Date: Tue, 9 May 2017 19:18:19 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Canvas Hell 24

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.

*****

Karl sat there, his head in the kid's lap, just staring, for the longest
time. He sat up and gave Nathan the hardest shoulder hug the kid had ever
known. "Nathan, I am going to walk for a minute. Can I, um, find you
later?" Nathan nodded and Karl stood slowly and wandered down a game trail,
lost in thought.

I walked over and grabbed Nathan's hand and pulled him up, then shocked the
hell out him with a full-out hug. "A damned fine man, Nathan; you are a
damned fine man."

*****

Canvas Hell 24: Naming Names

By Bear Pup

T/T; self-discovery - Sunday

*****

Nathan walked back with us and I could see he was really upset, I stopped
before we got back to the main byways of the camp itself. "Nathan, buddy,
what's the matter?"

"Why, uh, why d-d-doesn't Karl think he's, you know, a good person -- a
hero even?"

Jim spoke, "Well, why don't you?" There was no challenge there. His voice
had been soft and clear and factual. Nathan looked at him as if he'd asked
why he was short.

"I'm still a kid and you guys are practically grownups. I can't fight for
other people like Karl does. Like you guys did with Winner's Gang. I'm
scrawny and get beat up even by kids my own size! What do you mean, why
don't I think I'm a hero?"

"So, the only way to be a hero is to be strong and tough and defend people
from bullies?"

"No, but that's parts of it... um, isn't it?"

I took up the thread, "Yeah, Nathan, for some people, that's how they're
heroes. Let me tell you of another guy who I realised was hero recently. He
was a victim of the Buggers' (what you call Winner's Gang). He found out
that someone he respected had been tricked into doing what that gang did,
but forgave him anyway, letting the guy stop ripping himself to shreds. I
think he's a hero and he's not much less scrawny than you." Jim stuck his
tongue out at me from behind Nathan before he spoke.

"And I know a guy who looks more like a tall twig than a person who made a
couple guys realise the things they feared most about themselves were what
made them good people, and kept two guys sane when they thought their world
was ending. He's a hero and a sharp breeze could knock him over." I glared
through slitted eyes; Jim would pay for that one.

Nathan looked from one to the other of us and you could see the lightbulb
go on. He said with no hint of question, "You're talking about each other."

We both laid it on heavy with the affronted and dangerous guy voices.

"You calling me scrawny, pipsqueak?"

"Or calling me a twig, short-stack?"

The look of panic and horror on Nathan's face broke us up and we were
hooting with laughter, which Nathan finally joined. "You are, though,
aren't you?"

I sobered, but still smiled widely. "Yeah, Nathan, we are. And Karl has
saved us, too."

"Yeah, I was in the lunchroom when the two W-- Buggers came in and Karl
jumped up to almost kill them cuz they had... Hey! YOU were the Swamp
Thing--oops..." I could see he desperately wanted a do-over on those words.

Jim haughtily replied, "I prefer Mud Monster, thank you so very much! But,
yeah, that was me. Karl and Patrick saved my life that day. I mean, not
like pulling me from the icy river, but close. They rescued me. And they
helped me. And Karl never threw a punch, well..."

"Hey! Don't tell him THAT."

"What? No, really? What?"

Sigh, "Jim -- who *used* to be a friend of mine -- is referring to a time
when I'd said something boneheaded and Jim was really, really upset and
Karl, well, Karl knocked me on my ass with the hardest punch I ever
felt. But in a good way!"

"But I never did ANY of those things. I'm nothing LIKE you guys!"

"Crap," said Jim, always the diplomat, "You did more for Karl in five
minutes that I could have done in an hour. I'm sorry, Nathan. I hate to
break this to you, but you are a good man. Or you will be when your voice
changes."

"HEY!"

"Jim, be nice. He's right. Maybe this IS his man voice!"

"HEY!!!"

We laughed our way to the Activities Pavilion. I kicked myself in shame
that I never even noticed that Nathan was in our Leatherworking class. He
was tooling his with a simple, beautiful design of a bird, a swallow with
tail spread into spikes, using only a scorer. Jim and I finished lacing
ours then helped Nathan lace his when the design was complete.

We headed out, wandering nowhere really when Jim asked, "Nathan, why do you
call yourself that?"

Nathan blushed and mumbled.

"I'm Jim because I decided that I didn't want to be Jamie anymore."

Nathan's head popped up so fast it was like a movie special
effect. "Really?" he squeaked.

"Yeah, and I almost went back to Jamie, ashamed of what the Buggers had
done. So, um, is your name Nathan or something else?"

He mumbled as he slowly walked, scuffing the dirt with his toe, but I
heard, "Nathaniel, and my mom won't call me anything else."

"Do you like being Nathaniel?"

"No. It makes me look stupid."

I piped up, "No, it makes you sound like you fought bravely in the
Revolution."

"Same thing!"

Jim spoke. "Well, you've got a lot of choices, 'Nathaniel'. You can be
Nathan, sure. But you could be Nat or Nate or even Neil if you want."
Nathan just stared.

"Nat sounds like gnat," I declaimed, "But Nate and Nathan are really cool."

"Would you rather be Nate or Nathan?"

Our new friend thought about this pivotal, life-altering choice as we
strolled. Almost inaudibly, he asked his little leather corn purse, "Would
it be silly to be Nate? You know, with how little I am? And, um, so, uh,
much a kid?"

"Yep! You're right. You're scrawny and should be gnat!" The look was utter
betrayal and I laughed.  "No, I'm kidding," I declared clearly and
strongly, "you are a good man, and a great person. Nate and Nathan are
men's names, and you earned that today. You may be little for now, Nate,
but you are a real man when the chips are down. SO! Nathan or Nate, our
small but fierce friend?"

"Stop. Why are you doing this?" He stopped as well, just staring boldly,
almost defiantly at the two of us.

"Doing what?" Jim's voice was clearly confused.

"Being nice to a kid, a little boy! Saying I'm a m-m-m-man! I'm
n-n-n-nothing! You're m-m-m-making fun of me!" He was nearing tears and I
pulled him into a 'manly' shoulder hug and started us walking again.

"No, you're a good man. I would never mock that, not ever. And neither
would Jim. You did something today to PROVE that you are more of a man that
any ten kids in the camp. You choose. Nate or Nathan or Stallion
or... Incredible Hulk!" I got a snort of derision from the boy. "We think
you are really a good man, and real man, a great person. Nathan, Nate or
anything else. You earned it. And no one need to know but us. "

"Um, um, uh, um," he was losing it and his tiny, desperate voice reflected
that, "will you call me Nate? I mean, only sometimes! Only when you really
want to!"

Jim and I said nothing and kept walking, chatting about everything, but
every time we turned to our new, small, fragile friend, it was 'Nate this'
and 'Nate that' and both of us could see the profound and moving difference
it made. Another comment made me die a little inside. Nate was a member of
Cabin 4, assigned based on age, not maturity, and consigned to the squeaky
'DA' section. Jim and Karl and I had spent a dozen nights with this budding
man and... Never. Even. Noticed. Him.

Surprised, we talked about Willie and Orson. Inaudibly, Nate made a
comment.

"What, Nate? Tell us, please?"

Blushing furiously, Nate replied, "Orson hates that name. He'd, you know,
be so, I dunno, love it if, well, you'd call him..." His voice faded to
nothing.

"Call him WHAT, Nate?"

"Um, I shouldn't say."

"Oh, screw that, Nate. Tell us."

"I shouldn't. You'll laugh."

"Don't be stupid/silly!" My and Jim's reaction differed by a single word.

"Oh, God, guys, please don't tease him. He's from Texas and, um, well, he,
uh, he wanted, you know, to be called... Tex?"

Now, Orson had as much Texas accent as the birds flying overhead and was
about a rough-and-ready as a butterfly. I had to kick Jim. "We'd never
laugh, Nate. From this moment forward, he's Tex in my book. Jim?" Jim/Jamie
was not about to object and I could tell that Nate was more than just
delighted; he was fulfilled. He'd made real, honest, true friends with
unapproachable older guys, and even gotten them to treat his own friend
with a new kind of respect.

Nate stopped us suddenly. "If this is a joke, guys, it's okay. Really! But
please, please, please, don't take it out of Orson, on Tex. It would kill
him. Please? Just play it on me? Please? "

"Nate, there is no reason on Earth for you to trust me, but I'd rather die
than hurt you or... Tex."

"Um, well, uh, can I, uh, ask a question?"

"Anything."

"Oh GOD! Please kill me if I'm wrong, guys. Do you, um, you know, fool
around?"

I looked at Jim who shrugged. "Not sure what you mean, Nate, but would it
matter if we did?"

"I, uh, I mean... well, I don't know what I mean. But are you guys, um,
more than, you know... friends?"

Jim spoke quietly and calmly, "What would you say if we said 'no', Nate?
And what would you say if we said, 'yes'?"

Nate thought for a long time, looking deep in Jim's sparkling blue eyes. "I
don't know either way. What's it, well, you know, like to really be *with*
a girl and all?"

Jim laughed and I blushed. I replied, "Um, well, I'm afraid you'll, uh,
have to ask somebody else, Nate." I got a sly smile, "Or maybe you can tell
*us*?" He blushed furiously and kept walking. "So, why the questions?"

"Okay, you haven't killed me for asking the last two things and so you
maybe won't kill me for this, but what's it like to touch, um, another
guy?"

Jim's voice never changed from calm and friendly even though I tensed like
a bowstring. "First tell me why you want to know. I still might not answer,
but since you asked it's only fair."

Nate looked down, looking more nathanielish ever word, "Cuz if I ask
someone my age they'd beat the crap out of me. And you guys could have
already done that and didn't. So, well, I figured you might not start now?
And. I know. I know I'm, well, a little kid. But I've never done nothing!
I'm too weird and scrawny and stupid and-and-and scared. And I figured the
worst you'd do was, you know, brush me off and tell me to scram and
it-t-t-t-t, well, seemed like my last chance?"

We'd come to a leftover pallet that had been missed on the Day of the
Centipede. I sat and so did Jim. Nate stood, now at my eye level and I
could see he deeply regretted his choice to ask, feared what our response
would be, and that his desperation to know overrode both sources of dread.

I smiled, "Your last chance, eh? What would you say if I told you that I'd
never touched anyone before this year?"

Nate response was instantaneous, "I'd say you're lying. You're tall and
smart and cool and everything. No way you don't have girlfriends. And
probably, you know, other, um, friends?" He was suddenly sitting
cross-legged, "God, you are gonna kill me now I know it!"

I sighed deeply. "I can't speak for Jim. But I really never did touch
anyone before this year. I was scared -- hell, I'm *still* scared -- and it
took a really special person to make me see that there's more to me than a
walking swizzle stick. That someone might, well, find me, oh hell, Nate, I
don't know what I'm saying."

"He's saying," Jim cut in "that he never thought someone would want to
touch him or let him touch them. And yes," he gave me a severe frown, far
more attuned to Nate's need than I was, and so much braver that it took my
breath away, "he CAN speak for me because I'm the one that asked. There! I
said it! Out loud and everything! I wanted him to t-touch me and I-I-I
asked!"

Nate's eyes were wide and glassy and his voice was soft with wonderment,
but what came out nearly shocked up both to death, "Why aren't you dead?
You just ASKED HIM? What ARE You? How brave can a guy be? You aren't THAT
much older than me! Oh, GOD," his head dropped into his hands, "I am such a
complete WUSS. I don't even have the guts to ask my best friend if he, you
know," Universal Boy Sign Language again, "and you up and ask a JUNIOR if
he, he, he, he would -- OH GOD!"

I burst out laughing and Nate shrunk further. I grabbed him by the collar
and dragged him up onto the pallet. I could tell he assumed his death was
at hand. I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. "So just how pathetic
does that make me, Nate, that a runt like Jim {HEY!} had the guts to ask me
something I was afraid to even admit to myself that I wanted? Huh?"

He looked at me a moment, then smiled slightly and dropped his eyes. His
voice was still soft, but held a little teasing in there, too, "You didn't
answer my question on what it's like, you know."

I looked at Jim who smiled and shrugged. We were in this deep with Jim's
admission and my lack of rebuttal. "Nate. Nate, look at me. First, do you
really want to know or do you just want to ask the question?"

"Oh, God, Patrick. I want to know SO bad."

"It's like the greatest fear, like, ever, as if you're going to explode in
a million pieces and die from it. Like you put the whole world on the line
and knew it would go so, so, so wrong. And then you touch and it's like
every fear goes away and you're filled with something warm and wonderful
instead, like liquid gold in you, like the world is finally... right."

I looked up and saw Jim staring at me in slack-jawed wonder. Suddenly those
liquid blue pools swallowed me. "Really, Patrick?" I nodded shyly as Nate's
head bounced back and forth between us. Jim continued, voice lost and
almost vague, eyes never leaving mine. "It was a slow-motion world. I
a-a-asked and he, he asked if I was sure and I nodded and I watched his
hand for, I dunno, hours moving toward me like the world was slowed to
nothing and my heart was about to explode and my brain with it and his,
his, um, finger, just a tiny bit of it, you know, t-touched me, touched me
and the world went away and the whole universe was nothing but that finger,
then hand, then fist, then my, my, my explosion and I-I shattered and
there's a story I read, Shattered Like a Glass Goblin," I gasped at the
reference and Jim's eyes had still not left my own, "and it was all that,
and the world crashed back and I, I watched, watched..." Jim shook himself
and sucked in a shuddering gasp as he came back to himself, shaking his
head like a wet dog, his voice returning to the puckish kid I knew.

"And I not saying what I watched because it wasn't part of your question."
He smiled cockily at the gaping face of Nate.

"Y-Y-Y-You, uh, you t-two made that up! YOU DID! Just to t-t-t-tease
me. N-nothing is like that! Nothing, right? Right, I mean, r-r-r-really?
Oh, God, I don't know if I want it to be true and look forward to it or be
a lie since I've never had it! I am so confused!"

I pulled the stuttering, quivering boy to me and hugged him from
behind. "Good, because it will make your own first touch that much
better. Just know this, Nate. Don't rush it. It won't be like that it you
do. But if you wait for the right time, the right person, the right moment,
Nate, you, you can never go back and you'd never, ever want to in a million
years."

A loud clanging of the triangle made us jump comically, calling us to
lunch.  I dragged the nearly-limp Nate up and Jim and I tugged him to the
Mess Hall. Karl was there, sober and stoic and with the almost-invisible
grin that made him look so in control and unflappable. He was pulled into
our wake as we entered to find it already filled with fellow campers. A
rich, thick scent wafted through the tent, redolent of cumin and
chili-pepper and slowly-braised beef.

This was a chili that few of us had ever tried. Hamburger and beans were
not even ingredients. Instead, chunks of beef from the size of a grain of
rice to a large cube were suspended in a rich, velvety sauce with God only
knew what wondrous spices and veggies. Next to the bowls were sour cream,
onions, chives, Colby cheese and three things that we'd never seen but that
had Orson -- Tex -- whooping with joy. First was a vat of
chopped... something with tomatoes and onions and green shreds
throughout. Next were what looked for all the world like nekkid Doritos,
pale-gold triangles. Lastly was a bin of little things the strangest
coloured green.

I leant forward and captured the exultant Orson. I whispered in his ear
with my best fake accent, "I hear yore the expert in these here parts,
Tex. You gonna walk yer partners through it?" It was like I gave him a
hundred birthdays and he started nodding and talking ten miles per
minute. Nate, Karl, Jim and I found ourselves seated with steaming bowls of
REAL chili, adorned with delicious condiments like pico de gallo and
jalapenos and tortillas. Orson -- Tex -- bounced back and forth like
Nathaniel -- Nate -- had at breakfast, explaining everything in a
breathless voice and making sure that none of us, including Nate, could
ever see the bottom of a bowl.

Halfway through one of the best meals I'd had in a long time, I scooped Tex
over to me and he stood, almost vibrating with pride, "Tex, I'm sorry we
called you Orson all these weeks. You are the best that Texas has to offer,
partner, and no mistake. You're a good man, Tex, and we appreciate it." The
effect was, I was not surprised to find, identical to Nate earlier. 'Tex'
almost floated around, doubling his speed. I was full enough to burst when
we finally convinced the excited youth we could eat no more.

We pulled Tex with us as we left. The boy was on cloud nine, included in
the 'cool guys' circle. What I didn't know at the time was that Tent Canvas
Hell had developed a real mystique. Our Bugger battle, Jim's First Fish and
Karl and my tie, Karl's ferocious racing, 'Red's' lifesaving, Karl's stoic
facade -- all wove together into a sort of magic. Ors-- Tex and Willie
already had a bit of it rub off just from our City of New Orleans
association, but bringing him into the 'inner circle' was akin to exposing
an acolyte to the Sacred Mysteries.

Tex shyly showed us a macramé key-chain he'd made for his Dad. I was
literally in awe of the intricacy of the knots. Tex was about to wee
himself with pride. In fact, when Karl first said, "Oh, wow, Tex, this is
incredible! How can you do something like this? I could never tie knots
like that!" the boy squeaked and ran into the bushes to return moments
later blushing furiously.

Nate was beside himself, beaming at 'Tex' and whispering thanks to each of
us whenever he could do so discreetly. It was clear that he had a
(*probably* non-sexual) boy-crush on his friend and the rumbly-deep voice
Orson/Tex (occasionally) had. I was pleased to note that the last week had
brought Tex further and further out of the boyish rafters; he was
approaching his own time of change and I smiled at Nate's almost-worshipful
face when he looked at the newly-minted man.

A new sound, a loud GONG, wafted across the camp, repeated twice a couple
minutes later. We'd been told at lunch what that meant. Parents were
arriving. Karl and I shared a scowl of worry, but the other three were
exultant. We reluctantly let the younger ones guide us back to the camp
reception area. Nate was the first to burst. He ran forward and was scooped
into the arms of nice-looking woman of middle years. Beside her was a
smiling, masculine guy, obviously Nate's father. Nate came back and grabbed
me and Karl and dragged us forward.

I shook the father's hand but was bowled over by this deep, melodic accent,
velvet over brass, straight from the depths of the bayou. He introduced
himself to me as Jack dar-DOE (I found out later from Nate it was Dardeau)
and his wife CAY-ro-line. Caroline produced a box which puffed Nate up like
a balloon and he scurried off with the hot sauce to secrete it in this
kit. We chatted and I found out that they had moved to Scranton for a job
as a teacher at the Lackawanna County Prison. Karl perked up instantly and
asked several quiet but apparently impressive questions that really
intrigued Mr Dardeau.

Just as Nate rejoined us, Orson nearly squealed when he spotted his
father. He swallowed his 'boy' voice and dragged the man over to us. He was
impressive. Tall and broad with a thick moustache and rakishly-long hair
(for a non-hippy). He introduced himself as Orson Bryant (Ah! That explains
the name!). Mrs Dardeau perked up at his voice.

"Where you from, Mr Bryant?"

Turns out that he was from Newton, Texas, not fifteen minutes from the
small Louisiana town where Nate's mom grew up. They chatted for a moment,
but I could see that Tex was dying to show off his creation.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Bryant, but Tex made a really impressive thing you
ought to see. Better than anything I could do!" I knew I'd blown it from
the look in Tex's face.

The most lopsided grin I ever saw crept onto Mr Bryant's face. He drawled
the words out and my little friend blushed purple, "Ahh, now 'TEX' is it?
Well why don't you go and show me this thar thing... 'Tex'." Our friend
shyly, clearly mortified, held out his macramé creation and his father
went quiet. "You made this for... for me, son?" Tex nodded in a mixture of
horror and desperate pride.

The massive Mr Bryant crouched down and pulled his son close. I think I
might have been the only one there who could see the tear in his eye, "Son,
'Tex', it's the most perfect thing I ever did see. Thank you, son. Thank
you." He wrapped his son in a fierce hug and I could see the boy's
shoulders quake and wondered what Tex's story really was.

I heard him say in his newfound bass, "I love you, papa."

Mr Bryant pulled back and looked at his son in surprise. "That's a mighty
deep voice you've grown there, son. And I think Tex is a right find
handle. Let's walk for a bit, son?" Our friend practically strutted along
beside his father and I heard Mr Dardeau sigh at the sight.

"It looks like this camp has been good for a lot of guys, son," Mr Dardeau
said, hand on Nate's shoulder. "Apparently, you're Nate now from what I'm
hearing your friends call you." Nate blushed hard. At that moment, his
mother turned.

"It's awfully dry up here. Do they have any ice tea, Nathaniel?"

The hand not on Nate's shoulder came to hers. "It's Nate, dear, not
Nathaniel."

"What? But he's--"

He cut across her and there was both tenderness and steel in his
voice. "Yes, dear. He's Nate now. You were saying?" She stared,
furrow-browed, for a long moment than slowly smiled, a wistful, sad, proud
and resigned smile of a woman admitting to herself for the first time that
she no longer had a little boy, but a young man in the making.

"N-Nate, dear, can you find me a glass of something to drink, honey?" Nate
looked like a Macy's Day balloon, floating six paces for every one he
walked, off to the Mess Hall, returning with two glasses of iced tea and a
smile that could melt glaciers.

Jim was wrapped up in the dynamic of Nate's transformation or he would have
been the first to notice. I saw a couple coming down the drive. The woman
was small and delicate, beautiful, button-nosed with milky skin and a
radiant smile that showed huge dimples. It was the man, though, that caught
my attention.

His lips were small, thin, a perfect bow with a glimpse of the perfect
teeth beneath sensuous and knowing eyes. Every mannerism was grace and
power, the stalking of a leopard, the bold confidence of the stallion. His
hair was a raucous riot of curls in deep, rich tones. His face
was... elfin, perhaps, but in a Tolkien way. Nothing delicate at all, just
soft and strong at the same time. He wore a lumberjack style shirt that
made his golden skin glow. He was perhaps the most-perfect man I had ever
imagined, much less seen. And his eyes were on one and only one thing,
my... I didn't have a word... my Jim. This could be no one other than Jim's
Father.

I moved forward as if in a dream and stood before him. "Are, um, are you Mr
Conner?" He looked at me, bemused but delighted.

"Yes, I'm Roger Conner. How did you know?"

"Because, well, because your son is the best man I have ever known." I
don't know where that came from and Mr Conner's head cocked to the side and
forward.

"I have a feeling, son, that Jamie has found a real friend at last."

"Jim."

"What?"

"Jim, sir. Jim has found a friend. Me. He's the best person I ever met and
I, I hope he, he thinks I'm a fr-friend."

"Dad, Mom," Jim's voice came calmly from my side, "I think he's more than
that. This is Patrick. Mom, Dad, he's the best person I've met and it would
mean a lot to me if you, um, well, if..." there was a catch in Jim's voice,
"if you liked him?"

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 24 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 10 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 9 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/
Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love .../incest/in-gods-love/