Date: Mon, 20 Jul 2020 23:25:44 +0200 From: James Rozo Subject: Troop 391 Troop 391 By James Rozo Dedication: To Tommy Karp, Eagle Scout, BSA. Exceptionally talented with a deep reverence for nature, as my Patrol Leader he indelibly shaped my adolescence. Author's Notes: Scouting resonates with our ancestral foraging past and pioneering spirit. It promotes self-reliance, living off the land, and respect for animals and nature. This was Robert Baden-Powell's original 1908 vision delineated in his book `Scouting for Boys'. By 1970 the Boy Scouts of America had over 4 million boys in uniform. The BSA develops a sense of duty, personal discipline, loyalty, and honor in boys. And under the guidance of scoutmasters, youthful exuberance is nurtured for the betterment of boy and society. This story is a work of fiction created solely for the entertainment of adults. While based upon my own BSA experiences in Troop 391, the characters portrayed are the fictional confluence of numerous scouts, and any resemblance to actual persons is completely coincidental. Sexual interactions between scouts is natural and wholesome. Young innocence yields to adolescent curiosity as boys commune with nature and explore developing masculinity. If graphic depictions are offensive or illegal, please do not read any further. Please support nifty at: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html - - - - - Troop 391 "On my honor I will do my best, to do my duty to God and country, and to obey the Scout Law. To help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight." ~ Scout Oath, Boy Scouts of America ~ "You ready?" asks Billy. "Almost," adjusting my neckerchief slide. My blue cub scout uniform is emblazed with wolf, bear, and tiger badges with gold arrow points on the left pocket. A Webelos tri-colored device with 22 silver activity pins is on the right sleeve. And around my neck is a plaid neckerchief with a `W' emblem. It's the last time I'll wear this uniform. Other than `The Arrow of Light' patch, my new boy scout uniform will be unadorned until I earn new badges. While excited to crossover to the scout troop, I'll miss the meetings with my nurturing den mother. But growing boys need the firm guidance that only an older boy can provide. A Patrol Leader. A mentor and shaper of boundless potential. My older brother Billy looks amazing in his olive-green scout uniform. A few merit badges short of Eagle, he is a Life scout and the troop's Senior Patrol Leader (SPL). Wearing a special Buckskin Lodge pocket flap patch, he is also a proud member of the Massapequa, NY Council of the Order of The Arrow. Following in Billy's footsteps, I'm ready to join the big kids. I've been reading every monthly issue of his `Boys Life' magazine. Dad bought me all new BSA gear from Penny's: a yucca pack with adjustable straps and aluminum frame; heavy-weight sleeping bag, 1-quart capacity canteen with sling cover; mess kit with frying pan, stew pot w/ cover, cup, and plate; stainless-steel interlocking knife, fork, and spoon set with case; foul-weather poncho; pathfinder compass; pocket knife; and flashlight. The rugged L-head flashlight is so cool. It has a 3-way switch (on, off, intermittent) with a button for sending morse code messages. Consisting of a belt clip, red plastic lens for enhanced night vision, and extra light bulb, it's essential for camping in the woods. I also got leather hiking boots and several sets of uniforms: regular (long pants and shirts) and summer (short-sleeve shirts, shorts, and knee socks with elastic garters and green tassels). And, of course, the `Official Handbook of The Boy Scouts of America,' 7th edition. It's a scout's bible. Everything a boy needs to know is covered... including information on uniforms, advancement, animal tracking, outdoor survival, constellations, knot tying, edible plants, first aid, and personal hygiene. There's even a section on adolescent development. I have an advantage: Billy. Many of my friends don't have an experienced older brother in the scouts to help them. He answers many of my questions and shows me stuff. A few months ago, he taught me how to jerkoff. It's an essential skill for every growing boy. Proudly displaying his gear, he names all the parts and demonstrates the proper technique. He has a huge dick, and balls that swing in a floppy bag. Lots of hair too. Working up and down the shaft, over the ridge, and across the leaking head, he makes it grow even bigger. My stuff is much smaller... and I have no hair yet. "What's the point of this?" I ask Billy. "You'll see. All boys do it. You want to be a big kid, right?" "Hell yeah!" "Ok then, follow my directions. Watch and learn." So I rub mine up-and-down like Billy. "Here, you need some lubrication." Billy hands me mom's Jergens Hand Cream. Using it, I quickly experience amazing sensations. All too soon unexpected pleasure culminates in a thin watery discharge. For years afterwards I associate the comforting scent of cherry almond essence with jerking. "Wow, that was awesome!" "Felt great, right?" Billy's hand is a blur. He's really pounding his meat. After a few minutes his balls rise in the contracted sack. "Getting close. Now watch closely," as he stiffens and blasts four thick ropes of chunky white sperm on his chest and face. I gasp in wonder. Who knew a dick could do THAT? Bet my friends don't. Can't wait to tell them. Shockingly, he gathers it together and licks his fingers. "Delicious and nutritious. Creamy with chunks like mom's vanilla pudding when she undercooks it. Contains many important vitamins and nutrients that help young boys grow up strong. And the protein builds muscles. It's best to shoot directly in your mouth. Less mess. No wastage." "In my mouth? Eww. What's it taste like? "A little salty but surprisingly addictive." "Hmm, I don't know." "Hey, you won't ever know unless you try it." "When... when did you start eating it?" "About your age. As a Tenderfoot my patrol leader fed me regularly." "Damn. Do you think I'll get fed too?" "You can count on it." The information is a revelation. No getting the toothpaste back into the tube. I can't wait to join the troop, go on overnight campouts, and experiment with older scouts. Thinking about the troop's 5 patrol leaders, all hot teens, I hope I get claimed by Tommy Karp's patrol. "You have to practice jerking every day," encourages Billy. Enough said. I haven't stopped playing with myself since. Billy is a great brother. Some aren't, they're dicks. But not Billy. Although I'm five years younger, he lets me hang around with him and his friends. They're in the troop too - First Class and Star scouts. We swim and wrestle a lot. And I feel their teen erections press against me. They grin, share secret whispers, and openly handle their gear. "What are you guys whispering about?" "Nothing. Just troop business," explains Tommy. But I know better. They always talk about sex. And I see their bulging shorts. Tommy is a loyal, trustworthy, courteous, and kind boy. And I like him a lot. An experienced Star scout, he is the Cayuga Patrol Leader - responsible for training and leading his boys. Billy notices my infatuation, talks to the Scoutmaster, and gets me into Tommy's patrol. Sponsored by Christ Lutheran Church in East Meadow, New York, Troop 391 consists of 42 scouts between the ages of 11 and 17... with several sets of brothers. Leadership is provided by the Scoutmaster, Assistant Scoutmaster, and two Eagle Scout Instructors. The Scoutmaster is thirty-five, fit, and fun. As an East Meadow High School physical education teacher, he's trained to take charge of boys. Most importantly, he's single and comfortable around young guys exploring their sexuality. And always happy to answer questions or lend a helping hand. Troop 391 is modeled after the Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) Confederacy. It consists of five patrols named after the upper New York State confederacy nations: Cayuga, Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, and Seneca. Each patrol has a Patrol Leader (Lord) and Assistant Patrol Leader (War Lord). "Last chance; did you pack everything?" "Yeah Billy, I used the checklist you gave me." "Ok then, let's go. We don't want to be late." - - - - - It's 6:30 AM Saturday morning. Perfect late-spring weather for a two-day campout. Meeting in the church parking lot, muster is taken, and patrol leaders report: `All present or accounted for.' It's the first outdoor adventure after a long winter. And all the boys are excited. Billy takes charge and assigns scouts and equipment to vehicles. In addition to the Scoutmaster and Assistant, four dads are joining us. We're heading to Camp Wauwepex. Located in Wading River, NY, on the North shore of Long Island, the 550-acre BSA campground is ideal for weekend campouts. It's just a 50-minute ride on the Long Island Expressway and William Floyd Parkway. I'm in the back seat of a mini-bus with Tommy and a dozen other kids. "Hey Tommy, that your new boyfriend?" asks a scout. "Shut up and mind your manners Johnson," orders the patrol leader. "What did he mean?" I ask Tommy. "Don't mind him. He's just jealous." "Oh... ok," not fully understanding. "You excited about this trip?" "Yeah... been looking forward to it for months!" "Me too," winking and squeezing my upper leg. I grin, glance down, and notice a bulge in his trousers. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. As the newest Tenderfoot in my patrol, you'll be sharing my tent. We're going to have a blast! Tonight you will be officially inducted into the troop. Did Billy tell you anything about the crossover?" "Not really. Just to relax and go with the flow." "That's good advice. It's a traditional Indian ceremony." "Sounds like fun." "Oh it is. You'll be ritualistically presented to the troop." "What does that mean?" "It's an Iroquois custom... where the inductee is stripped and judged." "What? Stripped! You mean like naked?" "Completely. Every new boy must prove himself. Demonstrate that he's not a little kid anymore... that he has the courage and maturity to join the troop. Your cub uniform will be removed and you will be tested. If found worthy, you will crossover into the Boy Scouts." "I didn't know that. Wait... there's a test? "Don't worry about it." "But I haven't studied! I'm still learning the Scout Oath and Law, and..." "It's not that kind of test." "But... what if I fail, I..." "Relax. You can't fail. You're fully qualified," reaching down and squeezing my upper thigh. "Just show the troop your gear and you'll pass." "My gear!" "Yeah, to prove you're a big boy." "Oh... I guess that makes sense." Still, there's a reason they're called privates, right? Like most boys, I'm insecure and afraid others will see me naked and laugh. Older teens may confidently parade their masculinity, but it's emotionally difficult for less developed kids like me. "Every scout has been through this ceremony since the Scoutmaster took over the troop five years ago. He instituted many cool Indian traditions. Soon you'll be a warrior in the Cayuga Patrol and join the Iroquois Confederacy." "But naked in front of everyone... that sucks!" "Hey, we're all men here with the same equipment." "Yeah, but I'm kind of... you know, small. Down there." "Don't worry. All boys develop at different rates." "Wish mine would grow big like Billy's." "It will. But hopefully not too soon. I like my Tenderfoots small." Whoa... did he just say that? I'm thinking about the many times in the past when we wrestled. How he rubbed against me. Played with me. Tickled me. Does Tommy have feelings for boys too? Is it possible that what I'm seeking is also seeking me? The van has merged onto the William Floyd Parkway. We're getting close now. Another 10 minutes and we'll be in Wading River. I've been here before. Camp Wauwepex is just west of Calverton National Cemetery. At 1,047 acres, Calverton is the largest US National Veterans Cemetery - 1.7 times larger than Arlington. To honor our military heroes, every Memorial Day our cub pack and troop participates with other groups in the placement of small flags on over 200,000 graves. "Can I ask you something Tommy?" "Of course." "Billy said older boy... um, stuff... it makes a kid grow strong." "He said that?" laughing. "Is it true?" "Yes... nothing better for building muscles." "That's what he said. And that it's addictive." "What else did he say?" "Well, he told me sometimes patrol leaders feed their boys..." "That's true." "... and that as a tenderfoot, his patrol leader fed him." "Ah, yes... Bobby Carpenter." "Weren't you guys in the same patrol?" "Yeah, Seneca." "So, did Bobby feed you too?" "Yes. We shared a special bond. Helping me to explore my developing feelings, he taught me to be in harmony with nature and the Great Spirit. "Sounds like a cool kid. Where's he now?" "He made Eagle, left the troop, joined the Navy. He's in the Philippines. Last postcard from Naval Base Subic Bay said he's happy and in a special relationship with a young house boy." "Oh so far away..." "It's ok. I'm grateful for the experience. And forever carry some of him deep within me. I honor his memory by helping younger scouts grow, develop, and discover themselves." "Does that mean... you know, with boys?" "Only special scouts." "Oh. I... I really want to grow big and strong like Billy." It's awkward talking about this stuff. I glance around the van to see if any scouts are listening to our conversation. They're busy playing punch buggy... where the first kid to see a Volkswagen Beetle calls out `slug bug' and punches his friend's arm. "I understand. I'll help you get strong. Scout's Honor." "Thanks Tommy. You're the best patrol leader." "And you're a very special boy. My boy." Only years later did I learn that Billy and Tommy were more than best friends. Progressing through scouts and boyhood, they experimented together and with Bobby. As a special favor, Billy asked Tommy to take me under his wing, and teach me the ropes. And help me build muscle. Back then Billy understood me better than I did myself. Instinctively he knew I would benefit from having a special relationship with an older boy. With Tommy. I told you he's a great brother, right? - - - - - Turning off Wading River Manor Road, we arrive at Camp Wauwepex. Named after a Matinecock Indian spring, it means `place of good water'. Steeped in scouting tradition and history, the camp is centered around a glacial kettle hole lake called Deep Pond. Fed by an underground spring, the 20-acre 44-foot deep lake has refreshed thousands of skinny-dipping scouts over the years. Wauwepex is divided into three divisions around the lake: Pioneer, Frontier, and Indian. Each division contains campsites named after famous people, places, and tribes. Our troop reserved the Iroquois campground. A half mile away, it's situated between the Algonquin and Montauk sites. There's no driving up to the campsites. Scouts are expected to hike and carry their equipment. It takes us two round trips to transport all our packs, sleeping bags, air mattresses, and unit gear: flags, patrol boxes, pots & pans, tents, tarps, lanterns, food chests, water cans, shovels, axes, etc. Fortunately, there's a 5-foot wide gravel trail that encircles the lake. Providing access through the dense forest, it's an easy ascent up a rolling hill to the campsite... approximately a 70-foot change in elevation. No problem for fit young scouts. The out-of-shape dads are another story. And they don't make a second trip. Billy designates locations for the five patrols. Following the traditional territories of the Five Nations, from west to east: Seneca (Keepers of the Western Door), Cayuga (People of the Swamp), Onondaga (Keepers of the Fire), Oneida (People of the Standing Stone) and Mohawk (Keeper of the Eastern Door), he divides the campground. Billy and the Eagle Scout Instructors have their own special, restricted area. Perched on slightly higher ground, they can closely observe the boys and ensure safe camping practices. Reminds me of the deities on Mount Olympus watching toiling mortals. And to Tenderfoots, the SPL and Eagles are gods. Understanding scouts' nocturnal tendencies: endless talking, strip poker, truth or dare, show & tell, sharing sleeping bags, and other experimentation, the Scoutmaster and dads pitch their larger tents away from the adventuresome scouts. It's best to just let boys be boys. The Onondaga Patrol is responsible for the central council area, flags, and the evening ceremonial bonfire. A scout climbs a large tree, symbolically the `Tree of Great Peace' of Iroquois legend, and lashes three pulleys with lanyards on a high horizontal branch. The tree represents the Onondaga Nation, capital of the Iroquois Confederacy. On the shores of Onondaga Lake, the message of peace was `planted' and hatchets buried. From this tree, four roots sprouted, carrying the message of unity and peace to the four directions. A bugle sounds: G G C G C E C it starts... played prestissimo. "Let's go," Tommy tells me. "It's `Assembly'." The current troop bugler, David Rose, is a First-Class scout in Mohawk patrol. A voluntary six-month position, it fulfills the `position of responsibility' requirement for advancement to Star. He must master 15 calls to earn the Bugling merit badge. All scouts quickly muster in formation by patrol. I'm wearing my webelos cap. The other boys all have hats modeled after the US Army's garrison cover. Olive green with red piping and the official BSA logo, when not worn it tucks neatly under your belt on the left side. How cool is that? "Scouts... attention! Hand salute!" orders Billy in a loud clear voice. Snapping arms up, we render salutes. The Bugler plays `To the Colors' at 132 quarter notes per minute as the Onondaga Assistant Patrol Leader briskly hoist the American Flag. Two other Onondaga scouts raise the New York State flag and Iroquois Nation flag - but lower. Within the US, no other flag is displayed equal, above, or in a position of superior prominence. "Two!" orders Billy. With right hand over heart we recite the Pledge of Allegiance: "I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." Followed by the Scout Sign and the Scout Oath. "Scouts... at ease!" The Scoutmaster speaks to us for a few minutes... laying out expectations. "Green Bar meeting in 5 minutes," he announces. And then turns the troop over to Billy. "Troop 391... dismissed," orders the SPL. The troop's Green Bars are all the senior boys: Senior Patrol Leader (SPL), Assistant Senior Patrol Leader (ASPL), five Patrol Leaders (PL), and five Assistant Patrol Leaders (APL). The term comes from the `green bar' leadership patch on the left sleeve below the troop numbers. Collectively, they plan the troop's activities. And coordinate preparations for the evening's crossover. - - - - - Patrol Leaders take charge of their boys. Tommy assigns two of his bigger scouts to take 5-gallon plastic `jerry' cans to the nearest water source (800+ feet away) and fill them. At 8.3 pounds per gallon, only the strongest kids can carry back a full can. Two boys climb trees and string up a 12' x 12' tarp over our picknick table and unit gear. Others are on cooking detail. They gather wood and prepare a fire for lunch. "Doug, go forage for resources," directs Tommy. "You got it." "Go with Doug... learn from him," Tommy tells me. Doug Hatto is a First-Class scout and the Assistant Patrol Leader. Quiet and focused from years of martial-arts training, he is spiritually aware of his surroundings. Possessing uncanny ability, he can locate edible and medicinal plants, berries, and herbs almost blindfolded. We navigate the forest and he names dozens of plants and the difference between edible and poisonous ones. On some you can eat the leaves but not the roots. Others are the opposite. If lost in a forest, and had to live-off-the-land, I definitely want Doug by my side. "Can you sense it? The orenda," asks Doug. "Um... the what?" "Orenda. There's living spiritual energy inherent in nature... in all objects, animate and inanimate. The Iroquois called the collective power orenda." "Spiritual energy?" "Yes. A divine force in everything... people, animals, plants, earth, wind, fire, water. The Iroquois understood this, and the strong connection between prayer, song, ancestors, and orenda." "You mean like the Christian holy spirit and soul?" "Something like that. Native Americans revered the Great Spirit, the Creator of all things and the Giver of Life. Tribes had many names for the sacred force: orenda in Iroquois, wakan tanka among the Sioux, and manitou in Algonquian." "I didn't know that. Will you teach me more?" "Sure. You're a good kid, like your brother. Keep your mind open and you just might amount to something," laughing and smiling at me. "Thanks Doug!" I'm overjoyed... feeling like I passed my first test. And made a friend. I'm suddenly aware that wildlife is everywhere: deer, eastern chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, frogs, and tons of birds and bugs. We're prohibited from killing... except for mosquitoes and spiders. It would be disrespectful to their animal spirit. We have plenty of food... and don't need to take a life for survival. Doug reaches down and uproots a plant. "Garlic Mustard," he tells me. "It grows everywhere. The leaves, when crushed taste like garlic. A great addition to meals. The roots can also be utilized and taste like horseradish." I've seen it before... in Eisenhower Park. Thought it was a weed. Only a mile from my house, mom lets me bike there with my friends. It's a fun park to ride and pop wheelies on my Schwinn Stingray 3-speed with banana seat and butterfly handlebars. Named after the president, the 930-acre park is larger than New York City's Central Park. Containing lighted baseball fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, bicycle trails, playgrounds, and a lake, I practically live there. Especially in the summer, when they have free evening concerts and movies at the outdoor lakeside theatre. And awesome fireworks on the 4th of July! "Many scouts are excited about your crossover." "Really?" "Sure. It's going to be a blast." "I noticed boys looking at me with grins and boners." "They all know what's going to happen tonight. And can't wait." "Can you tell me more about the ceremony?" "Sure. It only occurs twice a year. Word quickly spread that you were advancing this weekend. Naturally, the whole troop came to watch and enjoy the spectacle." "Why?" "Because it's fun! And you look like Billy. Many boys have a crush on him. He's strong, smart, and mature. They're curious to see what he must have looked like as a young boy. Seeing you, it's sort of like time travel. Everyone wants some private play time with you." "You mean, like, um... fooling around?" "Of course!" "Damn. Do all scouts do that?" "Mostly. No harm having a bit of fun, right?" There's a huge difference between den pack and scout troop. Fully immersed in nature, undressing in tents, skinny dipping in lakes, and pissing in the woods, there's no place for modesty in a troop. Naturally curious, Scouts seek opportunities to compare equipment and mess around. I must admit, I'm interested in trying some stuff with older boys too. "Tommy told me about the stripping." "Yeah, that's a good part. Others are even better." "Wait... other parts? I'm confused." "The ceremony has many parts. Stripping is only one of them." "What?" "Didn't Tommy mention that you'll be jerked too?" "What! No... no, he didn't." "Yep, in front of the whole troop." "Oh my god no... that's too embarrassing!" "Hey, all boys do it. No big deal." "Yeah, but privately. This is in public with an audience!" "That's true. It's pretty fun watching a kid get jerked." I envision standing helplessly as my uniform is removed until I'm completely naked. And then jerking off for the troop. Thank god I've been doing it three times a day since Billy showed me how. Now I understand why he told me to practice. "So, I have to jerkoff in front of everyone?" "Not exactly. I said you get jerked... you don't do it yourself." "No way! That's even worse." "Perhaps... but more interesting for us. A better show." "Oh my god. Who? Who's going to do it?" "The honor belongs to the leader of the gaining patrol." "Tommy!" "Yeah, the lucky dog. Can't wait until I'm a patrol leader." No wonder Tommy has taken a special interest in my crossover ceremony. Still, if it must happen, I'd much rather have him doing it... like in my dreams. I've been looking forward to spending some private time with him, especially together in the tent. "You're actually getting off easy," Doug tells me. "How so?" "Iroquois boys were tested as they crossed over into puberty. They were stripped, isolated from the tribe, assigned difficult ordeals, and had to live off-the-land for 30 days." "Damn!" "Yeah. So, stripping and jerking aren't so bad in comparison. "You said there were other parts to the ceremony." "Hey, I can't tell you all the details." "Oh, come on. Please?" looking at him with innocent doe eyes. "Fuck. All right. A few... but you better not say anything. You promise?" "Yes, yes... scout's honor!" "Funny, you're not a boy scout yet. Still, you're Billy's kid brother and all." "So..." "First is the bonfire and traditional prayer of thanksgiving. Billy is really good at that. Then the Feather Dance and your trial. The last part is the best. In private, all the Green Bars will, um... personally welcome you into the troop. Let's just say you'll see plenty of dick tonight." "Oh wow." Doug places the plants and bowl of berries we gathered on the ground. "Need to piss," as he casually extracts his dick. I can't help but stare at it. It's right there. Five solid inches of boy meat. "Pretty cool, right? Take a good look at it. You'll be seeing it lots over the next few years. Especially on campouts and during summer camp." "It's pretty big." "Thanks. Hey, show me yours too." I don't want Doug to think that I'm a little kid...afraid to show it. Tonight he'll see me completely naked anyway. And he's showing me his stuff... so, I'm obligated to show mine. It's a boy's code of conduct requirement. Besides, he's my assistant patrol leader... I belong to him and Tommy. Shaking, I pull down my zipper, reach inside, and extract my dick. "Nice one. The guys are going to love it." We stand shoulder to shoulder, holding our dicks, pissing in the forest. It's incredibly liberating... as if boys were meant to go naturally like wild Indians. Crossing streams, we play pissing games like all boys do. And then some swordfights. This is going to be an even more awesome weekend than I imagined! - - - - - The next eight hours are a blur. After lunch the troop breaks up into groups. Older scouts work on merit badge requirements: forestry, soil and water conservation, and nature. Younger boys concentrate on the basics: fire making, knot tying and lashing, knife and axe safety, map reading and navigation by compass. The SPL and Instructors demonstrate required skills. The scouts ask questions and practice square knots, half-hitches, sheet bends, bowlines, and clove hitches. Testing the boys, some get `signed off.' Others require more work to master the skills and concepts. But every scout learns something and moves towards advancement. "You seem distracted," notes Tommy. "I'm thinking about tonight's ceremony." "You nervous?" "Sure. Who wouldn't be?" "I know it can be a little overwhelming." "You think? I'm going to be stripped and jerked in front of the whole troop!" "Relax. Everything will be fine." "What... what if I'm too scared and can't get a boner? "Won't happen. Boys are walking boners. Besides, I'm an expert... it's not my first ceremony, you know. Trust me. You'll be in my experienced hands," grinning at the pun. "Oh great, a comedian." "I'll get the best out of you." "Stop already," laughing and breaking the tension. "I'm sure you'll have fun and impress the troop." "Thanks Tommy." After several hours of instruction the troop goes on a hike. A long one. Which is perfect for burning off my nervous energy. Following markers, we take the `blue' trail... 12,950 feet long. Along the way we sing songs and collect edible plants. Tired and sweaty, we return to camp, wash up, and eat dinner. It's almost time for the bonfire. And my crossover into the Boy Scouts. - - - - - Dusk approaches. In the forest it's a transitional time. Bridging the brightness of day and the mysterious darkness of night, it's when boys' imaginations start to run wild. The wind blows, tree leaves dance, shadows grow, and wild animals with glowing eyes cry out. A glimpse of movement is just beyond perception. The bugle sounds `Assembly'. Billy and the five Patrol Leaders are absent. Something's up. `Retreat' sounds, signaling the end of the official day. Bugles have no valves, keys, holes, or pitch altering components. The only notes that can be produced are harmonics of a fundamental frequency. Essentially, five notes: C G C E G, assuming the key of C. Each note is attained by blowing at a certain force and velocity through the instrument. Having talented lips and tongue, David does a great job with the notes. I learned later that the bugle wasn't his first instrument. He learned his craft on the skin flute as a Tenderfoot. "Scouts... attention! Hand salute!" orders the Scoutmaster. The New York State and Iroquois Nation flags are lowered. When flown with other flags, the US flag is always lowered last. `To the Colors' plays as it is lowered slowly and respectfully. Ensuring it doesn't touch the ground, scouts fold it into a triangle with only the blue field and stars visible. "Two!" "Scouts, retreat to the bonfire. Dismissed." Split-log and tree stump seats are arranged in a twenty-foot circle. Doug steers me to a reserved section of the ring. Experienced boys watch the trees for wind direction. And take position upwind. Moving back a few feet, they don't want to be too close when it ignites. It's a four-foot high log cabin construction. Thick logs on the bottom lead to progressively smaller ones at the top. Tinder - dry grass, branches, tree bark, and split wood, form a tepee inside the 4-sided structure, providing lots of surface area and great air flow. Everyone is whispering. A heightened sense of excitement is in the air. An Indian war cry pierces the night. Shivers run down my spine. A flaming arrow suddenly flies through the dark. Hitting the kerosene-soaked tinder, a conflagration ignites with a deafening roar. Ten-foot-high flames shoot up like a Viking funeral pyre. Hungrily devouring the dark, intense light overwhelms my night-adjusted eyes. I'm temporarily blind... seeing only white. Like looking into the sun. A wall of superheated air smacks my face. Scouts squeal in delight with slightly singed eyebrows and charred faces. Sporting erections, they are enthralled as the violence transforms into ethereal beauty. The initial intensity recedes as red, orange, and yellow flames dance on gossamer feet. Consuming the tinder, white-hot pulsating remnants in the center attack the main logs. It will burn for hours. Everyone applauds. Another great job by Onondaga patrol! There's nothing like the camaraderie, intimacy, and spirituality of boys gathered around fire sharing stories. The flickering flames ignite my imagination. The theft of fire for the benefit of humanity is a common theme in the mythology of many Native American tribes. A primal and absorptive experience, I love the smell of burning wood... destruction dressed up as festival. Smokey particles permeate and blanket everything: hair, clothing, skin, tents, sleeping bags... and linger long after flames are extinguished. Mesmerized, I don't immediately notice an Indian standing by the circle. Not a real Indian. A boy dressed as one. Billy. He enters the fire circle. Wearing traditional Iroquois clothing, he has a deerskin fringed shirt and leggings, a long one-piece breechcloth, and beaded elk-skin moccasins. A ceremonial chest plate is decorated with dyed porcupine quills, feathers, and small animal bones. Around his waist is a wampum belt. Fashioned from carved whelk and quahog shells, the white and purple beads create an intricate pattern... recording history, traditions, and laws. A ceremonial feather bonnet adorns his head. Reserved for revered elders, symbolizing strength, wisdom, and leadership, it has deep spiritual significance. The elaborately beaded deerskin brow band has decorative rosettes and fox tails on each side. His presence commands silence... even from the forest. "I am Hiawatha of the Iroquois Confederacy, disciple of Deganawida the Peacemaker, and Father of The Great Binding Law. Welcome to the sacred ground of the Council Fire." Walking slowly around the circle he makes eye contact with every scout. Passing me, he winks and smiles. "The people of the longhouse offer thanks to the Great Spirit for another cycle and for all the gifts of Creation. Our warriors are strong, our women fertile, and crops plentiful. We are thankful for Mother Earth and her life-sustaining children: the soil, the waters, the animals, the plants, the trees, and the four winds. We thank you for our eldest brother, the sun, our grandmother, the moon, and all the stars who live in harmony. We thank you for the enlightened teachers who instruct us in your ways." Raising his arms skyward he chants: "hojiden gwanode giinon howeyo gwanode hiiyaa hojiden gwanode giinon honiyah honode hiiyo honiyah honode yegennoo honiyah honode hegen hegendi honiyah gwanode higenne ho ho a honode hegenno hegendi honiya gwanode higenne" To which the ring of scouts respond: "waaaaaa... ho ho." I don't understand a single thing he said. But the troop did. And there's no denying the tremendous power behind the ancient rhythmic chant of thanksgiving. I'm impressed. Billy must have learned this while earning his Indian Lore merit badge. "I summon the Confederate Lords of the Five Nations: Takarihoken of Mohawk, Odatshedeh of Oneida, Adodarhoh of Onondaga, Dekaenyonh of Cayuga, and Skanyadariyo of Seneca. Come now, swift like the western winds to the Council Fire!" He tosses a handful of some white powder into the bonfire. Brilliant flashes and purple flames erupt as a plume of smoke rises straight to heaven. Water drums and turtle-shell rattles start a rhythmic beat. Five Lords materialize and jump into the circle. Unlike Hiawatha's ceremonial finery, they are practically naked... wearing only a one-piece deerskin breechcloth and beaded moccasins. Their bodies are decorated with ceremonial paint... tribal symbols and protective designs in red, white, and black. The brazen exhibitionists proudly flaunt their muscular bodies. Playing sports for East Meadow High School - football, soccer, and lacrosse, they have exquisite physiques: broad shoulders, muscular chest, rippling abdominals, and heavily corded thighs. The well packed breechcloths accentuate their masculinity. Ceremonial tomahawks, with maple hafts wrapped in buckskin leather with rawhide strips and feathers, are tucked into leather waist bands. They symbolize both aspects of warfare: to bury a tomahawk meant peace, to dig it up to declare war. Upon their heads are gustoweh caps. Each one is slightly different. Later I learn that they are made of black ash splints covered with deer hide. Adorned with eagle, hawk, or turkey feathers, the type, number, and configuration of the feathers identifies each Nation of the Confederacy. Dancing around the fire they perform the sacred `Feather Dance'. Their chanting echoes on the hills and across the lake. Leaping into the air, they raise each foot in succession as high as possible... bringing heels down forcibly with the beat of the drum and rattle. The impact thunders and the ground vibrates. I'm in a trance watching their sensuous bodies gyrate to the beat. The soft deerskin breechcloths emphasize every contour. And tumid teenage shafts and large testicles bounce around obscenely. I wonder if I'm the only one to notice. The troop joins in... singing the ancient song. Swaying with the music, keeping time with the drum, the boys pound the earth with their feet. It's hypnotic. And I move my feet and hum along, learning the song and rhythm. After 10 minutes the Indians stiffen and cry `hyo hyo'. The scouts reply `yo hee.' And the `Feather Dance' ends. - - - - - It's time. I can sense the increased energy flowing through the campsite. Dekaenyonh of Cayuga (Tommy) steps forward. "Greetings from the Cayuga Nation to Hiawatha and my Brother Lords of the Confederacy. I offer thanks to the Great Creator who dwells in the heavens above, who gives all the things useful to men, and who is the source and the ruler of health and life." "Thank you Dekaenyonh. Why have you requested this council?" asks Hiawatha. "I petition the Council to sanction the crossover trial for a young candidate. He has been taught our ways by his nurturing clan mother and is ready to become a warrior." "Does he seek shelter beneath the Tree of Peace?" asks Adodarhoh. "Yes my Lord... his tomahawk is freely buried." "Has he sworn obedience to the Binding Law?" asks Takarihoken. "Yes my Lord... under penalty of torture and death. "Is he in harmony with the Great Spirit and Mother Earth?" asks Skanyadariyo. "Yes my Lord... his orenda is strong." "And does the Cayuga Nation claim him?" asks Odatshedeh. "Yes my Lord... I claim him for my people." Like Native America Nations, to be a member of Troop 391 you don't ask or petition to join a patrol; the patrol must claim you as one of their own. It's as simple as that. "Very well. The Lords of the Confederacy are of one mind. The Cayuga Nation's petition is granted," decrees Hiawatha. "Bring the candidate forward." Doug nudges me and whispers, "stand up." I'm immediately grabbed by two Lords. Holding my arms in strong grips, they bring me to the circle head to face Hiawatha. Shaking with excitement, I must remember to breathe. "To be one with the Confederacy there can be no secrets, no hidden purposes, no treacheries between Nations. A warrior must reveal all before the Creator and his brothers.... body, mind, and spirit. Let the ritual unveiling commence," declares Hiawatha. Hands are everywhere... attacking my clothing. Skanyadariyo removes my cap, slide and neckerchief. His experienced fingers methodically work the buttons on my uniform shirt. Progressing downward, untucking it from my trousers, he reaches the last button. Pulling my arms through the sleeves, it is removed from my shoulders. Takarihoken kneels at my feet. My new leather BSA approved hiking boots are untied and laces loosened. Holding me up, the boots and wool crew socks are pulled off my feet. Directly contacting the ground, I feel a strong connection to the earth's orenda. Adodarhoh unfastens my brass belt buckle. The webbed belt is pulled through the loops and removed. His excited hands reach for my waistband and he unbuttons my trousers. Grabbing the brass zipper tab, he slowly retracts it downward an inch and stops. Another inch. And stops. Eventually, all the teeth are unlocked. Parting trouser flaps, he exposes my white Fruit of the Loom Y-front briefs. My small bulge stretches the cotton fabric. Following Tommy's advice, I put on a fresh pair right after dinner. No point adding to the embarrassment with soiled undies. Odatshedeh's experienced hands tug on my trousers. Sliding off my slender hips, down my hairless legs, they pool around my ankles. Lifting my feet, the pants are removed. Turning me around, I watch as he throws my old uniform into the bonfire. Symbolically it ends my childhood and marks the beginning of the next phase. Facing the troop, I see excitement in their eyes. Standing aside to my left and right, the Lords provide the boys with clear and unobstructed views of me standing in my underwear. Glancing sideways I notice their breechcloth front flaps are tented. Caressing their gear, the soft deerskin must feel great between their legs. "He's boned," shouts a scout. And I'm not entirely sure if he's talking about me or one of the Lords. Dekaenyonh takes position behind me. As gaining patrol leader, it's his right to perform the final unveiling. With hands on my hips, he grasps the undershirt's hem and pulls upwards. My abdomen is exposed... a progression of ribs followed by chest and nipples. Lifting my arms, the shirt comes off my shoulders and over my head. Taking my hands, he lashes my wrists together behind my back. Completely helpless, I'm bound and boned. Standing in just my underpants, every eye is glued to me. Scouts are grinning wickedly while adjusting their boners. I notice a faint blinking red light. I'm not sure, but think the Scoutmaster has a small video recorder documenting my crossover. I'm struck by the physical contrast: my skinny chest with ribs showing compared to the Lord's powerful pectorals, tight abdominals, and powerful quadriceps. Tantalizing treasure trails lead down into generously filled breechcloths. Older boys' bodies are so awesome! The point of no return is at hand. Time slows as Dekaenyonh gently caresses my gear... outlining it in the white cotton material. The troop can clearly see the shape and size. His experienced fingers reach for the waistband. He traces the FTL logo around my waist, teasing the enraptured audience. He lifts the elastic an inch or two in front. Peering over my shoulder, he looks down inside and smiles. Standing at attention my dick renders him a proper salute. I see the look of anticipation on the scouts' faces. There's something tremendously exhilarating about watching a boy get stripped in public. It's unabashed voyeurism. And many have thrusted hands inside their trousers... shamelessly playing pocket pool. Dekaenyonh seductively slides the underpants down an inch. And stops. Agonizing moans escape from the lust driven scouts. Then another inch. And stops. The waistband is now resting against the base of my dick. And everyone can see that I'm completely smooth and hairless. He caresses the exposed silky skin. Fingers slide lower. Pressing against the base of my boner he causes it to twitch. Scouts stop breathing. The Scoutmaster is mesmerized. Someone falls off a log. Scouts laugh at the red-faced kid... the excitement too much as he climaxed in his shorts and lost his balance. Rotating his hand, he pushes my boner out of the way so he can get the briefs down. Cupping my gear with one hand, the other slides the briefs off my hips. They fall down my legs, pool at my feet, and he steps on them while pushing me forward a step. I'm now completely naked in front of the whole troop. "Behold the essence of a warrior!" he shouts, exposing my boyhood. Cheers erupt as scouts exchange high-fives. With arms secured behind my back there's no opportunity for modesty. Everything is on display for their viewing pleasure. And my painfully erect 3-inch dick is sticking straight up, pointing skywards towards Orion. Around the campfire dozens of impressive bulges are on display. And I can't wait to explore the possibilities. - - - - - It's time to prove my worthiness to join the big kids. "You ready?" Dekaenyonh whispers in my ear. I nod `yes'. I'm nervous and struggle to stand still. A private pleasure, jerking isn't something boys usually do in public with other boys watching. At least I haven't. Of course, the 5 or 6 times with Billy don't count. He was just teaching me how to do it properly. Dekaenyonh stands close behind me. Our bodies touch skin to skin, and sparks pass between us... our spiritual energy connecting. His body radiates a soothing warmth and enticing teenage boy scent... an arousing blend of spicy, earthy, and smoky notes. Trembling, I concentrate on breathing. In. Out. Repeat. "Relax and enjoy the experience." Reaching around, he traces patterns on my chest with fingertips, rubbing baby oil on me. A shiver runs down my spine and my boner twitches. Teasing my nipples, the little nubs stand up proudly, surprised as I am by the unexpected attention. Who knew the little guys were so sensitive? Not me. It's shocking how amazing it feels to have another boy caress my body. Surrendering complete control, he can do whatever he wants to me. Just don't stop. Working downward, spreading more oil, he explores my ribs and bellybutton, and then rubs the smooth skin above my pubic bone. Squirming under his knowledgeable hands, I fight the urge to giggle. Concentrating on the bonfire, barely retaining control, I pass the devilish tickle test. Holding my hips, I'm pulled back against his breechcloth. He's boned. I can feel it. Constrained inside the soft and luxurious pouch, it's no wonder Native Americans preferred pelts and animal skins. Stimulating, it sure beats woven clothing made of hemp, flax, or other plant fibers. "Spread your feet apart a little more." No point in modesty now. Everyone has seen my gear. While dicks are cool... there's something about balls that fascinate boys. They're mysterious, inherently vulnerable, and in need of protection. A versatile toy, they are readily available for fun... just hanging between your legs. And all boys love to play with balls. Scouts delight in watching Tommy work over mine, rolling the marble sized orbs between his thumb and forefinger. Applying oil to the bag, he massages the midline seam. A strange structure... it's like a fleshy zipper running down the underside of my shaft, ball bag, and between my legs. No idea why it's there. They don't teach kids about this stuff in school! All I know is, it provides unexpected pleasure. Tommy is putting on a show for the boys. In no particular hurry, he plays with me. Moaning and breathing hard, he's enjoying himself. Alternating between gentle caressing and more aggressive tugging, he loosens up the pliant bag. Soon they'll grow and hang low like the big kids. Just when I think it can't get any better, it does. He grabs my boner. Finally! Scouts lean forward to watch. My shaft is straight and perfectly smooth... no twisted veins or bumps. And the circumcision scar is almost undetectable. Measuring it weekly, it's grown half-an-inch since I started jerking. While Billy has a large helmet shaped head, mine is small, narrow, and the same width as the shaft. Wrapping his fingers around the base, Tommy points it at the enthralled audience. Trembling involuntarily with almost unbearable excitement, my spike is harder than I ever imagined possible. And to think I was worried. A ridiculous fear. He pulls it down parallel to the ground, releases it, and it snaps back up... smacking my belly. "See, I told you." No doubt about it, older boys know all about dicks. "Jerk, jerk, jerk...," the troop chants. With oily fingers he squeezes the shaft. Working up-and-down, he rhythmically pumps to the beat of the chanting boys. It feels infinitely better than doing it myself. Not sure why. I'll have to ask Billy. But for now, I just enjoy the profound mystery. "Faster... faster," I implore Tommy. Moving quicker, he's really working me over now. His large hand spends more time stimulating the head than shaft. Working around the ridge, he finds my weakness and takes full advantage of it. Exploring the structure, he rakes his fingernails across it. And then stops. Holding his hand steady, he cups the shaft. "Thrust in-and-out," he tells me. Swaying my hips, using his fist, I'm controlling the pace. My stomach tightens as my dick twitches. Excited, I'm getting close. Swelling, my balls are primed to deliver precious cargo. I anticipate a shattering orgasm. Just a few more thrusts and I'll reach the finish line. Unexpectedly, he lets go of my boner. `What? No, no... not yet!" I moan in frustration. "Just a few more..." The scouts laugh. They knew he wouldn't let me have release that easily. There are still many acts to this performance. The night is young... and there's plenty of time before the climactic scene. Without stimulation, my racing heart slows down as I retreat from the precipice. As advertised, Tommy is an expert at jerking a kid. Starting and stopping several times, he gets me right to the edge without pushing me over. Damn him. I want to cum. My poor balls are suffering. There should be something in the Scout Handbook prohibiting this torture treatment. "What do you want me to do?" he asks in a loud voice. "C'mon, you know... just do it!" "Nope. Not until you ask for it." "Just finish me off already." "Beg for it." "Okay... ok. Please do it." "Do what? What do you want me to do?" "Jerk me," I whimper. "Louder, so the whole troop can hear you." "Jerk me," I scream. "Jerk my fucking cock!" Scouts choke with laughter and applaud. Even Billy is laughing... shocked by my outburst. The model of proper behavior and decorum, I never curse. Damn is my `go to' word. Certainly not the `F' word. I hope Billy doesn't tell mom and dad; they would ground me for weeks. "Let the poor boy cum already," encourages the scoutmaster. I think his camcorder battery is running low. It's been over an hour since the bonfire was lit and Hiawatha ordered the unveiling. The troop, Confederacy Lords, and dads are all boned... and need release too. Oh damn, I forgot all about the dads. They've watched the whole thing! How embarrassing. Too late now. Tommy grabs my dick with intent. No fooling around this time. His pumping is serious as he accelerates towards the finish line. I'm getting close. My balls are desperate to release their load. Suddenly an unexpected oily finger slides up my ass. He presses on something. The stars and trees are spinning. And I detonate with the force of Mount Vesuvius. Thick ropes of cum fly through the air. Way more voluminous than ever before. Must be the pressure that built up from all the starting-and-stopping. It splatters three feet in front of me on the ground... and a small ant hill is my Pompeii. Sorry about that guys. I'm gasping for air. He keeps stroking until the last drops of magma are extracted. With nothing left, I collapse into his supportive arms. The scouts stand and applaud wildly... impressed with my explosive performance. "Good boy. I'm so proud of you." - - - - - "Bring him forward," orders the Scoutmaster. The five Patrol Leaders escort me to the head of the fire ring. Drained by the ordeal my legs are shaky, and several hands help me to stand up. Pulling out a large bowie knife, Billy cuts the rope binding my arms. Circulation quickly returns. I'm still completely naked but don't care. There is no modesty between scouts. The Scoutmaster hands Billy a new Troop 391 neckerchief and BSA slide. Green with red piping, there is a rising yellow sun over a blue lake with a Native American paddling a canoe silkscreened on the back. Underneath is the motto, `391 Best Under The Sun'. "That's the best crossover performance we've ever seen," said the Scoutmaster. I'm beaming with pride. I have Billy and Tommy to thank. Between Billy's instructions, Tommy's expert hands, and lots of practice after school, my balls were primed to produce. Billy places the neckerchief around my neck and adjusts the slide. "Welcome to the Troop, little brother." And he hugs me. "Display the warrior so that all shall know and greet him as a member of Troop 391, the Cayuga Nation, and brother of the Iroquois Confederacy," orders the Scoutmaster. Tommy walks me around the bonfire. Stopping every few feet around the circle, scouts shake my hand and congratulate me. Of course, everyone gets a good closeup look of my body and spent gear. Smiling with silly grins, they take mental pictures to fuel future fantasies. I proudly display myself to my new brothers. And receive winks with layers of significance. - - - - - The bonfire continues to burn. Scouts are sitting around the ring, laughing, singing songs, performing silly skits, toasting marshmallows, and making smores. Billy and the patrol leaders are still in their Native American costumes. Tommy produces a pair of shorts and tee-shirt for me. But no underpants. "What happened to my old pair?" I ask Tommy. "Oh, forget those. You'll never see them again. The Scoutmaster has them." "What?" "Yeah, he saves them as souvenirs from every crossover. Puts them in a plastic bag and labels it with the boy's name, age, and ceremony date. Has a large collection." "Why?" "Um... he just likes them. Jock straps too. He's got several of mine." `Oh wow. Interesting." "Did you like the crossover ceremony? "Oh yeah! All the Iroquois stuff was so cool." "How about being stripped in front of the troop?" "Initially it was scary. But then amazing." "Liberating, right?" "Yeah... like boys were always meant to be naked in nature." "Exactly! I knew you would understand. You know, you look just like Billy did four years ago... when he and I were Tenderfoots. So many good memories. We're going to have great fun together!" An hour later "Call to Quarters" sounds on the bugle, signaling everyone to get ready for bed. The remnants of the bonfire are extinguished and scouts head for their tents. In thirty minutes `Taps' will play to tell us to go to sleep. As if. That's when experimentation begins. - - - - - Tommy and I head for our tent. Instead of going inside, he leads me deeper into the woods. Navigating by moon and starlight, we follow a trail through a dense stand of trees, thickets of ferns, and scrubby bushes. I know better than to ask where we're going. Or why. Up ahead I detect movement in the shadows. Indians. And Doug. They're waiting for us by a secluded rocky outcrop. Words are unnecessary. Everyone knows the agenda. It's an Iroquois tradition that the strongest warriors share their orenda with younger boys. They're here to finish the crossover and help me gain muscle and grow strong. According to Billy, it can take several years to realize the full effect. But well worth the effort. There's something magical about the forest at night. A warm breeze blows rife with the earthy aromatic fragrance of wood rot, loamy soil, and old leaves burning in slow decay. I think about all the centuries that Native Americans inhabited this land. Tommy places his hands on my shoulders and applies downward pressure. And I willingly descend to the verdant moss carpet. Without hesitation the boys unfasten their breechcloths. Moonlight pierces the swaying trees' leaves, illuminating their muscular teenage bodies. Large tumid shafts, meaty balls hanging in floppy bags, and thick patches of hair are on parade. Tommy has one of the biggest. But it has a small, tapered head. `Perfect for entering tight openings,' he tells me with excited eyes. Three months later during summer camp I unravel his cryptic comment. But, hey, that's a story for another time. He steps forward and pushes it in my face. Transfixed by the view, inches from my mouth, the majestic cock beckons, commanding my attention and admiration. I reach out and take hold of the velvety-smooth steel shaft. Leaning forward to pay homage, I kiss it several times. Without waiting to be told, I extend my tongue and lick the leaking juices. A different taste from Billy's, the strong flavor of masculinity resonates. And I welcome the head inside my mouth. "Oh yeah... suck that cock." Holding my head, Tommy gently feeds me more. Possessing more enthusiasm than ability, my lack of skill is offset by a focused determination. And I accommodate several inches inside my mouth. The swollen shaft presses against my tongue and fills all the available space. Physically and spiritually bound, I sense the awesome orenda radiating from it. Exercising extraordinary restraint, Tommy resists the undeniable urge to push deeper. "I'm close... get ready." Ascending in the floppy sack, his balls announce the impending explosion. With adrenaline surging, he thrusts forward and delivers his load. Swallowing repeatedly, I get it all down. Delicious and nutritious. And I give thanks to the Great Spirit for the precious gift. Over the next thirty minutes everyone gets a turn. They feed me a wide assortment of rich velvety custards. Swallowing every drop, I feel their orenda surging through my body, making me stronger. I'm definitely not a little kid anymore. I'm a fearsome warrior of the Iroquois Nation. Someday I'll be a patrol leader too... and feed my own boys. - - - - - Comments and readers' experiences in the Boy Scouts or on camping trips are always of interest. The author may be reached at JRozoNavyDoD@gmx.com Additional stories include: USS Independence CV62. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/uss-independence/ A Brat's Peregrination: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/a-brats-peregrination/ Special Weapons: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/military/special-weapons/