Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 10:08:24 +0200
From: Peter AM <KanoPeer@checkjemail.nl>
Subject: Camp Blue Otter 02

Legal disclaimer: although I would have loved to read a story like this
when I was younger, this story is published here adults only.

A warm thanks for the kind remarks and questions from those that emailed
me.  Most common questions were 1) Is it autobiographical? and 2) will
there be more action?  Remarks included the observation that the story
jumps around and that it did not have much action.

I did jump back to a few years before camp started so you would understand
the main character, a good swimmer, but awfully paranoid.  Everything
before camp starts is mostly autobiographical, everything afterwards mostly
is not.  In other words, Howard is like the boy that I was, except that he
has the good fortune of going to a grrrrreat camp, and making a great
friend.  I promise to give you the hour-by-hour and day-by-day developments
once camp starts, rather than warp through space-time.

As for action, yes there will be opportunity for plenty of sexual
situations at summer camp.  However, this story devotes more words to what
is inside Howard's head rather than where his penis is in.  OK, so his
penis may be on his mind a lot, but I try to keep things somewhat realistic
when it comes to action.  Don't worry, Howard will gradually lighten up and
have some fun.

Blue Otter 02:  School is out, Camp is in.

School's out.

I couldn't stop thinking about Summer camp and couldn't wait for the school
year to end.  Grade eight was almost finished and I was sitting in the back
of the bus.  About four seats in front of me was Dan, facing backwards
talking to a friend in the seat behind him.  I had never liked Dan.  To
describe him as unrefined was an understatement.  I imagined he would end
up in jail sooner or later.  He would swear and spit while he talked and
boast of the things he had stolen.  Even now I saw a little spit drool from
his mouth as he was talking.  His dark hair looked like it had not been
washed for weeks.  I believe eyes really are the window to the soul. His
looked pugnacious, like something was always eating him and he wanted to
lash out.

"What are you staring at!?" he suddenly shouted at me.  I snapped out of my
thoughts and averted my gaze, wishing I could sink through the seat
cushions and disappear from the bus.  I pretended not to be there.  Not
getting a response from me he announced loudly to the whole bus,

"Howard is staring at me.  Howard is a faggot!"  Never I hated my own name
more than I did that day.

God I hated myself.  Or did I hate the world?  What I hated was the
combination of me in this world; a round peg in a square hole.  It just did
not work.  Up until about age ten or eleven I had been perfectly happy:
confident, outgoing, carefree.  But after that I got dinged a few times,
got called bad names, even got beat up for no good reason.  So I became
more and more careful, retreated into my shell.  A coward, that's really
what I was.  But what is the point in being brave when you just can't win?
Might as well dive off a cliff.

Deep inside me I had to lock up that irreverent and expressive child I
thought I used to be.  I became introspective.  Mulled over grandiose
philosophies inside my head, about our purpose on Earth and what the world
needs most.  Weary thoughts for weary emotions.  To the outside world I
simply became nobody, some loner that never spoke and everyone ignored. And
then I blew my cover, just by staring at some idiot on the bus, without me
even realizing I had been staring.  Damn, I just couldn't win.  From now on
I would have to be even more careful: no staring, no eye contact.

It was in this general state of paranoia, age 14, that I got sent for my
first time to summer camp, for four weeks.  Even just four weeks could be a
long time if you got labeled as a faggot and were despised by all.  I
resolved to hang low.  I would act nonchalant, but all the while exercise
caution to be in control at all times.

It would prove to be an unnecessary defense.  Summer camp turned out to be
a place where I could step outside my self-imposed boundaries, a place to
unravel the knots I had tied myself into, a place away from parents and
church and school and school mates, and a place for new friends.  It was a
place to discover nature, especially my own nature, the nature I had been
trying to hide, even from myself.


Arrival at Camp Blue Otter

Camp Blue Otter had chartered a school bus that stopped in the city and a
few other places, before making its way to the wilds.  After boarding the
bus I was relieved to see that I knew nobody on the bus.  They cramped
three boys to a seat and the other two on my seat were chatting with each
other the whole four hour ride, while I just looked out the window, trying
to ignore the feel of my neighbor's bare thighs pressing against mine.  I
wish I could have brought my cd player to distract me, but we had been told
not to bring any valuables.  There was not much variety in the scenery
through the windows, just trees, trees and more trees.  Finally we arrived
there on a blazing afternoon.  They kept us waiting in the stuffy bus for
another ten minutes or so until finally two camp leaders, maybe 17 or 18
year-olds, showed up with clipboards and checked off our names as they let
us off one by one.

They should have called it Camp Chaos.  There was a long line of cars on
the side of the road from campers getting delivered by their parents.
Teenagers, their parents and sometimes little sisters or brothers, were
hauling gear and milling about like ants, while other camp leaders were
trying to intercept them and get them registered.  The leaders handling our
bus, Ronald and Sean, had us dump our gear on, under and near a picnic
table and then marched our busload to the washrooms.  There we waited for
almost half an hour until everybody was ready.

Next they gave us a tour of the facilities, starting with those washrooms
and the adjacent change room, showers, little indoor swimming pool, little
sauna, first aid room and a laundry room One wall on the outside of the
building had a roof overhang and was lined with washbasins and mirrors.

Next there was the great hall, with a kitchen, computer lab and camp
offices.  Other groups were touring this facility too, and we lost quite a
few campers that walked over to buddies they recognized from previous
years.  Some campers were wandering around on their own, or showing the
grounds to their families.  Outside the great hall was a series of picnic
tables, some of them under shelters, including the one where we had left
our gear.  A couple of leaders where manning the barbeques and handing out
hotdogs to anyone that wanted them.

Before we broke up, leader Ronald told us that we each had to go to the
checkout station where they would write down our weights, update the
information about possible allergies and special medical needs, and check
our head for lice, before giving us a checkout ticket.  After getting a
checkout ticket we could take our gear into the great hall and lay out our
sleeping bags there.  At dusk there would be a campfire outside and a
welcome by Old Wolf.  We were sternly warned not to leave the main base.  A
few leaders had been set up around the perimeter to enforce that rule.

Not knowing what else to do I went straight to the checkout station, got my
head checked for lice, and then hauled my stuff into the great hall.  It
was chaos there as old buddies were arranging to lay out there stuff next
to each other.  The spaces along the walls were already filled so I had to
lay my bag out somewhere in the middle.  After that I sat around by the
picnic tables, watching the crowds thin out as the campers' families drove
off.


Old Wolf

The campfire got started even before dusk, and the picnic tables got busier
as the evening approached.  There were not enough tables for the hundred or
so campers gathered there so many sat down in the grass.  An older man with
a beard and wearing a very corny and worn sunhat climbed up a table, blew a
whistle and introduced himself as the camp manager.  "Old Wolf!"  shouted
someone from the crowd.  "Yes, everyone calls me Old Wolf" repeated the
man.  He welcomed newcomers and veteran campers alike, and asked for our
attention to the ground rules.  But the rules he rattled off were only
generalities about respecting the environment, respecting others,
respecting yourself, watching out for your buddy, obeying your councilors,
and above all, having fun.  He was wise enough not to put our attention
span to the test, and was done in five minutes.  The councilors would fill
us in on the details, and had the authority to add their own rules as
needed.  Anyone who didn't like the rules could always go home.  A bus
stopped by the camp every Wednesday and Saturday.

But for now, we were to turn in to our sleeping bags in the great hall.
For the benefit of the newbies -- that included me Old Wolf reminded us
that with the families gone now and just us boys that are left, it didn't
matter anymore whether we wore swimming trunks or not.  With that comment
some scattered cheering rose up from the crowd, probably from the oldies.
The rising noise level made it harder for me hear Old Wolf.  I caught
fragments about us newbies catching on from the returning campers that
nudity was no big deal here, that on the first day one could pretty well
pick out the new campers from the old by their modesty, but that the
distinction would go away pretty quickly.

So I had it confirmed, right on the first day.  This place was a
free-for-all for skinny-dippers.  My heart was filled both with excitement
and with dread.  I couldn't wait see everyone skinny- dipping, but I was
afraid of how my dick would react, was afraid to skinny-dip myself.  Now
more than ever it would be important for me to hang low, to escape notice
until I had learned to blend in, until I had been accepted as one of them.

Between the noise and my own excitement, I really had to force myself in
order to follow the rest of Old Wolf's welcome.  There would be three
groups of newbies, aged 12, 13 to 14, and 14 to 16.  I hoped I would end up
in the 13 to 14 group, instead of 14 to 16.  My cousin Trevor was 12, and I
could handle boys younger than me, but I wouldn't be very comfortable being
the youngest in a group of 16-year-olds.  Old Wolf went on to welcome back
the oldies -- seven groups of returning campers, ranging form ages 13 to
17. Within a group, campers would be paired up according to their swimming
ability, unless there were special requests.  Swim trials would start
tomorrow at dawn at the river shore, and we would get breakfast after
completing the trial.  Next we would be divided into our groups, and our
group councilors would take it from there.

I had a hard time finding my own sleeping bag after returning from Old
Wolf's welcome.  The empty spaces between bags had all been filled up and I
had to step over people to get to my own stuff.  Some campers had laid out
there sleeping bags in the adjacent change room, since the Great Hall was
filled to capacity.  About half an hour later everyone had found their spot
and lights were turned off, and all I could see were the exit signs by the
doors.  A few voices called out for quiet, but many campers continued
chatting with old buddies.  I kept thinking about Old Wolf's confirmation
that no swimming trunks were needed here, wondering if this meant that
everyone would be expected to skinny-dip, or whether lots of boys were
still going to wear their swimming trunks.

**************

to be continued...

Sorry to drag this out, tomorrow the skinny-dipping will start.  Newcomers
are a little shy though.

I would love to hear from you at KanoPeer@checkjemail.nl

This is why I publish, to get your feedback, share ideas with people
sharing my interests.