All standard disclaimers apply.

All characters in the following story are entirely fictional. And any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental.

The author does not condone the actions in the story. A strict line must be maintained between fantasy and reality. It is morally neutral to fantasize or read about minors engaging in sexual activity, providing the fantasy or story is entirely fictional. In real life, adults and children should never engage in sexual activity under any circumstances.

In the real world, no one under the age of eighteen--or whatever the age of majority in your area happens to be--should be having sex. In the author's view, few people under the age of twenty-one are mature enough for sex.

If you are seriously considering having sex with a minor, please read no further. Instead, seek immediate help from a trained and licensed professional.

Remember to keep your fantasy life and your real life very separate!

This story may not be reproduced without the consent of the author.

The author may be contacted at: RaziHaze (at) Hushmail (dot) com.

-- CHAPTER VII --

OUT AROUND THE CAMPFIRE

(NO SEX)

Jackson, Wesley, Chance, and Milo emerged in a pile, tripping over one another onto the ground outside the bathroom. Soon, they pulled themselves into a standing position.

Laughing, Milo stretched and ran his fingers through his red hair. "That was weird." He reached toward Jackson and grabbed his arm. "That's not right," he exclaimed, looking at Jackson's watch.

"What's not right?" asked Wesley, cracking his knuckles.

"It's ten PM," Milo explained.

"So?" Chance asked.

"Do you remember what time we walked into Acadie?" Milo asked.

"Yeah, but I was wearing that watch the whole time we were in there," Jackson offered.

"Yeah!" continued Wesley. "Maybe electro-magic energy fucked with Jackson's watch."

Chance's eyes widened, and he held up a single finger. "I'll settle this. Wait here!"

Chance ran from the bathroom to Nevia Cabin. He went first to his own backpack and searched through its contents. After about thirty seconds, he gave up and began searching through Milo's luggage. Chance pulled a cheap, LED alarm clock out from among Milo's t-shirts, and he smiled when he found a bag of marshmallows among the clothing.

Chance ran back outside toward the rest of the boys, waving the bag of marshmallows like a flag. Through a chuckle, he announced, "It's ten-oh-three!" He tossed the bag of marshmallows to Milo. "I stole your marshmallows. It's ten-oh-three!"

"Shit!" shouted Wesley. "Shit! Shit! Shit! It was real! Shit!" He began pacing back and forth along the grass.

"Is that a happy or sad `shit'?" asked Milo.

"I don't know," said Wesley. "I mean, on the one hand: Wow! A new world! We were really there. Magic and--" Wesley laughed. "On the other hand, what the fuck does science mean now? What does anything we know mean?"

"Maybe we should sit down and talk about this," suggested Jackson. He grabbed the marshmallows out of Milo's hand.

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The boys arranged a series of logs and rocks around a pile of sticks. Wesley dragged an unusually large stone toward their makeshift campfire, turning it into a surprisingly comfortable seat. Jackson found two iron fireplace pokers in a small shed outside the cabin.

Each boy roasted a marshmallow over the crackling fire. Milo, who had chosen a stick that forked and branched, warmed four marshmallows at once.

"I kind of want to go back there," Milo explained. "It was new and different."

"No one there knew me," added Wesley, echoing the sentiment. "Sometimes I think it would be nice to . . . I don't know, run away, I guess."

"Why would you want to run away?" asked Chance, concern in his voice.

Wesley forced a very fake and uncomfortable laugh. "Do you know what my life here is like?" he asked. "I'm shunned in school. I'm in a goddamn group home, a half-step away from juvie, and--"

"--I hate to say it," Jackson interjected.

"Hate to say what?" There was malice in Wesley's voice.

"I hate to say it, but maybe you wouldn't be in this situation if you didn't go nuts and punch people who pissed you off all the time," Jackson said.

Wesley took a deep breath and looked away. "You think that's it? You think that's why I'm in a group home!? Is that what your shiny new foster parents told you, or was it people in school?"

"Let's try to calm down," Chance interjected.

"No!" shouted Wesley. "You wanna know the real reason I'm in a group home, Jackson Poe!? Your `parents.' That's the reason!" Wesley thrust his hand down against the rock he was sitting on. "A year-and-a-half ago I thought--" he took a deep breath. "--I'm not sure what I thought. I . . . Mister and Missus Smythe weren't home. They were at some church conference or some shit." He wiped a tear from his eye. "I went into Mister Smythe's office and . . . " he sighed. He looked away from the rest of the boys with red eyes. "I looked at some porn."

"Everyone's looked at porn," Milo said.

Wesley turned to Milo and forced a laugh. "Gay porn, Milo." Wesley exhaled. "The Smythes found out. They called my social worker. I was one room over when Missus Smythe said, `we don't want a godless pervert in our house.'"

Jackson spoke quietly, "Wesley, I--"

"--Suddenly," Wesley continued, "everyone at school knows or has heard the rumor that `Wesley Rhodes is a faggot.' I lost count of how many kids have snickered behind my back or `accidentally' shoved me in the hallway." He looked Jackson in the eye, "You know as well as I do that the Smythes are the type of people who would spread that around town just to--just to fuck with me." He clicked his tongue. "I don't know what else they told the social worker. But, instead of putting me in another foster home, I got shut away in the Vinci Home for Boys." He cleared his throat and leaned in, toward Jackson. "I had to get tough."

"So, are you gay then?" asked Milo. "I mean--" he held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just asking. I'm not making fun."

Wesley bit his lower lip and paused for a long moment. "Yeah. I--" he gulped. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Jackson stood up and began walking toward Wesley. "Wesley, I--"

"--Save it, golden boy," Wesley said. "I don't need your pity."

Jackson sat down on the soft ground next to Wesley. "You know why I'm in foster care, right?" he asked.

Wesley didn't respond.

"When I was eight, my favorite TV show was Power Rangers Megaforce," Jackson began. "And my favorite Power Ranger was Jake: `Megaforce Black.' I didn't like him because black was my favorite color or anything like that. Blue's my favorite color, actually . . . " he smiled. "Jake was the hottest."

Milo giggled.

Wesley glared at Milo.

Jackson continued speaking. "My mom and I used to joke that Jake was `my boyfriend.' My dad never liked that." He shrugged. "My dad used to drink a lot. But even when he wasn't drunk, he'd . . . " Jackson paused, sighing. "He let us know when he was angry." Jackson curled his hand into a fist as if to explain what he meant.

"One day, my dad caught me fawning over Jake. I was lying on my tummy, staring up at the TV, thinking about how cool it was when Jake said `Go! Go! Megaforce!'" Jackson continued. "When he punched me in the back of the head."

Wesley looked at Jackson intently. He slid off his rock and onto the ground. Wesley sat right up against Jackson, putting his arm around him.

"My mom tried to jump in the way--to protect me," Jackson explained. "I guess she thought . . . I don't know." Jackson wiped his red eyes and sobbed for a moment. "I watched him beat the shit out of her." He paused. "She died in the hospital three days later."

Jackson turned his head and looked Wesley in the eyes. "I didn't know your whole story, Wes." He exhaled. "I want to protect people, the way my mom wanted to protect me. It's just that violence, um . . . um . . . "

"Triggers you," Chance filled in for Jackson.

"Exactly," Jackson said. "Fighting should be for protecting people."

Chance stood up and walked toward Jackson and Wesley. "I guess it's my turn."

"Your turn?" asked Milo.

Chance sat down beside Jackson and folded his arms around his knees. "It's my fault my parents died," Chance began. "I--" he sighed. "--I have to be brave." He looked to Wesley and Jackson. "I made the dumb decision to come out to my parents while we were all in the car." He gulped. "I could've waited `til we got home, but I just had to do it, right then and there. My mom freaked out and swerved the car."

"It's not your fault," said Wesley.

"It feels like my fault," replied Chance.

"None of it was any of our faults," said Jackson. "Life dealt us shitty hands, and shitty stuff happened to us because--" He put an arm around Chance and an arm around Wesley. "--because of who we are."

"Well fuck life!" said Wesley. "I--I don't mean it like that. Not in like a suicidal way. I mean . . . "

". . . You mean fuck society." Chance said. "Fuck what people think."

"Yeah," said Wesley. "Fuck it!"

"Yeah," Jackson continued. "If people don't like that we're gay, that's their problem." He nodded. "I'm cool with it."

The three boys hugged each for another minute without talking.

"Wow!" exclaimed Wesley, breaking the silence. "What are the chances?"

"The chances of what?" asked Chance.

"That three closeted gay kids get forced into the same cabin," Wesley said. He stood back up and sat back down on his rock.

"What do you mean?" asked Milo.

"I mean, statistically, gay people are maybe like eight percent of the population, but seventy-five percent of Nevia Cabin," Wesley explained.

"No," said Milo.

"Three-out-of-four is seventy-five percent," said Wesley, speaking a little slowly.

Milo paused. "Um . . . dude!" He held out his hands. "Do I have to fucking spell it out for you nimrods?"

Jackson, Wesley, and Chance said nothing.

"Yesterday, I gave a fucking blowjob to a dildo I carved out of wood!" Milo exclaimed. "Do I have to wear a rainbow flag as a cape for you fuckers to get it!?"

"I thought that you were just being funny," said Chance. "I kind of just thought you were a jokester."

"I am," replied Milo. "But when straight jokesters give fake blowjobs they don't tease the fucking tip with their tongue. Straight guys aren't experts at sucking cock."

"How are you an expert at sucking dick!?" said Jackson walking back to his log and sitting down. "Have you actually sucked a real dick before!?"

Milo suddenly got very quiet. "Maybe."

"You did!" Chance chuckled and shouted, walking back to his own seat. "You've sucked a real dick!"

Milo breathed in sharply. "More than one."

Jackson, Wesley, and Chance's eyes all widened at the same time.

"How many?" asked Jackson.

Milo looked up and thought. "Six."

"Anyone I know?" asked Jackson. "Someone at school?"

Milo leaned in and began whispering. "You guys cannot tell anyone, okay? Capiche?"

"Promise," said Chance.

Jackson echoed with "Of course."

And Wesley eagerly nodded and said, "Deal!"

Milo breathed out. "One of my foster dads started fucking me when I was nine," he said.

"Wait--you've been fucked!?" Wesley said.

"Let him finish!" Chance interjected.

"Please continue," Jackson said, engrossed in Milo's story.

"So, yeah. I've been sucking cock and getting fucked for three years now," Milo continued. "There was my foster dad," he held up one finger counting. "I used to give blow jobs to one of his work buddies too," he held up another finger. "Then I got put into a new foster home." He chuckled. "I . . . I kinda seduced my new foster dad." He held up a third finger. "He was just so hot!" Milo giggled. "Then, um, last year--Do you remember Mister Barker?" Milo asked.

"The Math teacher?" Jackson asked. "You sucked off Mister Barker!?"

Milo nodded.

"He is really sexy," Jackson said.

"I used to `stay late' during recess like three times a week just so I could lick his balls," Milo said breathily. "But . . . Mister Murphy's dick tasted even better."

"The gym teacher!?" Jackson's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

"He used to get really sweaty running around during Phys. Ed.," Milo explained. "I couldn't help myself: Sweaty guys are like, I dunno, muskier or something. Sex with a sweaty guy is just like a billion times better!"

"That's five," said Wesley."

"Huh?" said Chance.

"You said you've had sex with six guys," Wesley continued. "Two foster dads, two teachers, and one of your foster dads' friends: That's five guys."

Milo paused. "Okay--You really have to keep this one quiet." He gulped. "Last summer and this summer . . . I've been having tons of sex with Tank."

"Camp counselor Tank?" Chance asked dumbfounded. He pointed to Tank's cabin. "Tank who sleeps right over there, in a cabin like ten feet away from ours!?"

"I don't believe it!" Wesley exclaimed. "You're lying!"

"Want me to prove it?" Milo asked.

"Yeah!" Wesley challenged.

Milo bit a marshmallow off his stick and swallowed. "Jackson, what time is it?"

Jackson looked at his watch. "Eleven-thirty."

Milo nodded. "In a half hour--assuming you fuckers were sleeping--I was supposed to sneak out of our cabin and into Tank's." Milo smiled and took another bite of another marshmallow. "Wait until like twelve-ten or twelve-fifteen--By that point, Tank will be too into it to notice. Sneak out of the cabin, and quietly and sneakily look into the side window of Tank's cabin."

"And you'll be blowing him?" Wesley asked, still unsure.

"Maybe," said Milo. "By that point, I might be doing somethin' else to him. He's got a huge dick, and he's pretty damn kinky."

"How kinky?" asked Jackson.

"Watch, and you'll find out." Milo winked.