Date: 6 Feb 1999 07:47:53 -0800
From: poondu@members.gayweb.com
Subject: Peter And Marc

Along this Way, with my Self so entwined with my fantasy, its hard to 
know which events are truth and which fiction; they are all truths in 
my heart and it has been said before in my writing: If it didn't 
really happen this way then it should have. 
  
 
Peter 

by Thole <poondu@members.gayweb.com> 

 
They met at summer camp. 

Peter was the younger of the two. This was his first year at camp and 
his first summer away from home; a rough time for an eleven year old 
from a small broken family. Peter was lithe, small, olive, black 
hair, affectionate and, although he didn't know it, really looking 
for someone to be close to. He arrived early, checked in, did his 
swimming test and dragged his foot locker to his bunk all before Marc 
showed up. 

Marc was Peter's opposite in many ways. A veteran of the camp, he 
knew just when to arrive at any event so as not to spend any time at 
all queued up. They were to bunk together in one of several tents set 
along a ridge on the far side of an inlet separating the main camp 
from its environs. Whilst Peter came in, from a small country town, 
to learn things his mother didn't know how to teach him; Marc came 
out, from the city, to get away from some of the things he already 
knew. He was fourteen, small for his age but bigger than Peter, and 
came from a background that required early street smarts and a 
certain wariness that, once overcome resulted in a fierce loyalty. 

There was an instant bonding when the two boys met that first 
afternoon. Marc had gone through the check-in process along the 
shortest possible line and was still dripping wet from swin test as 
he arrived with his pack at the tent he would share with Peter for 
the next five weeks. 

Peter, in a gesture of conciliation, offered his towel: No thanks, 
I'll drip dry, Marc said as he stripped off his wet shorts. Peter 
struggled with staring at Marc's muscles and not looking at his 
nakedness. Marc, both sensitive to Peter's uneasiness and proud 
enough of his body, made no effort to cover up. He shook hands with 
Peter and proceeded to carry on some idle chatter as he strung up a 
clothes line and hung his shorts to dry, rolled out his sleeping bag 
and arranged his pack. By the time he laid back on his bed he was 
dry, and still naked. Peter was tongue-tied. Hey, we're all boys 
here, Pete. But... But... was all Peter could manage as the call came 
for dinner. 

Marc jumped into a pair of tattered cut-offs, put on a new camp shirt 
and carried his plimsolls as they left the tent to meet the other 
campers for their first meal together. Stay close to me Pete, I'll 
show you around. It was quickly apparent to Peter that Marc did 
indeed know his way around; last to leave the camp, they were near 
the front of the line as they arrived at the dinning hall. You never 
want to be at the top of the queue, Peter, just near it. Sometimes 
they ask for volunteers for things but they always pick the guys at 
the front for the shit jobs. 

The camp was divided into teams or tables and along with taking turns 
waiting on table there were some few other activities that involved 
the boys as groups however most of each boy's time would be spent in 
individual pursuits. There was only a short time between supper and 
the evening campfire. It looked to be cool, Marc said as they went 
back to their tent, and they should get a blanket. Peter hadn't 
brought one; sleeping bag was on the list, but not blanket. Marc got 
his, they put on wool jumpers and went to the fire. Well through the 
fire Peter, with some small pang of homesickness, found Marc's hand 
and held it tightly. Later Marc stroked Peter's bare thigh then put 
his arm about the younger boy's shoulders; he had been this route 
himself not too many years ago and as the songs went on he daydreamed 
about how such similar people are drawn together in similar 
situations. Peter, tired from the day's activities, felt a strange 
excitement when Marc's hand touched him and he fell asleep on his new 
friend's shoulder. 

Peter woke with a jolt to a loud cheering of the boys as Marc bumped 
him out of the blanket and stood for the closing. On the way back to 
their tent, as the road looped around the inlet of the lake, one of 
Marc's shortcuts took them to a dead end at the water. Strip, Marc 
said, quickly. We'll leave our clothes here and get them in the 
morning. I've got a stuff sack in this tree that'll hold everything. 
Again, Peter was taken by surprise; embarrassed? perhaps, scared? 
some, but impressed by Marc's adventuresome and clever spirit. Marc 
was naked already and getting impatient with his young friend. It 
occurred to Peter again that Marc wore no undershorts; perhaps that's 
why his pack can be so small. The boys cached their clothes in the 
hollow of a large oak and then with a pat on Peter's ass Marc led the 
way silently into the lake. The water felt warm in the cool evening. 
They swam across the inlet to come out just below their tent and were 
soon standing together in the moonlight overlooking their camp; the 
flashlights of the other boys just now coming in sight. 

Peter led the way to the tent but stopped at a noise and turned to 
see Marc peeing on the leaves. Again, the strange mixed up feelings 
washed over him; embarrassment at seeing another boy pee, shame over 
his own nakedness, excitement of the adventure of their swimming at 
night and, most profound, a strange tingling in his balls and a 
tightness, a swelling of his prick as he stared at Marc, the 
moonlight glinting off his wet buns and the stream of pee, a flashing 
arc, up and over, in the darkness. Marc turned; Peter, still 
spellbound, snapped to as Marc whispered: --You never seen anyone pee 
before? 

--No... uh... No, really. That's neat! 

--That's nothin', you should see it when I really squirt. Maybe we 
can have a contest, for distance. 

The talk turned serious as they snuggled into their sleeping bags. 
Marc had arranged their bunks to be close together at one end of the 
tent to give them maximum floor space at the front. 

--Marc? do you never wear any undershorts? 

--Nope. 

--Even at home? 

--No. I haven't even had any since my first time here. 

--Don't your folks mind? 

--No. I do the laundry at home. I doubt anyone thinks about it. 
Sometimes I wear a jock at school but no underwear. Its just 
something else to cart around. 

Peter was only half listening. In his head he was thinking about 
underwear, a clean pair everyday for a week, and the PJs and all the 
other things his Mum packed in his locker. No wonder Marc's pack was 
so small. He wriggled closer to Marc and reached out to touch the 
older boy's hair. Marc turned and slid his hand into Peter's sleeping 
bag. Peter was on his back and as Marc's hand rested on his tummy all 
those mixed up feelings washed over him again. He wanted to talk to 
Marc. Ask him if his penis would get bigger like Marc's and when 
would he get hair and why did his penis get hard sometimes and 
especially like now when Marc touched him. But he was tired and sleep 
took him swiftly, even as his balls tingled in an anticipation he 
didn't comprehend and his prick reached out to Marc's hand. 

Peter's dreams were wild that night; not nightmares, but alive with 
colour and feeling, of laughing as he wrestled with an invisible 
playmate, of flying kites and running naked through tall dew-wet 
grass, of strange secrets his body was holding out to him but were 
just out of his reach. Marc spread the boy's first cum on his belly, 
thought twice about beating himself off and went to sleep dreaming of 
the weeks ahead. 

Morning came almost as quickly as Peter had but he took no notice of 
the dried cum on his skin. He copied his idol step for step as they 
slipped into cutoffs and camp shirts and ran up the little rise 
behind their tent to have their first pissing contest. 

They saw little of each other that day except for meals and swimming. 
Peter found the lack of underwear exhilarating and being able to play 
and swim without changing back and forth gave him some added minutes 
of free time. Marc had picked up their cache of clothes and when 
Peter asked about leaving them there to swim to some morning, 
explained that they shouldn't take that risk and besides it was good 
business to stick with the group through flag break and the morning 
routine. 

The days went by quickly and soon it was the weekend. Many of the 
kids were out of camp. Some, one weekers, had gone home, others, off 
for a day or two with their families. For Marc and Peter and several 
others it was a weekend almost all to themselves. After the Saturday 
night fire Marc volunteered the two of them to put out the fire and 
clean up the circle. Peter found the Indian pump just about all he 
could manage. He was about to take it off after the fire was out when 
a blast from Marc's pump caught him by surprise. He whirled about and 
squirted back but was soon out of water. Dropping the pump the 
bedraggled urchin ran in low, a move that caught Marc off guard and 
soon the two of them were rolling in the mud and ashes of the fire. 
It was no contest really and all for fun anyhow. Marc picked up his 
friend from the mud and shook his hand: --You're great! he said, I'd 
vote for you any day. Let's fill up the pumps and catch a shower. 

--Isn't it too late for a shower Marc? We're supposed to be in bed by 
now. 

--Its ok kid, we've earned one. 

The showers were outside, no lights, no roof, only walls above a 
slatted wood floor. They pointed four heads into a corner and stood 
there, still in their muddy clothes, letting the hot water wash away 
the caked on dirt. Marc reached over and pulled Peter's shirt off 
over his head and dropped it. As Peter unfastened his shorts Marc 
helped pull them down. Peter held Marc's head as he stepped out of 
his shorts and Marc made sure that his friend was close enough to 
brush his prick past his face as he stepped out. 

--Oops! Sorry. Peter giggled. 

--That's Ok, Marc said, good thing it was soft, eh. 

More giggles from both of them whilst Peter returned the help. They 
soaped and rinsed their clothes and set them on a bench to dry. As 
they began to lather up Marc suggested they wash each other. At first 
as he soaped his friend he was quiet. His strong hands massaging the 
lithe and tender boy who stood in front of him. Peter's hardon fairly 
ached with excitement. As Marc soaped and washed the stiff little 
prick Peter let out a soft squeak of delight. 

--You know Pete you're gonna be quite a handsome boy when you grow up 
a little bit; actually you're not too bad right now. 

--What do you mean? 

--I'll show you in a minute but first you wash me like I did you. 

Peter washed Marc as best he could, his smaller hands no match for 
Marc's. When he got to washing Marc's prick it felt twice as big in 
the dark as he remembered from before. 

--Why is your dink so big and hard, Peter asked from down on one knee, 
will mine be like that someday? 

--Stay there and I'll wash your hair Pete. 

As Marc jostled the boy's head about, Peter had to hold on to the 
thighs in front of him for support. Marc pulled the youth into his 
crotch. Peter's eyes were closed, it was dark; he could feel Marc's 
pubic hair on his face and his mentor's hardon against his cheek. 
...only a thin cheek away from being in my mouth, he thought... And 
the mixed up feelings that had plagued him the past few days washed 
away with the soap in his hair. He felt good, excited, almost knowing 
what was next; like his body was about to reveal one of those 
secrets. With one hand he touched Marc's erection and with the other 
reached down between his legs and explored his own. He had never 
really felt his hardon before except to push it down to pee in the 
morning. Now he didn't even do that since Marc had shown him how to 
pee up against a tree or in a long bright arc into the woods and how 
to squeeze out the last squirt. That last squirt was good practice 
Marc had said, for distance. 

Suddenly Marc was shaking him by the shoulders. 

--You Ok Pete? 

--Ya... Ya, I guess I been daydreaming again. 

The boys were face to face under the streaming water; to Peter it 
seemed like for ages. Well if you're Ok, Marc said, then its my turn 
for a hair wash. Take your time. Peter stood, his mind reeling. The 
secret, almost in his grasp, had eluded him. He could feel some grit 
in the long blond hair as he started to lather Marc's head. 

Marc was on his knees, holding Peter's thighs, his nose sparing with 
the boy's hardon. The olive skinned boy giggled under the dark warm 
water as he thought of sticking his prick into Marc's nose when he 
felt strangely excited again. Marc had hold of him and was pushing 
his foreskin back; harder than he had before when he washed it, 
harder than he remembered his mother had when she first taught him 
how to wash it, when she got embarrassed when it got hard and he 
didn't understand. He was about to cry out when Marc let go and took 
the clean wet glans into his mouth. Peter stopped. He stood there. 
The secret was bursting at the doors of his mind. Marc was playing 
with him, his tongue going in circles round the head of his prick, 
poking in the slit at the end, then moving his head back and forth, 
his lips and tongue massaging the shaft. Peter stood, his hands 
buried in the lather, holding Marc's head. Peter's body tingled with 
excitement; as Marc squeezed his buns his body began to respond to 
the stimulation of the older boy's mouth. He swayed back and forth, 
his prick in and out of Marc's mouth. And then he came. 

His body stiffened and arched forward, seemed to explode. His eyes, 
though they were closed, saw skyrockets of light and he pulled Marc's 
head into his crotch and filled his mouth with virgin boy-cum. Marc 
took a deep breath when he felt Peter stiffen and took each 
ejaculation of boy-cum and swallowed. When Peter stopped he collapsed 
into a tired puddle on Marc's lap and said simply: Wow! That was 
great! What happened? What did I do? Did I pee in your mouth? Are you 
Ok? 

Marc planted his lips on Peters' mouth and passed a little bit of 
Peter's cum back to him. 

--You had an orgasm, probly your first. Its part of growing up, one 
of the better parts. I'll show later how to do it to yourself but its 
always more fun when someone else does it to you. 

They both stood; Marc rinsed his hair. Peter, still riding the high, 
hugged him: I'm so happy you're my friend. Want me to do it to you? 
Can I? Huh? 

--I would like it if you want to, Marc said returning the hug. Peter 
went back to his knees. Marc held his head and pressed his prick 
against Peter's mouth. The acolyte looked up: Will it hurt, he asked? 

--I'll be easy; this is your first time. When I come I'll tell you to 
take a deep breath, your body will know what to do, just let it 
happen. 

Peter let Marc in. Marc was bigger than himself, not so much longer, 
but thicker, Peter thought, as his tongue did the things Marc showed 
him. He held Marc's buns; Marc held his head and moved himself in and 
out. Peter felt the hard cock in his mouth swell and get harder, he 
heard Marc whisper to breathe deep and then Marc came into him. The 
cum felt like it would have knocked him over had Marc not been 
holding him tightly into his crotch. It was a little salty, sort of 
like peanut butter, thinner as he swallowed. 

Marc was picking him up now, helping him to stand. They stood close, 
Peter still holding Marc's buns; their pricks touching, their faces 
nose to nose. Peter spoke: I'll bet we could do that to each other at 
the same time. 

--Slow down little friend, don't get to far ahead of me; I was gonna 
let that wait till next week. 

They both rinsed again and, grabbing their wet clothes, walked 
together through the warm night to their tent. 

Their days at camp took on a new intensity. The boys who stayed over 
had an advantage over the newcomers in that they knew what was 
expected of them; they knew how the camp worked. But these two had a 
special thing going and no one could stand in the way of what they 
would do for each other. Their tent and grounds were always spotless, 
their clothes always clean. For Peter this was a special triumph; he 
hadn't gone beyond the first two pairs of shorts and shirts and 
hadn't touched the underwear and sox his mother packed for him. The 
week went by in a blur; always busy, mostly tired. At night there was 
little time for sexual exploration. They talked a lot at bedtime and 
every night Peter would go to sleep with one hand caught up in Marc's 
long hair and the other holding his stiff little prick, waiting for 
the fireworks. 

This weekend they would go on an overnight, away from the main camp, 
to a place not too far away. Lunch on Saturday was very informal 
since most of the campers were elsewhere as usual. After lunch they 
packed some jerky and juice bricks and signed out a small tent from 
the QM. 

Marc had suggested they pack light; he carried the tent and food in 
his pack and Peter carried the sleeping bag tied in a horseshoe over 
one shoulder. They had been hiking for about two hours, mostly up 
hill, and were probly not more than a couple of miles from the lake. 
Along the way each told his life storey. Marc, without a mother, 
lived with his father and older brother, both working. He took care 
of the house after school. This was his fourth summer at this camp 
and he did a lot of hiking and camping with his brother during the 
year. Peter lived with his mother, his father had died in a hunting 
accident and he had no siblings. That was just as well as his mum had 
all she could do with him and the farm and not much of a farm at that 
since his dad was gone. A few neighbors helped out, there was little 
real farming done, the cows belonged to someone else and the 
haying... 

Marc brought Peter out of his storey by announcing that they had 
arrived at their camp. Peter looked around at the grassy meadow 
hanging on a hillside among tall evergreens, a stream among the rocks 
to one side. He dropped the sleeping bag, ran across the grass, did 
two hand springs and a back flip and ran back to Marc nearly knocking 
him to the ground with a hug. Marc, at fourteen, was only dimly aware 
of the needs of kids like Peter and he wasn't sure what was 
happening. This was more than the friendships he was use to. They set 
the tent and whilst sharing a few sticks of jerky talked about 
Peter's ability to do back flips. Peter was studying gymnastics and 
ballet at school and showed Marc how he could bend over backwards and 
touch the ground and how he could lay on his back and bring his feet 
up over his head and touch the ground. The thought came to both of 
them at the same time and Peter quickly stripped off his shorts and 
shirt. He rolled up on the ground, feet back over his head and took 
his own hardon into his mouth. He sucked on himself until Marc 
finally reached out and gently slapped the taut ass: --Save that for 
me, for later. 

Peter unwound. Marc undressed and they went to play and bathe in the 
cold stream. Night was coming on when they snuggled into the sleeping 
bag together. 

More idle chatter ensued. Peter was concerned about what his mum 
would think when she saw his locker with all the clothes she had 
packed still untouched. Marc had a number of solutions. The one they 
agreed on was that perhaps Peter could go home with Marc for a few 
days at the end of camp. They would wash his clothes and then Marc 
would go to Peter's farm for a few days before school started. 

Morning came and Peter was awake first. He carefully unzipped the 
sleeping bag and looked at Marc's nude form. He touched Marc's belly, 
ran his fingers over it lightly and watched as the skin twitched and 
rippled. Marc's prick began to stiffen. His own began to stiffen in 
response. He moved to lay along side Marc and took the erection into 
his mouth. Marc awoke to the stimulation of his friend's mouth. What 
a way to wake up he thought as he reached for Peter and lifted the 
boy on top of himself. 

The two boys came together. Peter continued to play with Marc's prick 
in his mouth until suddenly the taste changed as pee came gushing 
forth. He let it out, choked and spat, and Marc continued to pee over 
both of them. They were both laughing so hard that no thought of the 
sleeping bag came to them until it was over. Oh well, said Peter, we 
could sleep in my bag back at camp. They went body sliding in the wet 
grass for a while, had some more jerky and juice for breakfast and 
washed in the stream. By midday they had cleaned out the tent, packed 
and were on their way. During the walk back they talked of their 
plans for after camp and both agreed to write letters to make 
arrangements. 

Monday there was a meeting of all the kids who had been staying from 
week to week. The camp's secret society of honour campers would be 
holding its elections and the ceremony of induction on the following 
weekend. After the meeting Peter asked Marc about it. Marc had little 
to say; he thought Peter had a good chance but it was unusual for a 
boy to get in during his first summer. 

They had rearranged their beds using Marc's blanket and another they 
borrowed to cover the mattresses and Peter's bag to cover them. 
Marc's hadn't yet dried and was still smelly. Monday and Tuesday had 
been rainy and by Tuesday night the boys were somewhat rambunctious. 
After playing a few rounds of strip poker, it didn't take much to 
lose two plimsolls, shorts and shirt, Marc offered his friend a body 
rub. Peter laid face down on the floor of their tent and Marc sat 
astride his back and began a quiet massage of the olive shoulders 
beneath him. Peter relaxed and thought of what he and his friend had 
been doing together the past few weeks. He wondered if other boys did 
those things. The relationships between his friends at home and the 
things they said to one another took on new meanings. Marc moved to 
sit across Peter's thighs, his prick poking at the bung hole of 
Peter's ass as he worked. Peter asked: --Have you ever done this to 
any one else? 

--No, you're the first; but someone use to take me places and give me 
rubs once. 

--Do other kids play with each other like we do? 

--Most kids play with themselves but few would admit it and fewer 
would talk about playing with each other. 

--Why Marc? 

--Maybe we think someone would make fun of us. Of course practically 
everyone does it anyhow, some grownups think its wrong or bad even 
though they remember having a good time doing it themselves; but I 
guess if you don't hurt anyone it can't be all that bad. Besides it 
feels good and it is fun. 

Peter was quiet again. The tantalizing feeling of Marc's prick poking 
at his ass had been replaced by Marc's strong fingers squeezing his 
buns like they were bread dough and working their way down his legs. 

After he finished with the feet Marc ran his fingers lightly up 
Peter's legs and back and then turned the limp body over and 
proceeded to work over the front. Soon it was Peter's turn to work 
over Marc. He did all of the same things and admired and talked about 
Marc's body as he worked. They talked about an exchange of lessons in 
body building and gymnastics after camp and then finally went to bed. 
Although both boys were aroused there was no sex play, they were 
tired now and went to sleep quickly. 

Later Peter woke. He was lying up close to Marc's back and found his 
hardon pressed into an inviting crack. Without really thinking about 
it he wiggled down for a better position and thrust his hips toward 
Marc's ass. His wet erection found its target and slipped in. It was 
like when Marc sucked him only tighter. Those buns pressing against 
his tummy drove him to a higher state of ecstasy and he pushed 
deeper; wrapping his arm around Marc he pulled in tighter. His coming 
was the most explosive so far. Marc never moved and Peter fell asleep 
still inside his friend. 

They were both awake quite early and a fog hung in the camp that 
obscured their view of the other tents. Marc kicked off the sleeping 
bag and the two of them stood on the edge of the tent platform and 
had their morning pissing contest. Back in bed, Marc started to 
quietly tickle Peter's legs and crotch. 

--Remember I told I'd show you how to make yourself come with your 
hand? You hardly need to do it that way since you can blow yourself, 
eh? I don't know anyone else who can do that. 

Peter started to talk about last night but Marc cut him off: --I was 
awake and it was good, he said, I'm glad you found that on your own. 

Peter was petting Marc now, matching his movements. They proceeded 
from petting and tickling to stroking each other. Marc came at 
Peter's hand. The cum hit Peter in the chest and face. --You wear it 
well, Marc said as Peter's body stiffened and arched. Marc slipped a 
leg under Peter and his friend came on his own belly. Marc continued 
to stroke and fondle Peter's hardon. Peter was writhing about on the 
bed, Marc pinning his hand and legs as the masturbation progressed to 
torture. Peter came again and then began to pee. Marc stopped and 
spread the cum of both of them over Peter's belly and face. Then he 
took his friend's hand and rubbed it in the cum and held it to his 
own face. Peter took the cue and spread it around. Marc said: --Let 
us call each other Brother; like the Indians did it with their blood, 
we have made a pact with our cum. 

The spell was broken by reveille. They grabbed their shorts and 
headed down to the lake for a quick dip. 

The weekend arrived and with it the ceremony of initiation. Marc had 
told Peter some of what went on but it was all secret and so there 
was not much to say. There would be some work and a tough trial. 
Everyone would pass, wasn't a thing you could fail; it was just that 
some would find it easy, some would find it hard, even scary. 

Saturday morning after the weeklies had left the boys who had been 
elected were quietly led away from the others, each by his sponsor 
who was dressed in a tunic Peter had not seen before, to a secret 
place in the woods. They had been told to wear old grubby clothes and 
no shoes. As they got close to the ceremonial ground each candidate 
was blindfolded by his sponsor. Peter hadn't yet seen any of the 
others and so didn't know who else nor how many were involved. Each 
was also warned not to talk or cry out. Peter, led by his hand on 
Marc's shoulder, knew he had arrived at the secret place when the 
ground became smooth and firm and he could hear the crackle of a 
fire. All was very quiet. Marc turned and removed Peter's hand and 
stood behind him. 

Peter felt alone. He stood quietly for a while until a voice said: 

--Welcome. You have been elected by your peers to become a part of us 
but first, so that we may all know you better, there is a test to 
pass. The voice talked of the coming of age ceremony of the Indian 
boy who would be stripped of his childhood identity, head shaved and 
body painted with a white dye and then turned out into the wild to 
survive until the dye was gone and his hair grown long again. During 
that time the boy was fair game for any hunter of the tribe. But if 
he should return he would be welcomed as a hunter himself. 

Peter stood there, alone, reading meaning into the spoken words, 
thankful again for his special friend. The boys were swept up into 
the spirit of the occasion and warned again not to speak out nor cry 
in pain. Peter heard the voice say that they must leave their past 
behind and enter a new path of service to the camp and love to one 
another. As a sign of this their clothes would be burned and a lock 
of their hair would be mixed with that of all the others to symbolize 
the brotherhood of their bond. They would be tested for strength and 
valor. The voice stopped and Peter felt Marc's hands on the small of 
his back. He felt the cool steel of a knife rip his tee shirt up the 
back and the shirt fall to the ground. His hands were raised and 
clasped to hands on either side. Again he felt the cool steel on his 
back as his shorts were cut away. There was some feeling in the hands 
he held and he wondered if those boys were as well prepared by their 
sponsors as he was. The knife came again and sawed through a bit of 
his hair at the back. 

Still blindfolded, now naked and stripped of his identity, he heard 
movement about his feet as his clothes were gathered and thrown on 
the fire. A faint smell of burning hair passed by. Again he felt 
Marc's hands on his shoulders. This time they were wet and he felt 
his body being covered with something thick and wet. It smelled like 
clay. The hands spread the wet stuff through his hair, matting it 
down, and on his face and back. It was pleasing and exciting to feel 
Marc rubbing the clay onto his prick and balls and down his legs but 
he hoped it wouldn't show. A hardon now could be most uncomfortable. 

After another quiet period his left hand was removed from that which 
it held and another replaced it. Marc's voice spoke: --As guardian of 
the circle I want now to show that it remains unbroken. When I 
squeeze this hand to my left you will pass it around the circle. 

There passed an unmeasured moment and Peter felt his right hand being 
squeezed, he passed it on to Marc who stepped back out of the circle. 
The naked boys were led, still blindfolded, away from the fire. 
Somewhere else in the camp they stopped. Warned again against 
talking, the blindfolds were removed. Peter glanced about. Again, 
like when he first saw Marc naked, there was an intense curiosity to 
stare at the other naked boys fighting with the same taboo. He 
counted about twenty boys in the group but with their faces hidden 
behind masks of clay he could recognize only a few by their build. 
His stomach told him it was past lunch but there was no word of food. 
They were set to work and soon the sweat was washing little lines in 
the clay on his body. Sometime late in the afternoon they were 
allowed to lie down for a rest. The older boys moved away from the 
candidates who pretty much dropped where they were. 

Peter had been working with another boy about his size carrying logs 
to a pile. He sat against the pile and the other boy sat beside him. 
There followed a conversation of sorts, messages scratched in the 
dirt. This other boy knew Peter from home, same school, across town. 
Soon they were back to work again; right through supper time and into 
the evening. On towards dark they were taken to another place in the 
woods and left one at a time separate from each other and told to 
stay there, they would be picked up in the morning. As each boy was 
left he was given a blanket, a stick of jerky and some water. Peter 
found himself alone in the dark and could hear around him others 
making bed on the ground. After what he heard at the fire he felt the 
ground would be no place to spend the night. Peter made a low whistle 
and the new boy stepped out of the dark. Together they found a tree 
and got well up into it and made a nest of their blankets. 

Later in the night the attack he foresaw came. A wave of screaming 
and running and the boys on the ground were dumped from their 
blankets. In the early light he could see that some of them had spent 
the night under such cover as they could devise. At dawn they were 
all gathered and taken to the lake and allowed to wash. Then, still 
without clothes, they were again blindfolded and led away. 

At the fire the warmth felt good in the still early morning. The boys 
heard the same voice tell them they had passed their tests and now 
would be accepted. Only the ceremony of branding remained. The crest 
of the camp would be branded into their skin to remind them forever 
of this time. Peter felt a stir in the group as this began to sink 
in. He tried to remember from during the past few weeks, feeling 
Marc's buns when they had been sucking and massaging each other; 
there was no scar was there? They were told to bend over and hold 
tightly to their ankles. 

He sensed someone standing near and felt Marc's reassuring pat on his 
ass. Although he figured this had to be some kind of a joke he was 
not really ready when the smell of burning flesh hit his nose at the 
same time his ass reacted to the intense pain. He screamed and stood 
up, his hand going to a spot he could not see. It was cold and wet. 
His blindfold was removed and he saw about him others doing the same. 
Marc was laughing, holding the piece of ice he had pressed against 
Peter's ass; another boy was holding a piece of leather and a hot 
branding iron. The naked boys were now given tunics like those of 
their seniors and each received the branded piece of leather from 
their ceremony. Now they made a file of twos, each acolyte with his 
sponsor, and they went back to the main camp to welcome the last 
week's arrivals. 

This last week at camp was busy with the finishing of projects and 
the talk of next summer. Peter caught only a fleeting glimpse of 
someone he wasn't sure but might have been the boy he met on the work 
project. 

*** 

We next find Peter and Marc off loading at the bus terminal in the 
city of Marc's home. They are met by his older brother who reminds 
him of the mountain of laundry and complements on having the good 
sense to bring a helper. At supper that night Marc's dad offers Peter 
a folding bed in their den but Marc interrupts to explain that they 
had been sharing a bunk because his mattress had gotten wet and so it 
would be no problem for he and Peter to share his bed for a few days 
more. Sunday was a day of showing Peter around. The four of them rode 
about on bicycles and made plans of what to do during the week. 

Monday Marc and Peter woke together; their tent poles holding up the 
sheet. A discussion of sizes ensued and then some wrestling that soon 
made a disaster area out of the bed. --Come on, Marc finally said, 
let's get some breakfast and do the laundry. We don't need to dress, 
no one's here but us, and then we can work out for a while. 

And so they did. At some point in the afternoon Marc asked to see 
again how Peter could suck himself. Peter, who had been learning how 
to use Marc's muscle machine, folded himself up, legs back over his 
shoulder and proceeded to tongue himself to an erection. Marc watched 
as Peter got closer to coming, his own hardon throbbing. Peter's 
bunghole, up in the air as it was caught his eye and he stroke the 
cheeks around it. Peter winked at him and Marc was on him in a 
second. Peter got it coming and going so to speak. 

The rest of the week was, in some regards, more fun than camp. Bike 
riding together during the days and sucking together at night. On 
Saturday Marc's dad drove them to Peter's place and whilst the boys 
explored the barn he got acquainted with Peter's mum. The days and 
nights on the farm were sort of the same as at Marc's home except 
that the boys walked through field and wood, did some skinny dipping 
in the pond and worked together at the barn chores. 

All too soon came the night that would be their last together and 
life would never be the same for these two special friends. Marc's 
dad would pick him up in the morning and school would start in a 
week. They spent a time talking of getting together during the 
Christmas break all the while petting and playing and sucking each 
other one last time. 

                                -30-