Date: Thu, 30 Mar 2017 18:23:26 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 19

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/canvas-hell/)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between young-adult men. Go away if any of that is
against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if
you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to
Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

I felt his lips, his teeth, his tongue. His arms around my back. His
amazing strength and immeasurable tenderness. His unquenchable desire to be
everything for everyone and the terrible knowledge that he would fail. The
bristly hair beneath his shirt and the bulge of his muscles. His broad,
broad back and thick neck. His essential and inescapable goodness, bravery,
resignation, determination. His... Karlness. I pulled back and looked at
him. His eye stayed closed and I reached up tenderly to wipe away the
wetness on his strong cheeks. "So, what was kissing like, Karl?"

*****

Canvas Hell 19: The 'L' Word

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery; - Wednesday evening, Thursday

Karl didn't open his eyes, just sat and let the tears leak out. Without
warning, he literally collapsed into me, nearly taking us both off the
log. He started, I dunno, blubbering. He'd sob and speak at the same
time. "God, Patrick! How. How can you. How can ANYONE stand that? How can,
how could, how can you DO that? How could you STOP? It hurts, Patrick. O,
GOD, it hurts so mu-u-u-u-ch!" The words stopped and the sobs
intensified. I clung to him, completely at a loss. It hurt? How? It would
honestly be many years before I truly understood what had happened to Karl
that afternoon. I let him cry it out, broken words and phrases in the key
of soul-ripping pain sprinkled throughout.

With an abruptness that made me yelp, Karl was on his feet and walking --
fast -- back toward camp. Perhaps a hundred yards later, he dropped onto a
rock like he'd been shot and used his tee-shirt to wipe his face. Karl's
pain actually hurt me more that I could express. On the other hand, I was a
17-year-old boy who was just awakening to his desires. Karl's fur-covered
stomach and chest made my innards quiver.

I put my hand on his shoulder and he jumped then began to shake, never
looking at me as he put back on the tough, unflappable mask he normally
showed everyone... everyone but me and Jim. When he stood back up, no one
other than the denizens of Camp Canvas Hell (and, I suspect, Dr Eaglas)
could guess what was under that mask or what it was costing him to wear it
right now.

I was shocked speechless. I had seen Karl weep before, and had seen him
break down, and I'd seen him come back tender but tough. Watching the
transition, though, was awful in the Biblical sense: It inspired awe,
dread, wonder, fear and humility in one writhing, gut-wrenching package. I
stumbled more than once as I thought of the strength and the control that
took, and what else must be hidden ever-more-deeply inside my stoic friend.

We walked through Camp Sin and Karl looked like he did every single day. I
expect that I looked like a complete mess. Jim, freshly showered, was
waiting for us in the shadowed coolness of Tent Canvas Hell. Karl gave him
a shoulder hug and asked about what he was missing since he dropped
Wilderness Survival. Jim could sense something was off, seriously off, but
chattered away in a voice only slightly dimmed by his own worry. I watched
the two interact. It was clear that Jim's voice acted like a tonic. The
near-invisible stress in Jim's frame drained slowly until he really was as
calm as his mask appeared.

That took us to Dinner. We were halfway through our second week and I guess
some sort of Chef Stockholm Syndrome had taken hold. As this far remove,
the food was certainly as vile as it had been, but a tiny uptick in quality
was all it took for us to actually *eat* the entrée, something vaguely
beef-ish with a hash-brown casserole, while we talked.

We finished a little early and made it to Cabin 4 in time to chat with
Orson and Willie for a while before the singing started. Both Leaders were
clearly on edge, deeply regretting their brilliant idea for Do-Re-Mi. Too
late to change, they took us through the song itself. This actually sucked
a little less than Fa... Fa... Fa... all evening long, but sort of in the
way that tonight's Beef Whatever sucked less than the Pepper Chihuahua for
a few days before.

We made it back to Tent Canvas Hell a little earlier than normal for us,
giving us (uh oh), more time to talk. Jim, ever the model of tact and
subtlety, asked Karl, "So what did you two do with your free period? Did
you get Patrick to kiss you?"

As I tried to sinking through the canvas flor of the tent, I saw Karl nod,
look down and start to catch his breath in short gasps, then tumble forward
and grab Jim around the waist. Jim's hand went to Karl's upper back and his
eyes went to me.

Have you ever gotten *A Look* that both announced and confirmed that you
were the world's most insensitive heel? I actually was relieved when Jim's
scowling face mouthed, 'GO AWAY!' I was outside in a flash, blindly walking
toward... wherever was not in the direction of Tent Canvas Hell. I could
just barely hear Jim's murmuring voice before I finally got completely out
of earshot.

I was surprised to find light glowing from the eave-height windows of Dr
Eaglas' office. I knocked so softly I wasn't sure *I* could hear it, much
less the doctor, but his soft voice responded, "Come in."

I opened the door and he actually smiled at me. "It's good to see you
Patrick. I was hoping you would stop by at some point. I was just finishing
up some paperwork. It's beautiful night; why don't we sit outside?"

He grabbed a small, green-leather pouch identical to the one I'd always
envisioned being passed as the gates of the ruined Isengard. We sat side by
side on the bench. I was surprised when he began to fill, tamp and light a
beautiful burled-wood pipe. I watched, mesmerised, as the blue smoke curled
in the moonlit air, Dr Eaglas suddenly becoming a young and vibrant
Gandalf.

"I'm guessing that the last two days were... a bit full?"

I squirmed, but realised that I really, really needed to talk to someone
about, well, everything. And Dr Eaglas was the perfect listener. And the
darkness helped a lot.

It took probably forty minutes to get out a stumbling, blushing, mortified
and desperate description of the two kisses, Jim on the shelf of rock and
Karl on the log. Of the utterly-incompatible responses of each of my
friends, of the guilt and fear I felt. Of the confusion and worry that I
had done something equally-terrible to each of them. Of the absolutely
certainty that I was responsible for Karl's intense pain and that I would,
eventually, do the same thing to Jim. I finally ran out of words and was
shocked to find that I hadn't been weeping.

The doctor's hand gripped my shoulder and squeezed. He locked my gaze and
simple stared at me for the longest time as the heady and wondrous scent of
his pipe enveloped me.

"That was a lot, son, a lot to deal with and a lot to say. I'm really proud
that you could talk about it, and that you can still be such a great friend
to those two men." I looked for signs of sarcasm or derision, but there
were none.

As usual, he simply read my mind and his voice, at least, smiled. "Yes, I
actually do mean that. I am absolutely confident that you have not hurt Jim
in any way, and I'm not entirely sure that you are capable of hurting him
on purpose, so put that aside for a minute.

"As strong as Karl is, and he's a damn strong young man, this may come as a
shock. I think that you unnerved him."

My jaw dropped and I started to shake my head. The bear of a man's hand
still gripped my shoulder.

"No, Patrick, not in a bad way and not in the way you think. Um, has Karl
talk about when he was a kid?"

"The way his Dad was killed? Yeah." Now I did start to tear up.

"Patrick, I think you may be the first man to really give Karl, well, love,
in a very long time."

I was gobsmacked and mortified. Love? Dr Eaglas just laughed.

"Yes, son, the dreaded 'L-word'. This has nothing to do with sex or even
sexuality, Patrick; it has to do with how two humans interact and care for
each other. Knowing you and knowing what you just told me, I'm betting that
you put everything in that kiss, lowered all your walls and thought of
nothing but Karl for those few moments. How wonderful and special he was
and how you wanted to show him that? Is that close to being right?"

I looked down and nodded.

"I haven't talked to Karl about what I'm going to say, or even touched on
these particular topics; If we had, you and I wouldn't be having this
conversation. And what I'm going to say is not about Karl or even Patrick,
it's about how human beings work. You with me on this, son?" I just nodded,
not looking up.

"Sometimes a man forces himself to be tough and strong for others. He wants
to protect everyone from everything, and doesn't much worry about himself
in the process. The earlier he starts and the longer it goes, the more
walls he builds to keep himself safe just so he can ensure the safety of
those he loves.

"When such a man finds another person, man or woman, who suddenly focuses
on nothing but *him* for the first time -- caring and thinking and
concentrating on nothing else in the universe for that instant -- it can
change his world. That kind of attention and care, well, it makes a guy
think about himself. It holds up a mirror to him, in a way, a mirror
reflecting who he really is as seen from eyes other than his own. It forces
him to realise that *someone* thinks he is good and special and valuable;
forces him to see that same good in himself, something that most men bury
and deny.

"Which is the second factor. The more 'good' that the man has buried behind
those walls, the harder it is when those walls get breached. Every time
that he has been the strong one when he wanted, needed to be the one being
protected... every such moment comes crashing back all at once. Because for
the first time in a long time, he knows that others are there to do the
protecting, the sheltering, the caring.

"So here is the problem, son. All of that is boiling inside the one guy,
but what about the man or woman who wanted nothing to but show him how much
he was loved?"

"He-- um, or she would feel like upset, cuz instead of feeling good h--
she'd have made the guy feel really bad?"

"Half right, son. That person would feel bad because he or she thought
they'd hurt the man, when in fact they'd given him an incredible, rare and
wonderful gift."

Eaglas held me as I tried not to cry, and nearly succeeded. He said a lot
of stuff to me that night, none of it I recall but all of it made my world
a better place. I finally left and he headed to his own cabin. Tent Canvas
Hell was quiet and dark when I arrived. I was half-relieved and half-sad,
but I found they were both sitting, talking in the gloom. I crawled in and
stripped to my undies, as they both had in preparation for bed.

Surprisingly, Karl was the one who spoke. He moved half to me and said,
"Thank you, Patrick."

I was floored. Even with all that Dr Eaglas had said, the idea that Karl,
that ANYONE, would thank me for making him cry was... astounding.

"Y-Y-You don't h-hate me?"

He smiled, "Maybe a little, but not that way. You're still too tall and too
smart."

Jim, having let three whole sentences go by without speaking up (a personal
best) finally could take no more. "God! You two are so stupid. I'm going to
bed before my head explodes." With that, he dove into the sleep-sack while
Karl and I chuckled. I put my hand on Karl's shoulder over Jim's wriggling
form. Karl tensed a little then returned the gesture. In the gloom, we
could just make out each other's smiles as we said goodnight.

The morning broke windy with scuttling clouds. There seemed little tension,
and the brisk day seeming to whisk away the stress. Jim seemed pleased but
subdued. Karl seemed... looser, more confident than before; still strong
and tough, but less... guarded, perhaps? I still felt a little like I was
walking on eggshells, but nothing compared to the previous day.

We were early the Hygiene Hut and early to breakfast as well. The Stockholm
Syndrome food thing apparently had its limits as the three of us looked at
the runny powdered eggs and the tragically-limp hash browns, then made a
mad rush on the cereal and fruit options.

I saw something I hadn't before. Land was loading up his and Sea's coffee
with milk and sugar, something I'd never considered. I took my magic milk
glass and doctored it like I'd seen. The resulting caramel-coloured sludge
was pretty good! Karl tried it and made a face, "It still tastes like crap,
just sweet crap. No thanks."

Woodworking saw the final forms begin take shape. You could make out the
horse I was carving and Karl's was very obviously a dog of some sort. Jim's
was still a mystery; three oblong shapes with ridges even as we finished
for the day. When the triangle rang, Karl was off with his compass and
accountments, Jim and I to Free Period.

The last few FPs had been the most life-altering things I'd ever endued,
and I looked forward with what can only be called eager trepidation. I let
Jim pick the destination, and we ended up in Tent Canvas Hell.

"Let's just, um, sit and read? Is that, um, okay, Patrick?"

I doubt my smile could have been larger. I pulled out Jonathan Livingston
Seagull again, and saw Jim extract a very different but equally-slim
paperback. 'Childhood's End' by Arthur C Clarke. We sat with knees
touching, occasionally jostling each other and both smiling with a calm
ecstasy, until Karl came back. I tensed, expecting some sort of Look, but
Karl was bubbly as usual after his Orientation & Cartography. Today was the
first time they'd made their own map and Karl was jazzed.

Jim and I just smiled through lunch as Karl showed us his map of the
camp. I had to admit, it was pretty cool how he could get things in the
right places with just angles and distances, and was fulsome with my
praise. Karl basked, and Jim beamed at me.

Archery went better today. It was the first day with actual more-or-less
arrows. They were stubby things, but they flew like actual arrows. Karl's
strong grip was matched with Jim's incredible aim and they acquitted
themselves well. I... didn't completely suck. That's the best I can say,
but my tent-mates' success buoyed me.

We changed for Swimming in Tent Canvas Hell, and I was surprised that Karl
was not even slightly shy about being seen naked, and Jim took full
advantage. I just... couldn't. I did get a long, salivating look at his
amazing and furry ass, but looked away when he started to turn. Why? No
idea. Jim was smiling and riding high down to the dock, so I knew he liked
what he'd seen; Karl was one big grinning blush, so I was guessing he liked
that Jim had liked what he had to show.

Lifeguarding today was nerve-wracking. It was the first time that we would
be tasked (alongside the experienced lifeguards) with watching over the
swimmers. Sea went through our ranks ruthlessly. Anyone who had the wrong
count was yelled at before swimming a lap and going back to work. Worse,
the buddy had to swim it too, since each pair was supposed to be
communicating as a team. Frankly, we got lucky. I had the right answer once
and Karl the other time.

Sea had one surprise up his sleeve. In addition to The Count for everyone,
each pair had a quarter of the swimming area in which they were responsible
for saving anyone in trouble. Sea had a Leader as a Designated Victim who
tried to drown in each quadrant at some point. Karl spotted him like an
eagle when the older boy started to fake-struggle and yelled in his deep
and penetrating voice, "MAN DOWN!" I nearly crapped my trunks.

By the time that Karl was nearing the Designated Victim, I had a pole with
a crook in one hand and a coiled rope in the other. Karl chose to tow the
DV to the dock, and I sprinted to the end and had the crook snagged into
the float's tether as soon as it was in range. Karl swam well outside the
DV's reach, then helped me get the Leader onto the dock, me pulling and
Karl pushing. Of the four groups, we were the only ones to get full marks,
largely from Karl's quick spot and my decision to have two extraction
methods ready.

We didn't get a trophy, but something far more valuable. At the end of the
lesson, Sea used us as an example in explaining where others had missed
opportunities. We were flying by the time the triangle rang to close the
afternoon session.

Showers were not full, but I finally worked up the guts to actually look
around me, taking cautious stock of the physiques of my fellow swimmers. As
luck would have it, Karl was never turned toward me when I looked, but a
couple of the Leaders would fuel jacking session for years to come. One in
particular was tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and beautifully
proportioned. His ass had dimples that nearly made me gasp, and his cock
and balls were intriguingly dark and mysterious. I can still close my eyes
and see a clump of suds rolling slowly down his left ass-cheek and dripping
onto the floor of the shower; all these years later, it still makes my dick
twitch.

Dinner was bad, but not exceptionally so. Something to do with pork chops,
but no one could really see any meat-like particles so we ate the soup. We
decided it was better not to ask what was supposed be in the creamy
chowder. This was followed with another hour of Fa. Fa. Fa. It was not
exactly... relaxing so we were all a bit on edge when we finally got back
to Tent Canvas Hell. We stripped down and snuggled into the sleep sacks
and... completely failed to sleep.

It had been four days and several life-altering kisses since Jim and
I... you know, in the bole of that giant beech tree. I was about to
explode. I tried to lay in every position possible, but each one either
crushed my rock-hard dick or made it tease unbearably against my underwear
or the sleep-sack itself. I was minutes away from trying to sneak out and
take care of things when Karl's deep voice broke an hour's
tossed-and-turned silence.

"None of us can sleep. We all know why. What do we do about it?"

Jim's voice was strained and high, "I don't know, but I'm dying."

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Karl & Greg: 21 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/
Canvas Hell: 19 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 10 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 11 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 5 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 4 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/