Date: Sat, 19 Jun 1999 00:53:29 -0600
From: Jack Fellowes <jwhstloo@ix.netcom.com>
Subject: "Boy Scout Scandals, Part I" 

Story: "Boy Scout Scandals" (1/?)
by Jack Fellowes
Copyright 1999 by the Author

This is part one of ?????--consisting of the first five chapters of a
much longer story. It is based on a true incident (the main "Scandal" of
the title), as well as a blend of real experiences and fantasies, both
mine and others'. No actual boy-boy or man-boy sex takes place in this
part. (Well, okay, one quick hand job!)

I've always found it deliciously ironic that the BSA, such a vehemently
homophobic organization today, has in fact provided the circumstances
and opportunities for so many boys' youthful experiments with sex over a
period of many years. This story aims to irritate the hell out of anyone
who is in denial about that reality.

(BTW, thanks for the title, Peter...)

_________________
AUTHOR'S ADVISORY: Too young, too old, too anal, too puritanical, too
incompetent, or too repressed/oppressed to decide what you're allowed to
read? Then stop here! Otherwise, read on at your own risk and/or
pleasure.
_________________


CHAPTER ONE

There were six of us Webelos from Cub Scout Pack 6 who were going to be
eligible to join the Boy Scouts in the fall. So the scoutmaster of Troop
22, Denny Williams, invited us to go along with the rest of the guys
from Troop 22 for their last regular campout of the summer, about two
weeks before school was supposed to start.

It was Denny's idea. He didn't have any trouble convincing our parents
that it would be good for us. Denny was a real role model for scouts in
Wilmont. He was one of the most honored Eagle Scouts in the country,
then he was an assistant scoutmaster of Troop 22 under his father when
he was only 18, and then he took over as scoutmaster when his father
died about five years later. Almost everybody in town knew Denny and
respected him, especially the scouts.

The only thing that worried some of the parents was something you didn't
see much of in the 1950s--Denny had done all those things even though he
was deaf. Some people around town called him deaf-and-dumb, but they
didn't know Denny very well. (Oh, he was good at playing "dumb" when he
didn't want to "hear" what someone was saying to him, but that was part
of what made him so smart. A couple of generations of scouts had made it
a personal challenge to try to put something over on Denny, but he
always managed to catch them up somehow. My brother swore than Denny not
only had eyes in the back of his head, but on the sides, too.)

At first there was a lot of parental opposition to him being named
scoutmaster, but he had two things going for him.

The first was that he had been our town's most outstanding Eagle Scout
and a good assistant scoutmaster. His father had seen to it that Denny
was taught to lip-read and speak instead of using sign language so he
could function in almost any situation, and he also made sure that Denny
earned every merit badge or other honor he ever got. Denny never got any
special treatment because he was the scoutmaster's son, and he never had
time to think of himself as handicapped or disabled.

The other thing was his family's money. His father owned the bank, a
couple of local factories, and a lot of real estate. And until the time
he died, he was a state and national leader in scouts. Troop 22 was the
only one in the county, maybe even the state, that owned its own regular
meeting place, its own troop bus, and its own permanent campground, all
provided by the Williams family.

The Troop 22 Scout Barn, at the back edge of the Williams estate, was
the troop's in-town headquarters, and it was open all the time so any of
the scouts could go in and play table tennis or skittles or foosball, or
read any of the books in the troop library, or just have a place to hang
out away from their families or whatever. Since my older brother used to
be a member of Troop 22, I knew guys also went there to smoke cigarettes
and pipes or cuss and do other things they couldn't do at home. I didn't
know everything they did there, but I would soon be finding out.

The scout bus was just an old school bus that Denny had painted green
instead of yellow. It was kept in a lean-to shed next to the Scout Barn.
But Camp Beechwood, the troop's campground, was the best thing of all.
It was in the middle of about 1,000 acres of woods next to the Williams
farm, which Denny ran and worked himself. As much money as his folks
had, he could have been a playboy, but he loved being a farmer, raising
hogs and corn. Sometimes when he came to troop meetings straight from
the farm, you could smell when he'd been working with the hogs. But most
of all, he loved being a scout leader.

Anyway, the camp had four buildings. Two of them were Adirondacks
cabins, the kind with a roof, three walls, and a big stone fireplace.
The fourth wall was open to the weather and the critters. Denny thought
even that was a little too soft for real scout camping, but he knew the
parents wouldn't stand for their boys camping out with no shelter at
all. The third building was a bunkhouse, which was where the younger
scouts slept until they learned camping skills. And the fourth was a
partially enclosed shower house between the sleeping buildings, back
under the canopy of a ring of giant beech trees. It had half-walls and
big tanks on top where rainwater was collected, and pull-chains that let
the water run down through big brass shower heads. Two shower areas were
separated by a storage room where axes, shovels, saws, and other tools
were kept. Even in the middle of August, that water was cold! Nobody
lingered in the showers.

There were also a couple of two-holer outhouses back the path behind the
bunkhouse. I guess you could call them buildings, too. Anyhow, that was
all the man-made stuff. There wasn't any running water or electricity or
a phone. Even the lane leading back from the highway wasn't paved or
graveled or anything like that. In the rainy season, we had to leave the
bus back at the gate and hike through the woods to the camp.

But the camp had a cold-water stream fed by an artesian spring, which
eventually flowed into a small pond where we could fish, or swim in
really hot weather. The stream water was cold enough that we could put
meat or milk in water-tight containers and submerge them in the water to
keep the food fresh. The pond was shallow enough that the summer sun
could warm it enough for shivering boys to splash around in.  It took a
while after a swim for a boy's balls to creep back down out of their
hiding place.

Another thing that Denny did to keep parents from worrying too much was
to always have an assistant scoutmaster who could hear okay at every
campout. Denny always slept out in the Adirondacks with the older
scouts, and his assistant, Warren Healy, slept in the bunkhouse with the
tenderfeet. Warren was totally opposite from Denny. Denny was always
tanned and kinda weather-beaten-looking, and wore old farm overalls most
of the time. He was maybe 35 now, a little under 5'10", and weighed
about 170-180 pounds. He always wore a hat, so you couldn't tell he was
starting to go bald, except when he put his scout cap on.

Warren always wore his scoutmaster uniform, even the short pants and
short-sleeved shirt in the summer. He was in his late 20s, about 6'4",
and must have weighed at least 250 pounds. He had reddish-brown hair and
kind of a pale complexion, with a round face. He was real soft-spoken
and even sort of shy around most of us boys. He was a little more
relaxed with me, because he already knew me as his paper boy. The only
thing he and Denny had in common was that their dads were both dead. But
Denny lived on his own, and Warren still lived with his mother. But they
both expected us boys to call them by their first names.

Warren slept in a single bed behind a partition at the back of the
bunkhouse, but the rest of us guys slept in three-level bunks around the
outside walls of the one big room. On hot, humid nights, no place inside
was comfortable. But on chilly nights, guys always fought to get the
very top bunks, because the heat from the old wood stove in the middle
of the room stayed pretty close to the ceiling. Plus any kid standing on
the floor couldn't really see in your bunk to know whether you were
sleeping or maybe playing with yourself or something like that.


CHAPTER TWO

It was a really hot, dry August, so Denny had been able to get the bus
all the way back to the camp. Everybody unloaded their stuff, and all
the regular scouts took their packs and sleeping bags to the
Adirondacks. For this campout, the only ones in the bunkhouse would be
Warren and the six of us Webelos. Besides me, there was Pete Gurren,
Robbie Burns, Richie Franklin, David Champ, and last and definitely
least, Tommy Adams.

David and Robbie had big brothers who were in the troop now, my brother
had been but was out of school now, and Robbie's and Richie's dads had
been Troop 22 scouts when they were kids. I'd known the three of them
forever. Pete had just moved to town a few months ago, but he was
already getting to be my best friend. He was the coolest guy in our
class, and the girls thought he was the best-looking. His dad was
military, and they'd lived all around the world. He was actually a year
older than the rest of us, because he'd lost a grade from changing
schools so much. But he was still pretty smart and knew a lot of stuff.
Next to me, he was probably the horniest of the bunch.

Tommy was the son of our den mother in Pack 6, and the rest of us all
knew he never would have gotten his Webelos patch if it wasn't for her.
Except for Tommy, the rest of us guys got along pretty good, and not
just in scouts. We just kinda put up with Tommy, because his mom and dad
were pretty active in scouting in our town. He was kind of a chubby
spoiled brat, with oily black hair, who everybody else thought was a
crybaby and a snitch. Since there were only six of us, we all got top
bunks, except Tommy. He claimed he got dizzy sleeping up that high, so
he picked the bottom bunk that happened to be closest to Warren's
cubbyhole.

I guess I ought to describe the other guys.  David had brown hair, cut
in a crooked flat-top, and ears that stuck out just a little too much,
but he was pretty nice looking otherwise.  He looked like a shorter,
skinnier version of his brother, Mike. Robbie was a redhead with
Huckleberry Finn freckles. He had bright blue eyes and was always
smiling. I had to smile back when I saw him, but mostly because his hair
was cut so short, he almost looked bald from a distance.

Richie was the only colored kid in our Cub Scout pack. His dad had been
a war hero, and ran a bar and grill that was really popular with kids
who had just turned 18, old enough to drink low-powered beer. Our town
was too small to be segregated anyway, and half the people were
descended from Abolitionists, so Richie and his folks were pretty well
accepted by almost everyone. Richie was going to be tall--he was already
well on his way, so he'd probably end up being a basketball star like
his dad. Of the six of us, he definitely had the hottest body and the
biggest dick--longest and thickest, even soft.

Pete was a blond, but he didn't look like he should have been. He had
naturally darker skin than the rest of us--I think his mother was part
American Indian or something, but he still had blond hair and eyebrows,
and even armpit hair. And, okay, his dick hair was dark blond, too! He
was not only the horniest, I thought he was also the sexiest. I often
found myself trying to imagine what that long, skinny work of his would
look like when it got hard

Did I forget to tell you what I looked like? Not much to look at, I
thought. Even my mom said if you looked up "average" in the dictionary,
my picture would be there. It didn't matter whether you were talking
measurements or colors, everything about me was "medium." Except maybe
my sex drive. I guess you could tell that I was interested in other
guys. I hadn't done much more than talk about it, but I was sure
something was going to happen eventually. I figured it would be probably
be with Pete, and I sure hoped it would be very soon.

Warren had gotten to the camp before the bus got there, so he could
start a campfire in the big stone fire ring out in the middle of the
campground, between the bunkhouse and the Adirondacks. It was surrounded
by another ring of short logs, where we sat for meals and campfire
meetings and songfests. Denny surprised us by bringing a cooler full of
hot dogs and buns and some cans of baked beans to cook for the first
night's supper. All we had to do was cut branches to roast our hot dogs
with. That meant us younger guys would be able to save our cans of beef
stew, vienna sausage, tamales, and whatever for the next day. The older
guys brought stuff like smoked bacon, beef jerky, and even flour and
stuff for making biscuits and flapjacks, so they really got off easy.
But most of them were betting that Denny would end up making them pay
for the easy meal somehow, and they were right.

After we ate our hot dogs and beans, and we were sitting around the
campfire toasting marshmallows for dessert, Denny and Warren gave us the
rundown for the weekend's activities. Denny told the older guys that
he'd be taking them out in the woods to work on their merit badges in
hiking, rock-climbing, tracking, identifying plants, and stuff. They all
groaned; that was how they'd be paying for the free meal. I liked
listening to Denny. He spoke slowly but really clearly, and the only way
you could tell he was deaf was that his voice was almost a constant
monotone. It was kind of hypnotic. After Denny finished, Warren told us
he was going to give us Webelos an introduction to some of the stuff in
the scout handbook that we'd have to learn to become regular scouts. It
sounded easy to me, and I gave Pete a nudge with my elbow.

The troop leader, a Star Scout, was in charge of making sure the
campfire was completely out, and the older guys went to roll out their
sleeping bags and build banked fires in the Adirondacks fireplaces. So
us Webelos went on into the bunkhouse to make up our bunks and get ready
for bed. Warren had already started a fire in the wood heat stove. All
of us, but Tommy, slept in our underpants. Tommy wore pajamas, and he
even got under the covers to put those on. Warren stripped down to a
T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, which were different because they
had buttons on the fly, so they didn't gape open in the front.

When we were all in bed, Warren walked around and told us all goodnight
and made sure our blankets and sheets were tucked under the mattress. It
was kinda like tucking us in, but he made it seem like something else
because we weren't little kids anymore... except Tommy, who was kind of
whiny. Warren did tuck him in, and sat on the edge of his bunk for
several minutes talking real quietly to him to get him settled down.

Everybody was pretty tired, so we were mostly asleep just after Warren
banked the fire in the heat stove and turned the kerosene lanterns down.
I thought I was really the only one still awake, except maybe for
Warren. I heard the springs in his bed do a lot of rhythmic squeaking
for a while, and then they just stopped. Pretty soon, I heard him
snoring a little. Just as I rolled over to go to sleep, I glanced over
at Pete's bunk. In the dim light, I saw him smiling. He pointed over at
Warren's cubbyhole and made a jacking motion with his fist. I grinned
back, nodded my head, and then closed my eyes.


CHAPTER THREE

You could say one thing for Warren. He didn't need an alarm clock to
wake up and get dressed before 5:30 in the morning. I opened my eyes
when I heard the back door of the bunkhouse close. Through the window, I
could see Warren heading back the path to the outhouses. I watched until
I saw which one he went into, then I looked around. Nobody else was
awake. I climbed down from my bunk, pulled my khaki shorts on, slipped
into my moccasins, and quietly went out the back door.

I headed straight for the outhouse Warren had gone into, and opened the
door and quickly walked in, like I expected the outhouse to be empty and
I was in a hurry to take a dump. I looked up and saw Warren sitting
there on the left hole, his scout shorts and boxers down around his
ankles.

"Oh, sorry, Warren," I said, looking down to see if I could see his
dick. I couldn't from where I was standing. "I'll go to the other..." I
started, sorta stepping up and down like I really had to go, right now.

"It's okay, Jack," he said, gesturing at the empty hole. "Two holes, no
waiting," he joked, but it came out kind of awkward-sounding. The
expression on his face showed he was kinda embarrassed, but trying not
to show it. I went to the other hole, lifted the cover, turned around,
yanked my shorts and briefs down, and plopped my butt down over the
hole. I could tell the outhouses hadn't been used too much recently,
because the smell wasn't very strong.

I sat there and peed, and then kinda grunted until I finally managed to
work something out. Warren pulled some toilet paper off the roll holder
that was hanging on the side wall, and started to wipe himself. He
raised his left hip, the one closest to me, to wipe. I glanced out the
side of my eye to see if I could see anything. All I could see was the
fact that he wiped once, folded the paper over, wiped again, and then
pulled off another length of paper. He did that three times.

Finally, he reached down to grab his underwear and shorts, and pulled
them up as he stood up. I got just the quickest glimpse of his dick. It
wasn't very long, but it was circumcised and pretty thick, and it was
sticking straight out. I don't think he had a hard-on, I just don't
think his dick was long enough to hang down much. It looked kinda like a
larger version of Tommy's. Tommy was kind of a fat kid, and his little
weenie always stuck straight out, whenever I saw it in the showers at
the Y. It kinda bounced when he walked.

Warren finished buttoning up his boxers and his shorts, and tucked his
shirt in. Putting down the cover on his hole, he looked down at me and
said, "When you get finished here, Jack, go down to the stream and wash
up, finish getting dressed, and come help me get the fire started for
breakfast."

I looked up at him, grinned, and said, "Okay, Warren." Just before he
opened the door to go out, I saw him glance down between my legs. I was
sitting with my knees spread, so I know he saw my dick. I was kinda glad
it was still a little puffed up from my morning pee-hard. After the door
slammed shut, I gave it a couple of strokes, and it hardened up again.
Might as well, I thought, and jerked off a load right there.

I wiped off my dick and wiped my ass, a little more carefully than
usual, thinking about how Warren did it. Then I pulled my shorts up, and
stepped outside. I ran down the side path from the outhouses to the
stream, splashed water on my face, and scrubbed my hands using sand from
the stream bed as a gritty cleanser. My brother taught me that trick.
When I got back to the bunkhouse to get my shirt and socks and regular
hiking boots on, I noticed that some of the guys were starting to wake
up a little. After I was dressed, I saw that Pete was lying on his
stomach, with his pillow over his head, and he was kinda slowly humping
the mattress.

As I started out to help Warren with the fire, I finger-flipped Pete's
butt through his blanket, lifted the edge of his pillow, and whispered,
"Okay, dick-head, get done with that wet dream, and get outside. Rise
and shine!"

He lifted his head up to look out at me with a crooked grin and kinda
grumbled, "I've already risen, but don't expect me to shine, shit-face."
He picked up his pillow to throw at me, but I was already out the door.

Warren had bigger splits of wood stacked like a teepee over a pile of
burning kindling by the time I got out to the campfire. He had even
already set up the iron grill rack over the fire so guys could cook
bacon and eggs in their camp kits. Across the clearing, I could see the
older guys were up and around, rolling up their sleeping bags and
pulling on their clothes. Denny had stoked up the fire in one of the
Adirondacks fireplaces, and it looked like he was stirring up some
flapjack batter. I could hear the back door to the bunkhouse opening and
closing as the guys all headed back to the outhouses.

Finally Pete and Robbie ambled out the front door, carrying their camp
kits and bags of food. I wasn't planning on cooking anything, since my
dad had made me a big coffee can full of his "famous" trail mix. It was
just rolled oats, raisins, coconut, walnuts, and sunflower seeds, cooked
in butter and brown sugar, with cinnamon or something. He'd always made
it for my brother, and he'd been excited about making some for me. It
actually wasn't bad, but it was kinda sticky. At least it was filling
and I didn't have to cook it.

All of the guys finally wandered out of the bunkhouse, except Tommy.
Warren told me to watch the fire and put on more kindling to keep it
hot, while he went in to see what Tommy was doing. Pete snickered. "He's
just keeping his fat ass in bed and snoring away," he said.

Robbie's brother, Bill, wandered over while we were waiting for the fire
to get hot enough. He walked around behind where Robbie was sitting on a
log and gave him a knuckle rub on his buzz cut. "So how'd you guys
handle your first night in the cub scout hotel? Anybody get attacked by
wild daddy longlegs or savage bedbugs?" He chuckled. I really liked
Bill. He was only a couple years older than Robbie, they both had red
hair, and they got along like guys, not just family. I wished my brother
and I were closer in age like that. He was neat-looking too. His hair
was a little longer than Robbie's and kinda fell over in front like
short bangs, and he kept tossing his head to get it to lay back.

Bill headed back toward the Adirondacks, and when he passed behind me,
he squeezed the muscle by the side of my neck just hard enough to make
me wince. I ducked down and looked back at him. He grinned and winked at
me. Did I say I really liked Bill? He was one of my fantasy guys.

The front door to the bunkhouse opened and Warren came out, followed by
Tommy, who was wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, with his
hair standing up like porcupine quills, and carrying a Thermos bottle
and a grocery bag that looked really full. His shirt was hanging out of
the back of his pants. When he passed by Warren, who had stopped at the
edge of the ring of logs, Warren caught him by the belt and tucked his
shirttails in. Tommy didn't react any differently than usual. He just
looked kind of flustered and embarrassed, just for general purposes. He
was always doing something that made other guys make fun of him, or his
mom scold him in a kind of whistling whisper with her teeth clamped
together, so it didn't look like she was moving her mouth. Trouble was
her whisper voice carried like a steam whistle, and everybody knew she
was getting on Tommy's back and what it was about.

Warren gave Tommy a pat on the back to push him toward the rest of us,
who were all gathered between the log ring and the campfire. Tommy sat
down next to Pete, who sounded like he was making normal conversation.
Pete was like that. No matter what he said when Tommy was not around, he
always treated him like a normal kid when he was. Maybe it had something
to do with Pete's living around military bases and moving all the time.
He just learned to get along. But with the guys he knew and liked the
best, he had a really smart mouth that showed an evil sense of humor.

I guess all our moms would have been upset at our breakfast. We had
everything from fried bacon and dry cereal to fried bologna, pickled hot
sausage, and canned applesauce and peaches. Tommy had orange juice from
his Thermos, and I had my trail mix. I really could have used a nice
cold glass of fresh milk.

After we finished eating and cleaning up, Warren told us to gather up
the knives, hatchets, and rope that we'd need for our instruction while
he smothered the live coals in the campfire. As we milled around, we saw
Denny leading the older guys, all wearing their backpacks, toward a
trail into the woods behind the Adirondacks. The rest of the morning
consisted mostly of us watching Warren demonstrate stuff and then trying
it on our own. Five of us anyway. Warren pretty much had to help Tommy
do anything and everything. I swear that kid probably needed help wiping
his butthole!

So the rest of us practiced our knots, chopping wood, and using our
hatchets and knives to fashion a makeshift spit for the fire (Pete and
me), a tripod to suspend a cookpot over the fire (Robbie and Richie),
and a long-handled backscratcher (David). Warren showed Tommy how to tie
square knots, half-hitches, sheepshanks, and sheetbends so many times
that Pete and I bet each other that he'd really prefer to be tying a
noose for Tommy's fat neck. I think he was as glad as the rest of us
when it came time for lunch.


CHAPTER FOUR

The afternoon went about the same as the morning. We were packing up our
gear and stuff to get ready for supper when Denny and the rest of the
troop marched back into camp about five o'clock. I guess I should say
Denny was marching along with a big smile on his face, but the other
guys were staggering under their packs, looking like whipped dogs. Even
Bill, who always seemed full of energy, looked like his butt was
dragging on the ground about a mile behind him.

Warren walked over to confer with Denny for a couple of minutes, then
came back and asked if we were willing to help him fix a camp supper for
the whole troop. He said Denny told him the other guys had really had a
rough day, and were probably too tired to do much cooking for
themselves.

We got started preparing a big pot of camp stew, using big cans of
cooked beef, tomato sauce, and vegetables that Denny brought from the
back of the bus. David and I were in charge of opening the cans and
stirring the ingredients together, Robbie was tending the fire, and Pete
and Richie were heating a couple of skillets and mixing up a batch of
batter for corn fritters. Tommy was supposed to be helping Warren mix up
some Kool-Aid, but after he spilled one pitcher-full, he was reassigned
to unpacking the aluminum camp plates and table ware.

David leaned over to me and said he figured Warren must be working on a
senior merit badge in sainthood, which set me off. The other guys wanted
to know what I was laughing at, but I wouldn't say. We all got
distracted anyway when the older guys started traipsing across the
clearing from the Adirondacks to the shower house to clean up. Some of
them had their towels around their waists, but a few of them were
completely naked with their towels draped over their shoulders. Bill was
one of those, and his long, soft teenage dick just flapped back and
forth as he watched. It was easy to notice, because it was so pale white
compared to his arms and legs. The first time I ever saw his dick at the
Y, I thought it looked almost blue-white, but I guess that's a redhead
thing. Robbie's was like that too, just not as long... yet.

I guess I was enjoying the show a little too long, but I don't think
anybody noticed except Pete, who gave me a poke in the kidneys and asked
pretty loudly, "How's the stew coming, Jack? That meat looks about ready
to eat."

I looked at him, and he had the orneriest-looking grin on his face. I
glanced downward and saw more of a bulge in the front of his shorts than
usual, which made me look down at my own front to see that my boner was
just a little too obvious. I quickly leaned a little forward to conceal
it, and checked to make sure nobody else was looking. Nobody was looking
right at me then, but Robbie's face looked a little flushed, and Warren
had a peculiar half-grin on his face.

The stew was done, and there were enough corn fritters stacked up for
the older guys to start eating, so we started dishing it up.  Tommy
handed the plates to Richie, one by one. Richie used tongs to put a corn
fritter on each one, then handed it to me so I could put a ladle-full of
stew  on it. David passed the plates to each of the older scouts as the
came over to the fire, and Pete held a big bottle of catsup, offering
everyone a healthy shake and a snide comment: "Smother it in
catsup--remember who cooked it."

When I finally dished out his supper, I managed to get more stew on his
boots than on his plate, grinning all the time. His crooked smile told
me that he'd get his revenge sooner or later--probably sooner.

To tell the truth, it was a pretty good meal. Just about everybody
wanted seconds, and nothing was left over. Not to brag, but we'd done a
pretty good job for our first real campfire banquet. Even Tommy didn't
screw anything up, for a change.

By the time we got the plates and pans scrubbed up and put away, we had
enough daylight left to sit around the fire and listen to Mike, David's
big brother, play guitar and sing some folksongs. Their whole family was
pretty musical--their dad was the bandleader at the high school, and
their mom was the soloist in the Methodist Church choir. Mike was good,
too. Nobody made a single smart remark about anything, until he got up
and started serenading the six of us younger guys with "Good Night,
Ladies." After a few boos and hisses, we realized that we were pretty
beat and ready to hit the bunkhouse.

It wasn't long before just about everyone was asleep, including Warren.
I wasn't, and I realized Robbie wasn't, either. I pretended to be,
though, when he quietly climbed down from his bunk and sneaked out the
front door of the bunkhouse.  I twisted around to peer out the window to
see where he was going, and I saw him walk up to someone waiting for him
over by the shower house. In the moonlight, I could see Bill's pale skin
and red hair. The two of them hugged for a minute, then Bill put his arm
around his brother's shoulders, and they headed back the path behind the
showers.  Yeah, I wished I had a brother like Bill. No, I wished I had
Bill.


CHAPTER FIVE

I must have dozed off, because I woke with a start when I hear the
slight squeaking of the front door hinge as it was slowly being pushed
open. When I realized where I was, I settled back down and pretended to
be asleep. But I could see through my squinting eyes that Robbie was
checking to see if anyone was awake; then he tiptoed to his bunk,
climbed up, and slipped under his blanket. As he passed close to my
bunk, I could see that his face was shining with sweat.

I smiled to myself. I was starting to put two and two together.
Actually, I was starting to put Robbie and Bill together, and my mental
addition added up to more than four--more like five,  my stiff five
inches standing in response to the sexy thoughts I was having. I rubbed
it lightly, working the foreskin up and down over the sensitive head
until I was sure Robbie was asleep. Then I finished the job, picturing
myself behind the showerhouse with Bill, while Robbie looked on.

Good thing I kept a handkerchief under my pillow.

My fantasy continued in my dreams, except it wasn't Bill who stood
before me as I knelt there. It was Pete, and that skinny brownish worm
I'd seen flopping around in the showers after gym class had grown up
nicely. I was definitely going to have to figure out some way to get him
to let me play with it for real.

"Come on, Jack, get it up," Pete was saying to me in my dream, when
someone grabbed my shoulder and shook me awake: "Come on, Jack, get up!
Are you going to sleep all day?

It was Pete, and he was giving me the funniest look. "What?" I asked.
"What time is it?"

"It's 6:30, and it's time for you to climb out of your tent," he said,
grinning.

"My tent?" I asked. What was he talking about? I wondered. Then I saw my
'tentpole.' I quickly rolled over on my side, and Pete broke out
laughing.

"Must've been a hell of a dream, buddy," he said, before he headed out
the door.

"It was," I muttered, blushing. I'm not sure he heard me. "It sure was."
One I hoped would come true...


(CHAPTER SIX and more will be coming soon. Sorry, no sexual couplings so
far, but it *will* happen! Have you figured out who hooks up with whom
yet?  Bet you're wrong--so just be patient and find out!)

Comments appreciated; send to <jwhstloo@ixnetcom.com>.