Into the Wild

Author's note: I tend to avoid categorizing my cock sucking stories as "gay male" if that is not the proclivity of the characters involved; but in this case, while all the characters are either straight or leaning that way, they do get up to some pretty gay stuff!

This story takes place in the late seventies, before internet porn; when manscaping wasn't a thing, the drinking age was 18 in the US and Canada, and yes, the Canadian beer was stronger.

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"Don't worry Betty, we'll take good care of him." I don't remember which one said it, but that's what one of them told my mom. Most likely it was Brock or Rawley, because I have a vivid recollection of a heavy, hairy forearm draped across my shoulder, pulling me close as he said it. It had the desired effect at the time, dispelling any reservations mom still harbored about whether this trip was a good idea, given my dad couldn't go. It was the annual crew fishing vacation, and as their boss, dad was always the one who brought me along.

The crew were dad's three best buddies, who worked at his roofing company and joined him on this annual fishing trip up north in Canada. This year dad came down with a nasty bug and was in no shape to spend 10 hours in a truck, let alone sleep on the hard ground or sit for hours on a boat in the middle of a lake. But the roofing contracts had already been arranged, and the week he had carved out for them all was not something that could be easily shifted, so here we were.

I was bummed that dad couldn't go, but I had no qualms about going without him. I had known these three guys for years, having accompanied dad on more than a few of these trips, although I hadn't been free to join one since I was a sophomore in high school. Now that I was a sophomore in college, I figured it might be one of my last chances, so I wasn't about to miss out. Especially since it gave me license to ditch my shitty summer job a week early before heading back to the dorms.

So, the reassuring remark served its purpose with mom. Dad didn't need reassuring -- he trusted these guys with his life on the job, so entrusting his son to them didn't give him a moment's pause. In hindsight, I wonder if whoever said it showed even a trace of nefarious intent. If so, I certainly didn't pick up on it.

The plan was to take two trucks, but without dad, it made more sense to leave the standard cab behind, since everyone could fit in Brock's crew cab. The competition for shotgun was fierce, with Rawley and Hank calling it at the same time. I didn't compete; with my slight frame and lack of seniority it was understood I was never in the running. Rawley won the rock-paper-scissors runoff, and made a point of flagrantly stretching out and kicking back in the captain's chair as Hank and I took our places on the rear bench.

We'd been on the road an hour and a half, but it didn't start to feel like a vacation until we crossed the bridge into Canada. Until then it could have been any trip to the city. This was the place where the route first took on a singular purpose. Given the boat we were towing, the Canadian customs agent only needed to hear that we were all US citizens on a fishing vacation before wishing us luck and waving us through.

The good-natured teasing started almost as soon as we were underway. When it was my turn in the barrel, they called me "college boy" and gave me a little grief over the length of my hair, but mostly it was the mustache I was trying to grow. "What's that on your lip Cam, forget to wash your face this morning?" What can I say -- it was the 70's and mustaches were cool, if you could grow a decent one. Unfortunately, mine came in thin and wispy, and I had already decided to shave it off before I went back for fall semester. Now I wished I'd done it before this trip. I thought it might make me look masculine, but apparently it had quite the opposite effect. Calling me Cam didn't bother me; most everybody did, as long as I could remember. Naming me Cameron was mom's idea, but she was about the only one who called me that.

As the miles rolled on, memories of previous trips with these guys came flooding back. Being a little kid learning how to rig for bottom fishing, and how to detect the fish bite and set the hook. And then in later years, there was that clandestine first taste of beer (what would mother have said?), and on the last trip, even a sip of whiskey as the bottle was passed around the campfire. These guys had always been nice to me, almost like uncles - younger uncles; and they always enjoyed having me tag along.

That familiar comfort is still here, but something feels different this time. The radio is playing a mix of news and country standards like usual, not the Rock & Roll or Motown I would prefer. It's the conversation that's different. It takes a while to figure it out, but when the first F-bomb drops, it hits me like a ton of bricks. They're no longer self-editing, the way they apparently used to. Maybe it has something to do with dad not being along, but I prefer to think they're just not treating me like a kid anymore. It's like I'm one of them now, an adult; which I technically am, in most respects. After all, I have a draft card, tucked right behind the legit driver's license that proves I can legally drink. I may only be 19 years-old and unaccustomed to being treated like a grown-up, but it feels good when I am.

I'll admit some of the comments they make involving sex stuff are a little uncomfortable, especially since I figure in most cases they're talking about their wives. It makes me wonder if dad ever talked about mom that way on some of those trips.

Truth be told, the sex comments made me uncomfortable for another reason as well. I lacked experience. I've tried to attract girls, but I suffer from a lack of confidence. Who am I kidding -- I'm crushingly shy around them. I've always had my share of female friends, but none that think of me "that way". Consequently, the sexual references aren't things I can identify with. To make matters worse, I have the raging hormones of a teenager, and with all the trip preparations, I haven't had a chance to jack off in days, and daily is what I usually need to keep things under control.

In spite of my occasional discomfort, I enjoy their stories, and some of them are pretty funny. A lot are about past trips, some which I remember, some for which I hadn't been along. Apparently one trip I had missed out on bordered on legendary. When Hank mentioned it, he described it as "that trip with Lester". I asked,

"Who's Lester? I never heard of him."

Over his shoulder, Rawley said,

"That's because he was only with us for that one summer. He was an apprentice your dad hired. Kid didn't know shit about being out in the wild. He sure learned a lot though, didn't he?"

Hank and Rawley both got a big chuckle out of that, prompting me to ask,

"Why? What happened?"

Hank said, "Let's just say the kid came back from that trip with a whole new outlook on life".

It was odd, the way they were being purposely obtuse, after the free-flowing cursing and sexual innuendo. I couldn't help wondering what was causing them to still self-edit. The stories kept coming, so I filed Lester away for the time being, resolving to try again later.

After long hours on the road, we finally made it to the standard stop in North Bay - the last town big enough to have a grocery store. Piling out of the truck involved a lot of stretching and unfolding of stiff limbs. The cab had been warm, and I involuntarily shivered from the bracing chill. I breathed in deep, the pine scent transporting me back to those early trips as a kid when I'd awaken at this stop, my drowsy stupor instantly dispelled by the invigorating temperature drop that signals you are truly "Up North".

After stocking up with food and beer for the week, we were loading up the coolers when Hank made a lewd comment about the grocery store checkout girl. It launched a crass competition of sorts, with each of them trying to outdo the others with boasts of what the sight of her cute young body made them want to do - either in her, or all over her. I knew better than to share what it made me think of doing, which was throwing ropes into a toilet bowl. They teased me a little when I had nothing to contribute, but they weren't mean about it, and it was a lot less than it would have been if I hadn't held my tongue.

The final hour of the drive was all talk of the new destination; what they knew about it this lake, why Brock figured it would be good fishing, where we should make camp. Launching the boat and shuttling supplies to the site took us well into the evening, and there was still plenty left to do when we lost the light. At least the tents were up, and we managed to throw together a simple meal before heading off to our sleeping bags. Brock and I were sharing the smaller tent, Rawley and Hank took the larger one where Dad would have also been.

We settled into our cozy tent and Brock cut the flow of kerosine on the lantern, giving him time to crawl into his sleeping bag and make final adjustments before the glowing mantle died out. I used the time to locate the roll of TP I had squirreled into the bottom of my own bag, using my foot to drag it up where I could snag it with my hand. My other hand took hold of my diminutive prick, intent on some overdue relief. It was pitch-quiet, and Brock was close enough to reach out and touch, but I began to stroke myself ever so gently inside my sleeping bag, getting a weird thrill over doing it so close to another dude. No sooner had I built up a rhythm than Brock said:

"What's that?"

Instantly I froze in place, hand on my stiff pecker.

"What was what?" I stammered.

"Listen... I think I heard something. You don't suppose there's a bear rootin' around out there, do you?"

I couldn't be sure if he was teasing me -- there were bears in these woods, although they usually steered clear of humans, unless you were stupid with your food. Thinking it might be the perfect chance to get him out of the tent long enough for me to take care of business, I ventured,

"Should we go out there and check?"

I was hoping as the bigger man, he might assume the role of protector. Instead he said,

"Let's just lay here a while and see if we hear anything else."

Fuck. If he heard me when he was trying to fall asleep, he was bound to hear me now that he was on full alert. By the time he decided maybe it was nothing, I was too scared to go any further. Maybe I'd be able to sneak off alone sometime tomorrow. It took a long a time to fall asleep after that, but eventually I succumbed.

Day two started out damp and brisk. Following Brock out of the tent, I was nearly overpowered by my first deep breath of the cool air. The fragrance of pine combined with the earthy, fecund forest floor to remind me of why this place was so special. It turned out to be another busy day, what with gathering and chopping firewood, constructing a fire pit and setting up a proper kitchen. Our initial attempts at fishing were met with only minor success, but all the usual activities served to bring up the same feelings I had on the trip up, about how different things seemed this time.

In the past I'd always been "the kid" on these trips, but now that they were treating me like an adult, I couldn't help but compare myself to them, and when I did, I kept coming up short. Not just because they were older, because they were more capable, superior. Whether it was chopping wood, building a fire, or even something as basic as preparing dinner, I couldn't seem to avoid feeling something less than. I did my best not to get down on myself about it, but I did find I was looking up to them more, and in a whole new light.

If the fishing wasn't yielding the desired results, the beer drinking certainly was, particularly for a lightweight like me, trying to keep up. I'd had some fun times in college, but these Canadian beers were stronger, and they were kicking my ass. By the end of the day, everyone had pretty much had it, and we stumbled off to our sleeping bags early. Mercifully, I was too drunk to feel all that horny, but I sure felt good. Lying there so close to Brock was oddly comforting, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Day three started a little rough, but once we all got going, things started to fall into place. The bite picked up, which had a lot to do with lifting everyone's spirits. The usual competitions kicked in; not just for the biggest and most fish, but also who found the best spots, both for fish and for bait, since we caught our own minnows. Brock usually came out on top of those contests, since he had the most experience. He was the only one of us who had been on every trip. If any other person couldn't go (like dad, this time), the trip was still on, but if Brock couldn't go, there was no trip - Brock owned the boat.

I resolved to go easier on the beer and ended up thoroughly enjoying the day. We hadn't yet caught enough for a proper fish-fry, but we were most of the way there and what we did catch had been filleted and put on ice. Meantime, we broke out the steaks, fried up a mess of potatoes and onions and made a real feast of it.

Lounging around the fire in the aftermath, Rawley fired up a cigar, kicked back and loudly proclaimed that the only thing that could possibly make this better was a blowjob. Hank and Brock heartily agreed, but once again I kept quiet; partly out of embarrassment, partly distracted by the odd nature of the comment. As far as I knew, none of them had ever brought wives or girlfriends along, and I didn't see why something like that would even come up. It probably didn't help that I'd never gotten a blow job myself, so I didn't exactly know what I -- and apparently the rest of them -- were missing.

Feeling left-out and awkward, I got up and walked into the woods as if going to take a leak, but instead I just kept walking. Once away from the fire, I took a turn and headed down to the lake, finding my way to a string of rocks that jutted out from the shore. Following the natural stepping stones out to the huge boulder that capped the little chain, I settled on the mostly flat top. It seemed like a perfect place to clear my mind and take in the sunset already underway, lighting the clouds in brilliant pastels of orange and red. Letting go of my inner turmoil, I gazed over out over the lake. The lonely call of a distant loon carried across the glassy water, capturing my attention. I don't hear Hank approach from behind until he sat down next to me.

"Beautiful, isn't it."

"Yeah" I agreed.

"Everything okay?"

The question took me by surprise. Can't a guy go off by himself to contemplate life?

"Sure, everything's fine. Great, actually. Why?"

"Well, you just looked a little uncomfortable back there, when the subject of blow jobs came up. We don't make you feel uneasy talking about stuff like that, do we Cam? I mean, you've been away from home the better part of a year now, right? Living on your own in a big dorm, all those young guys thrown together... it's not like you haven't heard that kind of talk before, right?"

Of course I had; plenty of the guys had girlfriends, and when they weren't around, naturally they liked to brag about their exploits. No reason to let on I wasn't one of them.

"Sure... yeah, sure. There's an all-girls dorm right next to us. Plenty of BJs when the parties are rockin'."

At least that what's they tell me.

"Naw man, I ain't talkin' about girls. I'm talkin' about those times when the girls aren't around. When all a guy needs is a little relief."

I looked over at him, certain I was missing something. He leaned back and propped one leg up, rotating his hips toward me, eyeing me in a very different way.

"All those horny young guys living together, spending all that time alone with each other... it's only natural."

He was rubbing his crotch through his pants, and I was being dense. As soon as it hit me what he was implying, I reflexively blurted,

"What? No! I mean, no... I - I like girls!"

He chuckled at that, saying,

"I like girls too, I even married one. Ain't no girls here, Cam. It's just us men out here. No one has to know."

He reached down and adjusted himself, then left his hand resting at his crotch, giving me an excuse to look. His bulge was gathered up in a package - a very substantial package. My mind raced, I was scared. Not of him; his actions were anything but threatening. I was scared of myself -- of what I was feeling. I thought back to what he had said before, in the truck. About Lester.

"Can I ask you something, Hank?"

His voice took on a velvety tone, fairly purring,

"You can ask me anything, son. What is it you want to know?"

I want to know why I'm feeling this way! Shit - I can't say that! What was I going to say? Oh yeah,

"When you and Rawley were talking about that apprentice... Lester, I think his name was? What was all that about?"

"It was about this."

Without another word, Hank pulled down his zipper and reached into his pants, taking his entire package in hand and pulling it out, letting it flop out and hang there. I was flabbergasted, and when I looked him in the eye, I saw an intensity I'd never seen in anyone. He looked so patient, lying back on the rock, watching for my reaction. I once saw a live mouse that had been dropped into a terrarium with a snake. The snake didn't coil to strike like I expected. It watched with that same intensity, knowing there was nowhere for the mouse to run.

Before I even know what I'm doing, my hand is reaching out for that manly cock and balls, nestled in its dense forest of pubes. As soon as I realize what I'm doing I stop, but it's too late. We've both seen what I want, and I can't bring myself to withdraw my arm.

"It's okay, boy; go ahead and touch it. We both know you want to. It really is okay."

His voice is so gentle and understanding. He knows what I'm feeling, it's like he understands everything. Certainly more than I do. I command my arm to resume its reach, and watch as my hand - like it's not even part of me - gently cups his manhood, encircling it. As soon as I make contact, it all becomes very real. That hand does belong to me. I can feel his skin; it's warm, and soft, and there's a weight to his equipment. He's letting me touch it, and suddenly I feel giddy, and more than a little dizzy.

"See... it's just like touching your own."

His voice is soothing, but he's wrong; and for some reason, I feel compelled to say so.

"No, it isn't. It's not at all like that. It's - it's so much... bigger!"

He put his hand on my head, tussled my hair, and said:

"What happens in the wild, stays in the wild. Give in to the wild, Cam; the wild inside you. Let yourself go."

In spite of his reassuring words, I'm worried we'll be seen. I try to tune in to Brock and Rawley, wondering if they might have followed Hank, but no, I can just make out their laughter in the distance, and I can tell it has nothing to do with me. We really are alone here, Hank and I, and it does feel okay. More than okay. I trust Hank, and it feels right to give in to what he wants. What we both want.

I scootch closer to him, until my face is mere inches from his meat. I'm acutely aware that I'm surrendering, giving him exactly what he wants. The thing is, I want it too; but I've never done it before, and suddenly it hits me that there's a lot I don't know. Part of me feels like it would be presumptuous to just take it into my mouth without asking permission first, but that's what I want.

His cock and balls are drawing me in. I don't want to look away, but I do, just long enough to glance up at him, pleading with my eyes. He gives me a smiling nod, and it's all I need. I take his soft cock into my mouth and hold it there. My nose is buried in his bush, and it's a heady aroma. I shouldn't be surprised; we've been in the woods for days and nobody's had a shower. It's not a pretty smell, but it's not as repellant as I might have guessed either. Not as bad as a rank armpit; there's something else going on down here. I know I shouldn't like it, but I kinda do. Before long I feel his cock start to swell in my mouth, and it's incredible. I fondle his hairy balls as his dick fills my mouth. I slide my tongue along the underside of his cock, and find the going gets easier as my saliva builds up.

"Don't worry son, you got this. You got good instincts, I can tell already. No, no -- not that way, forget about that. Don't let the name throw you college boy, there's no blowin' involved, that's just what they call it. You keep doing what you been doing, I'll help you when you need it. You just do what feels right; believe me, you're doin' fine."

His words made me feel so good. Once he became fully hard, he stopped me just long enough to stand up, guiding me up onto my knees. He quickly peeled off his jacket and tossed it on the rock for me. As soon as I got it situated under my knees, he stuck his dick back into my mouth and placed both hands on my head. It felt wonderful being held like that, knowing he had full control of my head, and my mouth.

I slurped and bobbed on his hard cock, and did everything I could think of to make him feel good. In hindsight, I probably kissed it more than necessary, but I was making love to Hank's cock, and to his credit, he let me. He could see I was building confidence as I went along, and he was a patient and appreciative teacher.

"You're a good boy. Yessir... a reeeal good boy."

When the time approached, I could feel his body stiffening and his grip on my head became more firm. I knew what was coming, and realized I hadn't thought this through. Was I supposed to spit it out? The alternative would be swallowing it - did people really do that? I didn't know what I wanted to do, and before I could figure it out, Hank said,

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you get it in your mouth."

So sometimes it didn't go there.... what happened those times? Before I knew what he was doing, he pulled out, said keep it open, and jacked himself into my mouth. I couldn't believe the amount of spooge he unloaded! It just kept coming, globs at a time. The first shots splattered against the roof of my mouth, before his beautiful cock drooled a huge, thick pile out onto my tongue. When he had milked the final drop, he tucked himself away, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. I closed my mouth and kept looking at up at him, hoping he'd tell me what to do. He just waited, watching. Finally I decided I wanted to know what it would feel like, so I swallowed some. The way it clung against my throat made me need to swallow again, so I muscled the remainder down, as much to get it over with as anything else. He smiled at that, saying,

"I didn't think you'd do it, boy, but you're good. You got what it takes, you're gonna do nicely."

With that, he jumped down from the boulder and left me there. I wiped my face in my shirt, then sat back down and took in the fading afterglow of the sunset. I had far more to contemplate now, starting with those parting words. Not "you did well", but "you're gonna do nicely". What kind of future was he envisioning for me?

I was confused, torn by conflicting emotions. Surely this is just a one-off, a momentary lapse of reason on my part. I had just been too horny to resist. I should take care of that right now. God knows I'm ready to explode. But now that I'm alone out here on this rock, I feel exposed, and too nervous to go through with it. Besides, I should get back to camp. Brock and Rawley are probably wondering where I've gotten off to, and I don't want them to come looking for me.

When I got back, they were all pretty much where I'd left them, and no one said anything about my absence. It wasn't until we made our way into our respective tents that the subject came up. We had both gotten tucked in, and right when I thought Brock would douse the lantern, he wanted to talk.

"That sure was a pretty sunset tonight, eh?"

"Uh... yeah, yeah it was."

"I went down to the shore to take it in... "

Oh no... if he was looking out over the lake at sunset...

"Looked like you had a great place to watch it from. You and Hank."

Shit - he saw us together out on that rock!

No way he didn't see what we did.

What I did.

To Hank.

Brock turned on his side, propped on an elbow to face me. Unzipping his sleeping bag, he peeled back the top flap, revealing his naked body, and said,

"Yeah, I'm going to need you to be neater than you were with Hank. Don't want the wife to find any cum stains in my sleeping bag. Now bring that mouth over here boy, and make me feel good."

In the warm glow of the lantern, his body was captivating. The upper half was deeply tanned -- obviously he worked with his shirt off a fair amount. But below the waist he was pale white, bringing the dark thatch of pubic hair into stark relief. A substantial work-hardened beer gut protruded proudly above his manhood, and his tree-trunk thighs perfectly complemented the hefty shaft rising up between them. The meaty pole was topped with a prominent helmet head which was currently decidedly purple. It was obvious Brock had been thinking about this for some time.

I knew I was going to submit, but before I did, I tried to plead my case,

"Brock... do you think you could, maybe, not tell Rawley about this?"

"Why not, kid? You got something against Rawley?"

"No, no... it's just that, I feel like I need some time first, you know, to try and get my head around this, before it gets even more overwhelming."

I'll tell you what, kid; you get your head around this..."

My tent-mate lewdly waggled his beautiful cock in my face,

"... and I'll see what I can do."

His calm demeanor and confident, manly command were irresistible. There was no request for service, only a brief nod to the fact that a choice was being willingly made, and the ground rules were understood.

I kissed his cock in abject respect, feeling the first tugs of what I now think of as 'cocksucker submission'. Maybe all cocksuckers feel that, I don't know; I only know I do, and it's transformative. I resolve to make love to Brock's cock, even if my efforts don't buy me anything. I'm grateful he's willing to even consider keeping quiet, and I intend to make sure he knows it.

I suck his cock a long time, taking care to make him feel good, but also luxuriating in the security of his warm sleeping bag and the possessive way he runs his fingers through my hair. Knowing that at any time he could gather it in his fist and control me completely. Knowing he won't, because I'm already giving him everything he could hope for.

I'm a little worried that the slurping sounds I'm making might carry through the tent walls, but not worried enough to stop making them. When I decide to take him over the edge, I pick up the pace, increase suction, and jack him into my mouth, lips sealed firmly around his steel-hard shaft in obedience to his initial direction. When I'm done swallowing, he lets me milk him dry, then lick up all the excess saliva I've coated him in. When I finally release his cock and retreat back to my own sleeping bag, Brock says,

"That was pretty good, boy. I'd say you've earned my silence -- for a day, anyway. Let's see where we are this time tomorrow. Maybe I can put you on an installment plan. Every BJ buys another day of my continued silence."

"Okay" I quickly agree.

"Although..." he added, "I don't know what good that will do you, when Rawley and Hank are in their tent right now, and I doubt they're talking about the sunset."

His laughter hurt, but only because that's what the truth does. Oh well, I'm happy to pay the price, even if what it bought me ends up being worthless. I curled up on my side, intent on getting a good night's sleep, regardless of what the morning brings. Brock sounds equally ready for sleep as he rolls over and murmurs, as much to himself as to me,

"You've got a bright future ahead of you kid."

I'd heard it many times over the years, but always on the heel of some recent scholastic achievement. Given the context, it feels very different this time. A little scary, sure; but far more exciting.

Day four dawns bright, and I stay tucked in my cocoon, letting the sun warm the tent before making my way out. When I finally do crawl out, the first thing I see is Hank and Rawley at the camp stove, sipping coffee and talking. They spot me looking and I see Rawley chuckle. My skin crawls, guessing the content of their conversation. The look on Rawley 's face seems to confirm my worst fears. There's no way I can avoid him all day, so I gather my courage and make my way over, my own need for a morning coffee more important than whatever remaining pride they choose to take from me.

"Mornin', college boy."

It's Rawley, and while the lingering amusement on his face keeps me on edge, the greeting itself is innocuous.

"Mornin' Rawley, Hank. So, what's on tap for today?"

It was supposed to be an innocent ice-breaker, but I cringed as soon as it came out of my mouth. In spite of the way I had teed it up for them, neither one took the swing.

"Figured we'd net some fresh minnows, then try that point on the North side that Hank was eye-ballin' on our way back yesterday. Hope you're up for a big day!"

It might have been an innocent reference to fishing, but it sounded every bit as suspicious as my own comment. It went on like that for the bulk of the day, me hearing unintended meanings behind half the innocent conversations, all in reference to my newfound passion. My focus was trained on Rawley, half-expecting that at any moment he might come up with The Big Reveal; whether figuratively or literally, I could only guess. I reserved a share of side-eye for Hank; whom I strongly suspected to be co-conspirator in my ongoing corruption. Not saying unwilling mind you, but corruption nonetheless, proceeding apace.

After a solid morning of productive fishing, we returned to camp, whipped up a decent lunch and set about cleaning the catch. Everyone had a job, and once everything was squared away, there was an afternoon to kill before the big fish-fry. I'd been living under the sword of expectation all day, and it was beginning to wear on me. When I noticed that the wood pile was low, I welcomed the chance to strike out and gather more. I was on my way back to camp with an armload of deadfall branches when I came across Rawley, relieving himself just beyond camp.

I froze, wishing to remain unseen, and slowly lowered my burden, easing it gently onto the pine needle groundcover. The whole time, my eyes remained riveted on the origin of that pissing stream, which Rawley was liberally broadcasting over the forest floor. I forced myself to sneak an occasional glance up to make sure he hadn't spotted me, but it was mesmerizing; both the impressive fire-hose force of his wide stream, and the girthy nozzle delivering it. I'd never seen an uncircumcised one before, and was fascinated by the way the flesh that covered the head extended beyond the tip in folds, channeling his stream in unpredictable ways. A tangle of dark curlies framed the sides, and two thick fingers cradled the hose like a stubby cigar.

Inevitably, the stream emerging from the elephant snout diminished, leaving me unexpectedly disappointed. I barely had time to register how twisted that was before he tucked himself back in his pants. As he did so, he idly scanned his surroundings, zipping up and giving a single up-and-down bounce to shake things into place. I could only hope to avoid detection by remaining motionless. His idle gaze covered a broad swath of forest before landing on my paralyzed form, and what I could only imagine was a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

Without a word he casually closed the distance between us, stepping over the branches at my feet to plant himself uncomfortably close in front of me. Close enough to count the individual stubbles of his facial hair and smell his beer breath. It mixed nauseatingly with the lingering aroma of campfire and tobacco smoke that clung to his clothing.

"Hey there Cam. You know, I had an interesting talk with Hank this morning."

There was only one reason to bring that up now, out here alone; after not mentioning it in front of the others all morning.

"You know what he told me?"

I didn't even shake my head, I just stood there, transfixed.

"Let me put that differently. You know what he told me - I know you do. Now don't tell me you're going to deny me what you give everyone else."

Everyone else? It was two guys! But then it hit me -- Brock was still sworn to secrecy. Without thinking, I reflexively blurted,

"What do you mean everyone! Brock promised he wouldn't..."

I stopped myself, but not in time.

"He didn't -- you just did."

Fuck. Sucking Hank was one thing, and Brock -- well, that was even better - but I don't want to submit to Rawley that way! Sure, he's always been nice to me, but he's got that huge gut, and his cock is so fucking fat and hairy, and after just seeing it hosing piss, all the sudden the thought of sucking it is disgusting.

I'm looking him straight in the eye, and he's in my face; so close that my downward peripheral vision is occluded by the same belly that must obstruct his own view of his crotch. Still, I can tell by the flexing of his arms that he's working his belt buckle, and I know what's coming.

"Get on your knees college boy, I've got something I need you to take care of for me."

I'm shaking with fear and worried I'm going to come undone under the heat of his scrutiny. Doing as I'm told will at least afford escape from that confrontational look he's giving me, so I do it -- I sink slowly down in front of him. As my knees settle into the pine-blanketed ground, my face squares up directly in front of his crotch. He takes down his boxers and lets me have another look -- a much closer look.

His cock is so thick that the length appears diminished by comparison. It tapers to a normal-sized head, bringing to mind a fire hydrant. Fleshy folds of skin are stacked in rings along the shaft, strongly suggesting growth potential. The thought does nothing to ease my apprehension.

"This is my dick, Cameron. Say hello to it... with your mouth. Give it a little kiss. Make friends with it. I want you two to get along. I want you to be real close friends."

As instructed, I tentatively kissed the head, getting my first whiff of his man-scent. It was overwhelming, and not at all pleasant. I'd read somewhere that the brain becomes desensitized to strong smells relatively quickly. I found myself putting a lot of hope on the "quickly" part, and wondered if those researchers had anything like this in mind when they came up with that characterization.

He was teasing me as I continued to stare, playing with his foreskin, drawing it back, then pushing it forward to cover the head. I was captivated by the way his glistening meatus would peek out from those folds of skin with each unveiling, before once again retreating into hiding. It was undeniably fascinating, even though I knew full well that glisten was not from pre-cum, but urine.

"Now take it into your mouth, son. Show me what you've learned."

He waggled it a few times between his fingers, and a stray drop of pee flew off the tip. My revulsion welled up inside.

"I - I -- don't know if I can."

"Sure you can, I have faith in you! C'mon boy, give it the ol' college try."

I closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue, making contact with the underside, testing the weight of it. Praying that stray drop of pee was the last one, I took his thick sausage into my mouth, grateful that at least I wasn't kneeling in his piss-soaked ground.

I succumbed to an irresistible call, without a clue as to what it was. I only knew it was drawing me in, and I felt powerless to resist. His cock tasted mildly salty and thoroughly vile, and I sucked it to the exclusion of all else, including air. When I finally released it to catch my breath, he peeled back the foreskin, revealing the shiny glans, let me get another look at it, then fed it to me again. Back and forth like that we went, as he conditioned me to the taste and feel of his cock in my mouth. I didn't even notice him getting hard until it dawned on me that with each insertion, my mouth was feeling ever fuller.

As his pace increased, he abandoned the pauses and relied on my lips to manipulate his foreskin.

"Take it, suck it."

If the terse direction suggested a lack of patience on his part, he confirmed it when he started mouth-fucking me. When I didn't catch on quickly enough to suit him, he gave me some helpful advice,

"Hold your mouth open so I can fuck it."

The way he said it really got to me. Hank and Brock were so gentle, and Rawley was the opposite. His voice was rough, his manner abrasive, the tone demanding and entitled. I didn't like it, but at the same time, I couldn't deny it stirred something deep inside. I wanted desperately to please this man, and not only because his stocky, powerful physique intimidated me.

I craned my neck to look up and see if he was enjoying himself, but all I could see was his hairy white belly. The same one I felt on my forehead each time he drove his cock to the back of my throat. I went back to looking straight into his pubes. The view wasn't all that different, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable. That counts for something when your face is getting abused.

"That's right, college boy. See? You don't have to do anything, just take it. Yeah, take that cock, just like that! Good boy. Get used to it."

And I was getting used to it, and I was starting to like it! It was abusive, but once I allowed myself to accept it, I became less afraid. It seemed like it would never end, and when he finally withdrew, he demanded I lick his balls. I gladly complied, even though it took my face deeper into his ripe crotch. The underside of his scrotum was beyond anything I had ever smelled, and he produced the filthiest grunts and groans the entire time I bathed his hairy sack.

Big, meaty hands gripped the back of my head, guiding me, and I tried to picture what this must look like. I was sheltered under his hairy belly, my nose buried in his furry pubes. What would my dad say if he could see me like this? I had no clue, but I imagined what I would want to hear,

"That's it son, suck daddy's cock. Suck daddy's cock like a good boy."

It made me feel like spurting into my pants and I wasn't even touching myself! I worshipped his balls, slavering all over them, giving everything I had; only stopping when he told me,

"Time to do some serious drinking now boy, I'm gonna feed you my cum, and you're going to drink it down! Open your eyes and look at me. I want to see how you feel about receiving my cum."

He pulled out of my mouth and I held it open for him, tilting my head back to let his throbbing, pulsing cock spit its slimy filth all over my face and into my hungry mouth.

I wiped the cum off my cheeks as Rawley tucked his fat cock back into his pants. He had showed me a side of myself I hadn't known was there until he brought it out. He showed me how much a verbal man can get away with saying to me, provided he feeds me his cock while he's doing it.

I gathered up my load of firewood and followed Rawley back into camp. I couldn't help but feel dirty. I spent the rest of the day being down on myself, thinking I was now nothing more than the camp cocksucker. Even though Hank and Brock had treated me well when I had serviced them, the episode with Rawley colored the way I felt about everything that had happened. I did what I could to avoid being alone with any single one of them and mercifully, Hank didn't press me for a repeat performance.

That night around the fire, my continued dwelling on the encounter with Rawley had me in a reflective mood, and the fire provided a hypnotic catalyst for my thoughts. I took up the official poker branch (every fire has one) and made it my job to keep feeding in wood and arranging it for optimal combustion. Between poking and prodding at the fire, I had a lot of time to stare into the growing bed of coals while the guys kicked back and reminisced.

A campfire in the wild is a magical thing; the lapping of the ever-shifting flames as they're tossed by the wind; the snapping and popping wood throwing showers of sparks, swirling up into the star-studded night sky. Everyone was in a good mood, noticeably better than the previous days. And why shouldn't they be happy campers? They had each gotten what they had declared would make it all perfect, and I was the reason why -- I had brought it all about. It was empowering, and it allowed me to feel better about everything.

It got me to thinking about how my friends always make such a big deal about blow jobs. Now I understood why. It goes beyond the obvious -- the physical pleasure a man gets from receiving one. It made me think about how I really should get one myself. About how, once I get back to school, I need to get a girlfriend. If necessary, I could even teach her to... but no, I need to forget about that, plenty of time for that later. Here and now, I'm among men, men with expectations I can't ignore. Plenty of time to think about college once the trip is over.

Taking up my previous line of thinking, I realize the biggest revelation of this trip has been not the pleasure of a guy who gets a blow job, but the pleasure of the one who gives it, the provider of said blow job. So many elements to it; learning what each man likes, the intimacy created by the implicit trust and illicit nature of it; the exchange of cum, and -- quite separate and additional, the swallowing of that cum. And afterward, that special way each man regards me, simply because I've done that for him (and am therefore more likely to do it again). No one ever talks about any of that. Is it just that I've never heard girls talk about it, because I'm not one of them? The sum total of what I've heard from them on the subject amounts to little more than "ewwww!" Are they holding back on me, or haven't they figured it out?

Across the flames, I studied each man in turn, recalling what's it's like to suck them off as they went on and on about sports. I wasn't thinking about their cocks, or maybe it's more accurate to say I was trying not to. To the extent I resisted that distraction, I examined how I felt after having sucked each of them.

I knew I would always think of Hank as my teacher, my first. I'd often heard it said that you always remember your first, and I always assumed that was because everything is so new with your first. There's so much discovery, it's bound to make an impression. It never occurred to me how much it has to do with everything that passes between the two parties, and how much stuff that first time awakens inside you.

I thought about Rawley, and how in spite of the distaste that still wells up in me when I think about submitting to him, I could tell there was power in what Rawley awakened in me. I knew that at some point, that part of me would want to be fed again.

I thought about Brock, and how time seemed to stand still in his sleeping bag, and how I wanted more of that. More Brock cock! It's so much more than just his cock, but his cock is the gateway to all of it, and I want more.

But getting more meant giving more to Brock, which might disrupt the delicate balance we seem to have achieved in camp. At the moment, everyone is happy. Brock hasn't talked, and Hank seems satisfied with just the one. No reason to think Rawley won't feel the same. They've all gotten a turn with me, they've all had their mid-week release. In a couple more days they'll be headed home to their wives, who they all complain about not putting out often enough. After the dry spells they've suffered through, a couple more days without relief should be no big deal.

But if the other two guys find out Brock is getting extra attention... but wait, they won't - why would they? Brock has already told me that sucking him off again buys another 24 hours of his silence, and it's not like I'm going to get tricked again into admitting that I'm still servicing him, I'll be on my guard for that. So, if neither of us says anything, what's the harm? It's perfect! I can suck off Brock every night without disturbing the current harmony.

Their conversation was winding down, and I did nothing to keep it alive; content to stare into the dying embers, imagining my imminent rendezvous with Brock cock.

I was giddy as a schoolgirl as I stripped down to my skivvies and crawled into my bag, settling in just in time to watch as Brock entered the tent and casually stripped nude. The sight of his naked body had an embarrasing effect on my already alert prick. Once settled in, he got right down to business.

"Well, here we are, Cam. I haven't talked, but your 24 hours is up. I know I told you I'd consider putting you on an installment plan, but remember, that was on the condition that you did a good job the first time."

I couldn't believe what he was implying! How could henot have thought I did a good job the first time! Hadn't he said as much? I thought he had, but put on the spot, I couldn't remember. He let me hang like that for a minute or so, before saying,

"Aw hell, who am I kidding? We both know you did a good job. You did real good, little buddy. Now, are you prepared to give me what I need to buy my continued silence?"

"Yes sir, definitely sir!"

"Alright then, come on over here, time for another installment. You make the payment, I'll make the deposit, and everybody stays happy."

And happy I was -- happy as a bear in a honey pot, and just as busy licking and swallowing.

Day five was largely uneventful, with frequent showers putting a damper on any serious fishing. That was fine with me, now that this trip had become about so much more than fishing. I anticipated the same mood would carry right on through the evening, but tonight's fireside gathering was to turn out very different. The consensus opinion was the day had been a wash-out, which Hank encapsulated,

"Nothing can salvage a day like today."

The sentiment sat there between us for a minute, then Ralwey offered,

"I can think of one thing..." pausing for dramatic effect before adding,

"a blowjob."

"Damn Rawley, is that your solution for everything?"

I wondered whether Brock's retort had anything to do with the fact that he already knew he could count on getting one regardless of what happened here. I didn't have much time to ponder the question before Hank piled on,

"Well, I for one am willing to test that theory."

As he delivered the words, Hank stood up, dropped his pants and underwear and sat back down, legs splayed in a provocative pose, his soft cock dangling lewdly.

"What do you say Cam, you think you have what it takes to single-handedly salvage a day like today?"

It was so out-of-nowhere. One minute we were all discussing the weather, and the next I was being propositioned, tempted by the cock and balls of the man who had started it all two short days ago. Now he was inviting me to a repeat performance, only this time with an audience.

There was no question of what I would do; I knelt down in front of Hank, taking position between his thighs. I was acutely aware of being watched. I'd never been watched before -- at least not that I knew of at the time, and it threw me off my game. I did what was expected of me and took his cock into my mouth, but my focus was not where it should have been. I didn't even realize it until I registered that their conversation had gone back to baseball and how the playoff picture was beginning to sort itself out. If they couldn't be bothered to pay attention to what I was doing, why was I wasting time worrying about them? The man I needed to focus on was right in front of me. It was another lesson in cock sucking; one I would come to think of as foundational to my approach.

Once I got my mind right and set to work giving Hank what he deserved, all my anxiety fell away. I was ecstatic -- I had a cock in my mouth, and two more waiting in the wings! I knew I had a lot of work to do before I could claim to have salvaged the day, but I also knew I was up to the task. As I blissed out on Hank's cock, I heard Rawley say,

"Look at that cocksucker! He's in hog heaven with that dick in his mouth! Jesus, just look at him go! Any guy who loves sucking cock that much has got to be boned up by it. You know, you can touch yours if you want, Cam, we won't mind."

Brock jumped in, wasting no time supporting the idea,

"Sure, let him polish the ol' Camshaft. Ain't gonna bother me any."

Hank grunted his appreciation, giving me the impression he too was in agreement. So, it was unanimous. Once I had been given permission, the idea was impossible to ignore. I slid down my pants and began playing with myself; not with any intent to cum, just to amplify my horniness. I knew instinctively that my enthusiasm would wane if I orgasmed, and that was not an experience I wanted. It was a risky game, but there was no doubt that flipping the minnow while sucking cock took things to a higher level. It was yet another valuable lesson - I couldn't believe there was so much to learn!

I finished off Hank with a flourish, letting him cum all over my face. He probably did it because we had an audience, but I took it because it's what he wanted. As long as he was accurate and it didn't get wasted on the ground, I knew I'd still get to consume it, which was all I cared about. I was still busy scraping the remnants off my face and sucking my fingers when Brock stood up.

"God damn that looked good! You ready for another, kid?"

He remained standing, cradling his package under his hefty sack, moving to subtly bounce my favorite meat. Am I ready for another? Fuck yes, I'm ready! Gimme... please!

My pants were bunched around my thighs, and my laced-up hiking boots weren't going to come off quick enough, so I shimmied over to him on my knees in the dirt, fully aware of what it must look like. The appreciative chuckles from my audience confirmed it. Once I got there, it felt a lot like it had in our tent -- his hand cradling the back of my neck, easing his cock into my mouth like a momma offering her teat for baby to suckle.

When I first sucked Hank it had been out in the open, and although I hadn't known I had been watched, I knew we were on display. With Brock it had been more intimate, both times in the privacy of our tent. Now Hank and Rawley could see the way I was with Brock. Somehow it felt like more of a violation for us to have an audience, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I did what felt right. I slowly and gently nursed him to hardness, then made love to his cock as if we were alone; and in my submissive state, that's just how it felt. Maybe I was just too out of it to hear their commentary, but I choose to think that they were actually quieted by the reveal of my tender devotions. Either way, I got what I wanted, and so did Brock.

No sooner had I finished swallowing his deposit than reality intruded with the thought of what was coming. Rawley, the polar opposite of Brock. My first thought was that I didn't want Brock to see me like that. Foolish of me, I know; but I didn't want to be used in front of him. The notion bathed me in humiliation before I even turned to face Rawley.

He sat there with his hand on his bulge, smirking at me like defiling me was going to be the high point of his trip. He was across the fire from me -- too far to crawl. I hiked my pants up - far enough to walk normally, and shuffled over; dropping them back to my knees as I assumed the position. He made me undo his pants and pull them and his underpants down, rising up from his seat as little as possible to assist. Seated as he was, his gut hung so low he had to lift it up to let me in.

"C'mon boy, time for dessert."

His fat cock was hiding in the dense forest of his pubes, the hair plastered against his skin every which way. I had to use both hands to free the thing, separating it from the tangled mess I was determined to avoid as much as possible. Rawley was patient, a bemused expression on his face as he watched me struggle. Once I had freed his manhood I took it into my mouth, closed my eyes and tried to go somewhere else. I expected Rawley's words would lead me into a dark place, but he took me somewhere unexpected.

"I love to watch you sucking my cock, Cam. You're such a sweet boy, and it's so hot seeing you with a mouth full of cock. Just beautiful!"

It was no surprise he would still be verbal in front of the others, but the comment wasn't nearly as crude as I had expected. It was almost affectionate! Could it be that what I had done with Brock had soothed the savage beast that was Rawley? It wasn't long before he cured me of that misconception.

"That's good, boy; just keep polishing that knob! Ol' Rawley's got something for you. Something I know you're gonna love. Something I'm going to love to give you!"

I wondered if Hank and Brock had ever heard him like this, and almost immediately thought of Lester. I still had no clue what went on with Lester, but my guess is it included plenty of this. My jaw was already sore, but I continued to struggle with the girthy monster while its owner continued to egg me on.

"Tell me you want it, boy! Tell me you want my cum! I know you do -- we all know it. But I want to hear you say it. Say it, boy... say it!"

I knew he'd keep pushing until I came up with something, so I did my best to pick up the ball and run with it,

"I do, sir! I want your cum! I want it all, in my mouth!"

"You mean in that cute little cocksucker mouth?"

"Yes! In my cute little cocksucker mouth! Give it to me!"

Ridiculous, how quickly I went from saying the words he wanted to hear to feeling them coming from somewhere deep inside.

"Please sir, please! I need it! I need your cum! I promise I'll swallow it all, Please give it to me!!!"

It was a shameless display, but I was anything but. The humiliation of being made to say those things -- of feeling those things -- was almost unbearable, and it was having a powerful effect on Rawley too. I got back to slurping on that thick monster under his belly, my salivating mouth making the messiest sounds imaginable.

"Ah fuuucck boy, I'm about to blow! It's comin', boy! You ready? You ready??"

I nodded vigorously, intent on keeping my mouth open while he madly jacked away.

"Here it comes! Here it is! Yes! That's it, eat it, eat my cum, boy! Eat it! Eat it! Eeeeat iiiit!"

He laid ropes of slime over my face, literally covering me in cock snot. I honestly wasn't sure I could eat it all, I'd had so much already. It was amazing how much easier it became once he started using his cock to feed it to me.

When it was all over and I was safely tucked into my sleeping bag, Brock and I had a talk about my skills. I was feeling understandably proud of myself, but Brock helped me put it in perspective.

"Don't get me wrong, kid, you've got good technique - getting better every day. But that's not what makes you special. Your strength is in how much you enjoy every part of it, not just the things you do best. When we give you free reign, you know what to do and you do it with relish; but as soon as we move to take what we want, you shift gears and gladly give it. And the whole time it's plain to see how much you just eat it all up. That's what makes you special. Don't ever lose that, kid."

Day six was another one of those "everything feels different" days. I thought I was done with those, now that I had accepted the role of camp cocksucker. I thought today would consist of me settling into my role, embracing the familiar. I barely had time to finish breakfast before I was disabused of that notion.

I was sitting on a log with Rawley, looking out over the stillness of the lake. Whispy tendrils of morning fog ghosted across the surface in ever-changing patterns. It was mesmerizing, and Rawley and I were staring out at it while five feet behind us, Brock was pulling kitchen duties at the stove, with Hank voluntarily helping on cooler, locating and re-storing items as needed. Rawley spoke first, in a confidential way that suggested it was largely for me,

"Man, I love mornings like this."

Without another word, he nonchalantly pulled out his cock, leaned back and looked out over the lake. When it became clear he wasn't going to direct me, or ask for anything, I just did what I knew he wanted. I leaned over and took him into my mouth, fully prepared for the inevitable dirty talk. Instead, he just continued to gaze across the lake; his gentle pat on my head the only acknowledgement that I was even there.

I only missed his running commentary for the first minute, before settling in to do what I wanted. How had Brock put it last night... you know what to do and you do it with relish. So that's what I focused on - not trying to impress with my skills - rather, simply enjoying myself. I did my best to forget that I was once again doing it in front of the others, and what that might lead to.

If Rawley's lack of commentary was surprising, what he did next left me dumbfounded. Letting out a sigh, he simply pushed my head off his lap with a terse "thanks kid", then tucked himself away and left to get a coffee refill.

He hadn't cum! Even though I had been released without the usual fanfare, I braced for round two of my second time in the ring. But Brock and Hank simply went about their business, as if what Rawley and I had done was the most normal thing in the world.

Their nonchalant attitude and the absence of any excited piling on really drove home how different things were. My special contributions were no longer all that eventful. I was now a service provider, an accepted feature of life in camp; to be used at the whim of whoever, whenever. As the day wore on, each man did exactly that; using me at their whim - and not always off in the woods, or waiting for nightfall, but right out in the open, in broad daylight. Each one taking what he thought he was due, whenever he felt like it, regardless of who else was around. Privacy was no longer a consideration, and group consensus was not a prerequisite.

After Rawley, I lost track of who used me in which order, but I know I went multiple rounds with each of them. It didn't always last that long, and they didn't always cum; sometimes they just wanted a little head, and took advantage of the fact that it was available. That I was available. Not that I minded, mind you.

By the time we finished our last big meal of the trip, I found I was looking forward to gathering around the fire once again, but not for any of the usual reasons. It always used to have something to do with the fire, but not anymore. Except that it was the fire that drew them into such a convenient circle.

We were all in something of a pensive mood, with this being the final fire. Tomorrow would be a quick, cold breakfast, followed by breaking camp and packing everything up for the long ride home. None of us wanted it to end, least of all me. I'd already fairly OD'ed on cock, but I couldn't imagine not making one last trip around the fire, on my knees.

When it seemed like none of them were going to issue an invitation, I simply slipped off my seat, slid over next to Brock and sat on the ground at his feet. He put his hand on my shoulder. I expected him to use it to encourage me to turn around and face him, but he just kept it there. It made me feel like man's best friend; which, in a way, I guess I was. It felt good, but eventually I wanted more, so I simply turned around on my own. As soon as he saw what I wanted, he spread his legs to let me in, and helped me fish out his cock. I took it into my mouth without a word spoken between us, just a mutual understanding.

This was another one of those times when I was free to do whatever I wanted, no time limit, no expectations. I decided I wanted to learn to take it all -- something I hadn't done with any of them to date. I knew Rawley's cock was too damn think to swallow, and Hank's was pretty fucking long, maybe if Brock wasn't too thick...

The first time I tried in earnest I totally choked myself -- more than I had since that first time with Hank. The gagging sounds were unusual enough for Brock to recognize what I was trying to do, so he gave me a few pointers on how to hold my head to get my throat lined up right. It took a lot of work and left me sore, but I finally got it. Brock said it felt amazing to have my throat massaging the head of his cock like that. For me it was mainly an ordeal, but I was glad I put myself through it. Allowing myself to get used that way put me into a deep headspace, and I finished my rounds in a cock-drunk stupor.

Hank's more modest girth allowed me to take even more of him than I had Brock, although I never did get all of his long cock down. With Rawley, I didn't even try, but I do recall that he muttered some particularly nasty filth when he delivered his load. It was enough to drive me over the edge, and I came in a series of impressively high arcs, launching three majestic offerings of my cum onto the ground, in front of everyone.

All in all, it was the perfect end to a perfect day. I honestly couldn't believe how much I was going to miss these guys.

I greeted the final morning somewhat apprehensively, thinking things might be weird, but it was totally cool. There were no performances; everyone was too busy. They were all really nice to me; almost solicitous. Each in their way made sure I knew they meant what they said about what happens in the wild. I was relieved, specifically since it meant they wouldn't be telling my dad. Eventually each of them found a moment to take me aside to impart a few final words of wisdom.

Hank pointed out that while they were all going back to their women, I was going back to an all-male dorm. The implication was unmistakable, and I knew I had a lot to grapple with in the coming days. I hadn't even considered all the possibilities before Brock got me alone and hit me with,

"Well Cam, what do you think - will you be coming with us next year?"

It was a simple enough question, until I thought about how there was little doubt Dad would be able to make it next year.

"I don't know, Brock. I'm going to have to think about that."

"Okay, Cam -- you think about it. Think long and hard... I know that's how I'll be thinking about it."

I knew I'd think about Brock a lot too. If only there was a way I could go without dad... without anyone, for that matter. I was still thinking of Brock and I alone together in the wild when Rawley corralled me, giving me the biggest surprise of the bunch.

"Cam, c'mere, I want to tell you something."

He looked serious, but not threatening. More like the friendly Rawley I had ridden up with. Pointing at my upper lip, he said,

"Please tell me you're going to shave that thing before you go back to school."

"Uh, yeah; in fact, I had decided that."

"Good, good. Now do me a favor. This is going to sound strange, but hear me out. For your own sake, just once, get a girl you trust to make you up like a chick, you know, eye liner and shadow, lipstick and that blush stuff; just so you can see what you'd look like. I think you'd be surprised."

The suggestion floored me, and I automatically resisted, going for the easiest excuse,

"I don't know any girls well enough to... help me like that."

"Ohh, sure you do! You got a sister, doncha? Hey, here's a way to do it: Halloween's not too far off. Get yourself invited to a party, hell crash one -- whatever -- and go in drag. It's the perfect excuse to go all out; wig, stockings and heels, the works. I tell ya', a cute lad like you, dolled up all pretty, you wouldn't believe the power you'd have over men! I got a buddy who went dressed as a woman for Halloween one year -- oh man, I didn't even recognize him! When I first saw him from across the room, I thought, who's that chick with the big nose? The more the night went on... the vibe I got off him... well, let's just say every time I see him now, I can't help thinking about what a hot chick he makes."

The idea was bizarre, and the fact that he considered it important enough to make it his parting comment (of sorts -- we were all about to climb into a truck together for the next 10 hours) was more than I could grasp. I knew I'd have no trouble remembering it though -- I guess that's the virtue of it being so weird.

When all the gear was piled into the truck bed and Brock was fussing with the tarp tie-downs, Hank announced,

"Well, I guess we'd better get our stories straight on all the epic fishing we just had."

"What the hell are you talkin' about" asked Rawley, "I've never once lied about the fish I've caught."

"Me neither," said Hank, "but I think we'd better start now."

Brock stopped what he was doing to chime in,

"What kind of fucked-up logic you using to get to that conclusion, Hank?"

"Okay, so you know how when we get to reminiscing, there's always this heated debate about which trip was the best one ever, and we're inevitably forced to defend our choice?"

"Yeah?"

"How the hell are we going to explain to Cam's father why we are all in violent agreement that this was the best trip?"

There was a fair amount of staring at the ground and scratching of week-old whiskers before each eventually muttered their grudging acknowledgement.

Rawley volunteered,

"I don't know about you guys, but I landed the biggest pike of my life over in the cattails at the South end."

Brock contributed,

"I seem to remember that second day out, when we got into that school of big Walleyes and hauled up one ten-pounder after the next until we ran out of minnows. That, and eating fish every lunch and dinner, and trying to come up with some way to cook it for breakfast too."

Hank said,

"Those sound pretty good. Me, I'll always have a special place in my heart for that first one, the first hook-up that started the ball rolling for us. I'll never forget it -- I was off on my own, gorgeous sunset, casting off that big boulder that juts out into the lake just North of camp. It was textbook from the start - the calm, quiet approach, taking care not to spook him, the careful presentation of the bait, patience, and then wham! The second he took that bait I knew I had him. And at the end of the struggle, when I finally landed him, I just knew this trip was going to be epic."

I thought Rawley and Brock might have to tell their stories more than once before they got the details down pat, but I knew Hank wouldn't. For that matter, neither would I.

With our cover story set, the final competition of the trip commenced. It was the same one that started it -- who would be riding shotgun. The difference being, this time nobody called it. It seemed they all wanted to ride in the back, with me.

I gotta admit, that felt pretty good.