Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2017 11:00:01 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 9

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.

*****

Why did I kiss him? What could I say? My lip trembled like a five-year-old
and I dropped my eyes. I knew that they were leaking. I whispered, "I don't
know," as the doctor and Karl left. I don't think either could have heard
me. I looked up to see Jim's eyes on me as well.

I was just barely holding it together when he asked, "Why, Patrick?"

All the fear and humiliation gushed out like a fountain, "I DON'T KNOW!"

I felt Jim walk up to me and grabbed my chin, angling it to his face. "No,
Patrick, no. Why didn't you kiss me?" His eyes were bright with unshed
tears.

***** Canvas Hell 9: Dams Break

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery; kissing; first touch; masturbation (self and others)

To say that I was floored was a ridiculous understatement. Words like
poleaxed, gobsmacked and flabbergasted leapt to mind. Before I could say a
word, we heard the door handle move. Jim pulled his hand from my chin but
never lost his lock on my eyes. My conscious mind finally just said, "FUCK
IT!" and sulked off to do the mental equivalent of crochet.

George took me back to his office and tsked and tutted at the myriad
scrapes and strains.  I left in an ankle wrap and a wrist in similar
condition, and lots of ointments and potions on various scratches,
especially along my arms and back. When he finally released me, it was well
into Thursday morning. The pregnant flush of the eastern sky had woken the
alarm-clock birds and driven them to frenzy.

I made it to the tent just as Jim ran toward the Hygiene Hut. Karl was
nowhere to be seen. I grabbed my kit as quickly as possible, but Jim was
done before I reached it. When I got to the Mess Hall, Jim was ensconced
with a number of his former cabinmates with no room for me to join, so I
morosely sat alone to consume my cereal.  At some point, I felt a tingle
and looked up; Karl was looking at me with stormy brows from across the
room, also eating amongst a set of boys (including Orson and the
tongue-tied Willie) but you could tell that he was eating alone in a crowd.

I made my desultory way to the Activities Pavilion. Karl was there at the
same Woodworking station we'd used and I move next to him. He didn't look
at me, but neither did he recoil. The leaders gave each of us the blocks of
wood that he'd handed out the first day, our initials burnt into the
back. Each was about six inches long, four wide and two deep, rich with
colours and grains and curls.

Land explained that today's lesson was one of the hardest. We would be
doing a bas-relief carving, so the overall piece would stay square and the
image we decided would emerged from it. No one, he said, could carve
something that was not already trapped in the wood. Somehow, I knew that
instinctively. I could sense that Karl did as well; he might not be willing
to look toward me, but I could not keep my eyes off him. We both gazed at
and through the wood. I could not guess what Karl saw. I saw a horsehead
with a flowing mane.

Land spoke, "And now all you have to do is remove everything that is NOT
what you just saw." I looked around; about a third of the class was
wide-eyed and completely lost. When they looked at the wood, they
saw... dead tree parts.

The leaders, far more than the previous sessions, came round and walked us
through the various tools, cautioning over and over not to ever dig
deep. Take small, even tiny, pieces with each pass of the tool. Once carved
away, the wood could never come back. I began at the edges, the part where
the horse clearly was not, taking small shavings off. It was mesmerising
and magical. When the triangle rang, I didn't even realise how long had
passed. I had a large pile of shavings and a plank that looked like a vague
lump build from the centre, but I could still see the horse and his mane
within it.

Karl moved away quickly toward Orientation and Cartography without ever
actually looking at me. The closeness/distance of Karl during class had
left me confused, hurt and aching. I was scheduled for Campfire
Cooking. I'd heard one of the adults mention today would be grilled fish
and foil-wrapped fish. I love *to* fish, but I loathe the taste *of*
fish. Yes, this is a handicap in a Good Little Catholic, but luckily the
wizards at a place called Kraft had invented my personal sacrament: boxed
mac & cheese, the salvation of fed-up Catholic boys everywhere. I
conveniently got 'lost' on the way to the soggy Fire Ring of Cabin 2. The
critical thing that I had forgotten when deciding to skive off was that
this was a free period for Jim.

I came to Tent Canvass Hell and was already on the threshold when I heard
the not-quite-crying breaths of Jim sitting in the far back of the tent's
centre. I panicked and went to withdraw, but Jim had seen me. He looked at
me with eyes that burned with betrayal, confusion and longing. My heart
melted and I sank to my knees on the 'balcony' and just sat, letting the
flaps fall loose behind me. I deserved whatever opprobrium or disgust that
Jim could give me, and I prepared myself for it.

Jim just looked at me, the moment stretching to breaking point. I finally
broke. "I am so sorry, Jim. I still don't know. I don't know why I kissed
him. I don't know why I wanted to. I don't know ANYTHING. I know I'm sick
or something. I know you deserve..."

Jim voice was curiously even and steady, if mouse-quiet and a bit
tentative, as he cut me off. "I don't care about that, Patrick."

My eyes met his. I remembered what he'd said just before dawn. I just
didn't know what it meant.

"I, Patrick, I..." Jim went silent but never looked away. "I know you and
Karl... you know." My face went to a horrified lava colour. "And that's
special. And I think that I understand. But, but, {indtdthdto}," the last
lost in a murmur that faded away.

I was at a complete loss and not following this conversation at all; my
face showed it. Jim took a deep and shuddering breath. He kept eye contact,
something I was having trouble doing myself. "But I needed that to. You are
the most. You. I wanted so bad to say. From the first I wanted to tell. I
was so scared, so scared, Patrick. Then that {shudder} nightmare. Oh, GOD!
And you made me feel so safe. So warm. So... anyway. I just n, needed,
want, w, wanted you to... And instead you..." And that was it. He dissolved
in tears.

As with Karl, the sight of a friend in such pain crushed me. I knee-crawled
across the floor of the tent and grabbed Jim into a huge hug. I was a bit
dismayed that it only intensified his sobbing. He would occasionally and
ineffectually push me away or try to pull back, but I kept him cradled in
my arms. He quietened and his breathing settled and then he looked up at my
face. We froze like that, barely breathing. Eyes locked, intent,
determined, terrified, resolute.

Before I knew it, Jim grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to his
pouting and luscious lips. I could not have been more stunned, more
confused, more uncomfortable... or more thrilled and aroused. Taking
Heinlein's advice, I cooperated with the inevitable and kissed him back.

I think that the only thing that ended that first kiss was hypoxia. I
stared, shocked and mortified, into Jim's eyes. I had just taken advantage
of a hurting, confused young man who would not be 15 for two more days. All
for my own depraved desires. I was a monster and a freak. I needed to
run. To leave. To vanish in smoke. Jim saw that in my eyes. He closed his
own and leant into me, kissing me passionately and with a need I'd never
felt. He wanted this. He wanted ME. That anyone, especially someone as
beautiful and brave and special as Jim would ever want ME was revelatory. I
had never felt the like and innumerable walls within me dissolved like mud
bricks in the waters of a flood. THIS was what I wanted. THIS is what I
needed. The world could jump off a cliff!

I lost myself in that kiss -- and all it might mean -- as my assumptions
(and resolve) crumbled. Neither of us pulled away next time, but snuzzled a
bit and murmured to each other.

"Thank you, Patrick, I wan, ne, needed that, I needed you so bad."

"Oh, God, Jim. I never knew and never wanted to admit it."

"Please let me do it again?" His voice was begging and afraid of, sure of,
rejection. I was at a loss. His eyes were a pool that threatened to swallow
and drown me, but also a conflagration that would consume me, body and
soul. And he was my friend. And he was so scared.

I didn't bother the answer him. I just started kissing him, less of a
lip-lock this time but so much more intense. I licked and tickled and
prodded his lips and then kissed his cheek as he tried to recapture my
mouth. Instead I nibbled at his jaw and he squeaked. It was the most
adorable and most lust-infused sound I had ever heard.

I was kissing at his neck when I heard a loud gasp and high-pitched
moan. About a lifetime later, I realised the voice was mine. Denied my
lips, Jim had started making out with my *ear*; he kissed and licked and
probed. Every part of me exploded with lust and desire. I started making
love to his neck, collarbone, and anything else I could reach. His mewls
and whimpers blended with my own whines and occasional, startling growls.

It took some time before I realised just how much pain I was in. My jeans
and undies, with the knee-walking and holding of Jim, had conspired to tie
my junk into Inquisition-worthy torture device and I was so hard I could
cry. Thinking about it made me realise that Jim was gently, unconsciously
thrusting his own extremely hard (and VERY impressive) crotch against my
leg. I mentioned pain? Fuck pain. Honestly, I didn't care. My balls could
twist off before I broke this life-fulfilling embrace.

As with all trips to heaven, the most mundane of things snapped us back. We
heard some boys laughing and joking as they walked along the boardwalk a
few yards from the tent. We pulled back, eyes wide and faces flushed.

Jim was always smarter than I was. He must have seen something in my
face. "Oh, no! Patrick, don't you DARE. I wanted that so much it hurt. So
much," he added with a coquettish blush, "that it still hurts," pointing to
his extremely evident erection. "If you freak out and hate yourself or me,
I will never forgive you, you hear me?"

I just nodded, catching my breath. "So, um, what, um, wh, what does, do
we... what comes next?"

"Hey, you're the all-grown-up Junior. You tell ME!"

"I, I, I," I sounded like a ship-full of sailors acknowledging an
order. Jim again took pity.

"Then I guess we'll have to work this out together, big guy." I blushed and
smiled, in awe, lust and fear. "For now, Patrick, I think it might be
better if we weren't in this, um, condition when Karl gets back?"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." I had no idea what time it was. Karl was the only
one who wore a watch. Though it felt like an eternity, I knew The Kiss
could not have lasted more than 15 to 30 minutes (or a year), giving us at
most and hour and at least 30 minutes. I squeaked out, "I, I, I guess we
could go for a walk?" Without warning, my mouth completely disengaged from
my brain and I heard my voice say, "I can never get soft if you're in this
tent with me."

Oh. My. God. I prayed to every chthonic god to open the Earth and swallow
me into the pit. I called on the gods of lightening, meteors... falling
satellites (inventing wildly here) to erase my existence. Jim, however,
just laughed.

"Can you see us walking around carrying our own 'tents' in front of us? On
the other hand, I bet I know a way you *can* go soft *with* me in the
tent..." At my look of blank incomprehension, Jim donned a smile decades
older than his years. He reached for his pack and rummaged a
minute. Suddenly, he grabbed two items and threw one to me. It took me a
moment to recognise...

A white sock.

I chuffed out a breath and took a shuddering gasp of air, eyes leaping like
jumping beans from Jim's face to the sock to Jim's smile to the sock to
Jim's crotch to the sock...

I saw Jim's face fall and he shrunk. In a tiny voice, he whispered, "I'm
sorry, Patrick. I am so sick. I never. I should."

I stopped him, "You'd really let me?"

Jim pulled up short. He nodded spasmodically.

"Okay, but my nuts are tied in a knot and I'm gonna scream in a minute. You
might see, you know, my junk as I get straightened out."

"You've washed out my sock. We have no secrets." That mischievous smile was
back. I was mesmerised as he started to undo his belt, but my tortured
bollocks demanded immediate attention.

I got my belt open and nearly ripped the buttons off my pants in the
desperate need to free my cock and balls. The infernal zipper bound twice
and I was dying! Finally! I let out a huge gush of a sigh when the y-front
let go and tucked beneath my aching nuts, all of my boy bits back in their
proper places... and unconsciously on full and rampant display.

I looked up to see Jim transfixed with my junk. He had his pants open (and
his mouth) but his package was still covered by the thin white cotton. He
absentmindedly was stroking himself gently with one finger, lost in awe and
hunger looking at me! ME! I was on top of the world.

I stroked slowly up my shaft. Quiet, the way I might speak to a fawn I
wanted to pet but that was on a knife's edge of bolting, "Now you, Jim."
His eyes flew to mine. There was a hunger there, no, a thirst. Hunger
merely gnawed; thirst *demanded*. His hand moved down and pulled the front
of his undies down. I gasped, not in pleasure or lust, but shame and
dismay.

I had forgotten what The Buggers had done to my friend. The area around his
crotch was a welter of overlapping bruises. His prick was like an iron
spike jutting up from a bush that did nothing to disguise the injuries. One
ball seemed swollen. I looked up in horror and Jim had a defiant look. "I
don't care. I want this."

"But it's got to hurt!"

"I. Don't. Care."

I moved forward. "I am so sorry Jim. Oh, I'm so sorry."

Jim's voice had gone from the strong and mischievous to the scared whisper,
"Patri, Patrick. Would you... Would you, um, touch me? Just a little! Oh,
Please!" he hurriedly added and the reckless need of his voice unmanned
me. I looked at his face and knew it had taken every ounce of guts to say
those words.

"You're my hero, Jim. You sure...?" He nodded like a basketball dribbled by
a Harlem Globetrotter.

My hand (the one not wrapped in a stretch-bandage) moved forward and we
both gasped as my fingers touched the hot and throbbing skin. "So soft. So
hard." I whispered. Jim whimpered.

I had never felt another man before, and Jim was certainly a man! My
two-year seniority had given me plenty of height over Jim's frame, but
nothing to compare to what he had *down there*. With decades' more
experience, I'd now guess that Jim was a solid 7 inches, thick, cut, pale
with an arrowhead glans. On his small frame, though, it looked like a
tapered baseball bat. A bit longer and thicker than my own and just as cut
and milky-pale, but I had a thick mushroom head and my glans was purple and
angry. My only description of Jim at the time, though, was what I
whispered, "Perfect. My god, Jim, you are so amazing, so... perfect."

I meant to look to Jim for permission, I really-truly did. Sadly, my body's
response to brain signals was something along the lines of, "Your party is
not answering; please ring back later." My eyes stared and my hand wrapped
around that prong. I was a tall, thin guy and had long, thin fingers. They
still didn't have much extra after encircling his manhood. Jim was making
mewls and whines and whimpers, the panoply of stifled and desperate
boy-noises; I found out later he was biting his lip near enough to draw
blood and his hands were wringing the sleeping bags below him.

I was entranced. The skin was so indescribably silky, but it was running
back and forth over something that felt like a column of sun-warmed
river-smoothed granite. Hot and unyieldingly-hard. Unlike rock, though, it
throbbed and I could feel Jim's heartbeat pulse through it. I saw a bead of
moisture gather at the tip. I let off stroking (Jim whinnied) and coated
the head with the slippery stuff (Jim squeaked). I started milking from
root to tip to get more and more of the stuff and spread it over Jim's
entire prick (whinnies and squeaks like a stable full of unhappy mice). I
finally had it coated, slick, smooth, hot, throbbing and
overwhelmingly-glorious.

It was such an amazing thing that I simply could not let go. I knew we had
almost an hour and decided to make it last, slowing down to stroke and
tease... You're not buying that, are you? Fine. Neither am I. This was the
*first time* that someone had touched Jim other than the horrors inflicted
by The Buggers. It was the first time I'd ever touched *anyone* and he was
the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. Perhaps twenty strokes of
slick-squish noises and Jim started doing the ehHE ehHE ehHE breathing
pattern known to any boy who ever tried to shoot quietly.

I felt a pounding on my unoccupied arm and realised that Jim was
frantically trying to force a sock into my hand. I had not even gotten it
all the way over the tip when Jim let out a breathless, near-silent keening
that scared bats across the county; he erupted volcanically into the
sock. I pulled my hand out and got the sock firmly seated, then began to
frig him through it to prolong his orgasm. I was fascinated as much by how
he orgasmed as the fact that I'd brought it about. Extremely long, intense
pulses that jetted into the folds of the cotton. Each was forceful, with a
prolonged pause before the next as if his body needed a moment to lock,
load and pressurise the next volley. His squeaks eventually turned to
squawks and I knew I'd gone too far. Jim was grabbing me to stop the
sensation on his all-too-sensitive prick.

"Oh, god! I need! I ne! I'm sorry! I'm so...!" I moaned, "I can't Jim..."
My dick had left a huge puddle of goo where it lay like a leaky hot-water
pipe on my thigh. I shakily got my own sock on my own cock. Jim's avid and
hungry gaze caressed and stroked my erection just as my hand had done for
him. I so wanted to give Jim a show, do for him what he'd done for me. That
was definitely NOT in the cards. It took perhaps three long strokes,
staring at Jim's enthralled face, to enter the Rapture.

I silently huffed out my breath as a truly stunning orgasm washed through
me and the sock was flooded with pulse after pulse of thick boy juice. In
contrast to Jim, I shot short, intense and powerful jets that threatened to
blow straight through the fabric. I thought it had been intense when Karl
had watched me. This was... transcendent.

The feel of Jim's cum jetting up and out still warmed my hand and fired my
mind. The mewls, whines, chuffs, squeaks and squawks that my ministrations
had dragged out of him burned in my ears. The look of unimagined pleasure
beyond all thought or hope in his o-face as he shot flashed in my
imagination. It was, however, the look of joy and awe and fulfilment on
Jim's face now as he saw me cumming that did things inside me that no hand
(or, I'd find out in time, no ass, dick, pussy or mouth) could do.

As I came down from my gusher and the tent's swimming slowed, I watched
Jim. His smile was the cat that just bought a canary factory, a kid on
Christmas Eve who stole J Edgar Hoover's file on Santa and knew how to use
it. Yes, there was satisfaction there, but there was also a level of
anticipation and scheming that I found breath-taking. I watched his chest
shudder and fall, much further down the path to recovery, but not back to
Earth yet. My eyes dropped further to his pert nipples jittering under the
fabric, then to where his tee's hem tickled his thick bush, then his dick
still wrapped in the sodden sock. I frowned. The tip of the sock was red.

I do not think I had ever been so scared or upset with myself. "Jim. Oh my
god! Jim! What did I do?" My shaking, whispered shout was flush with agony
and self-recrimination.

Jim looked down and jerked, then said, "Stop! Stop that, Patrick. STOP! The
Doc said my, you know, would have some blood for a few days. And I piss it
too. He said it's fine but to come to him if it hurts at all."

"Oh, GOD, did it HURT? Did I hurt you?!?"

Jim smiled the laziest, most lustful smile that I had ever seen. Truth be
told, I'm not sure that I have seen its like since. "No, Patrick. Nothing
has ever felt better in my whole life."

We basked in each other's gaze for a short eternity, then set about
repairing the damage. We wiped off and buttoned up. The Magic Socks were
whisked into Jim's kit as I untangled all three bags. Jim had clutched and
twisted the whole set in his frenzy. We opened the 'window' flap and then
the front flaps to get a breeze through. I'm betting that all of the boys
walking downwind still wonder why they got instant boners from the smell we
unleashed.  I whispered that to Jim and he dissolved in giggles.

That was how Karl found us. Jim still giggling and me with a stupid smile
plastered on.

<eof>

Perhaps not the first encounter you expected, but was that worth a plot
twist or two? I really do enjoy hearing from you. Let me know what you
think.