
(thank God; imagine the bloodshed!). Instead, we had to learn how to hold
the bow, how to pull, how to whine piteously at how much it hurt our
fingers, how to release, how to scream like a girl as the string snipped
off a nipple or a couple inches of skin. The basics.

As expected, none of us were standouts, but Jim's slim frame and amazingly
steady arm showed good promise. Likewise, none of us made complete fools of
ourselves; some of the guys really could not get the concept and a couple
even ended up with bloody noses when they released the bow instead of the
string.

Afterwards, we split to get our trunks. Karl (reluctantly) and I
(enthusiastically) had Lifesaving at the same time Jim had Swimming. As it
turned out, the classes were together much of the time, with Sea and four
leaders coaching the lifeguard students and a half-dozen of the leaders
(far more than we'd seen in any other class) working with those
uncomfortable in the water.

Karl and I were started off with laps. About halfway out to the platform on
the second lap, I could tell Karl was struggling. I stopped and treaded
(trod? trode? treadied?) water, then talked him through things to make it
easier. How to kick without splashing so he didn't waste energy, how to
turn his head in time with arms to breathe, how to keep his arms more in
line with this body and less to the sides. He was jubilant when we made it
to the platform, turned and raced back to the dock. Honestly, with just
those few tips, he was nearly a match for me.

Thus warmed up, Sea gathered us at the dock whilst the leaders all started
giving specific lessons to the swimmers.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was advice from the 70s and is probably
obsolete. Also, this is porn, not a lifesaving guidebook. Seriously, I
needed to say that? What a world...]

"There are three rules to keep in mind at all times." Sea's voice was
strong and rich and deep and penetrating.

"The first is, don't drown." This got a hearty laugh but Sea was not
amused. "The easiest thing in the *world* is for a lifeguard trying to save
someone end up a victim himself. People, kids especially, can panic. If you
don't keep your head and stay in control, we now have two victims and one
less lifeguard, so we're in deep, got me, men?" A dozen pairs of wide yes
flashed form the teacher to other students, all of us nodding. This was
serious!

"Second rule, learn to *count*!" Another laugh, stifled. "If you are on
duty and I come up and ask how many kids are in the water and you're wrong,
I will make your life a living hell. Add when a kid goes in, subtract when
one comes out. If no one is coming or going, count the heads you can see,
then make damned sure you know where the differences are. Swimming
underwater? Playing grab-ass? Or maybe drowning and every second counts."
Twelve young statues in swim trucks just stared, several of the guys looked
a little green at the thought of having literal life-and-death situations
thrust on them.

"Third, ALWAYS use a float if you want to rescue someone. NEVER dive in
without one. Yes, you swim faster without a float, but you and your victim
can also get in a lot of trouble a lot faster, too."

"YOU!" the entire group jumped; Sea was pointing to an older boy. "Why is
the Frist Rule to keep count?" The kid's brows furrowed.

"B, um, but isn't, it's, um, it's don't drown?"

"WOW! For the first class in ages someone actually LISTENED! Gold star for
Chambers!" Relief washed off the tow-headed Chambers like rain.

"Don't Drown! Keep Count! Use Floats!" Sea led us in that chant for a few
minutes.

"Okay, you now know six words. Congrats." We all sniggered. "There are a
lot of other rules. Whenever possible, do like we're teaching the
swimmers." As one, our eyes went to the other group. "Every one of them is
paired with another boy. You men should do the same." It was years later
that I realised how massive but subtle an impact 'you men' and 'those boys'
had on each of us. "Find a partner. Know your partner. Know where he is and
what he's doing every second. If your partner goes in to assist, you DO
NOT!

"YOU!" Gulp; he was pointing to me. "WHY is that, Kennedy?"

"Um, because I need to be ready if Karl gets in trouble? I need to have
stuff ready if, um, if he or the, um, victim needs help?" Karl looked at
me, and it struck me that I had automatically paired myself with him; no
discussion, no forewarning. I blushed.

"Red here has it right on the first try! Good job, Kennedy." To this day,
I'm not sure if 'Red' was from my hair or my face, but it stuck. Kids would
call me Red the rest of the month.

"If your partner is in the water, YOU have to be thinking how to get him
and the victim OUT of that water. We'll talk about reach-poles, floats,
tie-lines, ropes and aids. The first one to recognise the need for
assistance JUMPS! His partner NOTICES and goes to work!"

By the end of the session, all of us were in terrified awe of Sea and his
voice. Some of the boys were simply terrified and approached Sea quietly
later. Of the 12 who started, eight would be there for the second lesson;
four could not take the idea of others entrusting them with actual
lives. Karl would have made five but I never gave him a chance and
shamelessly challenged his manhood for even the thought of quitting.

As the class closed, Jim came out of the water like a sailfish, all
sleekness and splash. Karl and I laughed. Both classfuls of 'men' and
'boys' and most of the leaders headed for the Hygiene Hut. Like many
others, Jim made a detour to his cabin and we to Tent Canvas Hell for fresh
clothes. Some other session that afternoon had left the boys muddy and
reeking, so there was a crowd for the showers. I am not sure why, but the
presence of the leaders and their incredibly casual air about showering
gave me the courage to sneak looks at all and sundry. Some of the older
boys took my breath away, with dense layers of fur, massive 'tackle' or
shapely muscles at leg, butt, arm or back. I noticed a lot of the other
boys with the same faux-furtive looks, including Karl and the
so-very-NOT-subtle Jim. I decided that I was within the non-mutant range
overall and sighed.

We dried and dressed, and headed to the Mess Hall. I was rather
shocked. Tonight was fired chicken that, whilst not a blue-ribbon offering,
was actually edible if you avoided the Brown Slime (gravy) and the Green
Goo (unsuspecting green beans boiled mercilessly into submission). Chef
managed not to make powdered mashed potatoes any worse than they are
naturally. Not bad nosh!

Tonight was different. Instead of unlimited roaming, each cabin would
rehearse a song or skit for the Sunday Night Campfire for the entire
population of Camp Sin. Tent-dwellers were instructed to pick a single
fire-ring for the week and join them. I was ecstatic. No, Duh! I was
mortified. Sing? Act? In front of PEOPLE? Were they MAD?

Grumbling, moans and derision aside, everyone sorted themselves and retired
after dinner. At a loss, Karl and I tagged along with Jim (to his beaming
pride) to Cabin 3, home of 15-year-old campers. When Karl cocked an eyebrow
at Jim, who we knew to be 14, he blushed and admitted his birthday {Oh,
please! Don't tell ANYONE! Promise?!?} would fall on the coming weekend.

As it turned out, the two leaders assigned to this cabin were amazingly
cool. One had long, rebellious hair and the other, though clean-cut, had a
wicked grin and sharp sense of humour. More, each played both guitar and
harmonica. The wandered through the group for a few minutes playing
snatches of old standards and some newer song. The one that resonated with
everyone was a new one. Woody Guthrie's son, Arlo, had released it a few
years prior and it was dark, mysterious and (for kids our age) a bit edgy
with talk of the 'paper bag that holds the bottle' and card games.

We decided (well, we *thought* we did; the leaders were really good) that
we'd all sing the chorus and groups of five would take each take two
stanzas, handing the verse to the next group as seamlessly as boys could
accomplish. Karl, Jim and I were on the fourth set along with Jim's friend
Orson and a terrified-looking kid named (we eventually found out)
Willie. Orson looked at us like, I assume, I'd have looked at the god-like
near-adult 17-year-olds when I was that age. The kid we learned was named
Willie never looked for more than an instant before attempting to memorise
his shoelaces. We set to learning the Chorus.

As it turned out, Karl had a nice (if occasionally crackly) baritone and I
was a rich tenor (which I have to this day). Jim had the enthusiastic if
unskilled boy's high tenor that occasionally broke HARD to a near-basso
rumble that he loathed, making him sound like he gargled the words. We were
amongst the first to really learn the chorus. Choruses, actually, as the
chorus shifted like most train songs in the last verse. We were good
together, as were most of the others. Shoving and poking when people forgot
their lines; laughing and cheering when we succeeded; bonding over a song
that had so much more meaning in the years to come.

** ** A thousand years and a million miles later, the echo of Karl and Jim
in harmony singing, "Good morning, America, how are you? Don't you know me?
I'm your native son. I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,"
sends wondrous and elated shivers through my soul. The inevitable and
remorseless last line, "I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is
done," a dirge for innocence, for friends and years lost, can still make me
cry. -- Sorry for the digression. Where were we? {cough/sniff/cough}
Ahem...  ** **

Full dark had claimed the trees and the last light of day was retreating
from a battalion of stars as we hugged Jim (puppyish), Orson (owlish) and
Willie (petrified) and made our way to Tent Canvas Hell. We were content
and smiling, but oddly subdued. The melody and tone of the full song, which
the leaders played at the start and end of the evening, seemed to echo. I
don't know why.

We got to the tent for the first "normal" night so far.  Redolent of smoke
but clean (well, by boy standards, having showered after the last class),
we were both cogent, aware and awake. We entered Tent Canvas Hell and
stopped, not knowing what to do. What each of us had seen and done, with or
without the other's understanding, was like a fragile sheet of ice that we
each trod fearfully, not knowing when a tiny crack might plunge us into the
unknown.

We turned away from each other to undress. I was so hard I couldn't imagine
Karl seeing me and I assumed he just didn't want to be embarrassed if I
looked (oh, how wrong I was). Each in boxers, we shuffled into our sacks as
we had been warned that the weather would turn overnight. We turned as if
synchronised away toward the tent walls and laid there. A sharp wind
heralded the change in temperature that the Major had warned about.

I tried everything to entice the Dreamweaver: floating in a calm pool;
riding a dolphin; climbing a tree; being a hobbit of the Shire-folk, a
rabbit on Watership Down, Milo meeting the Watch Dog. Nothing. As the beech
shook and trembled with the wind, I was suddenly aware that Karl was as
restless as I. He abruptly unzipped his bag and whispered, "It's too
hot. You awake? Patrick?"

I had pretended the last two night, afraid of what would happen if I
admitted to being there. The leaves above and around us began to fight with
the same intensity as my own thoughts. As the memory of those nights and
their outcomes ping-ponged through my mind, Karl said, "Please, Patrick. If
you are awake, can you tell me? Please?" There was real hurt and need and
fear in his voice.

"I'm awake, Karl. I can't sleep either." Karl sighed deeply. Finally, he
could talk to me under the cover of canvas darkness. I flailed myself raw
with the question, 'what would it have been like if I'd been honest Sunday?
Monday?'

"You were awake the first night, when, wh, when I said what I s... what I
said?"

"Yes."

"You were awake last night, too." He said this with a certainly and grief
that shredded my soul. How could I lie? How could I *imagine* lying?

"I didn't want to be Karl, but I was." I flipped to face him but his face
was still away from me. "I am so, so sorry! Karl, I didn't know what to do!
I wanted, wa, wanted... I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANTED! But I couldn't bear to
let you know, to let you see, to let you know..." I was weeping by now, my
reliable waterworks erupting like the short burst of rain that attacked the
canvas walls.

A lull, and a voice as quiet as the breeze on the tent came back, "I know,
Patrick. I said I'd hate you but, but, but I don't. I am sorry, really."

Karl turned to me and I swear to this day, to my dying breath, that his
eyes glowed with the rich and delicate blue of and iceberg at night. Those
eyes were my universe. I didn't know why. I didn't *care* why.

Suddenly we both sat up as a clap of thunder rang out. The drops of rain
got larger and more insistent. I was still half in my bag and Karl was
sitting on the edge of his cot when the world went white. A sound to
destroy all others exploded. Karl was suddenly in my arms, clutching me,
shuddering and crying. I clung to him, as much from my own fear as for his
comfort. A second mammoth strike in the nearby trees and Karl was undone,
inchoate with fear.

I stroked and clung to him as he cowered in my arms. I unzipped my bag and
dragged him in, and simply cradled his quaking form as the storm exploded
around us. Karl was curled like a child shaking and shivering like he had
just been pulled from an icy pond, weeping silently and inconsolably. Three
things crashed upon my consciousness: I was bereft that he was in fear and
pain and wanted nothing more than to comfort him; that I held another boy
in my arms, taboo but needful for his protection; I was more aroused than
at any point in my entire fucking life.  Shame accompanied the last
thought, but not enough that Karl's every quiver failed to make my cock
notice and approve.

The maelstrom lasted about an hour, a lifetime for Karl. He was a wreck,
sobbing and unable to catch his breath. Terrified, I heard to Dark Woods
Monster approach, sticks cracking under his hooves like the bones of the
damned campers he'd devoured. Karl was oblivious and I could not even
squeak when a voice rang out, "Tent 9! You okay in there?"

I almost fainted. It was one of the leaders, checking on the tents.

"W, w, we, we..." I took a gulp of air to prime the pump.

"ARE YOU OAKY?!?"

"Yes! We're f, f, fine! It hit, hit so close. We're a bit shook up but
fine!"

"Good men. If things get too bad, come down to the Mess Hall. We have cocoa
and blankets."

I sighed with relief as he left. What would he make of me comforting the
quivering huddle that had been my tent-mate? What did I make of it? FUCK!
What would *Karl* make of it?!?

I didn't care. I petted and cooed and caressed and calmed Karl for the next
20 minutes (or lifetime). He finally jerked and I realised he was back. He
looked up at me with wide, horrified, humiliated and desperate eyes.

"Wh, what did I do?"

"You did what I'd have done if you didn't get there first!" I quipped. "The
lightening was, I don't know, right THERE and the crack was BANG! CRASH!
BOOM! I don't know how you made it. I nearly wet myself."

I somehow knew that any hint that Karl had been less than a manly-man would
destroy him.

"Karl, I don't know what I would have done! Without you, you know, here?
Oh, my God!"

I had gone too far, but Karl rescued me. His voice small and scared and so
very young, "You can stop, Patrick. I hate storms." His body shuddered with
the admission. "I, I can't han, handle the thunder. I was, was, six or
s..." what there was of his voice drained away.

"Having you here, Karl, made me feel safe. You get that, right?"

Karl looked at me with hope, fear and longing; my heart shattered. I
cradled this boy-man in my arms and began to weep, cuddling and soothing
both of our souls. Would he hate me? I didn't care. Would he blame me? I
didn't care. What would others think? I DIDN'T CARE! I rocked him until
sleep came, both his and mine. Repercussions, recrimination and regrets
were for the morning; now I took and gave what we both needed so badly.

<eof>

I am only the author; Karl and Patrick and Jim run their universe. Let me
know your thought and I'll run them past the three guys. Maybe you will
give them to impetus they need to...