Along this Way, with my Self so entwined with my fantasy, its hard to know which events are truth and which fiction; they are all truths in my heart and it has been said before in my writing: If it didn't really happen this way then perhaps it should have.

Peter & Marc

Thole <poondu@bigfoot.com>

They met at summer camp.

Peter was the younger of the two. This was his first year at camp and his first summer away from home; a rough time for an eleven year old from a small broken family. Peter was lithe, small, olive, black hair, affectionate and, although he didn't know it, really looking for someone to be close to. He arrived early, checked in, did his swimming test and dragged his foot locker to his bunk all before Marc showed up.

Marc was Peter's opposite in many ways. A veteran of the camp, he knew just when to arrive at any event so as not to spend any time at all queued up. They were to bunk together in one of several tents set along a ridge on the far side of an inlet separating the main camp from its environs. Whilst Peter came in, from a small country town, to learn things his mother didn't know how to teach him; Marc came out, from the city, to get away from some of the things he already knew. He was fourteen, small for his age but bigger than Peter, and came from a background that required early street smarts and a certain wariness that, once overcome resulted in a fierce loyalty.

There was an instant bonding when the two boys met that first afternoon. Marc had gone through the check-in process along the shortest possible line and was still dripping wet from swim test as he arrived with his pack at the tent he would share with Peter for the next five weeks.

Peter, in a gesture of conciliation, offered his towel: No thanks, I'll drip dry, Marc said as he stripped off his wet shorts. Peter struggled with staring at Marc's muscles and not looking at his nakedness. Marc, both sensitive to Peter's uneasiness and proud enough of his body, made no effort to cover up. He shook hands with Peter and proceeded to carry on some idle chatter as he strung up a cloths line and hung his shorts to dry, rolled out his sleeping bag and arranged his pack. By the time he laid back on his bed he was dry, and still naked. Peter was tongue-tied. Hey, we're all boys here, Pete. But... But... was all Peter could manage as the call came for dinner.

Marc jumped into a pair of tattered cut-offs, put on a new camp shirt and carried his plimsolls as they left the tent to meet the other campers for their first meal together. Stay close to me Pete, I'll show you around. It was quickly apparent to Peter that Marc did indeed know his way around; last to leave the camp, they were near the front of the queue as they arrived at the dinning hall. You never want to be at the top of the queue, Peter, just near it. Sometimes they ask for volunteers for things but they always pick the guys at the front for the shit jobs.

The camp was divided into teams or tables and along with taking turns waiting on table there were some few other activities that involved the boys as groups; most of their time would be spent in individual pursuits. There was only a short time between supper and the evening campfire. It looked to be cool, Marc said as they went back to their tent, and they should get a blanket. Peter hadn't brought one; sleeping bag was on the list, but not blanket. Marc got his; they put on jumpers and went to the fire. Well through the fire Peter, with some small pang of homesickness, found Marc's hand and held it tightly. Later Marc stroked Peter's bare thigh then put his arm about the younger boy's shoulders; he had been this route himself not too many years ago and as the songs and skits went on he daydreamed about how such similar people are drawn together in similar situations. Peter, tired from the day's activities, felt a strange excitement when Marc's hand touched him and he fell asleep on his new friend's shoulder.

Peter woke with a jolt to a loud cheering of the boys as Marc bumped him out of the blanket and stood for the closing of the fire. On the way back to their tent, as the road looped around the inlet of the lake, one of Marc's shortcuts took them to a dead end at the water. Strip, Marc said, quickly. We'll leave our clothes here and get them in the morning. I've got a stuff sack in this tree that'll hold everything. Again, Peter was taken by surprise; embarrassed? perhaps, scared? some, but impressed by Marc's adventuresome and clever spirit. Marc was naked already and getting impatient with his young friend. It occurred to Peter again that Marc wore no undershorts; perhaps that's why his pack can be so small. The boys cached their clothes in the hollow of a large oak and then with a pat on Peter's ass Marc led the way silently into the lake. The water felt warm in the cool evening. They swam across the inlet to come out just below their tent and were soon standing together in the moonlight overlooking their camp; the flashlights of the other boys just now coming in sight.

Peter led the way to the tent but stopped at a noise and turned to see Marc peeing on the leaves. Again, the strange mixed up feelings washed over him; embarrassment at seeing another boy pee, shame over his own nakedness, excitement of the adventure of their swimming at night and, most profound, a strange tingling in his balls and a tightness, a swelling of his prick, as he stared at Marc, the moonlight glinting off his wet nates and the stream of pee, a flashing arc, up and over in the darkness. Marc turned; Peter, still spellbound, snapped to as Marc whispered: You never seen anyone pee before?

No... uh... No, really. That's neat!

That's nothin', you should see it when I really squirt. Maybe we and have a contest, for distance.

The talk turned serious as they snuggled into their sleeping bags. Marc had arranged their bunks to be close together at one end of the tent to give them maximum floor space at the front.

Marc? do you never wear any undershorts?

Nope.

Even at home?

No. I haven't even had any since my first time here.

Don't your folks mind?

No. I do the laundry at home. I doubt anyone thinks about it. Sometimes I wear a jock at school but no underwear. Its just something else to cart around. Peter was only half listening. In his head he was thinking about underwear, a clean pair everyday for a week, and the PJs and all the other things his Mum packed in his locker. No wonder Marc's pack was so small. He wriggled closer to Marc and reached out to touch the older boy's hair. Marc turned and slid his hand into Peter's sleeping bag. Peter was on his back and as Marc's hand rested on his tummy all those mixed up feelings washed over him again. He wanted to talk to Marc. Ask him if his whizzle would get bigger like Marc's and when would he get hair and why did his whizzle get hard sometimes and especially like now when Marc touched him. But he was tired and sleep took him swiftly, even as his balls tingled in an anticipation he didn't comprehend and his erection reached out to Marc's hand.

Peter's dreams were wild that night; not nightmares, but alive with colour and feeling, of laughing as he wrestled with an invisible playmate, of flying kites and running naked through tall dew-wet grass, of strange secrets his body was holding out to him but were just out of reach. Marc spread the boy's thin cum on his belly, thought twice about wanking himself and went to sleep dreaming of the weeks ahead.

Morning came almost as quickly as Peter had but he took no notice of the dried cum on his skin. He copied his idol step for step as they slipped into cutoffs and camp shirts and ran up the little rise behind their tent to have their first pissing contest.

They saw little of each other that day except for meals and swimming. Peter found the lack of underwear exhilarating and being able to play and swim without changing back and forth gave him some added minutes of free time. Marc had picked up their cache of clothes and when Peter asked about leaving them there to swim to some morning, explained that they shouldn't take that risk and besides it was good business to stick with the group through flag break and the morning routine.

The days went by quickly and soon it was the weekend. Many of the kids were out of camp. Some, one weekers, had gone home, others, off for a day or two with their families. For Marc and Peter and several others it was a weekend almost all to themselves. After the Saturday night fire Marc volunteered the two of them to put out the fire and clean up the circle. Peter found the Indian pump just about all he could manage. He was about to take it off after the fire was out when a blast from Marc's pump caught him by surprise. He whirled about and squirted back but was soon out of water. Dropping the pump the bedraggled urchin ran in low, a move that caught Marc off guard and soon the two of them were rolling in the mud and ashes of the fire. It was no contest really and all for fun anyhow. Marc picked up his friend from the mud and shook his hand: You're great! he said, I'd vote for you any day. Let's fill up the pumps and catch a shower.

Isn't it too late for a shower Marc? We're supposed to be in bed by now.

Its ok kid, we've earned one. The showers were outside, no lights, no roof, only walls above a slotted wood floor. They pointed four heads into a corner and stood there, still in their muddy clothes, letting the hot water wash away the caked on dirt. Marc reached over and pulled Peter's shirt off over his head and dropped it. As Peter unfastened his shorts Marc helped pull them down. Peter held Marc's head as he stepped out of his shorts and Marc made sure that his friend was close enough to brush his whizzle past his face as he stepped out.

Oops! Sorry, Peter giggled.

That's Ok, Marc said, good thing it was soft, eh.

More giggles from both of them whilst Peter returned the help. They soaped and rinsed their clothes and set them on a bench to dry. As they began to lather up Marc suggested they wash each other. At first he as he soaped his friend he was quiet. His strong hands massaging the lithe and tender boy who stood in front of him. Peter's hardon fairly ached with excitement. As Marc soaped and washed the stiff little prick Peter let out a soft squeak of delight.

You know Peter you're gonna be quite a handsome boy when you grow up a little bit; actually you're not too bad right now.

What do you mean?

I'll show you in a minute but first you wash me like I did you.

Pete washed Marc as best he could, his smaller hands no match for Marc's. When he got to washing Marc's whizzle it felt twice as big in the dark as he remembered from before.

Why is your penis so big and hard, Peter asked from down on one knee, will mine be like that someday?

Stay there and I'll wash your hair Pete.

As Marc jostled the boy's head about, Peter had to hold on to the thighs in front of him for support. Marc pulled the youth into his crotch. Peter's eyes were closed, it was dark; he could feel Marc's pubic hair on his face and his mentor's hardon against his cheek. ...only a thin cheek away from being in my mouth, he thought... And the mixed up feelings that had plagued him the past few days washed away with the soap in his hair. He felt good, excited, almost knowing what was next; like his body was about to reveal one of those secrets. With one hand he touched Marc's erection and with the other reached down between his legs and explored his own. He had never really felt his hardon before except to push it down to pee in the morning. Now he didn't even do that since Marc had shown him how to pee up against a tree or in a long bright arc into the woods and how to squeeze out the last squirt. That last squirt was good practice Marc had said, for distance.

Suddenly Marc was shaking him by the shoulders.

You Ok Pete?

Ya... Ya, I guess I been daydreaming again.

The boys were face to face under the streaming water; to Peter it seemed like for ages. Well if you're Ok, Marc said, then its my turn for a hair wash. Take your time. Peter stood, his mind reeling. The secret, almost in his grasp, had eluded him.

Peter could feel some grit in the long blond hair as he started to lather Marc's head. Marc was on his knees, holding Peter's thighs, his nose sparing with the boy's hardon. The olive skinned boy giggled under the dark warm water as he thought of sticking his prick into Marc's nose when he felt strangely excited again. Marc had hold of him and was pushing his foreskin back; harder than he had before when he washed it, harder than he remembered his mother had when she first taught him how to wash it, when she got embarrassed as it got hard and he didn't understand. He was about to cry out when Marc let go and took the clean wet glans into his mouth. Peter stopped. He stood there. The secret was bursting at the doors of his mind. Marc was playing with him, his tongue going in circles round the head of his prick, poking in the slit at the end, then moving his head back and forth, his lips and tongue massaging the shaft. Peter stood, his hands buried in the lather, holding Marc's head. Peter's body tingled with excitement; as Marc squeezed his nates his body began to respond to the stimulation of the older boy's mouth. He swayed back and forth, his prick in and out of Marc's mouth. And then he came.

His body stiffened and arched forward, seemed to explode. His eyes, though they were closed, saw skyrockets of light and he pulled Marc's head into his crotch and filled his mouth with virgin boy-cum. Marc took a deep breath when he felt Peter stiffen and took each ejaculation of boy-cum and swallowed. When Peter stopped he collapsed into a tired puddle on Marc's lap and said simply: Wow! That was great! What happened? What did I do? Did I pee in your mouth? Are you Ok?

Marc planted his lips on Peters' mouth and passed a little bit of Peter's cum back to him.

You had an orgasm, probly your first. Its part of growing up, one of the better parts. I'll show later how to do it to yourself but its always more fun when someone else does it to you. They both stood; Marc rinsed his hair. Peter, still riding the high, hugged him: I'm so happy you're my friend. Want me to do it to you? Can I? Huh?

I would like it if you want to, Marc said returning the hug. Peter went back to his knees. Marc held his head and pressed his prick against Peter's mouth. The acolyte looked up: Will it hurt, he asked?

I'll be easy; this is your first time. When I come I'll tell you to take a deep breath, your body will know what to do, just let it happen. Peter let Marc in. Marc was bigger than himself, not so much longer, but thicker, Peter thought as his tongue did the things Marc showed him. He held Marc's nates; Marc held his head and moved himself in and out. Peter felt the hard cock in his mouth swell and get harder, he heard Marc whisper to breathe deep and then Marc came into him. The cum felt like it would have knocked him over had Marc not been holding him tightly into his crotch. It was a little salty, sort of like peanut butter, thinner as he swallowed.

Marc was picking him up now, helping him to stand. They stood close, Peter still holding Marc's nates; their whizzles touching, their faces nose to nose. Peter spoke: I'll bet we could do that to each other at the same time.

Slow down little friend, don't get to far ahead of me; I was gonna let that wait till next week. They both rinsed again and, grabbing their wet clothes, walked together through the warm night to their tent.

Their days at camp took on a new intensity. The boys who stayed over had an advantage over the newcomers in that they knew what was expected of them, they knew how the camp worked. But these two had a special thing going and no one could stand in the way of what they would do for each other. Their tent and grounds were always spotless, their clothes always clean. For Peter this was a special triumph; he hadn't gone beyond the first two pairs of shorts and shirts and hadn't touched the underwear and sox his mother packed for him. The week went by in a blur; always busy, mostly tired. At night there was little time for sexual exploration. They talked a lot at bedtime and every night Peter would go to sleep with one hand caught up in Marc's long hair and the other holding his stiff little prick, waiting for the fireworks.

a  

This weekend they would go on an overnight, away from the main camp, to a place not too far away. Lunch on Saturday was very informal since most of the campers were elsewhere as usual. After lunch they packed some jerky and juice bricks and signed out a small tent from the QM.

Marc had suggested they pack light; he carried the tent and food in his pack and Peter carried the sleeping bag tied in a horseshoe over one shoulder. They had been hiking for about two hours, mostly up hill, and were probly not more than a couple of miles from the lake. Along the way each told his life storey. Marc, without a mother, lived with his father and older brother, both working. He took care of the house after school. This was his fourth summer at this camp and he did a lot of hiking and camping with his brother during the year. Peter lived with his mother, his father had died in a hunting accident and he had no siblings. That was just as well as his mum had all she could do with him and the farm and not much of a farm at that since his dad was gone. A few neighbors helped out, there was little real farming done, the cows belonged to someone else and the haying...

Marc brought Peter out of his storey by announcing that they had arrived at their camp. Peter looked around at the grassy meadow hanging on a hillside among tall evergreens, a stream among the rocks to one side. He dropped the sleeping bag, ran across the grass, did two hand springs and a back flip and ran back to Marc nearly knocking him to the ground with a hug. Marc, at fourteen, was only dimly aware of the needs of kids like Peter and he wasn't sure what was happening. This was more than the friendships he was use to. They set the tent and whilst sharing a few sticks of jerky talked about Peter's ability to do back flips. Peter was studying gymnastics and ballet at school and showed Marc how he could bend over backwards and touch the ground and how he could lay on his back and bring his feet up over his head and touch the ground. The thought came to both of them at the same time and Peter quickly stripped off his shorts and shirt. He rolled up on the ground, feet back over his head and took his own hardon into his mouth. He sucked on himself until Marc finally reached out and slapped him on the ass: Save that for me, for later. Peter unwound. Marc undressed and they went to play and bathe in the cold stream. Night was coming on when they snuggled into the sleeping bag together.

More idle chatter ensued. Peter was concerned about what his mum would think when she saw his locker with all the clothes she’d packed untouched. Marc had a number of solutions. The one they agreed on was that perhaps Peter could go home with Marc for a few days at the end of camp. They would wash all his clothes and then Marc would go to Peter's farm for a few days before school started.

Morning came and Peter was awake first. He carefully unzipped the sleeping bag and looked at Marc's nude form. He touched Marc's belly, ran his fingers over it lightly and watched as the skin twitched and rippled. Marc's whizzle began to stiffen. His own began to stiffen in response. He moved to lay along side Marc and took the erection into his mouth. Marc awoke to the stimulation of his friend's mouth. What a way to wake up he thought as he reached for Peter and lifted the boy on top of himself.

The two boys came together. Peter continued to play with Marc's prick in his mouth until suddenly the taste changed as pee came gushing forth. He let it out, choked and spat, and Marc continued to pee over both of them. They were both laughing so hard that no thought of the sleeping bag came to them until it was over. Oh well, said Peter, we could sleep in my bag back at camp. They went body sliding in the wet grass for a while, some more jerky and juice for breakfast and washed in the stream. By midday they had cleaned out the tent, packed and were on their way. During the walk back they talked of their plans for after camp and both agreed to write letters to make arrangements.

Monday there was a meeting of all the kids who had been staying from week to week. The camp's secret society of honour campers would be holding its elections and the ceremony of induction on the following weekend. After the meeting Peter asked Marc about it. Marc had little to say; he thought Peter had a good chance but it was unusual for a boy to get in during his first summer.

They had rearranged their beds using Marc's blanket and another they borrowed to cover the mattresses and Peter's bag to cover them. Marc's hadn't yet dried and was still smelly. Monday and Tuesday had been rainy and by Tuesday night the boys were somewhat rambunctious. After playing a few rounds of strip poker, it didn't take much to lose two plimsolls, shorts and shirt, Marc offered his friend a body rub. Peter laid face down on the floor of their tent and Marc sat astride his back and began a quiet massage of the olive shoulders beneath him. Peter relaxed and thought of what he and his friend had been doing together the past few weeks. He wondered if other boys did those things. The relationships between his friends at home and the things they said to one another took on new meanings. Marc moved to sit across Peter's thighs, his prick poking at the bung hole of Pete's ass as he worked. Peter asked: have you ever done this to any one else?

No, you're the first; but someone used to take me places and give me rubs once.

Do other kids play with each other like we do?

Most kids play with themselves but few would admit it and fewer would talk about playing with each other.

Why?

Maybe we think someone would make fun of us. Of course practically everyone does it anyhow, some grownups think its wrong or bad even though they remember having a good time doing it themselves; but I guess if you don't hurt anyone it can't be all that bad. Besides it feels good and it is fun. Peter was quiet again. The tantalizing feeling of Marc's prick poking at his ass had been replaced by Marc's strong fingers squeezing his buns like they were bread dough and working their way down his legs.

After he finished with the feet Marc ran his fingers lightly up Peter's legs and back and then turned the limp body over and proceeded to work over the front. Soon it was Peter's turn to work over Marc. He did all of the same things and admired and talked about Marc's body as he worked. They talked about an exchange of lessons in body building and gymnastics after camp and then finally went to bed. Although both boys were aroused there was no sex play, they were tired now and went to sleep quickly.

Later Peter woke. He was lying up close to Marc's back and found his hardon pressed into an inviting crack. Without really thinking about it he wiggled down for a better position and thrust his hips toward Marc's ass. His wet erection found its target and slipped in. It was like when Marc sucked him only tighter. Those buns pressing against his tummy drove him to a higher state of ecstasy and he pushed deeper; wrapping his arm around Marc he pulled in tighter. His coming was the most explosive so far. Marc never moved and Peter fell asleep still inside his friend.

They were both awake quite early and a fog hung in the camp that obscured their view of the other tents. Marc kicked off the sleeping bag and the two of them stood on the edge of the tent platform and had their morning pissing contest. Back in bed, Marc started to quietly tickle Peter's legs and crotch.

Remember I told I'd show you how to make yourself come with your hand? You hardly need to do it that way since you can blow yourself, eh? I don't know anyone else who can do that.

Peter started to talk about last night but Marc cut him off. I was awake and it was good, he said, I'm glad you found that on your own.

Peter was petting Marc now, matching his movements. They proceeded from petting and tickling to stroking each other. Marc came at Peter's hand. The cum hit Peter in the chest and face. You wear it well, Marc said as Peter's body stiffened and arched. Marc slipped a leg under Peter and his friend came on his own belly. Marc continued to stroke and fondle Peter's hardon. Peter was writhing about on the bed, Marc pinning his hand and legs as the masturbation progressed to torture. Peter came again and then began to pee. Marc stopped and spread the cum of both of them over Peter's belly and face. Then he took his friend's hand and rubbed it in the cum and held it to his own face. Peter took the cue and spread it around. Marc said, Let us call each other Brother; like the Indians did it with their blood, we have made a pact with our cum. The spell was broken by reveille. They grabbed their shorts and headed down to the lake for a quick dip.

The weekend arrived and with it the ceremony of initiation. Marc had told Peter some of what went on but it was all secret and so there was not much to say. There would be some work and a tough trial. Everyone would pass, it wasn't a thing you could fail; it was just that some would find it easy, some would find it hard, even scary.

Saturday morning after the weeklies had left the boys who had been elected were quietly led away from the others, each by his sponsor who was dressed in a tunic Peter had not seen before, to a secret place in the woods. They had been told to wear old grubby clothes and no shoes. As they got close to the ceremonial ground each candidate was blindfolded by his sponsor. Peter hadn't yet seen any of the others and so didn't know who else nor how many were involved. Each was also warned not to talk or cry out. Peter, led by his hand on Marc's shoulder, knew he had arrived at the secret place when the ground became smooth and firm and he could hear the crackle of a fire. All was very quiet. Marc turned and removed Peter's hand and stood behind him.

Peter felt alone. He stood quietly for a while until a voice said: Welcome. You have been elected by your peers to become a part of us but first, so that we may all know you better, there is a test to pass. The voice talked of the coming of age ceremony of the Indian boy who would be stripped of his childhood identity, head shaved and body painted with a white dye and then turned out into the wild to survive until the dye was gone and his hair grown long again. During that time the boy was fair game for any hunter of the tribe. If he should survive and return he would be welcomed as a hunter himself.

Peter stood there, alone, reading meaning into the spoken words, thankful again for his special friend. The boys were swept up into the spirit of the occasion and warned again not to speak out nor cry in pain. Peter heard the voice say that they must leave their past behind and enter a new path of service to the camp and love of one another. As a sign of this their clothes would be burned and a lock of their hair would be mixed with that of all the others to symbolize the brotherhood of their bond. They would be tested for strength and valor. The voice stopped and Peter felt Marc's hands on the small of his back. He felt the cool steel of a knife rip his tee shirt up the back and the shirt fall to the ground. His hands were raised and clasped to hands on either side. Again he felt the cool steel on his back as his shorts were cut away. There was some feeling in the hands he held and he wondered if those boys were as well prepared by their sponsors as he was. The knife came again and sawed through a bit of his hair at the back.

Still blindfolded, now naked and stripped of his identity, he heard movement about his feet as his clothes were gathered and thrown on the fire. A faint smell of burning hair passed by. Again he felt Marc's hands on his shoulders. This time they were wet and he felt his body being covered with something thick and wet. It smelled like clay. The hands spread the wet stuff through his hair, matting it down, and on his face and back. It was pleasing and exciting to feel Marc rubbing the clay onto his prick and balls and down his legs but he hoped it wouldn't show. A hardon now could be most uncomfortable.

After another quiet period his left hand was removed from that which it held and another replaced it. Marc's voice spoke: As guardian of the circle I want now to show that it remains unbroken. When I squeeze this hand to my left you will pass it around the circle. There passed an unmeasured moment and Peter felt his right hand being squeezed, he passed it on to Marc who stepped back out of the circle. The naked boys were led, still blindfolded, away from the fire. Somewhere else in the camp they stopped. Warned again against talking, the blindfolds were removed. Peter glanced about. Again, like when he first saw Marc naked, there was an intense curiosity to stare at the other naked boys fighting with the same taboo. He counted about twenty boys  in the group but with their faces hidden behind masks of clay he could recognize only a few by their build. His stomach told him it was past lunch but there was no word of food. They were set to work and soon the sweat was washing little lines in the clay on his body. Sometime late in the afternoon they were allowed to lie down for a rest. The older boys moved away from the candidates who pretty much dropped where they were.

Peter had been working with another boy about his size carrying logs to a pile. He sat against the pile and the other boy sat beside him. There followed a conversation of sorts, messages scratched in the dirt. This other boy knew Peter from home, same school, across town. Soon they were back to work again; right through supper time and into the evening. On towards dark they were taken to another place in the woods and left one at a time separate from each other and told to stay there, they would be picked up in the morning. As each boy was left he was given a blanket, a stick of jerky and some water. Peter found himself alone in the dark and could hear around him others making bed on the ground. After what he heard at the fire he felt the ground would be no place to spend the night. Peter made a low whistle and the new boy stepped out of the dark. Together they found a tree and got well up into it and made a nest of their blankets.

Later in the night the attack he foresaw came. A wave of screaming and running and the boys on the ground were dumped from their blankets. In the early light he could see that some of them had spent the night under such cover as they could devise. At dawn they were all gathered and taken to the lake and allowed to wash. Then, still without clothes, they were again blindfolded and led away.

At the fire the warmth felt good in the still early morning. The boys heard the same voice tell them they had passed their tests and now would be accepted. Only the ceremony of branding remained. The crest of the camp would be branded into their skin to remind them forever of this time. Peter felt a stir in the group as this began to sink in. He tried to remember from during the past few weeks, feeling Marc's buns when they had been sucking and massaging each other; there was no scar was there? They were told to bend over and hold tightly to their ankles.

He sensed someone standing near and felt Marc's reassuring pat on his ass. Although he figured this had to be some kind of a joke he was not really ready when the smell of burning flesh hit his nose at the same time his ass reacted to the intense pain. He screamed and stood up, his hand going to a spot he could not see. It was cold and wet. His blindfold was removed and he saw about him others doing the same. Marc was laughing, holding the piece of ice he had pressed against Peter's ass; another boy was holding a piece of leather and a hot branding iron. The naked boys were now given tunics like those of their seniors and each received the branded piece of leather from their ceremony. Now they made a file of twos, each acolyte with his sponsor, and they went back to the main camp to welcome the last week's arrivals.

 This last week at camp was busy with the finishing of projects and the talk of next summer. Peter caught only a fleeting glimpse of someone he wasn't sure but might have been the boy he met on the work project.

a  

We next find Peter and Marc off loading at the bus terminal in the city of Marc's home. They are met by his older brother who reminds him of the mountain of laundry and complements on having the good sense to bring a helper. At supper that night Marc's dad offers Peter a folding bed in their den but Marc interrupts to explain that they had been sharing a bunk because his mattress had gotten wet and so it would be no problem for he and Peter to share his bed for a few days more. Sunday was a day of showing Peter around. The four of them rode about on bicycles and made plans of what to do during the week.

Monday Marc and Peter woke together; their tent poles holding the sheet up. A discussion of sizes ensued and then some wrestling that soon made a disaster area out of the bed. Come on, Marc finally said, let's get some breakfast and do the laundry. We don't need to dress, no one's here but us and then we can work out for a while. And so they did. At some point in the afternoon Marc asked to see again how Peter could suck himself. Peter, who had been learning how to use Marc's muscle machine, folded himself up, legs back over his shoulder and proceeded to tongue himself to an erection. Marc watched as Peter got closer to coming, his own hardon throbbing. Peter's bunghole, up in the air as it was caught his eye and he stroke the cheeks around it. Peter winked at him and Marc was on him in a second. Peter got it coming and going so to speak.

The rest of the week was, in some regards, more fun than camp. Bike riding together during the days and sucking together at night. On Saturday Marc's dad drove them to Peter's place and whilst the boys explored the barn he got acquainted with Peter's mum. The days and nights on the farm were sort of the same as at Marc's home except that the boys walked through field and wood, did some skinny dipping in the pond and worked together at the barn chores.

One day after making a mess of the hay pile they were laying there talking and petting when the farm dog came over and began to lick Marc's ass. The boy turned over and the dog licked his prick to a dripping hardon. Peter finished him off with a hand job which the dog cleaned up after. Peter lay back on the hay for his turn but Marc brushed the dog aside and took its place licking and sucking on Peter. The dog was getting aroused now and soon mounted Marc.

That night would be their last together and life would never be the same for these two special friends. Marc's dad would pick him up in the morning and school would start in a week. They spent a time talking of getting together during the Christmas break all the while petting and playing and sucking each other one last time.