Date: Sun, 25 Mar 2007 21:00:32 +0200
From: Peter AM <KanoPeer@checkjemail.nl>
Subject: Camp Blue Otter 01

Here's the start of a story about a fourteen year old boy's first
experience in a wilderness camp.  Actually the first installment recounts
the three years leading up to this life changing experience, before diving
in whole-heartedly.  This story is for adults only, like most or all
stories found here.  The usual disclaimers apply.

Blue Otter

Chapter One: Life Before Camp

Nudity, respectability and destiny.

Nudity.  I might as well say it up front.  I was always fascinated by the
naked human form.  It's a recurring theme in this story.  The story focuses
on my first summer camp, when I was fourteen.  Perhaps I should call it a
story about growing up - as themes go that sounds so much more respectable
than nakedly simple nudity.  Not that human nakedness is always simple.
Nor that I strive to be particularly respectable, to travel that straight
and narrow road.  Respectable can be boring.  Boring unless one exposes the
agony of the soul repressed within that straightjacket of conformity, the
mister Hyde lurking inside the Dr. Jekyll, Respectability can be dangerous
that way, perhaps a pillar of society in public, something else in private.

The problem with walking the straight and narrow, with balancing yourself
on that tightrope, is that either you are on it or you are off.  And when
you do fall off, there is really no pathway leading back.  Me I prefer the
crooked paths of the back country, perhaps getting lost, perhaps taking a
detour from time to time.  But in the end, one path leads to another, and
there is always a way to get back on course, even if it isn't exactly the
same course I had set out on initially.

My mother, she follows a destiny written in the stars.  Every day she
consults her horoscope and mine, warns me to avoid strangers, or to be open
to new friends, at the whim of the constellations.  Sometimes I can press
the stars to my advantage, to ask for a bicycle or an increase in my
allowance.  Mostly I just nod to my mother's reading of my horoscope
without paying much attention.  I prefer to control my own destination:
binding my fate to that of the stars requires too much wishful thinking or
delusion or mania or something.

But then again there are times when control over my destiny is ripped
totally out of my hands.  Like the day my best friend's dad was transferred
out to the West Coast, umpteen hundred miles away.  That was three years
before my first Summer camp, when I was only eleven.  I was devastated.  I
had never had many friends.  Correction, Drake was the ONLY real friend
that I had ever had, and I depended on him, totally.  Drake was one of the
cool guys, very athletic, he commanded respect.  Me, I would have been a
nerd except that I was Drake's best friend, so no one ever bothered me.

Swimming with Drake

I have to mention Drake, since he is the only boy I had had any kind of
sexual situation with, before attending summer camp years later.  Drake
came from a bigger family, had three younger brothers.  I always played at
their house.  Our apartment felt dead by comparison and we always had to be
on our best behavior.  Drake's house was pure chaos.  His youngest brother
was still getting potty-trained, and would think nothing of watching TV
while on the potty.  I know I was already fascinated by nudity then.
Johnny's bare bum on the rim of the potty looked so cute.  What piqued my
curiosity even more were hints from Drake's younger brothers that when far
away on vacation they would skinny dip together.  They never actually
spelled it out, all I got were hints and sniggers, and I was too scared to
ask for clarification.

I suppose nudity is not that big a deal when you're young enough.  I have a
vague memory of my toddler self having fun in the bath tub with my dad,
both of us in our birthday suits.  Or maybe I only dreamed it.  My father
moved out when I was four and has never come back It's just Mom and me
living in our apartment.  Mom is very strict about nudity.  Or at least I
assume she is, we never even talk about a topic like that.  Certainly I
have never seen my mother in any state of undress, nor can I remember back
far enough to a time when my mother must have seen me naked.  We respect
each other's privacy.

Drake and me had been best friends since Grade Three, when his family first
moved into town.  We two were the youngest in our swim class, and stayed
that way as we kept progressing right up to Swim Level Fifteen in Grade
Five.  Drake was a great swimmer, but then he was good at all the sports.
That's what made him instantly one of the cool guys at school.  I was not
in bad shape myself, but my only activity outside of school was swimming.
You see our apartment was pretty well right next to our town's only indoor
pool, you could see the building from my bedroom window on the third floor.
I had been taking lessons there as far back as I could remember, in Fall,
Winter and Spring, never skipping a single session except for in the
Summer.  On most Summer weekends Mom would take me to Lake Glenridge, for
picnics and swimming there.  Sometimes my younger cousin Trevor and aunt
Emmy would come with us and then I would be the swim instructor. Trevor
made a great student, always eager to have me watch him swim and give him
pointers on how to improve.

During the school year, swimming lessons were on Saturdays.  I would go
there with my towel in a shopping bag and already wearing swim trunks
underneath my street clothes.  That way I wouldn't have to vie for an empty
stall to change in.  It was different on the way out though.  We only had
fifteen minutes of free swim time at the end of our swimming lessons.
After that the whistle blew and everyone had to get out of the water
presto, making room for the next class.  That's when the locker room got
swamped and I usually ended up sitting on one of the benches, waiting for a
stall.

Sometimes there were toddler swim classes at the same time as my lessons.
Typically the dads would change their toddlers on these benches, right out
in the open.  I know I wasn't supposed to look, but the toddlers didn't
care and I would catch the occasional glimpse of toddler butt or even of
their minuscule weenies.  More developed dicks would have more interesting,
but by the time kids approached my age though, none would dare expose
themselves out in the open.  It simply was not done, not were I grew up.

I suppose Drake was a little more aggressive or at least a little more
focused on getting the first available stall.  It usually took forever for
a stall to open up next to me and Drake always finished before me and then
would have to wait for me.  One time I was still waiting for an empty stall
when Drake (all-dressed) got out of his.  He saw me and pulled me into his
stall before someone else would grab it.  Actually it fit the two of us
quite nicely.  I started drying myself while waiting for Drake to leave,
then just stood and stared at him when he hadn't left yet.

'What are you waiting for, need some help?' he joked.

"Yeah right" I answered, pushing him out the stall and locking the door
before stripping off my wet trunks.

That's when I noticed that Drake's wet towel and swimming trunks were still
in the stall.  I wondered how they would fit on me.  I picked them up for a
closer examination.  They smelled of chlorine.  Pulling them up I found
they were a little tight on me.  Or maybe they were only difficult to pull
over my stiffy because the trunks were wet and heavy.

'You done yet?' came Drake's impatient voice from outside the stall.
Quickly I stripped off Jake's trunks and changed into my underwear and
pants without even bothering to towel dry my butt first.

All dressed I stepped out the stall and before Drake could say anything I
told him "You forgot something" and threw his wet towel and trunks into his
arms.

'I didn't forget, you shoved me out" countered Drake.  "And hurry up; we're
going to miss half our show again."

Our favorite TV show started half an hour after our swimming lessons
finished.  By the time we both got changed and had walked back to my
apartment we usually missed the first five or ten minutes.  Pretty well
everything else we would do at Drake's, but Saturday afternoon TV was
always at my place, I guess because I lived so close to the pool. By the
time we would have walked to Drake's house, our show would have been over.
As soon as we made it back to the apartment we would throw our trunks and
towels in the washer and then watch the end of our show on TV.

I was ever so thankful that I knew how to do my own laundry before I got my
first wet dream a year later, but that's another story.  Lets just say I
would have died if I would have had to hand Mom my sheets and pajamas with
the big smelly wet spots for the laundry.  I always wondered about how
embarrassed Drake must have been with his wet dreams, considering he shared
his bed with a brother.  Not that I would have had the gumption to ask him
about it, and besides, before we reached that stage in our lives Drake had
already moved out of town.


Sharing a stall

Still we shared some interesting times before his family and him had to
leave.  It started the very next Saturday.  Drake saw a stall open next to
me and before I could say anything he pushed me inside.  Next he locked the
door with both of us in the stall.  I just stared at him speechless, not
sure where he was going with this..  'Bet we can catch the beginning of the
show if we both hurry' suggested Drake.  Then he turned away from me and
pulled down his trunks, while I just stared at his naked hips.  I snapped
out of it as Drake turned around to reach for his towel.  I faced away and
pulled down my own trunks, dried off in a hurry and got dressed faster than
ever before, my heart suddenly racing.  Me and Drake finished about the
same time and walked out the stall without saying a word.  That Saturday
was the first time we made it back to my place before the show started.

It was not the last time.  Before I would never have dreamed of sharing my
stall with any one, but now that I had, it felt great.  The coolest part
was, we had done it casually, like it was no big deal.  Maybe this was just
part of growing up, of maturing.  Or maybe my friendship with Drake was
reaching a new level of trust.  Maybe it was a huge deal.  Not counting the
doctor and when I was a baby, Drake was the only human being on Earth I had
been naked with.  I wondered if that was a big deal to Drake.  If it was
then he didn't let on, anymore than I did.  But I was determined we would
do this again.  I lay awake at night thinking about how to make sure we
would share a stall again, without me actually having to tell Drake that I
wanted to.  Should I just wait and see if Drake would get us both in a
stall again?  But what if next time there was no empty stall between us?
Or what if two stalls opened up at the same time, and we each went our
separate ways?  I could not afford to break our momentum.  I had to make
sure we would share a stall again the very next Saturday, or we might never
again.

I had my plan ready ahead of time.  That next Saturday after swim lessons,
just five minutes into the free swim time, I told Drake I had to use the
washroom.  Since I would be out anyway, I might as well beat the rush and
grab myself a stall instead of going back to the pool.  If Drake needed a
stall when he got out, he could come in mine.  I would leave my shoe out
under the door so he would know where I was.  I tried to be casual as I
proposed getting us a stall but for some annoying reason my voice was
sounding a little squeaky and artificial.  Drake didn't say much in reply,
so I just hurried off to the washrooms, thinking I should forget the whole
thing.  But it was too late already, maybe I was making a fool of myself
but it would be worse if Drake did come looking for my shoe and it wasn't
sticking out anywhere.  I hurried at the washroom and got to the stalls
before the whistle blew.  There were lots of empties, I had beat the rush.
Wasting no time I grabbed one in the middle, closed the door behind me,
stuck my shoe out under the door and waited, drying myself but keeping my
trunks on.  I could hear the noise of people walking into the locker room
and then a low voice calling my name right outside my door.

'Howard?'  That must be Drake, he was taking me up on this!  I don't know
why my heart was pounding suddenly.  I needed two hands to unlock the door
and then a dripping wet Drake pushed in and locked the door behind him.
Drake turned towards me and remarked 'You're not started yet?'

I hesitated a second and then answered "Naw, I figured I should keep my
trunks on for when I open the door" trying to sound casual and controlling
that squeak in my voice.  Then, without waiting for Drake and without even
turning aside, I pushed down my trunks and quickly changed myself.  I
watched Drake following suit and we made it back to my apartment that day
even five minutes before our show started.

The Saturday after that I figured I couldn't use the washroom excuse again
or Drake would figure out I was just making that up.  Instead I kept an eye
on the clock and exactly five minutes before the whistle would blow I
offered to go out and grab us a stall.

'Hold on, I'll come with you' answered Drake.  With both of us out early,
we actually had a couple of empty stalls to choose from.  Drake grabbed the
first one and I hopped right in behind him.  I suppose I could have grabbed
my own empty stall, but the whole point was that I wanted to be with Drake.
Drake made no comment either about there being enough other empty stalls
available now.  I think he liked the idea of changing together.  So that
Saturday we both got into the stall early and were less rushed to catch our
show.  Drake stripped as soon as I closed the door behind us, but this time
he took his time drying himself off.  I took my time as well and we looked
at each other's dicks unabashedly.

Having just turned eleven I didn't know the significance yet of having a
stiffy, if indeed there is much significance at that age, but I was
starting to get them more frequently now, and it was really interesting
being able to compare my own stiffy to someone else's of my age.  Drake's
was a little longer and mine a little thicker.  I prolonged our comparison
by putting my shirt on first, my underwear last.  Even though we had both
gotten an early start, we made it back to my apartment that Saturday only
just in time to catch the start of our show.

The next few Saturdays we would get out of the pool just a little bit
earlier and earlier, with both of us having more interest in the change
room than in the free swim.  We never even thought of touching each other,
we were content just to look, to show off and to compare.  I like to think
it created a stronger bond between us, doing something together that was
taboo anywhere and with anyone else.

But that bond got broken abruptly near the end of the Grade Five.  We never
took swimming lessons in the Summer.  Not me, because my mother would take
me swimming to the lake instead.  As for Drake, his summer schedule was too
busy with two weeks of baseball camp, one week at his cousin James', one
week at soccer camp, family vacation for a week and frequent day trips with
the family on weekends.

The bad news this time was that there would be no more swimming lessons
together come next Fall.  Drake's dad had finally received that promotion
they had been expecting for years, and it meant moving out to the West
Coast where the head office was.  This summer they would be busy packing up
and by the time school would start again, they would all be gone.

So it was that I found myself in the pool with Drake, knowing it would be
our last free swim together.  Drake was very excited about the big move
coming up, and the glorious life awaiting him on the West Coast.  He did
more talking than swimming, forgetting about everything else and staying in
the pool right until the whistle blew.  Me, I had stood there in the water
facing Drake and just listened, annoyed that Drake seemed so happy about
going away.  Only the sound of the whistle shut him up, and by the time we
got to the locker room all the stalls were taken.

We dried off and waited.  Like in the old days, Drake grabbed an empty
stall before I did, and he quickly slipped inside.  Annoyed that he had not
waited for me I walked up to his stall and called "Drake!"  Three long
seconds later the door opened up a crack and I pushed inside.  Drake was
already bare-naked and reaching for his underwear.  "Wait for me" I said,
as I pushed down my trunks.  Instead of taking my own underwear out my bag,
I sat down naked on the bench, wanting to stretch out this last time
together.  But Drake didn't join me.  He pulled up his underwear and
continued dressing without even hardly looking at me.  Once fully dressed
he sat down on the bench, fished my underwear out of my bag and threw it in
my lap, breaking the silence with a single word 'here'.  Reluctantly, I
dressed.  Even though we were jammed together in that stall, I could feel
the distance between us grow.  Drake was casting me off as he was heading
for the stars himself.

We didn't speak much on the way back to my apartment.  Once there Drake
turned on the TV to catch the end of our show while I threw our wet stuff
in the dryer, for the last time.  I felt morose.  Drake sensed it, and
after the show, soon as the dryer was done, he got his stuff out and left.
That was the last time the two of us had been together, by ourselves that
is.  I still saw Drake a couple of times at his house that summer, and
there was a big goodbye with my mother there too.  Our parents teased us
about being awfully quiet.  In truth we had very little left to say to each
other.  Drake had already made the break that last time together in the
stall.

Life without Drake

The Grades that followed, Six, Seven and Eight, were pretty lonely at
school. Other boys were picking on me for no good reason, and I learned the
hard way how to fight and how to run.  Mostly I learned to hang low.  The
best I could hope for was to be ignored by my fellow students.  Drake and
me had promised each other to keep in touch, but he hardly ever answered my
e-mails, having made new friends out West and no longer interested in
anything about his old hometown and school.

The only guy I ever chummed with was my cousin Trevor, but he lived out of
town and I didn't see much of him during the school year.  Now, more than
ever, I threw my heart into swimming.  After finishing all the levels in
the regular swimming program while in Grade Six, I joined the Swim Team
after starting Grade Seven.  It began with the house league, with lots of
training but no external competitions.  We learned how to turn over and
kick off when reaching the end of the lane.  Mostly we built speed and
endurance.  It was hard work.  I loved it.  Practice was before supper on
Monday and Thursday nights, and our team would have the pool to ourselves,
so there were always enough empty stalls when we got out.

The only problem at first was the swimsuit.  We all wore the team uniform:
blue Speedos.  I wasn't used to the tight spandex.  The way it grabbed my
crotch always gave me a boner the minute I put it on, and when you had a
boner in Speedos it stuck out like a sore thumb.  The first time at swim
practice the other kids made fun of me: 'look at him, he's got a boner!'
Lucky for me the coach had us all jump in the water and start on laps right
then, so the teasing didn't go any further.  By the time we finished our
laps my boner was gone.  But how come those other kids never suffered from
boners in their Speedos?  It was unfair.

I tried to make sure I would not be seen with a boner again.  From then on
I changed into my Speedos first thing in the morning every single day.  I
had discovered that the best way to hide my boner was to hold it in tight
with the Speedos underneath, and wear baggy pants over top.  By the time
swim practice rolled around after school my body would be so used already
to wearing the tight Speedos all day long, that my boner would have long
disappeared.  Not that there was any guarantee that it wouldn't spring
back, but this was the best I could do.  Once in the water I always give it
my all, swimming like the devil.  I was one of the fastest kids on the
team, and that speed did earn me some recognition.

I had also tried my hand at diving, but it was not my thing.  My body was
changing, had started its growth spurt.  The extra length was good for
speed, but for diving I lacked all grace and coordination.

My sex education was limited mostly to a family medical encyclopedia, with
tight controls having been placed on the computers at school and at home .
With me suffering from boners more and more frequently, and having
overheard some vague snippets in the schoolyard about "rubbing till it
hurts", I had started to experiment with masturbation.

Just when I thought I was mature and rational and had figured out myself
and the world and knew where I stood on politics and morals and religion
and how to live my life, then the bottom fell out from underneath my feet.
All because of my dick, that had a mind of its own and wouldn't listen to
my head, but would raise itself up totally at random, picking the worst
times and places, like in front of people at church, school, at the
doctor's and the photographer.

Was it because I had started masturbating that I got boners so often now?
I couldn't be sure of anything.  I didn't believe the rumors about
masturbation being a sin or making you blind, but then again, there must
have been SOME reason for stories like that to circulate.  I tried
stopping.  Everything was such a mystery.  I hated that everybody had to be
so secretive about sex.  Why was I the only one to get boners all the time?
I hated that I could not talk about it.  There were so many uncertainties.
I kept ordering myself not to masturbate but then I was doing it again,
rubbing and rubbing and rubbing till my face got red and my dick got red
and then one time, suddenly, after a long session on the edge of my bed, I
had trespassed over some limit and my dick reacted by squishing out a
liquid.  It almost made me faint.  What had I done?  I had not known what
to expect.

I got scared and decided it was bad for me and I had gone too far and I was
just lucky I hadn't suffered any worse consequences yet.  But my mind was
made up now: I would never do it again.  Then two days later I was rubbing
my dick again.  And the next day.  And the next.  It made no sense.  Where
was my self control?  Why didn't I listen to myself?  I had prided myself
on my discipline during long and punishing swimming practices with the
team, and even longer laps by myself in Lake Glenridge.  I was the one in
control of my own actions, my own destiny.  Why then couldn't I stop
masturbating?  Why was I heading off the cliff like a bunch of lemmings,
mindlessly rubbing and rubbing until I squirted?  I always felt terrible
about myself afterwards.  Like I had done something wrong or I had failed
or I was guilty or I don't know what.


I had to take back control.  I started keeping a record on the calendar of
every time I did it.  I stretched it out to a full week of no masturbating,
then two, then three.  But my body revolted with wet dreams.  It made a
mess.  If I didn't squirt when awake then I squirted in my dreams.  I
dreamed I had a double, a clone of myself, who went everywhere I went, did
everything I did.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  I went everywhere
my double went, even followed him even into the toilet and shower.  And
when he masturbated, I masturbated.  And then I would wake up with wet
pajamas, not sure if I had actually been rubbing myself or only dreaming of
it.

Swim Meets

While in Grade Eight I tried out for and made the competitive league.  I
switched team uniform to black Speedos, and bought a spare set since I wore
them so much.  By now my dick was so used to the Speedos that I could put
them on without getting a boner most of the time.  The team had only ten
swimmers, four newbies including myself and six oldies.  "Oldies" was the
term for the swimmers who had already been on the team the previous year,
although some newbies were just as old as the oldies, and all of the
newbies were still older than me.  We kicked off the season with an
exhibition meet at another town about half an hour away.  I was a little
nervous about getting thrown into a competition right off the bat, but the
coach told us not to worry; exhibition meets didn't count.  Just do our
best and have fun.  The hosting league gave our team our own change room,
all to ourselves, about the size of a kitchen, with benches and hooks on
the walls.  Coming back to change after the competition, the oldies were
talking loudly amongst themselves about what they had been doing over the
summer, and arguing about who was still in the best shape and which of the
newbies held any promise.  I tried to listen in on their conversation, but
was interested far more at the sight of them casually stripping their
Speedos, and then drying their bare asses right in front of everybody.  All
of them were older than me, and it showed on their bigger dicks and pubic
hair.  I wanted to be one of them, it was so wonderful that they could be
so casually naked in front of each other, talking and joking about
whatever.

Then one of them turned slightly to look straight at me.  My heart stopped.
I realized now that I had been staring!  I felt my face burning and wanted
to sink through the ground.  'That's right' spoke the oldie to me.  'We
were talking about YOU, you were pretty fast out there, especially at the
turn-over - not bad for a newbie' "Uh thanks" I muttered, slowly regaining
control over my panic, and forcing myself to maintain eye contact.  So the
oldies figured I had been looking their way because I was listening in on
them talking about me.  That was acceptable.  Certainly much better than
looking at them because I were interested in their dicks.

Life was so complicated.  Everybody had to hide themselves behind clothes
and it was not polite to look, say at the urinals.  I hated this repression
we lived under.  But this change room was a little oasis where the oldies
could strip in front of each other and it was OK.  The newbies though were
not that confident.  They were wrapping towels around their waists and
slowly, awkwardly extracting their Speedos from underneath.  I would rather
be one of the oldies and strip myself openly, in confidence.  Except I
wasn't confident yet.  Maybe after a few more times I could be like the
oldies.  But this time I wrapped a towel around my waist, like the other
three newbies, and then pulled down my Speedos.  Halfway through the
procedure my towel slipped to the ground and I was thankful to be facing
the wall at the time.  I quickly pulled up my underwear without bothering
to finish drying myself first.

The first real competition was at our own pool, and we lost.  This time we
had a fifth new guy on our team, a redhead who was a little awkward at the
turn-overs, losing precious milliseconds.  He had missed the exhibition
because of a cold.  Afterwards I tried to encourage him that he had swum
really fast, just needed to tighten up his turn-overs a little.  His face
lit up instantly upon hearing a friendly voice. I don't know why but I
really liked this guy, and he seemed to like me.  We were still talking
when we were heading back into the locker room.  The newbies headed
straight for the stalls, but the oldies stripped out in the open, at the
benches, while still talking about the competition and who had messed up
what.

The redhead was at the very end of the bench and facing me, while I was
between him and the oldies.  Instead of diving into one of the stalls, my
new friend pulled down his Speedos right before my eyes, and started drying
his huge dick.  My heart started to race.  If it hadn't been for my boner I
would have joined him and pulled down my own Speedos.  Actually, while
staring at the red fuzz at the base of his dick I saw that his dick was
raising up too.  Suddenly one of the oldies behind me called out "Look at
the boner on that redhead."  Now they all turned and looked at him and
someone called out 'he's a faggot!'.  I guess I was a coward.  Instead of
standing up for him, I dove into the nearest stall without waiting to see
how it would end.  I think the redhead had found refuge in a private stall
as well because soon the jeering subsided and the oldies started talking
about the competition again.

That was the first and last time I had seen the redhead.  After being
called a faggot I guess he didn't feel like coming back to face his
teammates.  I felt rotten, and scared.  It could have been ME getting
caught with a boner, God knows I got them all the time.  I resolved to
avoid the oldies in the change room and try to make sure they would never
ever catch me with an erection, lest I be branded a faggot and get cast out
too.  Swimming meant everything to me, it was the only thing I was really
good at.  I could not afford to take any chances.  From then on I always
used the private change stalls at home competitions, and when these were
not available at out-of- town swim meets, I would change in a toilet stall
instead.

Apart from my little paranoia about boners, things were actually going
pretty well for me in Grade Eight.  I had enjoyed an amazing growth spurt
and at six feet suddenly found myself the tallest in school.  Maybe that's
what got me a reprieve from the scorn and jeers.  Or perhaps I had just
learned to me more careful, learned how to blend into the woodwork to avoid
the notice and disapproval of my fellow students.  Not that I had made any
new friends since Drake had left.  By now I had written off Drake; we no
longer even bothered with e-mails and were simply out of touch.  My focus
was on swimming, not only on training and competitions, but I had also
enrolled in a course for getting my lifeguard certification.

Camp Fair

For ending up at Camp Blue Otter I can thank my lucky stars, quite
literally.  It was Friday May 11, my birthday, and Fortune smiled on me.
Mom was reading my birthday horoscope to me at the kitchen table, as she
does every year.  It was very upbeat, all about getting out, venturing into
new spaces, trying new things - quite appropriate really for someone ready
to graduate and looking forward to highschool.  With my horoscope telling
Mom it was time for me to go places and try new things, I didn't waste a
moment pressing my advantage.  "Maybe" I suggested, "this means that I
should go out West, see Drake."  It was just an opening gambit.  It had
learned early in life that in negotiations you always start out asking for
more than what you really want.  I knew Mom would never let me fly out to
the West Coast, and besides, me and Drake were history.  What I really has
in mind was to spend my Summer at the pool as a lifeguard.

Mom didn't say anything in return.  Instead she kept her head buried in the
newspaper.  I couldn't see her reaction.  It made me uncertain.  Usually
Mom was more impulsive when reading and interpreting horoscopes.  Just as I
was ready to give away my hand and reveal that I would settle for
life-guarding this Summer, Mom put the paper down on the table and pointed
out an advertisement to me, about a camp fair to be held at the Legion Hall
this coming weekend.  "Why don't we have a look at camps for you this
Summer?  That would be trying something new." she suggested.

I was dumbfounded.  I had never gone to any Summer camp.  Drake, now he
went to different camps every Summer, for soccer, baseball, you name it.  I
wondered now if there was a camp out there for competitive swimming.  If
there was I would be game.  I looked at the advertisement, but it was
pretty vague.  We would have to go and see for ourselves what the camp fair
would have to offer.

When we got to the Legion Hall that Saturday we were handed a shopping bag
at the entrance.  There was free juice for the kids and free coffee for the
parents.  Seeing how crowded it was I suddenly realized that lots of kids
actually go to Summer camps.  Every camp had their own booth and they were
handing out fliers and brochures for our shopping bags.  I passed by the
soccer and baseball booths, figuring this is were Drake used to go.  There
were also other sport themes like basketball and tennis.  None of the camps
had competitive swimming, but there were some where you could swim, at
least some of the time. Some camps were literally camps, with tents out in
the bush.  Some offered a whole smorgasbord of activities.  Other camps
focused on one thing, like theater, or sailing, or arts and crafts.

Amidst all the booths and their colorful posters, my eyes were attracted to
one booth with all the posters in black and white.  Actually it was blue
and white.  Their name "Camp Blue Otter" was on one poster.  An older boy
manning the booth flashed a disarming smile at me, and his eyes seemed to
twinkle. As he stepped aside a bit, I saw a smaller poster titled
"established in 1978".  It had a fuzzy picture of a river with overhanging
trees and two boys knee-deep in water.  What really caught my eye was that
they might be buck naked.  Not that you could see any genitals or anything
like that, it's just that there were no obvious signs of pants.

Walking right up to the booth I thought I saw the outline of underwear, or
were they only tan lines?  It was impossible to tell.  I started to ask
"Those two boys in the picture, are they...?" but I stopped myself halfway,
before I embarrassed myself.  Then I heard my name 'Howard, there you are!'
as Mom had spotted me.  The boy in the booth stepped back to the middle and
I turned around to face Mom, raising my shopping bag to hide the discomfort
inside my pants.

'Oh what did you find here?' she asked, as she looked first at me and then
at the boy behind the booth.

"Camp Blue Otter" the boy answered for me.

'I'm Howard's mom' said Mom, shaking the boy's hand.  'Is this where you
want to go, Howard?'

"Maybe" I answered.

'Howard just turned fourteen, what ages do you take?' she asked,
business-like and to the point.

"Ages 12 to seventeen, he'll fit right in" answered the boy.

'For how long is the camp - when does it start and end?  How much does it
cost?  How many staff do you have?'  Mom must have had a caffeine overdose,
the way one question after another rattled out, barely giving the boy time
to answer.

"Mom!" I complained.

'No, no' said the boy, 'those are excellent questions.'  Then he went on to
explain that their camp was four hours away in a forest along a river, that
they had lots of activities but especially canoeing and swimming, and that
they only took in boys that had reached at least level four in swimming.
Twice he had dropped the magic word "swimming" and everything else he said
about building character etcetera just went past me in a blur.

Mom brought me back in focus.  'So what do you say, Howard?'

"OK" I replied.  Mom asked for clarification 'OK as in it's not bad, or OK
as in yes, this is where I want to go?'

"Uh, I like the swimming part."

'Have you taken lessons, what level are you at?' asked the boy.

Mom answered for me, proudly.  'Oh he has finished all the levels, even is
certified as a lifeguard already.  And I think his swim team is going to
win the Regionals this year.'

"Mom!" I protested, because in truth our chances of winning the Regionals
were pretty slim.

But the boy behind the booth and Mom were ignoring me already.  "Oh, then
he would be perfect.  Blue Otter campers spend lots of time in the water.
Here let me give you the registration forms.  If you want a spot then make
sure you mail them back within the next two weeks, because the camp fills
up pretty quickly."

'Can't I just sign him up right here?' asked Mom.

"Oh, OK" answered the boy.  "Just read these over, fill them in and sign at
the bottom of each page, all four of them.  On the first page you have to
fill in the name, medical history, allergies, any special concerns that
councillors should know about, and check off the swim level.  Oh, and on
your contact information and signature goes on the bottom."

First thing Mom did was check off the top swim level, then she took a few
minutes to complete the rest, while I started leafing through the camp's
brochure.  "Howard, you can take that home, and here's a list of what to
bring to camp" said the boy.

After Mom completed the first page, the boy explained about the second
page. "Next page here describes the supervision and the buddy system.  As I
said before there are two group leaders for every ten campers, and every
camper has to stay with an assigned buddy at all times, for safety.  Oh, at
the bottom you have to sign the standard waiver of liability, that's for
our insurance.  Mom started to read partway down, then skipped to the
bottom and signed.

"Next page is about the dress code and the code of behaviour.  Respecting
everybody is the key rule at our camp.  Campers who disobey can be sent
home, without a refund.  You need to fill in the camper's size for the camp
T-shirt, and sign at the bottom."  Mom signed.

"Oh, and Howard signs this form too, so we know he has read and agreed to
the rules" added the boy.  I started to read the rules while Mom went on to
the last page outlining the cost and payment terms.  Mom signed again.

"Thank you Ms. Pierce.  All we need now is your deposit."  Mom pulled out
her checkbook and signed one last time, then waited for me to finish
reading and signing the form about the dress code and behavior code.  I
wasn't sure I saw right and had to read the dress code twice to myself.
Then seeing Mom and the boy waiting for me, I quickly signed the bottom and
handed in the form.

Before we knew it we stood outside again, with a receipt in Mom's purse and
a Camp Blue Otter brochure and duplicates off all the forms we had signed
in my shopping bag.  I was thanking my lucky stars already.  This summer I
would embark on a radically new adventure.

Back in my bedroom I pulled out the forms and read over the dress code
again.  "Camp T-shirts will be provided, identifying the group that the boy
is placed in, and his swim level.  Blue is for swim levels four to seven,
and are only allowed in corded off shallow areas.  Yellow is for levels
eight to twelve, and are allowed in the deep only under lifeguard
supervision.  Green is for swim levels above twelve, and are allowed to
swim only in presence of other boys at the green level.  Noone is ever
allowed to swim alone.

All group leaders must have lifeguard certification and are easily
recognized by their red T-shirts.  Campers must complete a swim trial to
verify their swimming ability before they receive their camp T-shirts.
Except for the indoor pool, noone is allowed in the water without the
T-shirt identifying their swim level.  Swimming trunks are optional.  It is
recommended that the boys bring the clothes listed on the packing list.  It
is especially important to have sturdy walking shoes, as there are some
rough trails."

It was right there in black and white.  "Swimming trunks are optional."  I
was sure that Mom hadn't read that far down in the paragraph, or she would
have questioned that. Well, she wasn't going to read it either, I was going
to hide this page.  I didn't want her to know or even suspect that I was
going to a camp where there would be skinny-dippers.  Not that I was going
to skinny- dip myself of course, there was too much risk of sprouting a
boner.  But it would be interesting to watch the others skinny-dipping.

I could hardly believe it.  Maybe it was just wishful thinking.  Maybe
"Swimming trunks are optional" meant that you could swim in your underwear
instead, or maybe not even that, maybe its just that you could swim in
regular trunks, or cut-offs.  Maybe my imagination was getting carried
away.  But then again...


**************
to be continued...
Comments and constructive criticism always welcome at KanoPeer@checkjemail.nl