A Week in the Buff

© 2007 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.

 

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Part 1:  A Conspiracy of Silence

There, among other gay men, we could openly show affection.  Some, a visible minority, made rather too much of a show of it, indiscreetly and indiscriminately, particularly at the bar in the immense, barn-like Quonset hut near the entrance to the campgrounds.  Why hide the fact?  They certainly didn’t.

Most of us, however, the audible majority, confined our lovemaking to a single partner and the privacy of our tents.  Walking past them late at night on our way to the showers or to lie back on the playing field and count the stars, and hearing, beneath the din of disco from the other side of the hill, the muffled grunts and sighs of their occupants, we’d smile happily, my lover and I, and tighten the grasp of our intertwined fingers.  We’d come here for that too, but not just for that.  We came for the camping and the volleyball and the swimming, cooking over an open fire and the company of men like us, to raise no eyebrows when we strolled as a couple and, when we emerged from our tent, not be subject to disapproving stares or remarks on how we offended everyone (meaning them).  In short, we came to celebrate our family values.

That is not to say that we’d gone there intending to remain celibate all week.  Our family values include having sex, having it often, and we fully expected to have rather more of it than usual during those eight days, but swapping, orgies and the like were not part of the agenda.  We knew that quite a few, though by no means all, of the men there had come to have sex, to be watched having sex, to watch others having it, and perhaps to set a record for how many cocks they could suck in a week.  Not us.  One cock was enough, and we would suck it only as often as we felt like doing it.

Of course we checked the other guys out.  Who goes to a museum and puts a blindfold on at the entrance?  And we, too, were one of the exhibits.  With nothing to hide, it felt right to shed our clothes and go about among men as naked as ourselves, basking in the sun’s warmth, our limbs as unconfined and unashamed as our spirits.  Even Gabe, my lover, who was experiencing nudism for the first time and had been reluctant to come, found it natural, though he stayed close to me – out of shyness, not to keep an eye on me, though he could see that no one was sizing him up, as he had feared.  Ours were but two unremarkable male bodies among many – old and young, pale and swarthy, squat and tall, hairy and smooth, toned and flabby, clad only in sandals, sneakers or hiking boots, with endowments shaped and sized as variously as their other features.

Sunday through Sunday, eight days of freedom from clothes and prejudice, eight days of letting it all hang out – our souls as well as our dicks.  We arrived the evening before the official opening to secure a good camping spot.  Others had come on Friday, but there were plenty of campsites left.

Had I come there alone, I would probably have done my fair share of fooling around.  But I wouldn’t have come alone, and in my eyes no man there could compete with Gabe.  Gabe is on the short side, slim and wiry, with an olive complexion, dark eyes and close-cropped, black curly hair – a Mediterranean type – and a tight, shapely ass you want to sink your teeth into.  I couldn’t decide if the charming tattoo I’d talked him into getting flawed or enhanced it.  The tattoo was relatively small, a line drawing in black ink about three by two inches, but very intricate, and had taken the artist over an hour to put on.  As for his package, I suppose one would describe him as respectable, if unremarkable, but I never was a size queen.  What matters to me is how it fits on the rest of the man.  I loved seeing him naked all day long, and I took pride in showing him off surrounded by a throng of connoisseurs of male beauty.

Yes, promiscuity hung in the air like a cloud of invisible gnats.  But for the time being they neither buzzed nor bit; there was no need to brush them away.  We ignored them as they ignored us, not suspecting that by the end of the week their bite would prove so potent as to infect nearly everyone at the campgrounds.

*   *   *

The birds woke me.  How do they know that a new day has come an hour before the sun rises?  I lay on my side, my bent knee resting on the gentle rise and fall of his belly, my ankle bridging the space between his thighs, the mound of his soft sex cradling my calf, my hardness straining against his hip.  I dozed, and when I opened my eyes it was light.

I lifted my knee from his stomach and sat up.  With less pressure on his bladder, he relaxed and breathed more easily.  I felt an urgent need to empty mine.  Carefully, so as not to wake him, I put on my sweatshirt and sandals, grabbed my comb, toothbrush and a towel, and crawled out of the tent.

The air smelled of campfires smoldering to ash.  We’d set up camp on a low rise at the edge of a wooded area.  Here, beneath the trees, the chill lingered on and the dew had pooled on the fly, but you could see that the sun had already burnt it off the playing field beyond the trunks.  The day would be hot and dry.

A dozen or so men who’d come as group had pitched four very large tents and an RV in a semicircle below us at the foot of the slope, on the lawn alongside the dirt road that separated them from the playing field.  We’d wandered into their midst on our way back from the bar the evening before, when it looked as if the scene there would soon degenerate – I mean the word literally – into an orgy, and we spent a few hours drinking and chatting around their campfire.  They looked like a wholesome enough crowd.  A couple of them had nipple rings or a tattoo, but no egregious piercings.  More people came and joined us as the night wore on.

They were all friends from the same naturist club, ranging in age from their late twenties to early sixties.  No hard sex went on there – not in plain sight, that is – beyond some cuddling and a little casual groping between men who appeared to be in a steady relationship, but about half of them were at least half erect.  That made us horny, and we left early, while the party was still going strong.  We’d fallen asleep to the sound of their voices.  Now, an hour or so after sunrise, not one of them was stirring.

The most direct route to the lavatories lay through their campsite.  Still groggy with sleep and none too steady on my cramped legs, I decided to take the long way around and follow the car tracks – more than three times the distance – sooner than chance the loose dirt and uneven path down the slope.  I crossed the clearing and headed in the direction of my erection.  Only a long piss would wilt my morning wood.  I walked past tents in which snores replaced the sex noises of the previous night, and made it about halfway to the lavatories before I had to relieve myself beside a tree.

The shower left me awake and alert.  The sun was strong.  I tied my sweatshirt and took the shortcut back to rebuild the fire and make coffee.

Off to the left, the radio was on at low volume in a one-man tent, alone in a treeless space, far from any others.  I’d noticed it the day before, and figured that whoever it belonged to must be fairly unsociable, but no one else was up and I was in the mood for conversation.

It was Phil’s tent.  That surprised me, because Phil was genial and gregarious, at least when he was buzzed.  I’d met him at the party the night before, where he’d had quite a bit to drink.  He was a tall, lanky man about twenty years younger than myself, with smooth, unblemished skin and short dark hair.  I got the impression he would have liked to have slept longer, but he didn’t look hung over.  I thought him quite handsome in the light, barefoot in front of his tent, soaking up the sunshine, arching his back to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, his hips thrust forward, his large, bony feet a yard apart, and, swaying limply between his legs, a penis that would do any man proud and looked even longer because like many men there he trimmed his pubes.  One of the guys – Art, I think, unless it was Cliff – had made a friendly crack about it, saying that the name Phil suited him.  It called my attention to the fact that we all – and there were nearly thirty of us – had one-syllable names and that, except for me and my partner, they were all words (Rob, Jack, Mark, Brad) or homonyms of words (Doug, Rex, Neil, Les, or, in his case, Phil).

 “Hello!” I called out.  “You’re up early.  Leave shortly after we did?”

“No, I stayed till it broke up.”

“How long was that?”

“God only knows.”

“Doing what?”

“Drinking.  Listening to you guys.”

I ignored his second remark and focused on the drinking.  “I’m surprised you found your way back to your tent.”

“Someone helped me; I can’t remember who.  I’m not sure I knew at the time.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“That much I know.  Someone broke out some weed after you left.  Good stuff.  Everything after that is pretty cloudy, what with the dope and the vodka.  I was counting on seeing who he was in the morning, but he must have left after I fell asleep.  Well, I guess I’ll find out sometime today.”

“Hung over?”

He smiled dreamily, cupped his hand over his genitals and gave a squeeze.

“No, just tender.  I wasn’t good for much else than kicking back and enjoying it, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.  I hope my being so unresponsive didn’t turn him off and he’ll come back tonight.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.  With your looks you won’t lack for partners.”

“It’s not my style to hook up with a different dude every night unless the first is a loser.  He wasn’t.  Coffee?  The water’s just about ready.”

“Thanks.”

We made some small talk – where we were from, or line of work, how we’d heard about the gathering, what we thought of the campgrounds.  I asked why he’d set up his tent so far from everyone else.

“I didn’t.  I was just about the first one here.  It wasn’t worth the effort to move.  Next time I’ll know.”

“Doesn’t it get hot inside with the sun beating down on it all day?”

“I’m only in it at night, and it’s nice that it’s still a little warm inside when I come stumbling back after midnight.”

I asked if his pendant, a large turquoise in a heavy silver setting he wore on a leather thong, was Hopi or Navajo.  He didn’t know.  “Are they any different?  It’s just a souvenir I picked up in Arizona.”

The conversation lagged.  We were miles apart politically.  I said I’d better be getting back to my tent; my partner might be awake by now.  I could see someone up and about where we’d partied last night.  I hoped I remembered his name.

I did – it was Nat, the owner of the RV.  He looked cold in his tee-shirt.  The sun hadn’t yet reached below the trees.  He greeted me with a “Morning, stud.  I heard you two had a good time last night.”

Him too?  Were we all that loud?  “Just don’t say anything to my boyfriend, OK?”  I said.  “He’d drop dead of embarrassment.”

“Sure thing, but what’s the big secret?  Everybody knew where you were going and why.”

Nat had just finished making coffee and offered me a cup.  They’d brought a gas grill, so he didn’t need to light a fire.  “Comes in handy,” he explained.  “We always use up all our wood.”

There was no sign of Gabe at the top of the hill.  I put my sweatshirt back on and sat down across from him at the picnic table littered with half-empty bottles and bags of chips.  I enjoyed my second cup more than the first.  This was real coffee; Phil drank instant.

“Looks like we’re the only ones up,” Nat said.

“Not quite.  So’s Phil.”

“Already?  I was sure he’d sleep all day.  He got pretty wasted last night.”

“I’ll say.  He doesn’t even remember who brought him home.”

“Shame on him!  That was Pat.  He’ll be plenty miffed when he hears he didn’t make much of an impression on the guy.”

“Oh, he left an impression all right!  Phil remembers exactly what they did, he’s just not sure who with, and he’s dying to find out.”

“Then I’ll pass the word around not to tell him.  Serve him right.”

Hank stuck his head out his tent.  “Not tell who what?” he asked.

“You gotta hear this,” Nat said, and went on to tell him.  He expected me to supply the details, but Phil hadn’t given many.

“That makes a lot of people to tell,” Hank said.

“Not really,” I explained.  “We don’t have to tell everyone who was here.  He knows it has to be someone at this campsite because he was the last to leave.”

Hank was incredulous.  “Details like that he remembers, but he has no idea whose dick he sucked!”

“Apparently not.”

“Does he remember everyone’s name?  Does he remember anyone’s name?”

“I couldn’t say.  I don’t think he remembered mine, and he didn’t ask, so I can’t see him coming right out and asking who fucked him last night.”

“I’ve been listening to everything you said, and I think it’s a fabulous idea,” someone called from one of the tents.

“Who was that?” I asked Nat.

“Art.  He’ll be taking charge now.”

“Bossy?” I whispered.  I wasn’t sure which one Art was.

“Hardly.  He’s just a natural-born organizer – Mr. Efficiency.  See how well-equipped we are and how we landed the best campsite?  That’s Art.”

“This whole weekend is his doing,” Nat continued.  “It started out with just the batch of us friends, then got the idea to turn it into one big shebang.  He did it all.”

“All?”

“All – made the arrangements with the owner of the campgrounds, advertised it on the Net, worked out the whole tickets in advance thing when we saw how big this was going to be.”

“How big is it?”

“Over three hundred people.  There’ll be more next year.”

Art, an overweight man in his early thirties, stepped out of his tent buck naked.  He didn’t seem to mind the chill.  He was the one I remembered best, not because he was so much fatter than the others, but because he seemed to know all the guys who’d wandered in to join last night’s party.  He was one of he three without a steady partner, and the only one who’d been married.  “Hi, Ross,” he said.  “I thought I recognized your voice.”

Nat and Hank looked relieved.  I realized that neither of them had remembered my name.

As Nat predicted, Art took charge immediately.  He started by pointing out that the most important one to tell was Pat, so he could play deadpan and lead him on all day.

“And at night?”

“Fuck him silly and see if he recognizes him then.”

“This is going to be fun,” Hank said.  “It gives us something to do all day – keep Phil guessing.”

“Just so long as he doesn’t think it’s my idea,” I said.

“Maybe we can all have a go at him and let him figure out who’s who,” Nat suggested.

I told him to count me out on that one.

“Me too,” Hank said, and drew his head back into the tent.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“My guess is to tell Pat.  It’s a three-man tent.  Hank and Brad are a couple...”

“I noticed.”

“Pat’s the odd man out.”

The three of them emerged from the tent a few minutes later.  “That bastard!” Pat grumbled.  “He wasn’t that drunk when we paired off.  You know, I wouldn’t half mind if all of us pounded his ass.  He’d just better be able to tell which one was me.”

Nat assured him he was only joking.
       “Ty wouldn’t find that funny.”

“He’d think it was hilarious.  I just hope we can let everyone know before Phil works his way over here.”

“That won’t be for a while yet,” I said, “and he won’t ask who it was.  He’s too embarrassed he forgot.”

Gabe came down the hill in a tee-shirt and lounge pants.  “So this is where you’ve been,” he said.  “Aren’t you cold?”

Nat handed him a cup of coffee.  “Here, this’ll warm you up.  You look like you need it.”

“I can’t wait for the game to start,” Pat said.  “Look, I have to take a leak anyway.  I’ll pick him up on my way back from the head.  In the meantime you guys clue everybody in.”

“Sure you can keep a straight face?”

“You bet I can.”

“What’s this all about?” Gabe wanted to know.

We told him.

“That’s just plain cruel,” he said.

“We wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t like the guy,” Art answered.

“I certainly wouldn’t have done what I did last night if I didn’t like him,” Pat cut in, and left to take his leak.  The whole situation was too absurd and the scheme was too delicious for him to stay mad at Phil.

“Besides, what’s a little embarrassment?” Nat was saying.  “It’ll give him something to tell his grandkids.”

“Fat chance he has of having any!”

“Now not a word to bring this up,” Art warned, “and don’t anyone pick up on any of the hints he drops.”

“Yeah, keep him on pins and needles.  Make him squirm.”

“Make him hot under the collar.”

“He ain’t wearing one.  None of us are!”

“Teach him another risk of anonymous sex,” Hank added.  “If he hasn’t figured it out by tonight we can all take turns coming on to him.”

The air had warmed up considerably, and we were all back in our bare skins, except Gabe, who’d taken off his tee-shirt but kept on the lounge pants.  Art and Nat made the rounds to get everyone ready, while Hank took the car to pick up a few more cords of wood before they ran out at the office, where they hadn’t expected so many people to show up for the event.

It turned out that Phil had not been the last to leave.  To no one’s surprise, at some point during the party Curt and Les had picked up two guys for a foursome in their tent.  Theirs was, as they put it, a very open relationship, and I learned that just about everyone there, including those in a long-term relationship, had slept with one or both of them at one time or another.  A fling with Curt and Les evidently didn’t count as an infidelity.

The four men came out of the tent, rubbing their eyes and grumbling about being woken up so early.  Although they were about the same age as Art, Curt and Les looked the youngest in the group, and were by far the best-looking, in build, face and endowment.  Les even worked part-time as a go-go dancer, which is how they met – Curt’s old partner had dragged him to a review at a gay disco and lived to regret talking Les into going home with them.  (“Just for the hell of it,” according to Les.  He swore he only took money for dancing.  They’d been promiscuous together for over ten years.

When Les and Curt heard what was up, their annoyance turned to enthusiasm, and they were all for everybody having a go at Phil to let him pick out the right one.  Just the thought of it was enough to make them hard again.

Art nixed the idea: “That wouldn’t be a joke.  It would be a gang bang.”

“What’s wrong with a gang bang?” Curt asked with a twinkle in his eye.  “It’s one of the few things we haven’t done.”

“Does that include putting on a show?” I asked.

“Do private showings count?”

“By invitation only or open to anyone who happens to stumble in?”

“Friends and friends of friends.”

“Then it doesn’t count.”

“I’ve made a couple of videos,” Les said.

“The two of you together?”

“Both of us, together and separate,” Curt specified.

Nat shrugged.  “Pooh!  Who hasn’t made a video?”

“I haven’t, for one,” Art chimed in.

“Videos that anybody can rent?” Les asked.  “Videos that a million guys must have seen?”

“No, I meant a live show in front of a live audience,” I stipulated, “with hundreds of men you don’t know looking on.”

“That would be a first too.”

“If you want to put on a show for the whole campgrounds, go right ahead.  I’ve seen your shows, and they’re innocent enough.”

“Innocent?  I take that as an insult.”

“If you like I’ll spread the word; just set a time.  But no selling tickets.  It has to be a freebie.  And leave Phil out of it.”

Nat thought that Curt and Les putting on a show would distract Phil from trying to find out who he had sex with, but Art brushed his objection aside.

All the time I was keeping my eye on Gabe.  He was shy with strangers and didn’t say much in company, so I couldn’t tell what he thought of all this or the trick we were planning to play on Phil.  Of the others, only Rob, some fifteen years older than anyone there (except me), didn’t like the idea.  He argued that sex wasn’t just an amusement.

“I agree,” Art said, “but this isn’t sex, except for Pat and Phil, and they’ve already had sex together.  For the rest of us it’s exactly that – an amusement.”

“And the Curt and Les sex show?”

“That’s their business.  Christ, they’ve been together ten years!  Don’t you believe they love each other?”

*   *   *

Gabe and I scurried up the hill to our campsite when we saw Pat on his way back with Phil in tow.  I was afraid I couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Let’s build  fire and have some breakfast,” Gabe said.

“Since when do you eat breakfast?”

“Since today.  I’m famished.  Anyway, I need more coffee.  Don’t you?”

“I’ve had four cups already.  And take off those lounge pants.  Isn’t it warm enough for you yet?”

“I would’ve, but people were staring at me.”

“That’s because you’re wearing clothes.  Nobody else was.  Or didn’t you notice?”

“I saw it all.”

Gabe tossed the lounge pants in the tent and set to work making a campfire.  He’s the better fire builder, but he can’t cook for shit.  I scrambled us up some eggs and bacon, we ate, put the pan and cookware in a plastic bag, and went to wash them off in the showers.  Doing the dishes in there was my idea.  The sinks in the lavatories were too small for anything larger than mugs and silverware.

The twelve shower heads were hung, six facing each way, from a beam in the center of an unwalled pavilion at the foot of the east side of the hill.  You put your soap and shampoo on a long plank running between them at chest height.  You couldn’t adjust the water temperature.  You didn’t have to.  With the sun shining on the cistern on the roof, it stayed warm all day no matter how many people used it, perfect for showering, but not quite hot enough for dishes.  The three or four guys there looked at us as if we were out of minds, but the idea caught on, and the next day just about everyone was washing his pots that way, then stacking them on the plank and showering himself.

Our chores out of the way, we headed for the beach, a few hundred yards of sand along the river surrounded by dense woods about a quarter of a mile from the main campgrounds.  No sex took place on the beach itself, though some did go on in the bushes behind it and also a modest amount of immodest groping below the surface of the water.  A couple (heterosexual) had been arrested there for public indecency the year before after someone on the public beach across the river complained.  They complained about the nudity as well, although the river was too wide for anyone to see our bare bodies without binoculars.  But they saw.  The other beach was a favorite haunt of self-styled “birdwatchers”.

We met a few of the guys from Art’s group, including Curt and Les.  By then everybody knew about their planned sex show, which had grown to include Bud and Neil, the men they’d picked up the night before, and didn’t lack for volunteers if they decided to make it bigger.

“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked.

“Because if we end up with a cast of thousands there won’t be anyone left in the audience,” Les said.  “Hey, how would you two like to perform as a curtain raiser?”

“Why us?”  (We belonged to the older, less sexy-looking set.)

“Because you’re hot.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not.  We all heard you last night.  You could do it behind a screen and have everyone drooling – without amplification.”

Gabe blushed to the roots of his hair.

Bud smirked.  “Well, that answers that question.”

“What question?”

“Which one of you is bottom.  Some of us have money riding on that one.”

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming here,” Gabe pouted.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Curt said.  “You’re among friends.”

“And those who are strangers are jealous,” Les chimed in.  “A Ross and Gabe show would draw a bigger crowd than we will.”

“It’s bad enough having been an entertainment without being on everybody’s lips.”

“Gabe’s a very private person,” I explained.

“I wouldn’t mind being on everybody’s lips... if it were possible,” Les said.

“Don’t listen to Les,” Curt said.  “Only the people at the party heard you guys, and nobody’s said anything about it except to tease you.  The one everybody’s talking about is Phil.”

“Has he solved the mystery yet?”

“Nope.  How could he when he won’t ask?  It’s a hoot watching him check everyone out with his eyes trying to figure out who it was.”

“Not just with his eyes,” Bud said.  “He’s gone up to every likely suspect to cop a feel in the river by way of research.”

“Then he may have just figured it out,” I said, using my head to point to the river.  Phil and Pat were standing very close together in water up to their navels.

“If he can do it that way, more power to him,” said Curt.

Bud replied that he did a very thorough and scientific job of exploration.

“With everyone, or just with you?”

“Now how would I know that?”

“In your case he just may have liked what he found,” Les said.  “I know I did.”

He stood up and waded into the river in Pat and Phil’s direction.

“Intend to find out just how thorough Phil is?” Curt called out after him.

“What else?”

Art came over and conscripted Bud and Curt for a game of beach volleyball.

“Was I really that loud?” Gabe asked after they left.

“No more so than usual.”

“Am I always that loud?”

“Let’s just say that if you hooked up with anyone else here I wouldn’t have to hear about it; I’d just hear it.”

“Oh Jesus...”

“Why look so surprised?  You complain often enough about being hoarse afterwards, so I’d say you can be described as fairly vocal.  I hope you stay that way.  It’s a major turn on.”

“Thanks for the compliment.  Maybe we ought to just go ahead and volunteer to be their curtain raiser.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Don’t tell me what I do sound like.  I don’t want to know.  What I meant was that as long as everyone’s listening to us anyway, we may as well go whole hog.  It’ll be a new experience.”

“I’d have thought that shedding your clothes for a whole week was new enough.”

Gabe shrugged.  “No big deal after all.  What’s bugging me is that some of those guys have something up their sleeve.”

“What sleeves?”

“Very funny.  You see how they’re playing with Phil.  Do you think they’ll stop at that?  They’re in a ‘let’s play tricks’ mood today.  I’d sooner let you fuck me in public and get it over with.”

“What’re you worried they’ll do?”

“I don’t know.  Put a mike outside our tent like in the movie M.A.S.H.”

“How would that be worse than performing as a curtain raiser?”

“If we put on a show it’ll be our choice.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll think about it.  No, I won’t.  If we do anything that crazy it will be your choice.”  I reached back and plucked a daisy growing in the short grass at the edge of the sand.  “Here – maybe this will help you make up your mind.”

“How?”

“He fucks me.  He fucks me not.  He fucks me...”

“You’re worse than they are!”

Pat came trudging up and plopped himself down beside our towels.  “Examination over,” he said.  “Now it’s Les’s turn.”

“You mean Phil still can’t tell?”

“Evidently not, but he is suspicious.”

“I’m sure I could.  No two erections are alike.”

“Oh, I’ll make the final cut.”

“Meaning that he’s already eliminated everyone who isn’t.”

“And very hairy guys, guys with a paunch, bald guys, and the guys with crew cuts.  That still leaves nearly everyone who was at the party.”

“And those who are straight.”

“None of us are straight.”

“I meant your woody.”

Pat had come out of the water rock hard.  Phil had conducted a very thorough investigation.

“Maybe we can do a snappy comedy routine for tonight’s curtain raiser,” Gabe said.

“So Curt and Les went ahead and asked you to act as their curtain raiser?” Pat asked.

“You see, Ross?  I told you they were up to something.”

“That’s to be expected when Nat’s around,” Pat said.  “I’m willing to bet there isn’t one of us who hasn’t been the butt of one of his jokes at least once at one time or another.  They can be pretty embarrassing, but no one ever gets hurt.”

“Mortified is more like it,” Gabe muttered.

“Well, you’re safe this time, Pat,” I said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your role in the scheme he’s planned for Phil.”

“But he is planning something for us, isn’t he?” Gabe insisted.

“I’m not saying.”

“Which means he is,” I said.  “And if we find ourselves at the center of some practical joke it’ll be Nat’s idea, right?  Want to go in on a joke on Nat, an out and out whammy?”

“I don’t know about that.  Remember, I’m part of his circle of friends, and he’s bound to take revenge.”

“He doesn’t have to know who’s responsible.  You’d remain anonymous.”

“We’d have to enlist Ty.  Ty’s his partner.”

“Would Ty cooperate?”

“If the joke’s good enough.”

“Then let’s give it a lot of thought and make it a good one.  We have three days to come up with something.  What I’d like most is turn whatever he has planned for us onto him.”

“I’m not telling what he has planned for you – if he does have something planned for you – so it’s no use pumping me.”

“I’m not pumping you.  That was Phil.  Remember?  In the river.”

“In the river and in his tent.  Now if you two will excuse me, I have to report to the others.”

“Let’s just go home,” Gabe whined when he’d left.

“No way.  There’s a contest going on here, and I mean to come out a winner.  Can’t you live with a little embarrassment?  From the way it sounds, we’ll be in good company.”

“The good company of Phil and who else?”

“Shhh.  There he is.  He’s heading straight towards us.”

“I saw you talking to Pat,” he said.  “Was it him?  I think it might be him.”

“Why does it matter who it was?” I asked.  “You’ve sampled enough dick – manually, that is – to know who you want to go with tonight.”

“The dick itself is unimportant; it’s how you use it that counts.  I’m sure your partner there agrees with me.”

I introduced them.  “Yeah, I remember Phil,” Gabe said, blushing at Phil’s reference to our apparently much-discussed sex noises.

“Did either of you find out who it was by any chance?”

“Find out who was?”

“The guy who fucked me so good last night.”

“You mean you still don’t know?”

“No, but I think it may have been Pat.  Was it Pat?  I saw you talking to him.”

“What makes you think we were talking about you?”

“I get the feeling everybody is.”

“He’s paranoid,” I said to Gabe.

“Somehow or other they figured out that I don’t know who I was with last night.  Only you knew that.”

“They’d have figured out for themselves when you didn’t go right up to your mystery fucker and give him a good morning kiss.  Is that what you’ve been up to in the river – copping a feel of everybody to see if you can recognize the goods?”

Phil grinned.  “I’ve narrowed the field down somewhat, to about half a dozen.  I’ve had my fist around the dick of just about everyone who was at the party.”

“So we noticed.  And they must have had their fists around yours too, which ought to give you a second clue.  How long were in there anyway?  Your ball sack is shriveled and wrinkled like a prune.”

“I dunno.  Two, three hours.  I know for sure it wasn’t Curt...”

“How do you know that?”

“Too damn big.  And Brad’s boner is too curved, and Mark’s uncut, and...”

“Spare us the details, unless you’re ready to give us a run down of what you did last night.”

“I’m fairly certain it had to be someone who isn’t in a steady relationship, not counting Curt and Les, of course.”

“Of course, but that didn’t keep you from testing the guys who’re partnered.”

“To make double sure.”

“Excuses, excuses.  What’s next?  Having all the finalists fuck you?”

“I think it was Pat.  He was my first guess, because of the way he looked at me this morning.  Then I noticed that they were all looking at me kinda funny.  I think there’s a conspiracy going on.  A conspiracy of silence.”

“There must be, since the monogamous guys let you play with them.”

“Are you in on it?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“I guess not.  Stupid question.”

“But you believed me when I told you it wasn’t me.”

“Because you were otherwise involved – remember? – and for a very long time.  How much stamina can one guy have?”

“He’s asking you, Gabe.”

“He’d be surprised.”

“Honest?  Then I’ll have to check you out too.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to come right out and ask who it was?”

“That would be too embarrassing.”

“And not half as much fun.”

Phil insisted we go in the river with him and get tested; he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Everyone on the beach gave us thumbs up as we followed him into the water.

We both passed the test with flying colors, I for my cock and Gabe for his hands.

“So,” Phil said, “the count’s back up to seven: Pat, Les, Hank, Jack, Will, Neil, and you.  And there’re four more to check out.”

“Then Pat’s still in the running.”

“Very much so.”

“And I gather that dicks count for more than hands.”

“Hands count.  I just had Gabe pegged for a committed bottom.  With that tattoo...”

(Gabe’s tattoo was one of the main reasons he didn’t like anyone but me seeing him naked.  I’ll have more to say about that later.)

“I’m the only one who pegs his committed bottom,” I said flatly.  “Consider a privilege that I even let you squeeze his cock.”

I swear on my mother’s grave that except for our time with Phil we had no sexual contact with another person during our entire stay at the campgrounds.  Since then is another story.

*   *   *

When we got back to our tent Gabe turned the thing inside out and scoured the bushes looking for a hidden mike.

“Wouldn’t there be wires too?”

“They could attach those later.”

“In the movie they sneak up and plant it while Frank and Hot Lips are screwing.”

“Maybe we should booby-trap the place.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Curt and Les stopped by a little later to talk us into doing their curtain raiser.  We turned them down flat on the grounds that they were planning to play a trick on us in front of everyone.

“What makes you think that?”

“Tricks seem to be the order of the day, but I suppose a lot of people came here looking for tricks.”

“Why get upset over a little practical joke that may not even happen?  It’s just some good, innocent fun.”

“Innocent isn’t the kind of fun we came here for.”

“I told you the guy was a comedian, Curt.”

“If you ask me,” I warned them, “you two are setting yourselves up by agreeing to put on a show.”

“You mean to be the butt of Nat’s warped sense of humor.  Well, it won’t be the first time, and we won’t be alone.”

“Are you going to rehearse at all?”

“No, it’ll be pure improv.  Rehearsing would take away from the spontaneity.”

“And make the show an anticlimax.”

“Besides, what good would it do to rehearse if someone means to turn the show into a practical joke on you?” Gabe added.

“There might just be something in the works for you too,” Les said.  “What if we promise to put the kibosh on it in return for a curtain raiser?”

“What makes you think we’d believe you?  How about if we kick off the show with a stand-up comedy routine instead of the bent-over kind?”

“Hey, you’re quick.  We’ll think it over.  By the way, we’re pretty sure Phil is on to our little game.  He said something about a conspiracy.”

“That was partly my doing.  I told him the monogamous couples wouldn’t have played with him in the river without a reason.”

“Why’d you go and do that?”

“Don’t you want him to know?  What would be the joke if we let him think everybody was oblivious to his ignorance?  As Nat said, make him squirm.”

“The show’s on for the day after tomorrow at nine, by the way.  Art had the idea of throwing a gala pre-show dinner.  You two are invited.”

“What’s on the menu?  Viagra?”

“As if we need it.”

“Watch out.  I wouldn’t put it beyond Nat to put saltpeter in your food so you can’t get it up on stage.”

“That is so not his style.”

“So, what is on the menu, then?”

“Gourmet stuff.  Take-out.”

“Gourmet like pizza.”

“More likely Chinese.  Art is into Asians.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“The delivery boy, of course.  Are you guys absolutely sure you won’t do a curtain raiser?”

“Forget it.”

“How about behind a curtain?  Then the four of us come out and put on our sex show while you provide the sound effects.”

“No way.”

“Or join up with us and make it a six-way.”

“Definitely not.  We’re exclusive.”

“What prudes!  You wouldn’t even consider a threesome in private?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe.”

“The only person here we’d do a threesome with is Phil.”

“Why Phil?”

“Because he wouldn’t remember who he’d done it with the next morning.”

“You are a wit.  We’ll have to give some serious thought to that stand-up comedy idea.  Why don’t write something up for us to look over?  Catch ya later!”

Gabe looked worried.  “You don’t really mean to drag me into putting on a comedy sketch, do you?”

“Why not?  It was your idea.”

“I’d be more nervous doing one of those than having sex in front of a live audience.”

“I was thinking that doing a comedy routine would be the perfect opening to play a trick on Nat.  He means to do something to us, all right.  And to think he said Art was the natural-born leader!  That must make him the court jester.”

“I was thinking too.”

“What about?”

“A three-way with Phil.  Just fantasizing.”

“If we can get him drunk enough.   Tempting, isn’t it?  Tall and thin, and with one of the nicest cocks out a couple of hundred – long and juicy when it’s soft, but not so big when hard as to be unwieldy.”  (I scarcely needed to tell him that.  The first everyone could see, and we’d discovered the second during our few minutes of underwater groping.)

“You’re teasing, right? 

“And you’re forgetting Pat.  Or are you up for four-way?”

“Quit it!  What’s happening to this place, Ross?  Yesterday it was all innocent naturism, and today it’s all sex shows and orgies.”

“If you ask me it’s all a lot of talk, their way of coping with the urge to do what they’d rather not do.”

“Les and Curt’s show too?”

“No, that’s something they probably wanted to do all along.  We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No.  It would be unsociable not to.  Look who’s coming up the hill to see us.”

“Our partner in a three-way!  You see what I meant about his dick.  I like a little more hair, though.  Why shave it all off when you’re as big as he is?”

There was no path to climb the rise, and the way he had to walk, stepping from side to side to get a foothold, set his five-and-a-half plus dangling inches a-swaying as if in invitation.

“Made any progress?” I asked him.

“Hardly.  The possibilities have risen to eight.”

“Who’ve you added to the list?”

“Doug.”

“You could cut that back by half if you limited yourself the guys who have a partner and to Les.”

“I don’t think the serious couples are being quite as faithful as they let on.”

“So what comes next?  Sampling all eight anally?  If that’s what you’ve come for, you can forget about it.  I told you it wasn’t me.”

“I haven’t been reduced to that yet.”

“Why the hell don’t you just ask?”

“That’s what I came here for.”

“I mean, ask someone who was there.”

“What good would it do?  There’s a conspiracy against me, and they’re all in on it.”

“What harm would it do?  If there is a conspiracy, you must realize that whoever it was is in on it too.”

“I’ll find a way to get back at him.”

“They want to make you ask, you know.  Asking will put an end to it.”

“Let’s just say I’m stubborn.”

“Then why ask us?”

“Because you guys aren’t part of their group either.  Did you know they’ve cooked up a trick for you as well?”

“We thought as much.  Something to do with Gabe’s vocalizations, right?”

“I’m not saying.  But I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“That sounds like a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ deal.  Sorry.  No one here has anything left to show.”

“You know, don’t you?”

“Maybe.  Look at it this way: if you ruin their trick on us and we ruin their trick on you, they’ll come up with a prank ten times as embarrassing to get back at us.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“We won’t.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“Why?  What’re you going to do to us?”

“Not me.  It’s what they’re going to do to you.”

“As I said, whatever it is, I’m sure they can think of something worse.”

“I kinda like the idea of having sex at my own funeral.  Wouldn’t that be a blast, Gabe?”

Gabe shook his head.  “I just know we’re going to end up being a spectacle.”

“You better believe it,” Phil said.  “Do you know who fucked me?  Will you tell?”

Gabe thought a while before answering.  “If it happens, it happens,” he said.  “I’m starting to get used to the idea of being a spectacle.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Will you be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.  It’ll serve you right.”  And he got up and left.

“That gives us two people to get even on,” I said to Gabe.

“Why just two?”

“Because we couldn’t possibly get back at them all, could we?  It wouldn’t hurt to take a few precautions, though.”

“How?  We don’t know what or where or when.”

“You’re right.  I should’ve got Phil to drop a hint or two.  It’s too late for that now.  Let’s go down to Art’s campsite and see if we can pick up on anything.”

“Good luck.”

“I bet Rob would tell us if we asked him outright.”

Rob’s tent was gone, and the site was deserted except for Jack, who’d fallen and scraped his shoulder playing volleyball and had gone back to his tent for antibiotic ointment and a bandage.  We asked what had happened to Rob.

“He packed up and left.  Said the sex play was getting out of hand.”

We climbed back up the hill.

“That proves it,” I said.  “There are pranks in store for all around, us and Phil and few others as well.”

“One precaution would be to keep away from them,” Gabe said.  “Make other friends, get in with another set.”

“Who knows?  By now there may be others involved.”

“Maybe we should move our tent.”

“Where to?  Out in the open next to Phil?  This site is too nice, and the other good ones are all taken.  But I think you’re right.  Let’s have supper alone tonight, just the two of us, and not go socializing.  If we avoid them and keep to ourselves maybe they’ll forget about us.”

“Our best precaution would be to give up sex for the rest of our time here.”

“Not an option.  We could gag you.”

“Too B&D.  Why not tie me up while you’re at it?”

“We could do that too.  The equipment’s available.”

“I’ll say.  The building the bar’s in could be a museum.  All they need is a few lifelike statues to make a diorama.”

“Why bother with statues when you have the real thing?”

“I didn’t see anyone using it.”

“We left early.”

*   *   *

We had nothing more to do with Art and Nat’s crowd for the rest of the day.  That evening we sat around our campfire and enjoyed a meal of burgers, potato chips, salad and beer while we listened to the party gathering below us.  At one point Art came up and invited us to join them, but we turned him down.

“No thanks.  Tomorrow maybe.  We thought we’d spend a little quality time by ourselves tonight.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to move your tent down and join up with us now that Rob’s gone, but there’s no room.  Two guys have squeezed their tent into his space.”

“That’ll be Bud and Neil, right?”

“Right.  Where’ve you been all day?  Working on your stand-up comedy intro?”

“Sorry, but we’re opting out.”

“Pity.  Well, I’m going to replenish my glass.  You two have fun.”

“I wish you hadn’t said quality time,” Gabe said.  “It was like an open invitation to play a trick on us.  Do you think get us to move our tent down the hill was part of their prank?”

“I doubt it.  Bud and Neil wouldn’t have moved theirs there if it was.  I’m sure they’re part of it.”

“Someone’ll be back soon to lure us down there.”

“Then let’s go to the bar and have something stronger than a beer.”

We took the long way around so as not to pass through their campsite.  The bar was pretty crowded with people we hadn’t met, mostly younger and very busy cruising or already hooked up and having sex in public.  Nobody paid us any attention.  If Nat had singled us out for some kind of prank, they certainly didn’t know about it.

The crowd had spilled out of the bar area over into the rest of the Quonset hut – nearly half the size of a football field in length – where the owner had set up a variety of sex contraptions, like a Saint Stephen’s cross, a swing, a couple of slings, something resembling a sawhorse whose use eluded me, and a batch of folding screens in the form of a maze, complete with glory holes.  In the far corner was a large shipping contained with the doors removed and black cloth hung at the open end, which I took to be the darkroom.  A large, square platform had been set up in the center, raised like a boxing ring about four feet off the ground.  Les and Curt’s sex show would probably take place there.  (“And in this corner, measuring in at an impressive nine-and-a-half inches, we have...”)

Not everyone there was having sex, but there was no part of the Quonset hut where some kind of sex, all of it gay, wasn’t going on, except for in the hot tub, perched on a loft some ten feet high in a corner next to the bar.  In fact, nothing was going on there.  Someone had put up a sign – ABSOLUTELY NO SEX IN THE HOT TUB!!! – and as a result there wasn’t a soul in it.  Gabe and I took our drinks and went in for a long soak.  The hot, bubbly water felt good on our muscles.  We hadn’t realized how sore two days of camping had made us.

We had a bird’s-eye view of the activities taking place in the rest of the building.

“You see?” I said.  “Who needs statues?  Putting on a show in this place is superfluous.  Les and Curt are in for a big disappointment.”

“Are we the only ones behaving ourselves?”

“You mean here?  It sure looks like it.”

“I mean everywhere.”

“No, we’re still in the majority.  You saw that for yourself on the way here.  For the most part people are sticking with whoever they came with, sitting around their campfires and keeping to themselves.  I guess the catch is not to be drawn into a group.”

“That doesn’t seem sociable.”

“Oh, it’s OK to say hi to people and be friendly, chat with them at the beach, maybe join in a game of frisbee or volleyball or something.  Just steer clear of the parties.”

“Whattaya do if they make a grab for you?  Haul off and slug ’em?”

“Taking a step back should be enough.  Should we do the dishes after we get back or leave them for tomorrow?”

“I vote we leave them for tomorrow.”

A couple who had exhausted themselves taking turns in the sling came and joined us in the tub to soothe their ravaged hindquarters.  Others followed them.  The tub began to get crowded, and we had to squeeze over to make room for them.  The water level rose and starting spilling over the sides.  We got out, climbed down the ladder, and rinsed the chlorine off our bodies under the single showerhead tucked beneath the loft.

We hadn’t worn tee-shirts, and on the walk back we wrapped our towels tightly around our shoulders.  After the hot tub the air felt colder than it was.  Many people had retired to their tents, and all but a few campfires had burnt themselves out.  The party below us at the foot of the rise had pretty much broken up.  Only a handful people stayed on, talking quietly.

Gabe and I had one sleeping bag open and spread out over our double air mattress, and used to quilts to cover us.  I slipped under the quilts to get warm while Gabe fumbled around inside the tent to conduct an extended search for a hidden mike.  By the time he’d assured himself that none had been planted he was chilled to the bone and shivering, and I was starting to feel toasty warm.  The shock of his cold body made me pull away from him when he got into bed.

“I’m frozen,” he said, and disappeared entirely under the covers, rolled himself into a ball, and lay with his face on my stomach.  He wanted to warm his hands between my thighs, and I grudgingly said he could.  My penis shriveled instantly at the touch of his icy skin, then quickly returned to life as his warm breath wafted over my groin.  Soon it had swelled to within a half-inch of his lips.  Squeezing my sphincter, I pumped more blood into it so it would stir and make him aware of its presence.  He took it in his mouth.  I sighed.

He sucked me slowly and gently, but eagerly, cooing as he did.  He cupped a hand around my balls, and I began to shrivel again.

“Wait till your hands warm up,” I told him.

He wrapped his palm around my shaft, sliding it up as his mouth moved toward the tip, then back down as he took me deep in his throat.  He held me loosely, and his hand glided easily over the slick coating of his saliva.  He would curl his tongue and flick it under the head of my cock as his lips closed over the knob, then straighten it and spread it out along the underside of my shaft when he lowered himself on it again.  The alternation of a warm mouth and cool fingers was a novel and deeply erotic sensation.  I ran my hand over his back.  His skin grew smoother as his body warmed and the goose bumps disappeared.  It didn’t take long before we were both sweating and had to shove the covers to the side.

We shifted into sixty-nine position.  I licked up the sweet drop of precum that had collected at the tip of his glans, then slowly ran my tongue down the base to his shaft and over his balls.  He parted his legs to make room for my head.  I slipped my tongue into the cleft between his buttocks to lick away the sweat, then probed deeper.  His tight rosebud relaxed as I swirled my tongue over it.  He rolled onto his stomach, and I mounted him.

He whimpered softly when I entered him.  My penis was very engorged and pulsing, hard as rebar and as thick as a medium-size zucchini.  His whimpering quickly gave way to ever deeper sighs, then turned to moans, which grew louder as the waves of intense pleasure carried him away.  I clutched him round the shoulders and nibbled his neck and earlobes.  My fingers played with his nipples.  To surprise him I randomly thrust deep and shallow, but always slowly to make it last.  When I went very deep I would wait before I pulled back and grind my hips against his cheeks, which remained soft and cushiony, independent of the ring that clenched and unclenched around my pole.

Gabe’s moans and muffled exclamations echoed softly back at us on all sides, like whispers from the surrounding trees.  It took me a while to realize they didn’t always repeat his exact words.  The guys from Art’s campsite had crept silent up the rise and arranged themselves in a circle around our tent.

“Fuck off, assholes!” I called out.

Their fake echoes chimed back at us: “Fuck... assholes, fuck... assholes.”

I pulled out of Gabe so quickly he yelped, a yelp repeated all around us, mixed with a chorus of squeals and guffaws.  Fuming, I crawled out of the tent and found myself facing about twenty men, more than half of them sporting erections like mine.  All were wearing a sweatshirt or jacket, several had put something on below the waist as well.  Only I was completely naked.

“I hope you don’t intend doing this every night,” I snarled.

Over a dozen flashlights flicked on, aimed at my erection.

Nat’s voice: “So that’s what Gabe’s been howling about!  Now we understand!  Applause!  Applause!  Or should we wait until the show’s over?”

“It is over,” I said.

“That’s not fair to Gabe.”

“Look who’s talking about being unfair to Gabe!  OK, you’ve had your fun.  How about you go back to your campsite?”

“Not until the show’s over.”

“I told you, it is over.  Anyway, you can hear us just as well from there.”

Curt’s voice: “That’s true enough!”

Nat started a rhythmic chant of “Encore!  Encore!”

“Go fuck yourselves!”

“I told you it was a lousy idea, Nat,” Art said.

Nat ignored him.  “We will fuck ourselves, meaning each other,” he said, “...when the show’s over.”

“Then you don’t need our show.”

Gabe came out of the tent.  He looked embarrassed, though not as much as I feared (he’d put on a tee-shirt, but not his lounge pants) and a lot less angry than I thought he’d be.  “Let’s give them what they want and get it over with, Ross.  It’s the only way we’ll put an end to it.”

“Yes, put an end to it!”

“Put it to his end!”

“We want to see!”

“Here?  In the dirt?”

“Did anyone think to bring a blanket?”

“Stand him up against that tree and take him.  You’re plenty hard.”

I stood in front of them, not moving a muscle, hands on hips, dick pointing straight ahead, wondering if I ought to piss on them.

“Gabe’s waiting,” Phil said.  “We’re all waiting.”

Gabe was waiting.  Without my noticing, he’d gone and braced himself against the tree, legs apart, shoulders down, ass sticking out behind him.

“What the hell?  Just wait a sec while I get the lube out of the tent.”

What had started out as a wonderful fuck turned into an uncomfortable ordeal for Gabe.  It wasn’t so much the audience as how long it took me to finish.  Despite the encouragement they gave me, everyone looking on cramped my style more than standing up cramped his legs.  I was afraid he’d start hurting, so I pretended to come inside him and told them to go home, the show was over.

They insisted on shaking our hands and went trooping down the hill.  A couple of them gave Gabe a pat on the rear and inquired, “Not too tender?”

“I’ll live.”

Only Phil remained behind.  I was surprised he hadn’t hooked up for the night.

“Who with?  They’re not letting on.  I can’t face them.  They mean to humiliate me tonight.  What they did to you two was only an appetizer.”

“Then go back to your tent alone.  Maybe your mystery lover will be waiting for you.”

“Fat chance, and let him stew if he is.  He deserves it.  Anyway, now I think it was you.”

“Think again.”

“You’d make a worthy substitute if it wasn’t, maybe better.  Can I shack up with you guys?”

“We’ve already had our sex for the night – or didn’t you notice?”

“That’s OK.  I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Let him, Ross,” Gabe piped up.  “We have enough room to accommodate a guest.”

I snuggled up to Gabe, leaving a space between us and Phil.  He lay there, quietly playing with himself in the hope of arousing our interest.  He did succeed in arousing us (or at least he did me), but not our interest.  At least not mine.

“You know something I’ve always wanted to do but never had?” he whispered.

We ignored him.

“To be the middle man in a sandwich, to have my dick in a guy’s ass and another guy’s dick in mine.”

“Look,” I said, “if Gabe and I ever decide to try a three-way – and that’s a big if – it’ll be in private, not something for the whole campgrounds to talk about.”

“I promise I’ll keep it a secret if you tell me who I was with last night.”

“It was Pat,” Gabe answered.

Had he said that to get rid of Phil or was he letting us know he agreed to a three-way?  What he said next made it clear: “Did we bring the Preparation H with us, Ross?”

We hadn’t.

“I have a tube in my tent,” Phil said.  “Should I get it?”

“In the morning, if I need it.”

“Aren’t you going to go with Pat, now that you know?” I asked.

“No.  I’ll have my revenge by making him jealous.”

“You promised not to tell.”

“I won’t... ever, and I’ll deny it if anyone asks.  It’s enough to keep him wondering.”

“Do you want to, Gabe?  I need to be sure you’re not doing it for me.”

“Yeah, I want to.  We’ve already put on a show for a couple of dozen guys, so why not go for broke?  And I like the sandwich idea.  It’ll be like your dick fucking me through him.  But if you don’t want to, I don’t.”

I had an idea.  “The one we want to get revenge on is Nat,” I said.  “I’ll go through with if Phil agrees to cooperate with my little plan.”

“I’m game.”

“It involves a bit of revenge on you too, for not telling us what they were going to do.”

“I’ll play along.  I don’t mind what happens to me so long as I know it’s going to happen.”

“In other words, you’d do anything to be in that sandwich.  C’mon, Gabe.  We’ll work him over with our mouths, and when he’s nice and hard, you roll over on your stomach and spread your legs.”

“Let’s turn on the radio first so nobody hears me if I get to loud.”

“Now why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

To be continued...

 

Posted: 05/30/08