Date: Sun, 19 Oct 2008 19:19:46 -0700
From: unclebugga73@msn.com
Subject: river of no return 3

     I entered the cabin and was greeted with total silence.  Everyone had
gone to bed.  At least, most everyone.  Kaylynn was laying in the made-out
hide-a-bed but wasn't asleep.  She smiled at me and pointed toward the
little pantry just off the kitchen.  There was a small homemade table there
and jenny sat waiting with two cups of hot steaming coffee.  I heard creaks
and thumps in the ceiling above me and realized that it was Corey crawling
across the loft to his mattress.

     I stood there, conflicted.  I so wanted to scale that ladder and get
to the bed next to Corey as fast as humanly possible.  But, I had promised
Jenny that I'd be in to talk to her.  And seeing her waiting, smiling,
coffee steaming before her, having been poured just for me and her, was
kind of nice.  No girl had ever waited for me before.  As I've said, I
hadn't socialized with a lot of girls in my life at that point.  Not for a
lack of wanting to, mind you, but for a lack of confidence.  That same lack
of confidence would normally have made it impossible for me to enter that
pantry.  But, after what had just happened with Corey, I felt less anxious.
I wasn't necessarily less intimidated to talk to a girl than usual.  It was
that my anxiety, in general, had been greatly muted, if temporarily, by
that blow-job.  If I could allow that to happen without passing out from a
panic attack of my nerves, I could certainly talk to a girl.

     I pulled the mosquito net off and stepped, as nonchalantly as I'd ever
stepped toward a hot-ass female in my life, into the pantry.  I smiled
without much resistence from nervous jaw muscles for a change.  As I sat
down, she slid one of the cups of coffee toward me.

     "Even though it's summer, it's kind of chilly at this hour . . .  So I
thought you'd like a hot cup."  She winked at me as she spoke.

     "Thank you, but I don't really drink coffee," I said, and immediately
regretted it.  It was rude.  That's what comes from a lack of social
experience.

     "I know," she said.  "You were the only one who didn't drink any
around the campfire . .  .  you know . . .  when were camping along the
road each night on the way through Canada . . .  So I made you instant
cocoa."  She smiled brightly, so pleased with herself.

     I quickly looked at the cup.  Seeing the light brown liquid and the
thin ring of foam that had formed around the edges, I smiled to myself.  No
one had made cocoa for me since I was at least ten years old.  It was very
endearing and made me realize that if she'd been paying attention to what I
did and didn't drink, then she must've been paying attention to me prior to
thinking that I had heroically saved her brother.  She must have noticed
me.  The idea that a girl like her had been noticing me, prompted the
anxiety to start bleeding back into my veins.  I was once again feeling the
jitters and burning stomach-spasms of self-consciousness.  No girl had ever
checked me out before and I was certain that this one had only taken a
shine to me because of a sense of obligation.  I figured her infatuation
would fade when those feelings of indebtedness waned.  I didn't know how to
handle the concept of a girl, especially a hot one, actually liking me for
me.  I had never thought it was possible.  That's what an absence of self
confidence will do to you.

     But she did, she liked me.  And, dammit, I wanted to see where it
would go.  After all, she was sweet and she was hot, painfully hot.  I
mean, if you'd have seen those legs you'd know why even a man who had just
realized how attracted he was to other guys couldn't keep his eyes off of
them.  But, therein laid the problem.  I was attracted to other guys.  Or a
guy.  One guy.  This girl's brother.  And he'd made it clear that he had
feelings for me.  So how could I possible try to involve myself with
someone else, especially his sister?

     I looked up from the cup and my eyes found Jenny's.  As my stomach
quivered and my heart sped up, images of Corey on his knees in front of me
flashed through my head.  In the back of my mind, behind the vivid picture
of Corey staring at me with a dribble of cum on his chin, I could hear a
song that my mother used to listen to all the time.  It was one of those
golden oldies that people her age are so fond of.  The lyrics played, like
a theme song in a movie, over a montage of scenes from a few minutes
earlier that ended with the sight of Jenny and her coffee cup right there
in front of me.  "Oh why must I be a teenager in love?"  The words kept
repeating like when my mom's old record player used to get stuck in a
groove.

     "Thanks.  I love cocoa," I said, my voice back to its usual nervous
tone.  She winked again as she sipped from her own cup.

     Despite the heat, my cup was empty in no time, thanks to constant
nervous sips.  As I drained the hot chocolate from a mug that had the
words: "How can I miss you . . . if you won't go away?" on the side, Jenny
chattered on in that way teen girls have of imparting a lifetime of
secrets, opinions, hopes and gossip in one run-on sentence and a single
breath.  But, somehow, it wasn't as irritating coming from her as it is
from most.  Of course, she had those legs.  Everything sounds better when
it's coming from a girl with body like Jenny's.  Unfortunately, a nice body
is a distraction, making it hard to remember anything you hear.  Not
remembering something personal a girl reveals, is an unpardonable sin.  So
I was doing my best to file away everything as best I could.  However, my
attention was on her breasts, enjoying the way her nipples were defined
beneath the tight T-shirt, when she spoke five of the most dreaded words in
the English language to someone with social anxiety disorder: "So
. . . Tell me about you."

     People with this little problem do not like to talk about themselves.
They don't know what to say, how to say it, and worst of all, if they get
it out, they can't be sure what the other person will think.  They usually
assume it will be a negative reaction.  Therefor, she was asking for the
impossible.  Even if it wasn't so difficult to do, she had no idea just how
boring a story it would be.

     "Um . . .  Well . . . I . . . Uh . . ."  This is the standard answer,
you see.

     "Okay," she giggled, amused by my eloquence.  "First things first
. . .  Cuz I gotta know .  . . Why do you wear wranglers and cowboy boots?"

     Okay, good.  A specific question.  That makes it easier.  Except one
like this.  I already knew I was a dork, and the very asking of this
implied that she agreed.  How do you explain why you are out of style and
out of touch?  How do you look into the eyes of a beautiful girl and
explain that it's because you hate the way you look in anything else and,
hence, you are too nervous to wear anything else?  Yeah, that'll win 'em
over.  Girls love guys with no confidence.

     "Well . . . I just . . . I guess I . . ."  My voice was low, full of
self pity.

     "I mean, you look cute in them . . .  Don't get me wrong
. . . Especially your butt . . .  It's just that not many guys your age
wear them."  Her flirtatious wink and giggle as she said the word butt, had
my head starting to spin the way it had earlier when I didn't know whether
Corey and I were going or cumming.

     "Uh . . . Thanks," I managed to croak out.

     "I probably shouldn't tell you this," she said in a whisper as she
leaned toward me.  "But I think Corey likes your jeans too."

     "Huh?"

     "You know . . .  He likes how your butt looks."

     My heart skipped about a dozen beats.  Was she saying what I thought
she was saying?  Did she know about her brother?  About his sexuality?
Then I wondered if he knew she knew.

     "You mean . . .  What?"  I couldn't organize my thoughts.


     "He likes guys . . .  And I think he likes you," she said, still
whispering.  "That doesn't bother you does it?  I mean, you don't, like
. . . hate gay people or anything, Do you?"

     "No! . . . Uh . . . I mean, no . . .  Of course not . . . But
. . . are you sure?  Not just about me . . . him liking me, I mean . . .
But, are you sure that he likes guys at all?"

     "Oh yeah, I'm sure . . . Oh! But whatever you do, don't tell my mom
and dad . . . Or any of these other loud mouths."

     "Of course . . .  Of course I wouldn't . . .  But . . . How do you
know?"

     "He and I are pretty close . . .  We tell each other almost everything
. . .  Growing up around here, we were all we had . . .  Just the two of us
. . ."

     "How long have you known?"

     "Since he was about fourteen . . .  We went to the mall in Fairbanks
and he went into a sporting goods shop . . .  And stole a jockstrap . . .
I caught him with it in the loft."

     "I don't get it . . .  How would that give anything away?"

     "Because . . .  He only stole it so he could . . . you know . . .
Beat off to the picture on the package . . .  A picture of a guy in a jock
. . .  That's what he was doing when I caught him in the loft . . .
Beating off."

     This whole conversation was taking place in soft but easily audible
whispers.  But when she said the words beat off or jockstrap, her voice all
but disappeared.  She was ready to take me into the shed to make out and
maybe more, but she was uncomfortable saying these words.  I guess I wasn't
he only odd one at that delapidated cabin.

     "Why would he steal that? . . .  I mean, why not just snatch a
magazine or video or something?" I asked, having maintained my knack for
stupid questions.

     "It was less obvious what he was stealing it for I guess . . .  You
know . . . if he got caught . . .  Plausible deniability . . ."

     I hate to admit my sexism, but I was astonished that someone like her
would know that term.

     "After that, I started helping him get things he could use to . . .
You know . . .  Sometimes we stole them, sometimes we bought them if we had
any money."

     "So it didn't bother you?  I mean, obviously it doesn't now . . .  But
not even at first?"

     "Nah . . .  It was actually kind of neat . . .  Living here, with no
friends . . .  No girl friends . . . it gave me someone to talk to about
. . . things . . .  It made us closer . . .  Except that, I . . .
unintentionally . . . lured a number of guys that he had the hots for, away
from him . . .  That didn't go over too well."

     As I tried to wrap my head around all this, I remembered that she
didn't know that Corey and I had . . . well . . . secured . . . our
friendship.  I didn't know how to tell her, or if I wanted to tell her.  I
feared that she might abandon her efforts to get to know me.  I had been
certain about my feelings for Corey and had begun to accept my sexuality
just before entering the cabin.  I had been relaxed and contented.  But now
I wasn't so sure.  I still knew that I liked and wanted Corey, badly, and I
still accepted that I was attracted to guys.  I just wasn't sure that I
only wanted Corey, that I was attracted only to guys.  Jenny's smile and
giggle and tight shirt and the way she looked at me had twisted me all up
again.  This hot, sexy girl had stirred me, stirred the kind of feelings no
red-blooded eighteen-year-old male could ignore.  Not even one who longed
to smell the ass of other eighteen-year-old males.

     Our conversation finally ended as Jenny kissed me on the cheek and
said: "Well, it was a start . . .  But I know there's still a lot more of
you to 'get to know' . . .  So we'll pick this up tomorrow night, 'kay?"

     I nodded my agreement and waited for her to exit the pantry first.
She sauntered to the tiny bathroom down a narrow hallway from the kitchen.
She returned quickly in a flannel gown and slid under the covers on the
hide-a-bed next to Kaylynn.  I steeled myself and stood.  I clumped across
the creaky, slanted floor in my boots and began climbing the ladder to the
loft.  The ladder was right next to the sofa bed, and I could feel the
girls' eyes on me as I climbed.  I paused and glanced down at them.  They
were watching me all right.  As soon as they saw me looking, they giggled
and squealed and hid their heads.

     Good grief!  Was there something in the water in this state?
Something that made girls lose their sense of good taste in men?  Or was I
a hell of a lot more of a catch than I ever thought?  Nah, had to be the
water.

     I scaled the last few rungs and crawled slowly between my snoring
fellow travelers.  I laid down on the mattress and simply pulled my
sleeping bag over me, figuring that trying to maneuver my self into the bag
would disturb everyone.  I stared at the log that I had brained myself on
earlier that morning.  I reached up to check the bump, having forgotten all
about it.  It had been hidden beneath the skeeter net, so no one else had
mentioned it all day either.  As I gently traced the lump with a finger, I
suddenly felt a hand on my chest.

     I turned and looked at Corey.  I had assumed he was asleep, but there
he was, staring through the dark at me with tear-glazed eyes.  His hand
caressed my chest softly.  I clutched his hand with mine and held his
pleading gaze.

     "You like her?" he whispered.

     I said nothing, made no indication what-so-ever, one way or the other.
He tried to pull his hand away but I held it tight for an extra moment,
then I loosened my grip.  I thought he was hurt over my reluctance to
answer and was simply going to turn away.  But, as he pulled his hand away
from my chest, he slid it down to my crotch.  I flinched lightly, then
relaxed.  His hand cupped my balls through my jeans and rubbed, gently at
first then more vigorously.  My breathing was increasing and I had to stop
him.  I didn't want the other's to hear.  I held his hand on my package and
looked at him.  I shook my head and mouthed the words: "Not now."  He
nodded agreement and pulled his hand away.  Then, before I knew what was
coming, he leaned over and kissed me.  I thought it was going to be a quick
peck at first, but he paused over my lips, then slowly sank down over me
and urged on.  I was horrified that someone would see us, but I couldn't
push him away.  I didn't have the will to break the kiss.  I pushed
half-heartedly with my hands against his chest.  Eventually, my arms
wrapped around him and I pulled him tight.

     The kiss finally broke naturally.  Our breathing was heavy and loud.
I knew everyone could hear but I wasn't sure I cared for a moment there.  I
thought that was the end of it.  I thought that Corey would roll back onto
his own mattress now.  But, instead, he eased his face down to my crotch.
He began to pull my shirt out of my jeans and I whispered for him to stop.
He began kissing my stomach.  My ABS were naturally chiseled from being so
thin and Corey ran his tongue through the grooves while running his hand
over my chest and squeezing my nipples.  When his hands suddenly slid down
and began fussing with the button on my jeans, I grabbed his hands and
forcibly rolled him off of me and put my mouth to his ear.

     "Not, now, dammit!"  I commanded in a breathy whisper.

     I scanned the loft to see if anyone was awake.  They all appeared to
be sleeping, but there was no way of knowing if they had seen anything or
heard anything.  I laid back down and turned away from Corey.  For several
minutes I could feel Corey's eyes on me, then, finally, I heard the rustle
of his sleeping bag, indicating that he had finally laid down.  Sleep came
quickly but not soundly.  The dread of the morning bringing
behind-the-back-snickers or blatant ridicule kept me just this side of a
solid slumber.  More than once in the night I felt Corey's hand on me,
either on my shoulder or my ass or on my hand.  His breathing seemed to
come in constant anguished sighs.  I know he was hurting, scared that his
sister was winning, that he had gone too far with the blow job and had
turned me off.  He knew Jenny and I had kissed.  He knew that she and I had
a little chat in the pantry, after which I had shunned his advances.  He
was aching.  I felt for him.  But it had to wait until morning, had to.  I
couldn't risk trying to resolve anything there in the loft.  I didn't know
how to handle the curve balls that this trip had already thrown at me,
having everyone know I was gay or bi, or whatever the hell I was, would
just be way too much right now.

     When the morning came, I remained on my mattress until everyone had
descended the ladder and was clattering about down below.  Corey of course,
did the same.  We locked eyes for a long minute.

     "We have to talk," I said in as serious a tone as I could muster.
"Privately."

     He nodded.

     I drug myself across the loft and down the ladder.  Corey followed
after a few minutes.  Everyone scarfed down bacon and pancakes and tang
and, one by one, headed out the door for what was sure to be a long day of
walking the trail and packing supplies.  All through breakfast I didn't see
a single indication that anyone had seen or heard anything between Corey
and me.  I was so relieved I was actually able to swallow my food.

     With skeeter net in tact, I moseyed out, stalling in every way I could
so as to allow Corey time to catch up with me.  His parents had made him
clear the kitchen and wash the dishes.  We had used paper plates, but there
were mixing bowls and utensils to be cleaned.  It really wouldn't have
taken very long if it wasn't that he had to heat the water over the wood
stove.

     In a last ditch effort to give him enough time, I announced that I had
to use the outhouse.  I ventured back to the pathetic little latrine and
stood behind the tarp for nearly ten minutes, then headed back around the
cabin.  I could see Larry and Sandy just beyond the start of the trail with
Corey a few yards behind them, walking with a severe drag to his feet.
Shit!  I had hoped he would still be in the cabin and that we could have a
few minutes alone.  Dejectedly, I started down the narrow pathway.  I was
only about ten yards behind Corey, watching him somberly kicking at rocks
and twigs.  This pointless activity slowed his progress, allowing his
parents to pull away from him significantly down the trail.  When they were
nearly out of sight and surely out of an earshot, I hurried and pulled into
step with him.  My sudden presence startled him enough to induce a flinch
but nothing vocal.

     We walked silently for a minute or two, unable to look at each other.
Finally, I stopped.  Corey halted and turned toward me.  We both glanced
down the trail; no one was looking.  We frantically stepped off the path
and into the forest.  We could see a large tree that had fallen about
twenty yards in.  Lying horizontally, the tree trunk was about four feet
high, and there was a small area immediately on the other side that was
clear of vegetation and walled off by bushes and tall spruce trees.  This
created a natural realm of privacy.  We both headed for it without either
of us having to suggest it.  We hopped over the bare part of the downed
tree and stood amidst the wilted limbs that once hung high overhead before
the demise of the mighty timber.  Corey leaned against the tree trunk, his
diminutive stature almost disappearing in the brown, dying branches and the
dead but damp needles.  I stepped up to him, pressing him against the
fallen spruce.

     "Don't ever do that again," I said.  I tried my best to sound serious,
forceful.  "Not in front of everyone . . .  Got it?"  Corey nodded okay
without breaking eye contact.  Then came a solid minute of silence.  I
wanted to say a thousand things to him, to ask him a thousand things.
There was so much I didn't know, that I didn't understand, about him or
myself.  But, I couldn't, just couldn't get it out, any of it.  None of it
seemed to matter as I stood so close to him. Finally, the silence between
our fixed stare was infiltrated by a childlike voice that climbed up out of
Corey's shakey throat.

     "You like Jenny?"

     I started to answer, then realized I didn't really know what the
answer was.  I liked her, sure, but did I like her in that way?  In the way
I liked Corey?  She made me feel good about myself just by talking to me.
She certainly turned me on, just by the fact that I possessed the gift of
eyesight.  But did I feel that trembling little ache that enveloped my
entire person when I was around her that felt around Corey?  The kind I was
feeling right at that moment?

     "I don't know," I said to him, because I didn't.  His bottom lip
quivered slightly, he bit it back.  My hand went to his face and I caressed
his cheek.  For the first time in my life, I made a move, the first move.
I brought my other hand up and held his face and pulled us together into a
kiss.  As I felt his arms tighten around my waist and the gentle entangling
of our tongues, the world vanished around me.  The only thing other Than
Corey's feel and smell and breathing that I was aware of was the pulsing of
my steeled cock.  His hands cupped and kneaded my ass and pulled me in even
further till I could feel my granite-like bulge digging into his stomach.
I remembered his sister's hands on my ass the day before, and became even
more aroused.  I reached down and ran my hands up and down the tight denim
around his firm, athletic thighs, then gripped his legs and hoisted him up
against the tree trunk until our crotches were aligned.  As I ground and
humped against his crotch I could tell he was as hard as I was.  Despite
his size, he felt as though he was endowed at least as well as I was, maybe
better.  The feel of our hard dicks grinding vigorously together with two
layers of denim between them nearly set my nuts off in a massive explosion
of passion pudding.  But just before I blew, Corey broke from the kiss and
looked at me, out of breath and full of lust.

     "I want to suck you," he huffed.

     "No," I said and immediately saw the hurt and confusion pour into his
face.

     "Please," he pleaded.

     "It's my turn . . .  To . . . You know . . .  To reciprocate."  Geez!
Who uses a word like that in a moment like this?  I tell you, "Dork" is a
bad habit to break.

     "No, I want to suck you," he said and kissed me some more.  "Please."

     "But . . ."

     "Or I want you to fuck me," he said.  He voice was quiet but
passionate, his mouth less than an inch from me and his eyes boring into
mine with all the force of his soul.

     As stupid as it sounds, going that far had never occurred to me.  All
the lusting over him that I'd done on the seven-day road trip, all the
mind-twirling desires to smell his ass, and even after the previous day's
blow job, actually fucking, penetrating that perfect work of jean- filling
art, just hadn't crossed my mind.  Well, it wasn't that it didn't cross my
mind.  It was that each time it passed through my mind's eye, it brought
with it a major air of improbability.  But, now, I was being asked to do
it.  Did I really want to go that far with him?  With anyone?  Was I that
sure I was into guys?  One I'd just met?

     His eyes, and the feel of his denim-bound glutes in the palms of my
hands as I held him against the tree spoke louder than any doubts I had.  I
lowered him to the ground and, after kissing him some more, held his face
in my hands again.  "Are you sure?" I whispered.

     "Yes!" he breathed.

     "Should we be doing this?" I said with my forehead against his.

     "Unless you'd rather fuck Jenny," he said.  His voice was barely a
breath but he wasn't being sarcastic.  He was honestly asking what my
preference was.

     I groaned out of genuine irritation and grabbed Corey's arm and
roughly spun him around, both of our arms enduring scrapes from the coarse
bark of the branches that surrounded us.  I pushed him tight up against the
fallen trunk, my chest against his back, my mouth next to his ear, my
crotch pressing the small of his back.  He grunted from surprise and the
force with which I drove him against the tree.  I held him there, breathing
heavily into his ear.  "Please quit saying that!" I sighed.  "I don't know
what I want! . . .  Yes, I like her . . . But . . ."

     "But what?" he said with a labored voice as I was leaning against him
with all my weight.

     "But . . .  All to hell with it!"  I reached down and popped the
button on his pants and yanked out on the flaps, splitting the zipper
apart.  I jerked his jeans down to his knees in one try, then slid my hands
inside the band of his briefs on his hips and pushed them down just enough
to expose his ass.  Still leaning my chest against his back, I frantically
undid my own pants and shoved them down, freeing my hard, dripping tool.  I
ran my hands over his ass, kneading his those chiseled yet boyish globes,
and started to run a finger up to his hole, but I paused.  I remembered
something.  Something I had wanted to do.  I sank down to my knees and
stared at his ass, my face only inches away.  I continued to run my hands
over his cheeks, feeling the firmness of the muscles beneath the hairless,
baby-soft skin.  I leaned in and kissed one of his ass cheeks, taking in
the scent.  I ran my tongue over it.  I pulled his globes apart and pushed
my nose in, inhaling deeply.  I had wanted to smell his ass since I first
saw him, and now I was.  It was all I had imagined, all I had hoped.  As
with his sweat, it was at the same time manly, and boyish.  It had the
musky aroma of a man and the sweet and tangy redolence of a little boy.  I
breathed him in several times, then I pushed my face in further.  I lashed
out with my tongue, grazing his hole.  He flinched, then bent his knees
slightly and pushed his ass out toward me.  I licked at his hole again.
And again.  Soon I was lapping at it like a dog.  I pushed in a little, and
swirled around its outer ring.  I all but french-kissed it, then I went
back to kissing and tasting his outer cheeks.  I kissed up to the small of
his back before standing and leaning against him again.

     I kissed the back of his neck, and whispered in his ear: "Are you
really sure?"

     "Yes! . . . Fuck . . . Just fuck me!"  He panted.

     I spit on my hand and tried to lube my cock as best I could, then
began pushing against his hole.  As tight as his little virgin sphincter
was, I had no trouble penetrating him thanks to the sheer hardness of my
steel-like rod.  Corey hissed at the initial entry, but the hiss was
followed instantly by a soft sigh.  I eased in a bit further, the
realization of what I was doing weakening my knees.  The tightness and
warmth of his ass around my cock made it hard to keep from blowing off
prematurely.  I kept pushing until, finally, I was embedded as far into him
as God had given me the resources to do.  Corey's panting was much louder.
Tears were beading in the corners of his eyes.

     "Are you okay?" I asked breathlessly.

     "Yes . . .  Unh . . ."

     I slowly began to pull back, drawing another sigh from Corey.  Nearly
all the way out, I pushed back in, slowly.  Corey moaned.  After several
slow, steady pull-backs and reinsertions, I hooked my arms under Corey's
arm pits and around his shoulders and began to pick up the pace.  Corey was
becoming totally uninhibited, moaning and grunting and begging me to fuck
him.  The thought crossed my mind that his parents might hear and come back
up the trail looking for us, but right then I didn't care.  All of the
others could come and watch and prepare all the condemnatory remarks that
they wanted.  I was in the midst of what I knew would be the best fuck of
my life, and no anxieties about anything under the sun was going to dampen
it.

     I slammed into him, the smacking of our flesh echoing through the
Alaskan forest around us.  My rapid humping began to slow into hard, slow,
long-dick thrusts as I neared a climax.

     "Fuck, Corey! . . ." I gasped.  "Oh, fuck!"

     Corey was drooling as he grunted and repeated the words: "Fuck, yes,
Aaron!"

     The sensation deep in my loins began to build, like the activation of
a launch sequence.  I counted down with driving thrusts, until, at last, I
blasted off.  I wrapped Corey in a bear hug as I returned to rabbit-like
hunching, humping out each round of the most satisfying load of my life.  I
gave one final thrust and held it, my ass clinched, nearly lifting Corey
off the ground.  He was on the tip of his toes, clutching the bark of the
tree trunk.  His asshole was clenched down tight around my still-throbbing
dick.  We were breathing as though we'd just run a marathon.  Finally, we
began to relax and buckle against one another.  We pulled our jeans up and
sat down on the ground, still surrounded by the fallen tree's branches that
dangle immediately in front of our faces.  I could see a glob of a white
gooey substance running down the bark of the tree.  Corey had shot his own
load.  I remember thinking that I hoped it was as gratifying for him as
mine had been.

     I pushed a branch aside to get a clear look at Corey.  His head was
down, and his hand was covering his eyes.  I immediately cursed myself
under my breath.  I knew we shouldn't have done anything.  He was feeling
guilty, ashamed.  Neither of us had been ready to go this far.  I had never
rushed into anything in my life.  I was eighteen and had never kissed
anyone before this trip.  Now, a day after my first kiss from a girl, I had
fucked her brother.  It had all gone too fast.  I felt like I was spinning
again.  I reached for Corey, and embraced him.

     "Shit . . . I'm sorry!"  I blurted, still low on breath.

     He pushed my head back and looked into my eyes, holding my face with
his hands.  "Don't be, man . . .  Please, God, don't be!" he panted back.
"That was the fucking best thing I've . . ."  His voice faltered, not from
a lack of breath, but from emotion.

     We hugged each other close and held there for several minutes.  When
we finally sat back, a thought came to me.  "You know . . . I don't know
who's more messed up . . .  You or me."

     We both chuckled then Corey wisely pointed out an undeniable fact.  "I
think you are more screwed up," he said.

     "Why's that?"

     "Cuz . . .  You are still into my sister . . . I'm not."  He had a
point.

     "Yeah, well . . ."  I said.  "If YOU were into your sister, then you'd
take the screwed up cake."

     We started to laugh, but a noise hushed us.  It came from the
direction of the trail.  We looked at each other and frantically began to
get our zippers up and our countenance gathered.

     As we stood, the branches brushing through our hair, Corey looked at
me with a helpless little brother look on his face.  "Don't tell Jenny!" he
said in an excited whisper.

     "What?"

     "She knows about me . . .  That I like guys . . .  But don't tell her
about me and you . . .  She likes you, and I don't want to hurt her . . .
It's up to you who you want to be with."

     We had just established that I was the more screwed up one, did he
think this was going to help?

     "Yeah . . . Okay," I said, feeling the strength to hold myself
together for the rest of the summer drain out of me.

     The voices of Corey's parents reached our ears from the trail.  Corey
called out to them while I took several deep breaths.  They weren't
helping.


      . . . To be continued . . .


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Thanks for reading.