Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality
by Charlie
With editorial assistance from Dix and John
Author's Notes:
First, there is sex here. If you are offended, afraid, underage, too horny, or otherwise find it inappropriate to read sexually explicit material - then don't. Hit "Back" on your browser and go somewhere else.
Second, you need to know there are two Charlies here. The first is the real live, living, breathing author of the story that follows. Charlie is an anonym [look it up] not a pseudonym: I really am named Charles, but I have otherwise chosen to remain anonymous. Some of my story line is autobiographical, but most is my imagination, creating a fantasy world very different from the real world in which I live. In some ways, my real world is richer than the fantasy, in other ways it pales beside the fantasy. Welcome to my world; I hope you enjoy your stay. Please remember, however, that these Author's Notes are written by the real Charlie, they are non-fiction and true. But the story told by my character named Charlie is fiction; don't mistake what he writes for the real world.
Third, I'd like to tell you a little of why I am writing this story. You may have read my first story, "For the Love of David." You don't need to read it to enjoy this story, but they are connected. You might like to begin with David. As the subtitle to this story suggests, this may be considered a Fourth Alternate Reality to the three alternate realities described in "For the Love of David." I will tell you that this story does not contain the dark side present in David's story. This is really a fairy tale. In thinking about how to describe it, I am reminded of the line that ends most fairy tales, "And they lived happily ever after." I'll tell you right now that this story is about living happily ever after. It explores what we would all like the world to be: a welcoming and loving place for all. That's not the real world, but please remember that you are entering my fantasy world, in which it is possible to live happily ever after.
I have, in fact, a number of fantasy worlds going in my mind at the same time. "For the Love of David" is about a couple of them. My dreams of how my own life might be different (different, not better) is another. Several of the stories I have been reading on this website, and others, have created delightful fantasy worlds which my mind and imagination move in and out of. And last Charlie and Tim live in a fantasy world that you are now invited to share. As you visit the fantasy world of Tim and Charlie we will touch some of the other worlds. You may recognize some characters now and then. I hope it adds to the fun of the story. One quick word to other authors of stories on this and other sites: Your characters will not appear here without your permission and hopefully your cooperation.
Fourth, I would like to share my thoughts on serial stories, of which this is going to be one. I regret to say that there are too many unfinished serials floating through the internet ether. It has gotten so that I won't start an internet story until the last chapter is published - for fear that it will never be written or published. I can't foretell illness, a dramatic change in jobs, loss of my keyboarding fingers and the like. But short of that, this story will continue at about one episode every week or so until it ends. Promise. I invite comments to charles@iomfats.org, and promise to reply to all courteous e-mails. On your part, please tell the truth when you write - about what you think of my story and everything else.
I hope we have a good time together in the weeks ahead.
Episode 1
Camp
The title of this story is all wrong. I didn't find Tim, he found me. But would you read a story titled "Being Found by Tim"? Hell, no. Besides, I like to think I found him, but as you will soon see, that wasn't the way it was.
Since age nine I went to Camp White Elk, a boys camp in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It featured sailing, canoeing, trips on Lake Superior, hiking-you name it, all the things a boy would love. I was there for part of every summer, and then at our lake cabin located not far from the camp. I went through the counselor training program, and become a counselor following my senior year of high school. This story begins during my fourth year as a counselor, following my Sophomore year at Rockford College in Rockford, Illinois. Yes, I slipped a year in college; I was a Freshman twice!
It was August of 1961, the last camping session, this one lasting two weeks. During these two weeks there would be no pre-teenagers in the camp; all the campers would be older. Without the younger campers we could be a little more informal and a little looser with the rules. It was a more relaxed atmosphere-and was so marketed by the camp. Arrival day for these campers was Saturday, and they started arriving fairly early. I would be responsible for seven boys, ranging in age from 13 to 15. By noon most had arrived. There was Jim, a state junior high school wrestling champion, who was staying over from the previous session. Ronnie was a little overweight, seemed to be a nice young man, but wasn't making friends thus far. Andy was another athlete, but at age 13 the youngest of the group. Hal was the misfit: acned face, clumsy, a loner, but evidently not a troublemaker. Tom was short, well-built-like a tank with broad shoulders, powerful arms and legs, large chest, and flat stomach, and a charming personality that seemed to draw all the other boys to him-the body and the personality didn't match, but there he was. Franklin-not Frank so his parents had written ahead to tell us-did not turn out as expected-well, we didn't know what to expect after the note about his name, but the kind, gentle, totally unassuming giant of a 15-year old was totally unexpected. At six foot two inches he was the biggest boy in the cabin, including the three counselors! Tim had not yet arrived.
Just as we were leaving the mess hall after lunch I was called over to the parking area by the camp director to meet Tim, his brother Carl, and their parents who had just driven in. They had come from Minneapolis and the trip had taken longer than expected. The parents, Norman and Betsy, were charming. They were interested in me, the camp, the other campers, the surrounding area of Michigan and, it seemed, everything else. They were kind to their boys and treated them like adults, and got the same respect back. One didn't sense any of the tension that often exists in family groups with two teenagers. We all shook hands, and when I got to Tim there was an almost electric charge to his touch. He squeezed my hand firmly, held it like he was trying to communicate something, and then reluctantly let go.
Norman and Betsy didn't stay long; after greeting the other counselors in the cabin, wishing Dan, Carl's counselor, and me well, and kissing both boys goodbye they left. I noted that neither Tim nor Carl showed any sign of self-consciousness nor embarrassment about being kissed by their mother and father-though their father's kisses had been very brief and on the cheek.
Carl was 16, and would be in my cabin but in the older camper group. Carl was handsome but slightly overweight. He had long (for those days, actually not over three or four inches) blond hair, combed back out of his face. Both Tim and he were wearing almost nothing: short shorts, small tee shirt, and flip flops.
Tim was age 14 and would be in my camper group. He was the most perfect specimen of boy that I had even seen, and you could see a lot of him considering the clothes he wore. No description can do justice to the vision I was looking at. He was tiny: at age 14 he was just 5 foot 1; wiry but clear muscles in his chest, arms and legs. Sandy hair, light brown I guess, just long enough to comb back, but hardly more than the flattops that were common then. Perfect face, not a blemish, and blessed with a constant, perfect smile which exposed teeth that looked they were just fixed by the orthodontist, but-I found out later-his second teeth had grown in dentist calendar perfect! And a suntan that looked like it had been painted on with brown paint, perfect and without a speck of winter white peeking through anywhere. He was too small to be a Nordic God, and lacked the blond hair. My mind still uses that term in thinking about him.
I welcomed Tim to Camp White Elk and introduced him to the others in his camper group. They seemed to get along together, even Hal. Tom was trying to draw in Ronnie, but not having much luck. He was having a little better luck with Hal, who seemed to appreciate Tom's efforts. With Tom becoming the instant leader of the group, my counselor job was going to be easy. Tim fit in easily, and it soon became clear that he and Tom would share the leadership role. Much more important, it appeared that these two would get along well together. My most serious problem was going to be keeping my eyes off of Tim!
Soon the crowd was playing basketball. Franklin, with his height, could easily have dominated the game, but he played a passing game which gave everyone a chance. This was turning out to be an exceptional group of boys. They took a break, and during the chatter one of the boys quizzed Tim about his tan, "Is your butt tanned too? Everything else has the most perfect tan I've ever seen."
Jim chimed in, "Let's see your butt!"
Andy said, "Get him and let's look!" and jumped to grab Tim.
I have never seen a kid move as fast as Tim. He had been leaning against the backstop, and took off running, like he had started at full speed. Andy didn't have a chance to catch him. Franklin, with his long legs that looked like they would never reach the ground, took off after Tim, and easily caught up to him-or almost did. Tim was in great shape, and looked like he could run forever, but he was simply no match for Franklin. Except: just as Franklin almost caught him, he stopped short and darted to the left. Franklin's much larger bulk make the turn impossible and all of a sudden Tim had turned a lead of about six inches-which he was losing-into a lead of about 12 feet, and Franklin was starting in to catch him all over again.
Carl wandered up to the group and watched the fun. "He'll never catch him. It takes three of us at home to catch him. Franklin needs two back-ups, one to each side and a little to the rear. Then no matter which was he turns, one of the back-ups can get him."
Tim seemed to be having a ball, teasing Franklin, and staying just out of reach. There wasn't time-today-to organize a three man posse, so the game ended with a whistle from Paul, the third counselor in the cabin. Paul shouted, "Let's go swimming."
The chase was over, and all of the boys started trotting to the cabin to get into their swim suits. Anybody could have pulled down Tim's shorts to see his buns, but no one did. There seemed to be a tacit understanding that they had to catch him to have that privilege. But the secret of the tanned, or untanned buns, was soon to be revealed as we changed into our swimming suits.
Tim took center stage and looked at the group, taking off his tee shirt and kicking off his flip flops. "Who thinks I am tan all over?" Five of the seven of us thought so, including me. "Who expects a white stripe?" The other two so indicated. With that he took off his shorts and jockeys in one motion. Not a patch of white! " I swim and dive all the time in the summer, and tan on a raft on a small lake with nobody around. I wear a suit as little as possible."
His penis and scrotum were tiny, being in proportion to his small body. The growth to man-sized genitals had yet to start-though the hair, same sandy color as the hair on his head, was in place. He was completely at ease standing there nude in front of us. He calmly dug his swim suit out of his duffel bag and put it on. It covered less than his jockey shorts did!
By now the other boys, and I, were taking off our clothes and putting on suits. There was no shyness about nudity in the cabin, and there was obvious checking out of the size, shape and color of all of the genitals and hair in the group. Franklin's size, loooooong, was commented upon, and he seemed to react with a little pride, but no hardness. This openness about being naked was typical of the camp, and in fact most similar situations in the Midwest. I really don't know, but I believe that these patterns differ in other areas of the country. In my four years counseling I had worked with 14 groups of boys-all Midwesterners-and only one boy had been shy about being nude. He had always turned his back to the room when he quickly went from underwear to swim suit to pajamas, and back. He showered in a swim suit. For that he got teased a little, but not badly. Nobody was bothered by his shyness, but it wasn't catching!
Off we went swimming. Most counselors must stand on the dock and be lifeguards, but one or two can get in with the boys, and today was my turn. Dunk the counselor was the usual game, and I was big enough to fend them off until Franklin arrived. Franklin was the biggest man in camp, even though he was only 15. A couple of staff and campers were heavier, but at 6'2" he was tallest, and biggest through the chest and shoulders. If Franklin decided he was going to dunk the counselor, the counselor got dunked. And my balls got grabbed as I went down. I had no idea who the culprit was, but it certainly wasn't an accident! Before long, I had my suspicions. As I came up for air, Tim climbed on my shoulders. Franklin backed up to us, and we took on the whole swimming group. We managed to fend off about thirty boys and keep Tim balanced on my shoulders. For this game, having Franklin on your side was essential. As Tim sat on my shoulders I could feel him getting hard. I am sure that that ended abruptly, when, upon the game ending, he was unceremoniously dumped into the water.
That night I sat for a moment on each boy's bed and asked him about himself, what his grade in school was, and what he thought he would like to do at camp. From Tim I learned that he went to public school in Minneapolis, would be entering 9th grade-his first year of high school-and liked diving and gymnastics. At camp he wanted to swim, jump on the trampoline and get to know me better. That last item floored me. I am not sure how I responded, but it couldn't have been very intelligently.
Counselors slept in the same room with their boys, but had a lounge in the center of the cabin where they talked, read, or whatever after the boys went to bed. Dan, Paul and I sat in the lounge that evening after lights out. I said, "I've got a really good group. Tom and Tim are born leaders, and seem to be leading in the right direction. And Franklin is quite a young man."
"Tim's brother Carl is a gem too," said Dan, his counselor. "He thinks Tim is some sort of God or something. It seems that not only is the kid handsome and athletic, but he's smart too. Get's A's in everything. Sang in his school chorus."
"Is Carl jealous of Tim?" I asked.
"Carl only said one thing related to that. He said he was glad that Tim was the younger brother. He would hate to follow him in school."
"Damn right," said Paul, and I agreed.
The next morning, following a brief Sunday Chapel service, the regular camping program began. Tim was into everything related to water: swimming, sailing, canoeing. He spent a lot of time sailing. The camp had a fleet of "X" boats-16 foot sloops that sailed three boys-that were out almost non-stop all day long. Tim was either captain or crew on one of them most of the time. The second day of camp Andy told me that he had been out sailing with Tim and Carl in one of the "X" boats. Tim was manning the jib, but really sunbathing on the deck more than anything else. Andy looked front and noticed that Tim was sunbathing nude. Carl saw Andy do a double take and said, "He puts a lot of effort into keeping that tan, and avoiding a white line around the middle." Shortly, Tim had rolled over on his back to get sun on both sides. Andy told me, with some awe in his voice, that he had never seen anybody be so comfortable being nude-but neither he nor Carl joined in.
My responsibility was the archery range, not a place that I expected Tim to visit very often. But to my surprise, Tim soon got into a pattern of showing up for archery in the last hour of each afternoon. He had a natural talent for almost everything, and archery was no exception. It wasn't long before he was as good as any of the boys-though their skill level was not that high in the grand scheme of things. When I would give him pointers about aiming and shooting, I would come behind him and wrap my arms around him to show him how to hold his bow. He took the opportunity to shove his butt back into my groin-always very subtly, but the sexual innuendo was unmistakable. The second time this happened I found an opportunity to take him aside and tell him that rubbing his butt on me was out of bounds.
His reply: "Why?"
"That kind of thing between counselors and campers is totally unacceptable."
"Gee, am I glad that you said it that way, and not, 'That kind of thing between boys is totally unacceptable.'"
"Tim, if you can't promise me you'll stop, I can't be your counselor."
"I'll stop. Promise."
"OK, I'll accept that."
"Thanks. And I'm sorry."
"It's OK. In a way it is a complement that you seem to be interested in me."
"'Seem to be,' isn't the phrasing that I would use."
"Tim, this conversation is getting almost as far out of bounds as your actions on the archery range."
"Can we talk again later?"
"Of course. We can always talk."
With that the matter was dropped. He headed off for a swim before dinner. I was left with a huge question mark rattling around in my brain.
It was time to clear up the range and put things away for the day. The last four boys shooting helped out, and we were quickly headed back towards the cabins to get ready for dinner. I couldn't get Tim out of my mind. Where was he headed? I had no idea, but I think he did-even at that early stage.
That evening I thought that Tim and I had better talk again. Generally, after dinner was free time-unless some special game or activity was planned. I caught Tim's attention and suggested that we take a walk. I'll have to admit that I was careful to steer the walk to an area where we could easily be seen by other campers and staff-though far enough away so that we couldn't be heard. I was a little fearful of Tim's intentions, and felt I should not be alone with him in too secluded a place.
"You asked if we could talk. Is this a good time?" I asked.
"Sure."
"What did you have on your mind?"
"Can I be completely honest with you?"
"Of course."
"It's more than that. I am sure that I can trust you to keep a secret, but I really need to hear it directly from you."
"Nothing you say to me in confidence will be shared with anybody, and I mean anybody, without your permission."
"Thanks. But will it affect what you think of me?"
"Tim. You clearly want to tell me something. I think I know what it is. Would it help if I said it first?"
"No. It is up to me to say it. But you have taken care of my fears."
He continued, "I'm queer."
"Do you like that word?"
"No. But I hate the word homosexual, and homo is even worse. Fagot doesn't cut it either."
"I think that the word gay is becoming popular. Have you heard it used?"
"Yes, some. But I am never sure that people know what you mean when you say gay."
"Let's us use it. We know what it means. In your case you are both gay (happy) and gay (queer) it seems to me."
"Sometimes I'm not so happy. But I'm always queer."
"Tim, why are you telling me that you're gay?"
"When you first shook my hand and greeted Carl and me, and our parents, I just felt that you were someone I could trust. I don't know why, I just felt it. And I needed to tell someone."
"Do your parents know?"
"Yes."
"Carl?"
"Yes."
"Who else?"
"No one."
"That's tough."
"Sure as Hell is."
"What was your parents reaction?"
"Unbelievably cool. Carl the same."
"There are a lot of gay boys that would really envy you for having an accepting family. A lot don't, you know."
"Yeah, I know. But an accepting family doesn't make an accepting school. Or camp. God, I am so glad that I found you. You are the first person outside of my family I have told."
"I'm flattered by your trust. I'll keep your secret."
"Thanks."
"Do you know of any other gay boys in your school?"
"Not in the Junior High I just finished. Carl said there was one in our high school. Somehow the word got around that he was queer and he was teased very badly. It looked like it was going to be worse than teasing and he dropped out. When Carl told me about it, I wanted to talk to him; maybe tell him that I was gay too-I was really scared to do that, I don't know if I could have-but he dropped out last year, and I won't get to know him.
"That's sad. You're afraid that you might end up just the same, aren't you?"
"Exactly."
"I wish I could help."
"You have by just listening. And by not condemning me."
"I would never do that."
"Thanks. It seems I am thanking you a lot."
"I'm your counselor here, I try my best to do the job right."
"I wish you were more than a counselor."
"Tim, you are pushing boundaries now."
"I know. I trust you to tell me when I am. But I can't help pushing."
"Let's get back to camp. I think I see a game of Capture the Flag getting organized."
"OK. Thanks again." He gave me a big hug, and we walked back to the central area together.
The next day there was no archery, and I had some free time. I walked over to the trampoline where a small group of boys was bouncing. I offered my help to the counselor in charge, and he asked me to help him spot. Tim was in the group waiting to jump. When Tim's turn came he proved to be an expert. He went very high and handled flips and double flips, and even flips with half and full twists. Someone asked, "Where'd you learn that?"
"I dive. We use the trampoline to help us with new dives."
"You're good," several noted with approval. Tim was already a popular boy, and this simply added to it. He really was good, but he did the moves with such grace and ease that he didn't seem to be showing off.
Then he said, "I need some weight up here. Charlie, do you have experience on the trampoline."
Actually, I did. I wasn't much interested in athletics, but the trampoline had proved a good way to avoid football and basketball in high school. I replied, "I'm not as good as you, but I can jump."
"Get up here."
I kicked off my shoes and socks and climbed up.
Tim said, "If we get our timing right, I can use your weight to get more height."
"Then you kick me doing flips on the way down, right?"
"You got it. So watch your back."
With a little work we did get the timing right. With my weight behind him Tim virtually soared into the air. With the extra time in the air he could do his flips and twists with much more grace and finesse, but he didn't actually add to his repertoire of moves. Then he said, "OK, let me get behind you, and you be ready to catch me on your shoulders. On the second bounce he was into the air and slipping gracefully into a sitting position on my shoulders. I couldn't believe it!
"Surprised you, didn't I? I end that way all the time with my coach. It's a good trick but very easy with a big man to catch you."
I still couldn't believe it. As we climbed off, the other kids were asking Tim to show them some more, but he declined. "Everyone is waiting for a turn. I've done enough. Besides, that's really tiring."
He didn't look in the least tired. He just stood there with his usual smile, watching the next boys in line. The counselor in charge came over and asked Tim, "Can you give us some time coaching? Nobody on the staff is half as good as that."
"Sure," said Tim. Just set up a time-you have to get me before I get off into a sailboat for the day."
Soon the group broke up, ready for lunch. Tim and I walked back to the cabin together. I said, "Tim, you amaze me."
"Well, you amaze me, too. Two on a trampoline can be very dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. And it was clear that you did know what you were doing; still you let me jump all around you, and even land on you. You didn't look nervous at all."
"Maybe I didn't know enough to be nervous. Or, more likely, I have simply learned to have a lot of trust and faith in you. But you were taking a much bigger chance, bringing a novice into the act-not knowing whether I knew anything about a trampoline."
"I knew you wouldn't have come up if you didn't know what you were doing. Aren't I right?"
"Yes, I guess. Time to wash up for lunch."
Word had spread about Tim on the trampoline, and his reference to being a diver. At lunch he was asked dozens of questions. He fielded them all with grace. I learned later that he was second in state the previous fall in the under 14 category. He never once mentioned it to the other boys. Carl let the cat out of the bag as we were leaving the mess hall.
The camp had just one low diving board, and it wasn't much. It served well for casual diving, but was almost useless for a skilled diver like Tim. But Tim agreed, after much urging, to give a little demonstration-noting that he was really limited by the board
He may have been limited, but not in the view of his audience. When we went down to the lake in the afternoon, virtually the whole camp crowded along the shore to watch. Tim was more spectacular diving that jumping, even with the limited equipment. He did about eight different dives, to great cheers. On his last dive he lost his swimming suit as he entered the water. I am sure it was on purpose, but he swears to this day it was accidental: the drawstring broke. In any case he came up out of the water grinning from ear to ear and said, "I lost my suit. Bring a towel over here to the dock. It was brought, but as he got out he didn't make much effort to hide himself before he wrapped the towel around himself.
The next day I got a letter from Tim's parents:
"Dear Charlie,
"By the time you get this Tim will have had a serious conversation with you-at least his last letter said he was going to. When he makes up his mind to do something, he does it, so I think I am safe in believing that by now Tim has told you that he is homosexual. He should also have said that he has told his family and that they are supportive.
"The first purpose of this letter is to tell you that is true: He has told us that he is homosexual, and we are fully supportive of him. For his sake, we wish he were heterosexual, but we fear much more the consequences of his trying to be what he his not, than the consequences of his being gay-though we are not unaware that he has trials ahead.
"The second reason for writing is to encourage you to talk to Tim about his sexuality. We know that this may be a forbidden subject for counselor/camper talks, but it is very important that he have more adults than his parents to talk to. Please be assured that you have our full permission, support, and indeed our request that you talk to Tim as much as possible about sexuality issues.
"Sincerely,
"Tim's Parents, Norman and Betsy
"P.S. I hope you are not offended by this, but Tim thinks you are homosexual. If it happens that that is true, and you chose to tell him, I am quite certain that he would keep your confidence, as would Betsy and I. -Norman"
I'll let the reader guess my reaction!
That evening Tim and I took another of our walks, staying in view but well out of hearing. I showed Tim the letter. By now I realized that there were no secrets with this kid.
"Tell me about the P.S." I said.
"It's true, isn't it?" he asked, grinning.
He had me there. But the future lawyer in me rose to the occasion. "We have to define homosexual before I can answer that."
"I thought you liked the word gay."
"I do, but I was just following your father's usage. I'll repeat, "We have to define gay before I can answer that'."
"Come on. You're kidding. You know what it means and so do I."
"No, I am serious. Gay means love or sex-they aren't the same-between two persons of the same sex. No question about that. But there is a continuum of sexuality, from people that are exclusively homosexual to those that are exclusively heterosexual. But there are a lot of people in between. They can be called bisexual. So if you ask the question, 'Are you gay?' you may be asking, 'Are you exclusively gay?' or you may be asking 'Are you ever inclined to being gay?'
Tim said, "I see where you are coming from. OK, in my case I think I am exclusively gay. What about you?"
I tried to be as calm as I could in answering Tim's question. At this point in our relationship he had no way of knowing that I had never answered that question before, not to my parents, hardly even to myself. "Tim, yes, I am gay. I am pretty sure I am also straight. I guess that makes me bi-sexual, but I am more gay than straight. And that answer is filled with uncertainty, because I really am not sure of my sexuality."
"Charlie, thank you, that was really an honest answer. And I think it was a difficult one for you."
"The calendar says you are 14. I don't believe it. Your father says that you need to talk and that I might be helpful to you. I think he really meant that you might be helpful to me."
"Charlie, are you in the closet?"
"God, yes."
"Then your telling me was really difficult, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Would you have had the courage, even after I spoke to you, to tell me if you hadn't read Dad's letter."
"I doubt it."
"I love you."
"Tim, there are boundaries, and you are pushing them again."
"You know I like to push boundaries, but that isn't what I meant when I said, 'I love you.' I meant that you are wonderful and I really appreciate it. I didn't mean romantic or sexual love."
"I'll accept that, but please be careful, the word love is a powerful word to use carelessly."
"You are in the closet. Have you told your parents?"
"No, they aren't the least likely to be understanding, though I don't expect anger, just misunderstanding. I have decided to wait until I have a serious lover to introduce to them."
"How can you stand your closet? I can hardly stand mine, and I have Carl and my parents to talk to."
"Carl isn't gay is he?"
"No, he has girls falling all over him, and he eats it up."
"My closet. I can't stand it. But I think coming out means finding the right person whom you could love, that you think might be gay, and whom you are sure you can trust. I have never come close."
"Me."
"There you go pushing boundaries again."
"OK. Let me push a little. Point two: I am more than might be gay, I am gay. Point three: you already have trusted me, and your trust is not misplaced. Point one, could you love me?"
"Tim, that is a boundary I can't cross and you shouldn't."
"You just answered my question."
"Tim!"
"Can we talk more tomorrow?"
"I don't know, Tim. We are both getting in over our head."
"I'll tell my Daddy you wouldn't talk to me!"
"I know you are trying to be funny, but it isn't funny."
"Tomorrow."
"OK."
Tomorrow began with me laying in bed with a raging hard-on. I had been dreaming of doing all kinds of interesting things to Tim and letting him do even more interesting things to me. Luckily my bed was nearest the door and I could slip out unseen, take a shower, and get myself under control. What I really needed was a chance to get away and relieve myself. It was hard doing it in bed when you were sleeping in the same room with seven teenagers.
At lunch the program director announced that there would be a day canoe trip the following day. The group would push hard to "make the circle" which meant portaging through The Pond to Misty Lake, following the passage downstream to the very large High Lake, then going upstream through the creek to Frank Lake, and then portaging back to White Elk Lake where the camp was. It was expected to take six hours, and only those that could keep up should volunteer. Tim's hand shot up first, and I volunteered to be one of the Counselors. Tim immediately made it clear that we would share a canoe.
The trip was set to start right after an early breakfast: 7:00 a.m., Monday of the second week of camp.
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