Oliver of the Adirondacks
by Dashiell Walraven
Chapter 4
Steadily, from just before Halloween and on, snow piled up in the valley surrounding the lake. In my brief years I have seen big snow but it normally arrived in storms all at once. This time, it came in regular, but relentless, dribs and drabs. By December, at least three or four feet covered the ground and it was not going anywhere.
The effect of all that snow on the valley is magical; the tall pines loom above, laden with white and the lake looks like a vast plain of wind-whipped confectioners' sugar. Dark roads meander through the woods, snaking around the frozen lake and disappearing into the blanketed forests, punctuated by the odd cabin or home, warmly lit from within, smoke drifting lazily into the crisp air from a chimney. Old photos from the time when the camp was first built did not look much different, except for the horse-drawn sleighs pulling residents and visitors to the local shop for provisions.
Garret Evans was helping me and Dad as we made ready for "Christmas in the Pines". A pretty ingenious idea dreamed up my father about four years earlier, CIP, as we called it, brought a large group of families from several churches downstate for a solid two weeks of celebration, food, fellowship and prayer during the holidays. Ever since Dad inherited the property from my grandfather, he looked for ways to make the camp profitable again. Christmas in the Pines turned out to be a watershed event because families that came during the winter often fell in love with the place and returned for the following summers.
Dad, Garrett and I put in a lot of hours sprucing up the cabins and lodges so they were very comfortable and inviting. It was also a time of great joy for me. In addition to the glorious anticipation that Christmas is for every kid, it also meant an influx of children that I could play with and enjoy winter activities. The remoteness of the lake meant that most of my peers did not live close enough to play with regularly beyond recess time at school. That left evenings and weekends to either work with Dad and Garrett, or amuse myself. During those alone times, I would read or draw, or go outside and explore among the tall pines until I got too cold and came inside again.
We reached that lull in between preparation and the arrival of the guests, so I had little to do. Walking around back of our cabin, I looked up to the tree house where Neal and I had gone so many times during the summer. It seemed so far away, a lifetime maybe, when we climbed up to our not-so-secret lair to giggle and gasp as we poured over the cache of dirty magazines. Sighing, I grabbed the ladder and ascended. I don't know why I wanted to go up there, it was really frigid and the only shelter the tree house could give was against the wind, and not much at that.
Once inside, the interior felt cold and hollow. Every boot scrape against the wooden floor, every movement of my bulky clothing seemed amplified ridiculously, making it feel even emptier. I sat on one of the old sofa cushions on the floor, it felt stiff and unyielding, and I stared out the cobwebbed window to the forest beyond. Snow was drifting lazily down and in the stillness I could see my breath crystallizing in the air and almost hear the tiny flakes of snow hitting the ground.
After zoning out for what seemed like a long time, I reached around to pull out one of the magazines and opened it to somewhere near the center where I knew the good pictures would be. Some of the pictures were set in a tropical zone, where it seemed I was peering through a window from my cold environs to the warmth and humidity of that place. It struck me as odd, shivering in the cold as I was, to be gazing on these bronzed and naked bodies, entwined in such a way as to maximize the display of their conjoined genitals for the camera.
It one picture in particular, a man of impossible proportion hunched over a woman's back, his face a portrait of concentration and effort, sweat beading his shoulders and brow. The woman is facing away from the camera and the focus is entirely on the man, whose position and expression conveys that he is deeply penetrated into her body and on the verge of ecstasy. He appeared frozen there, at the point of greatest pleasure, afraid to move lest he feel his release too quickly, wanting to keep the moment for as long as possible.
This is Neal's favorite picture and I remembered how his flashlight would linger over it during the warm summer nights we slept up there. It was funny the way Neal would take time to glance over all the pictures in the magazine and save this one for last. It was like he was building up to it. He would look over the scenes in the front, occasionally whistling in appreciation, and then work his way backward from the end. Always the same though, by the time he got to the middle picture, he was hard as granite. I got to understand his rhythm and I knew that by the time he arrived at that page, I could reach up the leg of his shorts. Gently grasping him brought about a moan of pleasure, indicating he was ready for me.
Neal would keep his flashlight trained on the man's face for as long as he could, until he finally turned his attention to my ministrations and started to piston gently in and out of my mouth. Now his own face mirrored the man in the picture as he sprayed his belly with his slippery essence. I imagined the man grunting and snorting like Neal did, his breath coming in hitches and gasps.
My reminiscing brought my member to solid attention, entrapped beneath many layers of winter clothes. I shifted it to a more comfortable place, causing it to lay flat and hot against my abdomen. My entire middle felt warm and wonderfully congested as I lay back thinking about the stuff Neal and I used to do with one another. It was too cold to take my penis out and do anything with it but yet it demanded attention. I suddenly felt Neal's absence acutely. The feeling of sexual arousal combined with that sense of loss and melancholy, created an agitation that drove me from the tree house, my heart ready to explode. I ran down the drive and up the road to the Grand Lodge where I knew my Dad and Garrett would be working. I felt so lost and confused, I could feel the tears freezing to my cheeks as I ran through the bitter cold.
Garrett was alone in the lodge when I burst through the door. His look of surprise was quickly replaced with concern as I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, sobbing. He knelt and took me in a great bear hug, holding me quietly as my anguish spent itself against his neck. He stroked my hair and breathed warmly into my ear with words of soothing and quiet. After a while, he took my head in his hands and looked deeply into my eyes.
"What's up Oliver?" he asked with his characteristic lopsided smile. I felt more tears slip down my cheek, he kissed them away. "You miss your little buddy again?" I nodded and pressed against him. He stood and took my hand and led me to one of the bunk rooms next to the great room of the lodge. There, Garrett sat on one of the bunks and pulled me to him. Gripping him fiercely, I pressed my entire body against his as he rubbed my back while my tears came anew. I could feel my stiff little rod pressed between my belly and the thick clothing that separated it from Garrett's, but I could feel he was hard as well.
Still crying, I began to push gently against him, and I felt him return with a gentle pressure. Slowly, my sobs were replaced with moist, heavy breathing as my movements became more insistent and rhythmic. Garrett spread his legs wide and with one hand continued to rub my back while the other one pulled on my butt to steady and guide my thrusting. My ears felt hot and burning as Garrett started running his strong fingers through my damp hair. Heavy breathing yielded to a steady "Ungh... ungh..." as I began to pound my stiffness into his groin.
"Come on baby" Garrett gasped quietly into my ear as I ground against him, "You can do it, come on do it for me..." His barely whispered calls and hot breath against my ear spurred me on, a fire starting to grow in my belly and chest. He moved both hands to my butt and pulled my pelvis closer. I felt his legs tense and I lifted my head from his chest to look directly into his face. Garrett's handsome features screwed up into a grimace as his climax overtook him. I reached up and kissed him on the mouth. Momentarily surprised, he hungrily sucked my lips to his, gasping his warm breath into me. I hunched against him, crying out as the burning in my middle burst, lurched from the end of my scorching hot cock, and soaked into the heavy clothing. I lay against him, our chests heaving as a gentle euphoria settled in.
We did not stay that way long, as we heard the door of the lodge open and my Dad called for Garrett. "In here!" Garrett shouted, as we hastily stood up and made like we had been cleaning the room. Dad peeked his head in and smiled when he saw me.
"Your mother is looking for you Oliver," the crows feet around his eyes crinkled as he looked at the both of us, "You two hungry? Mother is making tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches!" We both scrambled out the door, into the snow and up the drive my cabin where Mom was waiting with warm vittles and a crackling fire. No sooner did we both come through the door when Mom insisted we shed our outer clothing and put them in the drier. We looked at each other quickly, but then looked away, knowing that neither of us wanted to peel off our outer ducks to reveal what would undoubtedly be a noticeable wet spot in both our middles. Mom, seeing our glances to one another, chose to misread them as bashfulness and banished me to my bedroom and Garrett to the laundry room to change.
Once downstairs again, Mom sat us around the hearth with thick and crusty cheese sandwiches and a steaming bowl of cream of tomato soup. Me, Garrett and Dad ate by soaking corners of the sandwiches in the soup and devoured them. I polished off a tall glass of cold milk with it and we all lounged near the crackling fire with full, round bellies and the gentle repartee of men and boys. Mom collected our dishes and bowls, and then nonchalantly meandered in brandishing an envelope.
"Looks like Ollie got another letter from his little friend Neal" Mom said casually. Even in my soup-saturated state, I leaped up from the sofa and bounded over to snatch the letter from her. I savagely tore it open and started to read. It was a long letter and I settled down into the sofa as I scanned Neal's somewhat difficult handwriting, which was a cross between printing and left-handed cursive. I laughed as he told me of his adventures in learning how to cross-country ski and my heart hurt for a moment, wishing I could teach him properly. Then, out of nowhere, a paragraph appeared in the middle of the page that so astounded me that I needed to read it again and again to make sure I got it right.
"Oh my God!" I shouted abruptly.
"What is it?" Dad startled. I clutched the letter to my chest for a moment and then desperately re-read the paragraph to confirm my delight.
"He's coming for Christmas in the Pines!" I was delirious, "Neal and his Mom and Dad are coming for Christmas in the Pines with their church group!" I looked around and saw Mom, Garrett and Dad all grinning at me like bandits.
"You knew didn't you?" I shouted in mock anger, but laughter spilled into my voice and everybody could tell I was ecstatic. I saw their smiling eyes as I bounced around the room exuberantly waving the letter, shouting joyfully. I hugged each of them in turn, ran to my room and then launched myself on to my bed to read the letter again. I don't remember exactly what we ate for supper that night, but given my mood, but it seemed particularly delicious and satisfying.
Later, I lay in bed as Mom pulled the comforter to my chin and kissed my cheek, she brushed my hair aside and smiled. "Goodnight sweet boy," she whispered to my fluttering eyelids as her warm hand caressed my face, "Soon we'll have all both our princes together again." I vaguely heard her voice as I drifted off to dream of escapades had and adventures to come.
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