Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

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Episode 31
Cabin

Well, here it is, Episode 31, and finally Charlie lets me write a chapter.  Yes, this is Tim.  What with all this superboy stuff, and the tooting of horns and exaggeration beyond comprehension, by now you have concluded that either I am completely superhuman or a complete figment of Charlie’s imagination.  Neither.  I breathe air, put on my pants in the morning the same way everybody does (unless Charlie and I are alone and we decide to do without pants!), make mistakes, and sometimes piss Charlie off completely.  He hasn’t written about that, has he?

 

I guess that if I had gotten the idea of writing this story before Charlie (I suppose that it would have been titled “Finding Charlie”) then I would have made him out as superman.  So I can’t really fault him as a storyteller.

 

I’ve been lucky.  God made me super small, but compensated with a body that simply works right.  Diving and gymnastics come naturally to me.  My brain works right as well.  Charlie puts it down to determination, dedication, hard work, and long hours.  I prefer to think of it as super good luck!  And the best part of that good luck is Charlie!  God, he’s an angel.  He is the Nordic God, not me.  At about six feet, blond, beautiful muscles, handsome body, no extra fat, kind and gentle as a lamb, what else do you call him?  People keep asking how I fell in love so fast.  Well, duh!  One look and it was all over.  And then I saw him looking at me with just the right twinkle in his eye.  I thought, “My God, not only is he the most fabulous human specimen I have even seen, BUT HE’S GAY!”  Charlie got most of the facts right about that summer.  But I have to tell you what was going on in my mind.  I could hardly function.  I bounced on the trampoline, swam, sailed, and went through all the motions of summer camp.  My mind was always on Charlie.  I knew that the age difference was deeply disturbing to him; that just made me all the more determined to bridge the gap.  The last night I went to bed convinced that I couldn’t hold on to him.  Saturday morning he talked about letters.  I hardly heard, and certainly didn’t think through, the details.  I just heard him giving us a way to keep the relationship open.  Of course I said, “Yes.” 

 

Those forty months were pure Hell.  Charlie writes as if he moved through those months as a fairly sane, sober, rational person.  He lies.  We were both simply going through the motions.  Thank God for Tina.  Thank God for Phil and Priscy.  Thank God for the Gang.  And my family.  God, Charlie didn’t have a family he could talk to about me!  There wasn’t a two minute period in which I didn’t think about Charlie.  I didn’t take a dive in which I didn’t imagine Charlie at the top of the ladder helping me out.  Charlie.  Charlie.  Charlie.

 

Well I made it.  Charlie made it.  I know that Charlie was protecting me, but he damn well better never protect me that well again!  I’ll bite it off!  I’ve warned him!

 

Is that enough of a testimonial to the nicest, wisest, handsomest guy on earth?  I don’t know what else to say.  Charlie, I love you!  I always will!

 

Charlie read that and wants me to change it, get real, tell it like it is.  I told him he would change one word at his peril.  It is real.  God, it truly is.

 

OK.  Charlie wants me to tell this portion of the story.  I guess you’ll see why shortly.  Though there are some parts that I have had to tell based on what Charlie told me (he helped me write those sections) other sections he thinks it would be better if I wrote.  Besides, I have been demanding a chance to write the paragraphs above, and Charlie finally had to let me.

 

I had two things that I needed to accomplish before I was comfortable leaving Grand Forks for the summer.  I needed a gymnastics coach for next year, and I needed to get the athletic department going on a women’s aquatics program.

 

I headed off to Fred Milson.  That door was always open to me, and Fred always seemed pleased to have me visit and ask for help.  “Fred, I need to get these two programs going, which means that we need money.  I don’t need your money for these, we can easily raise the needed funds.  But I can’t do it now.  We need to hire a gymnastics coach for the team, and I know who I want to hire.  We need a women’s aquatics coach, and Larry knows who he wants.  We have about half the money needed for gymnastics, but we haven’t started on aquatics.  But we have to move now on the hiring.”

 

Fred replied, “Not a problem.  I’ll call Dr. Edison and tell him that I’ll guarantee the funds.  With that guarantee they can hire.  But you damn well better raise the money, or I’m going to be out about $25,000.”

 

“You can afford it.”

 

“I know I can, but you can’t.  If I have to fork over on this guarantee, you won’t dare come back again.  Actually, it might be cheaper for me to just write a check for $25,000 and tell you not to come back again.”

 

“It’s a deal,” I said.

 

“No, it isn’t.  That would be bad for you and you know it.  And it would be worse for me.  I’m looking forward to a long relationship, friendship really, with you Tim.  And with Charlie.  I’ll back your fundraising, in fact I’ve already offered to help.  I know we’ll succeed.  But even if we don’t, I’m along for the ride.”

 

With Milson’s guarantee in hand I went to Dr. Stevens, Director of Athletics.  I told him about Frank and that I wanted to hire him for the club.  It would be better for him to be an employee of the University and not of some student club.  Was faculty status possible?  Stevens replied that he would have to start as athletic department staff–faculty status couldn’t be arranged quickly enough.  He probably–no promises–could be converted later.

 

I asked about salary.  Stevens suggested $9,000.  I suggested $15,000.  We compromised at $12,000, which is about what I had in mind to begin with–much larger than would be expected for that kind of position in 1966.  But I was raising the money, and insisted.  With Stevens’ permission, I called John and asked him to have Frank call me as soon as possible.  I wanted the contact to come through John so that Frank would know that John supported the move.

 

I got a quick call from Frank.  “Tim, this is Frank.  John told me to call you.  He wouldn’t tell me what it was about.  What’s going on?”

 

“The University of North Dakota wants a gymnastics coach.  In fact, they want you as their gymnastics coach.  How quick can you get up here for an interview?”

 

“How soon do you want me?”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Aren’t I always?”

 

“I’ll see you at noon tomorrow.”

 

“Come to lunch at my house.  And be sure to talk to John about all this before you come.”

 

The next day I gathered Dr. Stevens, three students from the gymnastics group, two other Athletics Department  faculty, Fred Milson, and me for lunch–prepared by Felix, paid this time by the athletic budget.  We gathered at 11:30 and I explained what we were gathered for.  I gave some background on Frank and the St. Paul Gymnastics Club.  I made it quite clear that I was eager to employ Frank.  Fred Milson made it quite clear that he supported me, and would cover any fundraising shortfall.

 

Frank arrived, was introduced all around, spontaneously hugging me while shaking hands with the rest.  I grinned and told Frank to tell everyone about himself.  The interview went well.  Later I toured Frank around our gymnastics facilities–not quite as good as the club in St. Paul–the rest of the athletic facilities, and most of the University.  I took him in to meet Prexy; Frank had a hard time believing that I was so casual about going into the President’s office.  Prexy embarrassed me by saying, “Tim really runs this place, and in a dozen years his name will be on the door.  In the meantime, Dr. Stevens has the final say about hiring athletic department staff.  But Tim has him in his pocket as well.  Welcome to the University of North Dakota.  But I’m afraid that the position of gymnastics coach at UND, which has no official gymnastics program, isn’t exactly a high honor.”

 

Frank replied, “I’m delighted to come.  And being Tim’s coach is a high honor.  There are a lot of coaches with more experience than me that would give their eye teeth for this job, just to be Tim’s coach of record.  That Tim wanted me is staggering, and I’m delighted.”

 

“That’s how a lot of us felt when he announced he wanted to be a UND student.  We’re getting used to it.  He’s good fun.”

 

“I hope I’m more than ‘good fun’,” I said.

 

“Sometimes,” said Prexy.

 

Frank spent the night with us, and spent the next morning going over technical matters in the athletic department.  He had a formal offer by noon, accepted immediately, and headed home that afternoon riding on cloud nine.  Charlie insisted this happening at all was simply stupendous.  That it had happened that quickly was mind-boggling.  I thought that the athletic department moved pretty slowly–I had made up my mind by 1:00 p.m. the day before, what took everyone so long?

 

I took Larry to visit Dr. Stevens so that we could talk about women’s aquatics.  With Prexy’s endorsement and Fred Milson’s financial guarantee,  the program would go forward.  I wanted assurance that a women’s coach would be hired and in place by September; I had no desire to be involved in the selection.  I was most concerned that competition would be available, since there were no other women’s aquatics teams in the NCC.  Larry indicated that for the first year the women would have to travel to individual competitions, team meets would be hard to organize, though some one-on-one meets might be arranged.  I offered to call Coach Billings at IU and ask for help.

 

Larry and the others were a little startled that I had that kind of contact at IU.  I said, “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, but I refused.  But we left as friends, especially with Coach Billings.  He’ll be the Olympic Diving Coach in Mexico City and I expect to be diving for him.  I think he’ll help.”

 

Felix was going to be OK in the house alone for the summer. Larry would stop in from time to time to check on him.  We were ready to head for the Michigan cabin, when Charlie got a telephone call from his Mom in Indianapolis.  Dad was in the hospital, seriously ill.  Emphysema that had bothered him for years was much worse, and he could hardly breathe.  Charlie and I set off immediately for Indiana.

 

Dad was in intensive care at University Hospital.  Anticipating a problem for me to get in to see him in intensive care, Charlie and I simply introduced ourselves as his sons and went right it.  We didn’t even feel guilty about lying!  Dad was unconscious, but seemed to slightly acknowledge our presence.  Charlie thought he smiled at me a little. Perhaps.  We stayed a week, and by the end of that time he recognized us and talked just a little.  Mom insisted that we get on with our lives, that with Wayne and Gill in town she would be OK.  Mom and Dad wouldn’t be making their planned trip to Michigan that summer, but she told us we should use the cabin anyway.  We hated to leave, but we weren’t accomplishing anything there.  So, promising to visit again after Nationals in August, we returned to Grand Forks.

 

And soon we were heading to Michigan for a summer alone in Charlie’s cabin.  We really were looking forward to it.  But, of course, the entire Gang was invited to drop in, and drop in most of them did.  We didn’t end up having too much time alone.  But we had one five day stretch alone which proved to be enough.

 

The cabin was a small, pine, lakeside cabin:  three very small bedrooms, one and a half baths, with a large room running the length of the front of the house–kitchen, dining room, two picture windows, fireplace, and screened porch on the side.  We lived in this wonderful room.  One of the bedrooms had a queen size bed, the other two had twins.  Not the best arrangement.  Of course, Charlie and I took the queen when we were alone.  Sleeping arrangements got more interesting as visitors came.

 

The first were Phil and Franklin.  They were there for almost a week–the longest anyone came that summer.  It was so good to see them, especially in a relaxed setting.  Previous times had either been commitment weekend or athletic events–busy, busy, busy.  On those occasions we had even kept  busy trying to explore all the sexual combinations that seemed to be warranted by the various relationships among the Gang.  Now we could kick off our shoes–and other things–and really relax.

 

They hadn’t been there an hour before Franklin asked me to come outside and take a little walk with him.  He clearly had something on his mind.

 

“Tim.”

 

“Yes, Franklin?”

 

“I’m not sure how to say this.”

 

“Directly.  I won’t be bothered.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“How can I be sure till I know what it’s about?  If you’re going to tell me that you’re breaking up with Phil, then ‘Yes,’ I will be bothered.”

 

“Nothing like that.”

 

“Well, what?”

 

“Phil and Charlie were lovers.”

 

“I know.”

 

“They were together for a month.”

 

“I know.  Where’s this going, Franklin?  You aren’t jealous, are you?”

 

“Oh, God, no.  I feel sorry for them.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Tim, they really loved each other.  They still love each other.  Charlie loves you; Phil loves me.  They don’t love us less.  But they are in love.”

 

“Is this leading where I think it is, Franklin?”

 

“I don’t know where you think it’s leading.”

 

“You want to let them be lovers this week, don’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Franklin, you wonderful guy.  That’s the most amazing offer.  You’re really willing to let Charlie and Phil be lovers this week, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes.  But are you?”

 

“Yes, Franklin, I am.  You know, if I hadn’t come along, Phil would probably be Charlie’s partner.”

 

“You’re forgetting me.  I was in line behind you at camp.  But you moved quicker.  Phil already knew Charlie, but hadn’t made his move.  You beat him out.  But I would have tried if I could have.”

 

“I guess I knew that.  Just what do you have in mind this week, Franklin?”

 

“We let them be lovers again.  They can have the queen bed.  We’ll stay out of their way at night, and take it easy during the day.  Partners for a week.”

 

“That won’t bother you?”

 

“No.”

 

“You aren’t worried that you might lose Phil?”

 

“Not in the slightest.  Are you worried about Charlie?”

 

“Not in the slightest.  Then it’s on?”  I said.

 

“Yes.  Who tells them?”

 

“You do.  It was your idea.”

 

We walked back toward the house, but I stopped Franklin and asked, “What about us this week?  We’re both going to be missing a partner.”

 

“You know, Phil and I wouldn’t fit in a twin bed, but you and I would.”

 

“I thought you had some kind of idea like that.”

 

“You don’t think Phil and Charlie would expect us to be chaste, do you?”

 

“Of course not.  But are they going to think that this is a gift to them, or selfishness on our part?”

 

Franklin started to speak, but I stopped him.  “Don’t answer that; it was a stupid question.  I know that you had Phil and Charlie first in your thoughts, and both of them will know the same thing.  We all know you, Franklin.  And we all love you for who you are.”

 

“Back to the house, Tim.”

 

Phil’s reaction to Franklin’s suggestion was more than I expected, “Franklin, that’s the kindest most generous gift you could offer.  The same to you Tim.  But Charlie and I can’t do that.  You are our partners; we can’t relive the past.”

 

Charlie had a similar reaction.

 

Franklin and I stood our ground.  I said, “Charlie, you loved Phil.  Phil you loved Charlie.  You don’t love us less because you still love each other. Besides, I think a week sleeping with this big Teddy Bear would be out of this world.”

 

The protests continued a while, but they finally subsided and Phil broke down in tears.  He went over and hugged Franklin, and could barely get out “Thank you” as they stood there. 

 

Charlie came over to me and said, “Are you sure, Tim?”

 

“Yes, Charlie, I’m sure.  Franklin and I both want you and Phil to explore your love of each other.”  Then I whispered in Charlie’s ear, “But no fucking.”

 

Charlie responded, “Never.”

 

“I know.  Have a lovely week.”

 

By this time it was dinner time, and we ate a simple cold cut supper that Charlie pulled out of the refrigerator.  After dinner, Franklin and I simply disappeared.  It fact, we headed for the lake, sat on the dock watching the sunset, and then slipped into the water for skinny dipping.  We swam way out into the lake to a little island where we could be alone.  Franklin said, “Thank you, Tim, for helping me give this little gift to Phil.  You know, everybody in the Gang wants sex with Charlie.  We have invited Phil into the Gang, and he appreciated it.  But he doesn’t have the history with the others.  He needs to know that he’s loved by more than me.”

 

“He is, Franklin.”

 

“I know.  And so does he, intellectually.  But he needs physical reassurance.  This week will be good for him.  Thank you.”

 

“Franklin, I get you for a week.  I want to feel what it’s like to be manhandled by a giant.  I want to find out what sex with a giant is like.  God, Franklin, I think that I could do chin-ups on your hard dick.  Stand up and let me try.”

 

He did!

 

Before you let your imagination go berserk; it won’t work.  But we had fun trying.  Then Franklin said, “Let’s swim back, and on the way I want to stop and see if we can do 69 while we swim.”

 

It turned out that Franklin and I really couldn’t do 69 anywhere–if my dick was in his mouth then my mouth came to about his belly button–I stuck my tongue in, but you can’t accomplish much that way.  So we took turns.  And we could, and did, suck each other while swimming.  And we kissed.  And played like a pair of dolphins–a papa and a baby in size. 

 

When we got back to the cabin the dishes had been cleaned up, and Phil and Charlie were in their room, quiet, on the queen bed.  Off and on all night we heard them thrashing about.  We were content to listen, and I lay curled up in Franklin’s arms and torso.  I loved sleeping with Charlie, but having Franklin wrapped around me was a truly different experience.  But I couldn’t arrange my little body to be able to give Franklin the little wiggle that Charlie so loved.  Some things are probably best saved for your first love anyway.

 

At six the next morning Franklin woke me, very quietly.  “Let’s go.” 

 

“Where?”

 

“Anywhere.  We’re going to give them the day alone.”

 

We dressed; Franklin carried me out and literally tossed me into his car; and we were gone.  Franklin drove, seemingly aimlessly, for about a half hour. We stopped in a wooded area.  He got out, opened the trunk and got out a blanket, then opened my door, pulled me out, threw me over his shoulder, and we headed into the woods.  He walked about a third of a mile, found a soft spot made by pine needles, and set me down.  He spread out the blanket, picked me up again and moved me to the blanket, and proceeded to remove every stitch of my clothing.  Then his own.  He spent the next hour keeping me almost, but not quite, ready for an orgasm.  I could hardly stand it; but it was wonderful.  Terrible and wonderful at the same time.  I’d almost reach it, and he would lay his head on my gonads–my dick aimed at his ear.  I’d soften a little, and he’d start in again, with a different hand, or his tongue, once with his toes!  Finally he sat up and said, “You finish.  I want to watch.”  So I jacked myself off–in mere seconds.  Immediately he was all over me with his face, rubbing and licking; then kissing.  What an experience.  Franklin had been in total control, and I loved it.  While being as gentle as a person could be, he could use his size to totally control events.  I lay down on the blanket, exhausted, satisfied, in love, and still horny.  All at once.  I didn’t dare compare Franklin to Charlie.  They were just different.

 

Franklin lay down on the blanket in a spread eagle position.  “I’m yours.  Do what you want with me.”

 

I started at his left little toe.  I tickled, touched, tasted, smelled, rubbed, gently bit, and finally let go of it.  I repeated this on every part of his body.  I took complete possession of him.  I poked his ribs, his ass, his ears, his teeth.  He was willing to let me take possession of him.  I sat on his chest and moved up so he could take my dick in his mouth.  “Suck me, Franklin.”  And he did.  I came, and I made him give me all of it when we kissed.  I turned around so my knees straddled his chest, and I said, “Use your finger, Franklin, and massage my ass.”  He did.  Then without my asking he pulled me to him and he used his tongue on–and in–my ass.  Then I crawled down his body and took him in my mouth.  No way could I take all of him in, but I played with the head with my tongue.  I let him come, all over my face.  We kissed again.

 

We had spent well over two hours.  What a morning.  I thought it had been completely onesided–with me getting completely cared for by Franklin.  But Franklin insisted that it was one of the best experiences of his life.

 

I said, “What about Phil?”

 

“Phil and I have wonderful sex.  But he’s afraid to take me up on my offer to do anything to me that he wants.  You weren’t.  I loved it.  For this week you are to be totally in control of the sex.  Whatever, whenever you want.  If you don’t lead there won’t be any sex.  You are the master; in control.  Enjoy it.  I’ll bet Charlie doesn’t give you that chance.”

 

I told Franklin that Charlie and I had let ourselves be tied up; that was about as in control as you could get.  Franklin simply said, “With me you don’t need rope.  You can do anything.

 

I believed him, but couldn’t really think of anything that I wanted to do with, or to, him that would really put him to the test.  But for openers, I made him suck me again!  Then I said, “Franklin, let me see you jerk off.”  He did, and I fed his cum to him.  He licked it up.

 

Cum has an interesting taste, but it’s no substitute for lunch.  We got dressed and headed for Amasa where Charlie had told me  we could eat in the funny little Amasa Hotel.  It served a pretty good hamburger and fries, and as we ate we discussed what we might do in the afternoon.  Franklin said, “You know I have been to camp in the UP, and lived in Wisconsin all my life, but I’ve only rarely seen Lake Superior, and I have never swum in it.  How close are we?”

 

I was talking to Charlie about places to go up here.  I guess it’s about 40 miles up to L’Anse, on Keweenaw Bay.  Then about 15 to Skanee on Huron Bay.  From there not much further to the Huron area where you’re actually on the lake, not a bay.  Charlie says there are a lot of secluded shores there; we could skinny dip, which is what I assume you had in mind, since we don’t have suits with us.”

 

“Is there any other way to swim–if you have a choice, that is?”

 

“Wait till you find out how cold Lake Superior is.  You’ll want one of those suits with a top that your grandfather wore.”

 

“If you can hack it, so can I.”

 

“Careful.  Charlie found out the hard way how cold I can hack it.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

We went.  My guesses on mileages were about right, and a little over an hour later we were standing on a rocky shore of Lake Superior near the mouth of the Little Huron River.  We had our shoes off and were standing about ankle deep in the very cold water of Lake Superior.  When Minnesota lakes get down to 70 degrees we say it’s a little cold for swimming.  At 65 its very cold and my family won’t go in, but it rarely gets that cold in July and August.  This had to be well under sixty.  It would test me almost as much as being nude in the snow–because I had known that would be over very quickly and we’d head for a warm sleeping bag.  Here the idea was to pretend you were enjoying the swim.

 

Franklin said, “If you’re willing so am I.  At least it’ll be fun seeing you take off your clothes.”

 

We undressed, somewhat reluctantly.  Leaving our clothes on a high rock, we inched our way forward on the rocks.  There was no possibility of going fast over the slick rocks, so the entrance to the water was certainly the hard way–inch by inch.  As the water got to my thighs, Franklin, who was a little ahead of me, turned around and said, “Sorry, Tim, but your balls are going to hit before mine, even if I am a little ahead of you.  And no fair covering them with your hands!”

 

It was deep enough to do a surface dive, and I did, being careful to hit right next to Franklin so he got almost as wet as I did.  You had to move to keep warm, and I stroked madly out into the lake.  Franklin yelled, and then dove after me.  He could run faster than I could, but couldn’t swim as fast.  But he gave serious chase.  Soon we were about 50 yards out, in pretty deep water, treading water as fast as we could to stay warm.  Franklin inched over to me and said, “Float up on your back.  I want to see how small your balls have shrunk in the water.”

 

I floated back, exposing to the air–warmer than the water–what was left of my tiny little gonads.  Franklin did the same, and while he was still proportionately larger than me, there wasn’t a lot left of his balls either.  I reached over and stroked his dick.  He enjoyed it a minute or so and then dove for mine, catching it in his mouth.  The games were on!  We had to keep active, so roughhousing was in, orgasms were not.  After about twenty minutes we both had to admit that we either had to get out of the water or be seriously chilled.  We headed back to where we had climbed in–or at least where we thought we had climbed in–but our clothes were missing!  No clothes.  No towels.  No nothing.  We were both certain we were at the right spot, having found the rock where we left the clothes.  There wasn’t any wind, so they certainly hadn’t blown away.  Someone must have come along and played a practical joke.  We headed to the car–out of sight about 200 yards inland.  I was worried that the car would be locked with the only keys in Franklin’s missing pants.

 

We came around a large rock, bringing the car into sight, with Charlie and Phil sitting on the hood–our clothes on the roof!

 

“Have you been following us?” Franklin asked.

 

“No, we came up here to see the lake; I guess with the same things in mind as you.  Then we saw your car.  The rest was easy!  Now we’ll give  your clothes back after you both jack off.”

 

That was Phil, and damned if he wasn’t serious.  Charlie backed him up.  I suppose we could have gotten mad and gotten our clothes, but by now we were dry and beginning to warm up in the sun.  Jacking off didn’t seem like such a bad idea.  I looked at Franklin and said, “Race you.”

 

We did.  He won.  But not by much.  I said, “OK, guys.  Come lick it up.”  Charlie came to me and Phil to Franklin, and they had a little dessert.

 

Franklin said, “You guys going swimming?”

 

“Will you come back in with us?”

 

Franklin looked like he was going to say something like “No way,” but  I beat him too it and said, “Sure, get your clothes off.”

We headed back to the lake and more of the same horsing around.  I grabbed Phil’s balls and squeezed a little saying, that’s for the clothes trick.  Franklin dunked Charlie a couple of times for the same reason.  It was good fun, but about ten minutes was about all anyone could stand.  We headed back to the shore, dressed, and headed for our cars.  Franklin and I got to his first, and we got in.  I said, “Lock the door.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

I held up Charlie’s keys which I had slipped out of his pants when he was drying off.  We watched them go to the car, get in, and start searching for the keys.  We let Charlie hunt for a while, then we honked and I held up the keys.

 

Charlie came over to get them, but I said, “No way.  We want to see you and Phil strip down and do 69 here on the sand.  Then you can have the keys.”

 

Charlie realized they were stuck, so he walked over to his car where Phil was, and soon they stripped down, came over toward us, lay down in the sand and went at it.  As soon as they finished Phil and I got out of the car and went over to the pair.  I took Charlie, and Franklin took Phil and we hugged and kissed.  Charlie pulled down my pants and sucked me; I’m really not sure what Phil and Franklin did, but they wouldn’t repeat it on a public street.  With much love and fondness, we returned to the day’s pairings, got into our cars and drove off.  We learned the next morning that Charlie and Phil had simply driven east a ways, parked and walked to where they had a nice view of the lake and had sat, talked, done other things, and spent the rest of the afternoon together. 

 

Franklin and I headed for L’Anse, where we walked around town and along the bay, finding a lovely little restaurant where we could watch the water and the occasional boat as we ate.  We enjoyed a very tasty supper before we headed back toward Charlie’s cabin, stopping by a very small, unnamed lake.  We walked down to the east shore, took out our blanket, and watched the sunset.  It was very private, so we slowly lost our clothes, and let the sunset be the trigger for our mouths to head for each other’s dicks, and soon we were reminded that we weren’t matched to comfortably do 69.  So I sucked Franklin, then he sucked me, and back and forth.  It was quite dark before Franklin received my load, and I got his not long after.  We licked and tickled a while, then lay together and hugged and kissed.

 

“Franklin, would Phil be jealous of you doing this?”

 

“No.”

 

“Somehow kissing is different from sex.  It really says love, where sucking might only mean physical enjoyment.”

 

“Wrong on both counts, Tim.  First, I sucked you for the same reason I kissed you.  I love you.  I believe you did those things to me for the same reason.  And there’s nothing wrong with our loving each other, and showing it.  And I know Phil feels the same way.  We’re committed to each other, and that’s a lifelong commitment.  I’ll never love anyone the way I love Phil, though you and Charlie are close seconds.  And we trust each other.  Just as I know that you and Charlie love and trust each other.  But why am I telling you this?  You’re the kid that loved Tina; that cheered when Charlie loved Phil and played with Priscy.  I don’t think you have a jealous bone in your body.  Why these questions?”

 

“Because I like to hear you say what Charlie and I say to each other.  We don’t like to think we are the only ones who think that way.  You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you say the same things that Charlie and I have said.  You know, it’s not the conventional wisdom.”

 

“It’s the conventional wisdom of the Gang.  I think we’re all on the same wavelength.”

 

With that we were back doing our “almost 69" again.  God I don’t believe how horny I was that day.  If you count, that was my sixth orgasm of the day.  It was only Franklin’s fifth.  Soon we were hugging, warming each other against the night chill.  Finally, we reluctantly headed home.  Phil and Charlie were in bed.  We headed there as well.  As we fell into bed, Franklin reached over to my penis, stroked it, and said, “I’ll bet you’re horny enough for a seventh.  He went to work, but sleep was more attractive, and we fell asleep together, with his hand on my prick.  Sometime during the night we got ourselves spooned together, and we awoke that way.  It wasn’t long before Charlie and Phil opened the door, stark naked, and Phil said, “This bed isn’t big enough for four, so you two have to come over to the queen size.”

 

Charlie said, “Phil and I are having a ball.  But there’s nothing that says that the pair of us can’t enjoy some time with the pair of you.”  Franklin and I found ourselves being led by the balls to the queen size bed.  “Phil wants Franklin to fuck him, and I want to watch.  Tim, you and I are going to get him ready.”  Charlie got out a KY tube and lubed up Phil’s ass.  First my finger, then Charlie’s, then various combinations, and Phil was very, very ready.  I sucked Franklin, then lubed him up and he was equally ready.  Charlie and I held Phil’s legs up and Franklin easily found his way inside.  Think mating elephants.  The bed survived.  We had deliberately not tried to arouse Phil too much, and he didn’t come.  The process was reversed, and he fucked Franklin with equal enthusiasm.  Charlie and I opted for 69.  But Phil and Franklin made it a little different.  Phil put one hand on Charlie’s ass, with his middle finger aimed at the hole.  His other hand was on the back of my head.  Push, pull.  I had no control over what was happening, except that my tongue tried hard to do its job on Charlie’s moving dick.  Franklin did the same thing to my ass and Charlie’s head.  He would stick his finger in my ass driving me forward as he pushed Charlie’s head forward driving that wonderful tool down my throat.  Then out.  The rhythm was completely different from what Phil was doing to my ass.  What a trip!  I came first, but they kept going long after both I and Charlie had come.  Terrible.  Wonderful.  Amazing. 

 

Finally, we were all a little less horny, dressed, and ready for breakfast.

 

We had a good breakfast, and then I was really in for it.  Charlie said, “You know, Franklin, Tim really likes to be cold.  He loved that water yesterday.  Franklin got the idea really quickly, and soon there was a vice-like grip on my upper arm that prevented me from moving at all, much less running away.  Next the three of them had me spread-eagled on the floor.  Phil pulled down my pants, but not my underpants.  My tee shirt was pulled up to my nipples. 

 

Franklin tweaked my dick through my underpants and soon I was very obviously hard.  He said, “I don’t think Tim should be hard.  Let’s fix that.  Charlie arrived from the kitchen end of the room with a bowl of ice.  I was stood up–a trivial task for Phil–and held tight.  Franklin and Charlie stuffed my Jockey’s full of ice.  They were right, my dick softened immediately.  My pants were pulled up and my tee shirt down. 

 

Charlie said, “The question is whether you can stand it till the ice melts, or whether you’ll pull the ice out as cubes.”

 

It was fucking cold!  I wasn’t sure I could stand it.  But they knew that my pride wouldn’t let me take the cubes out.  They let me go, and one of them, Phil I think, said, “It’s up to you.”

 

It takes a long time for ice to melt.  But as I danced around the cabin, the solution finally came to me.  I headed out the door, to the lake, and jumped in off the end of the dock.  Standing the in the water the ice melted quickly, and much less painfully.    But I didn’t remove a cube! 

 

“OK, guys.  You had your fun.  Now I get mine.  The three of you are going to take turns sucking my dick.  One of you is going to get my cum, and he’s going to be sucked by the other two.  The one who eats the cum is then going to be sucked by the last–who doesn’t get an orgasm.  He’ll be good and horny for his partner tonight or later in the day.”  It worked out just as I had hoped: Franklin was the big loser and would remain horny for me. 

 

We decided that we had had enough togetherness for one day.  Phil and Charlie headed over to Camp White Elk, and Franklin and I had the cabin to ourselves.  I said to Franklin, “You told me that this week I was the master, in control of all the sex.  Did you mean it?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Then take off your clothes.”

 

He did.

 

“I just want to feast my eyes on your gorgeous body.  I’ll think of other things.  But the idea of having a sex slave for the day really intrigues me.”

 

“It’s for the week, Tim.  And I’m going to love it as well.”

 

“Suck me, Franklin.”

 

I was sitting in a chair, and he came up on his knees between my legs, and sucked me where I sat.  I came pretty quickly, and he gleefully swallowed it all.  Nothing was said about an orgasm for him, and he seemed amazingly content to just tend to my needs–which came again in about an hour and a half.  This time he simply licked the underside of my dick until I came over my stomach and chest.  At my request, he cleaned it up with a towel.

 

We had lunch, and for dessert I tried something that I had daydreamed about, but had never tried: I laid a towel out on the table and Franklin lay down on it on his back.  I took Reddi-Whip and sprayed it all over his midsection until none of his genitalia nor pubic hair was visible.  Then I put  maraschino cherries on top.  Then with great glee I ate!  Cherries, whipped cream, dick, balls, you name it.  What fun!  Franklin laughed so hard I thought he would burst.  I sent him to the lake to clean up.  There were boats around so he wrapped a towel around himself till he was under water, swam around, and wrapped the same wet towel around to get out.  When he came back to the cabin, I was on the table with the cherries and the Reddi-Whip and the process was reversed.  I laughed just as hard; it was both funny and wonderfully ticklish.  I insisted that Franklin make me cum as well as have dessert, and he did. 

 

We read most of the afternoon.  From time to time I would get up and play with some part of Franklin: toe, nose, nipples, balls, penis, you name it.  You can guess where the emphasis was.  But no orgasm permitted.  For dinner I took my clothes off, and we cooked, dined, and cleaned up like nudists.  After dinner I took a very horny Franklin to the bed, and slowly brought him to a climax, with fingers and tongue.  When he came I slowly massaged him with his cum till his front was covered with it from head to toe–God, there was a lot of it.  Of course, there was a lot of him too.  Then I snuggled up to his sticky body, face to face, and we slept. 

 

What a week.  One afternoon we were out hiking and Franklin said, “Come here.”  He pulled down my pants, grabbed me by the calves on each leg, held me upside down, and sucked me.  When I came he held me up higher till we could kiss, and I was given a present of my own cum.  After I had eaten he set me down, laid down himself, and said, “Please do something with me; I don’t care what.”

 

It was very rare that Franklin asked for anything, so when this request came I honored it immediately.  He had on jeans, which I unbuttoned and unzipped, pulling them down to his knees.  He stopped me at that point and I turned to his Jockey shorts, which I pulled down to his pants.  I pushed his shirt up to expose his nipples, and massaged them.  He gently pushed my hands down to the nether regions, and I took his huge penis in my hand.  I stared to suck, but he said, “Your hands, please.”  He almost sounded desperate.  I started to tickle and play, but he signaled that he wanted me to jack him off.  I straddled his thighs and used both hands to jerk him off.  He came very quickly, spewing cum up to his face.  I was grabbed and pulled down into it, and quickly our bodies and our shirts were a mess.  I couldn’t believe how tight Franklin held me.

 

Finally he relaxed.  We lay there side by side, silent, for a long while.  Then he said, “You know, I can go a long time without needing an orgasm.  The other day when you made me wait all day, it didn’t bother me at all.  And it certainly led to a great time that night.  But then all of a sudden I get this urge.  I almost get desperate.  Thank you, Tim.  You gave me just what I wanted.  No, not wanted, needed.  It felt great.  And we’ll carry this little reminder [pointing to our shirts] for the rest of the hike.  It smells good.”

 

About a half hour later he grabbed me from behind, turned me around, and said, “I’m desperate again.  Do your thing.”

 

“The same thing?”

 

“Yes.”

 

I pulled his pants down, then his shorts, and then helped him lie down in a mossy area.  “Mouth or hands?” 

 

“Hands.”

 

I repeated what I had done about a half hour before.  He didn’t come quite so spectacularly, but he held me just as tight.  And longer.  It made me feel really needed, and it was one of the most satisfying feelings that I had that week.  He rolled me on my back and did exactly to me what he had asked me to do to him.  It might not have been the way I preferred to have an orgasm right then, but it was clearly what Franklin wanted.  It felt good, and I held him as tightly as he had held me.  Soon we were kissing.  Never before, and never since, have I felt so close to Franklin. 

 

Phil tells me he gets in a mood like that every few months.  Phil agrees with me that it’s Franklin’s most endearing time.  He is a totally giving person, and it’s wonderful when just the right mood hits him and he asks for something.  It’s a privilege to give back to Franklin.

 

The week ended.  We had a big dinner together the last night Franklin and Phil were there.  We compared notes about our sexcapades.  Phil and Charlie had tried a lot, but Charlie steadfastly refused Phil’s dare  to attempt sex with a porcupine.  They had gone to a secluded beach on a remote lake that Charlie knew about.  Charlie had buried Phil in the sand with only a hole for his face and his dick sticking up out of the sand.  He had played with It about 45 minutes before he let Phil come.  Then Phil had risen up out of the sand and carried Charlie to the lake where they both got cleaned up.  Then Phil dug a deep enough hole so that Charlie could kneel in it with his neck at ground level.  It was filled in and Charlie literally couldn’t move.  Phil sat down with his legs spread and his dick sticking at Charlie’s mouth.  “Shall I jack off and splash you in the face, or stick it in and have you suck me?”

 

“Your choice,” said Charlie.

 

Phil did both, getting sucked for a while and then finishing himself, being sure to hit Charlie square in the nose.  Dug loose, Charlie and Phil headed for the water for cleaning, swimming, hugging, and kissing–all underwater.

 

Franklin and I had gone over to Camp White Elk the day after Phil and Charlie had visited.  It hadn’t changed, of course.  Except that the campers’ faces always changed.  We knew a number of the older boys, and much of the staff.  It’s a wonderful place, and the visit was both joyful and nostalgic.  But camp is relationships.  And ours were now with the Gang, as it had expanded and moved beyond Camp White Elk.  We all four felt it.

 

My camp visit had, in Franklin’s words later, been a sensation.  I was national news; almost all the boys knew who I was.  The camp had three pictures of me on the main lodge wall–a picture of me as a camper, posed in the camper group of the Gang with Charlie, the Sports Illustrated cover, and the Time cover.  They were proud of me, and not the slightest bit embarrassed about my being gay nor about my relationship with Charlie.  Stanley had showed me the lodge with the pictures with great pride.  I was introduced at lunch, and I was around the waterfront all afternoon.  I did some dives–Charlie has already noted that you can’t do much from a low board at a lake.  They put me on the trampoline and I’ll admit I showed off–I’m embarrassed to say.  But the boys loved it.

 

I asked Stanley whether there had been much reaction to the connection of the camp to my coming out.

 

“Yes, Tim.  Two kinds.  We got a lot of letters and some phone calls from parents of gay boys asking whether this was a safe place.  A number have come–most in the closet, but not all.  It has enriched the camp.  On the other hand we have gotten hate mail.  Some campers haven’t returned because, when asked, I have consistently said that gay boys are welcome here and will be treated exactly like everyone else.  I have gotten silly questions about whether they are going to shower together, or be put in camper groups with straight boys.  I simply say, ‘Of course.’  On balance, I think we have just about broken even on gains and losses.  Of course, that isn’t a basis for deciding who we welcome, but I’m glad to report no loss in camper numbers –enrollment is very slightly up.”

 

We were alone, and I simply couldn’t help myself–I kissed him.  He seemed to like it.  It made me wonder....

 

Franklin and I decided, and Phil and Charlie agreed, that Camp White Elk was, for us, a wonderful memory.  Visits were nice, but we had moved on.  We will look back with great love and fondness for the place and the people.  And, of course, the Gang is with us.  But we have moved beyond Camp White Elk.  We were no longer boys, but men.  But we owed it our lives.

 

As Charlie has already hinted, that wasn’t, and isn’t, true for Hal and Ronnie.  It remains an important part of their lives.  They have their week at Camp White Elk no matter what they have to miss, or how far they have to travel.  They are welcomed, and contribute as much as they get.  But it’s a symbiosis that only they truly understand.  They, and perhaps Stanley.  We rarely talk about the “new” Hal these days.  And there never was a “new” Ronnie.  But they know, and we all know, that they owe a debt to Camp White Elk that can never be repaid.  But they don’t return to try to repay a debt.  They return because they continue to draw sustenance from the place–in a way that only they understand.  But when they tell us each summer which week of the following summer they are on for Camp White Elk, none of us tries to suggest that there is something more important that they should be doing!

 

We said goodbye to Phil and Franklin as they headed back to Kansas.  Just before they left, Phil informed me that next summer he and I would be paired.  I guess I looked startled, but he said, “Franklin and Charlie need a week together.  You know it.  I know it.  And if they think about it, they’ll know it as well.  You and I are just the lucky byproduct.”

 

Franklin and Charlie insisted that they didn’t need a week as lovers.  But Charlie looked at Franklin as he said it, and realized that it wasn’t true.  Franklin almost looked like a puppy dog as he looked at Charlie and said, “Charlie, I’ve forgiven Tim for getting to you before me.  In fact, I’ll have to admit that if he hadn’t I might never have found Phil.  But I think you were my first love.  I’m going to have a wonderful year thinking about a week with you.  And I love Phil all the more for suggesting it.  And Tim for allowing it.  And you for taking me into your love for a week next year.”

 

Charlie couldn’t answer for his tears.  But I answered for him, “Franklin, it’ll be wonderful.”  On that note they headed for Kansas, and Charlie and I headed for bed.  God, I love him.  But Charlie and I tend to express our love through our actions more than words.  Hugging, wiggling, and squeezing are our native tongue.  Oops, pardon the pun!  Words have their place, but for us they are less important.

 

“Hug me Charlie.”

To be continued...

 

Posted: 06/06/08