Camp Meriwether Secrets: Walker's Story Chapter 4
Disclaimer: This story contains graphic depictions of sex between high school-aged males. The characters described in this story are fictional but the locations are not. This series is a companion to the Ben’s Weekend Camping Trip series posted in the Camping section on Nifty, and takes place just after Chapter 5 in that series (Where Ben is a Star Scout and has the position of Instructor). Reading that series prior to this is recommended, but not necessary.
I’d love to hear how everyone is enjoying Walker’s story! I reply to all emails at: bjcsmines@gmail.com
Please support Nifty if you enjoy reading this and my other story! https://donate.nifty.org/
Chapter 4: Lost & Found
On our third morning at camp, Garrett and I are finally settled into the morning routine, getting ready with just enough time to make it to the parade ground for roll call and breakfast. Thoughts of Holland’s visit last night are fresh in my mind, the lingering scent of his uncut cock and the texture of his cum are still a sacred memory I carry with me.
As my patrol walks towards the mess hall, I can’t resist scanning the crowd, my eyes searching for the familiar flash of white and red that marked Holland's soccer jersey. Instead, I see him in his uniform shirt standing with his troop near the entrance, a stark contrast to the playful, almost reckless energy he exuded in our minidak just hours before. He catches my eye and offers Garrett and me a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that now exists between the three of us.
“Hey Troop 737,” Garrett blurts out.
“Morning, Garrett. You Seattle boys are up early,” Holland replies with a wink.
I jab Garrett in the shoulder as we walk past Holland, warning him that he’s making things too obvious by singling him out. Jamie doesn’t seem to notice as his troop follows into the mess hall and lines up behind us to get our trays.
It is hump day, and Garrett and I know by now too what’s edible at breakfast. After Garrett and I get our food, we settle down at a table with Collin, Arvid, and Oliver. I quickly look behind me and see Holland coming toward our table alone.
My heart pounds in my chest as Holland approaches. "Hey boys from the other Washington, mind if I sit? I’m Holland," he introduces himself, flashing a disarmingly innocent smile that belies the secrets of yesterday.
Oliver looks up from his eggs and raises an eyebrow. "Sure, I guess there’s room for another PL.” he slides his chair over and makes space between us for Holland to drag a chair over from another table. While Holland does so, I glance at his arm and confirm Holland is a Patrol Leader from the badge on his left sleeve.
“So you are the guys from Washington D.C. then?” Arvid asks, surprising everyone at the table with his sudden contribution to the conversation.
"Virginia," Holland corrects, slipping into the chair beside me. "Just across the river from Washington D.C." He subtly kicks my foot under the table. I steal a glance at Garrett, who offers a barely perceptible nod. The air crackles with unspoken tension, the mundane breakfast table becomes a stage for our clandestine drama.
“Oh, Virginia huh.” Collin chimes in, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Isn’t that where all the historic stuff is?”
Holland chuckles. "We've got plenty of history—Mount Vernon, Monticello, Jamestown. You've got… trees?" He delivers the line with a playful smirk, a subtle jab at our Pacific Northwest home.
"Speaking of history," Oliver says, his tone sharp, "shouldn't you be over at your table, Holland? Patrol Leaders usually stick with their troops, don't they?"
“Not lately,” Holland gestures toward Jamie’s table and I see on his other sleeve that he is in Chameleon patrol from his patrol badge. “Your SPL and ASPL are sitting with mine again, so I thought I’d return the favor.”
Oliver's attention is unexpected, and a thrill shoots through me. The increasing risk of discovery adds a layer of excitement to our secret dance.
"He’s just trying to make new friends, Oliver," I chime in, trying to sound casual. "Besides, isn't that what Ben's been encouraging us to do all week? Get to know Scouts from other troops?" I try to project an air of innocence, hoping to deflect Oliver's suspicion.
Oliver grunts, unconvinced, but thankfully turns his attention back to his breakfast. The tension at the table eases slightly, and the conversation shifts to our troop's planned merit badges for the morning: Geocaching and Radio, followed by an afternoon of water activities on the lake.
Later that morning by the nature shed, our Geocaching instructor hands out maps, handheld GPS units, and a quick refresher on how to use them. I glance down at the brass compass clipped to my belt on my scout shorts. It’s not required for the badge, but I always bring it to camp. It belonged to my great-grandfather, passed down through generations, and it feels like a piece of him still guides me every time I hold it.
"All right," the instructor says, clapping his hands. "Pair up, and remember: every cache you find is a victory. There’s a hidden object near each waypoint—sign the logbook, and feel free to trade items if you brought anything."
Garrett nudges me. "Partners?"
I nod, wondering why he even needs to ask at this point. "Let’s do it."
We start with the first set of coordinates, a relatively straightforward path to a fallen tree near the edge of the beach. The cache is tucked into a hollow in the trunk, sealed in a waterproof box. Garrett signs the logbook while I leave a small carabiner as a trade.
"One down," Garrett says, grinning. "How hard can this be?"
The second and third caches are trickier—a camouflaged box nestled among rocks by the stream and another hidden in the roots of an old cedar. By the time we’ve finished three, we’re off the beaten path, the sounds of camp fading into the rustle of wind and distant waves.
"You know," Garrett says, glancing at me as we pause to check the map, "you’re surprisingly good at this. Guess the compass comes in handy, huh?"
I shrug, but a smile beams from the corner of my mouth. "It’s not just any compass. My great-grandfather had it, then my grandfather gave it to me when I joined Scouts. It’s kind of a family thing."
Garrett’s face softens, and for a second, I think he’s about to say something significant, but instead, he just nods. "That’s... cool. Must mean a lot to you."
We push on, finding the fourth cache in a cluster of ferns, but when I reach for my compass to double-check our heading, my stomach drops, it’s gone.
"Wait," I mutter, scanning the ground and patting my pockets as if it might magically reappear. "It was just here. I…I don’t know how—"
"What’s wrong?" Garrett asks, already stepping closer, his eyes wide.
"My compass," I say, the words catching in my throat. "It’s gone. It must’ve fallen off somewhere."
Garrett looks at me, his expression shifting from confusion to determination. "Okay. Let’s retrace our steps. We’ll find it, Walker."
The confidence in his voice steadies me, and we begin retracing the trail, backtracking to every cache and stopping to comb the ground. My heart sinks further with each step, the weight of what I’ve lost pressing heavier on my chest.
After backtracking through the trail for what feels like the hundredth time, we have to admit defeat. My compass is nowhere to be found. Garrett notices my frustration and places a hand on my shoulder as we look back toward the main part of camp.
"Maybe someone else found it," he suggests. "We can check the lost and found after lunch."
I force a smile as we gather with the rest of the troop for the Radio Merit Badge, but my mind keeps drifting back to the lost compass. The weight of its absence settles in my chest like a physical ache, making it hard to focus on the instructions and diagrams. I try to shake off the feeling, reminding myself that it's just an object, but the connection to my great-grandfather that came with it is more than just sentimental - it was a tangible link to my family's past. Without it, everything else seems hollow and unimportant.
Lunch is a blur. I barely register the conversations around me, though I catch Garrett throwing me expectant glances even without Holland present. After we clear our trays, Ben waves me over.
"Walker, what’s wrong?" he asks, his usual easygoing tone softening when he sees my forlorn face.
"I lost my compass," I admit, feeling the sting of the words. "It’s kind of important. Garrett suggested we check the lost and found."
Ben nods. "That’s the best place to ask. I was heading to the Commissioner’s Office anyhow to drop off some forms. Come with me."
We round the corner out of the building to the Commissioner's Office and the atmosphere is charged. The slightly overweight middle-aged Lead Commissioner we’ve previously been introduced to as Rob holds a hand-held two-way radio in one hand and a cordless phone handset to his face, a dust-covered Junior Ranger in uniform stands next to him.
Ben and I wait while Rob barks into the phone. “What, you’re telling me it’ll be two hours for a tow truck because all your trucks are in Seaside?...... Yes, I know a highway accident takes priority, but I have a reefer truck stuck in a ditch on the main camp road blocking access to the whole camp….OK, the driver told me SYSCO has their contractor but you realize they’re based in Portland?” Rob doesn’t like the answer he gets, hangs up, and looks at the Junior Ranger. “Hand over the keys to the F-150, I’m revoking your driving privileges for the summer if you don’t know how to move over for a big delivery truck!”
We try to get in a word, but Rob wanders off and hollers hastily into the radio as if his message is for those standing beside him. “I need all available Commissioners to report to the East Parking Lot for traffic control duty. Tanner, you’re also helping with this since you made him drive off-road!” He points to the Junior Ranger and they leave us standing at the door to the office.
Ben and I glance at each other, silently deciding not to comment on the chaos. The Commissioner’s Office door is still propped open, so we enter. The room is cramped but functional, with stacks of papers on a desk, a corkboard cluttered with maps and schedules, a list of numbers for incidents like Poison Control or Oregon OSHA, and against a wall, a folding table piled high with lost and found items.
It doesn’t take long for me to search. Inside a small Amazon box with a few Swiss Army knives, I spot the familiar brass glint. Relief washes over me as I grab the compass, turning it over in my hands to confirm it’s mine. The weight of it, the smooth feel of the worn brass—it’s like reconnecting with an old friend.
"Found it?" Ben asks, glancing over after dropping his forms.
"Yeah," I say, my voice soft. "Thanks for bringing me here."
I should feel lighter, but as I clip the compass back onto my belt with a more secure carabiner, Ben unfolds a white adidas soccer jersey at the top of the pile of clothes with ‘Alexandria’ printed boldly on the chest. My breath hitches. I know that jersey, it’s the one I was looking for this morning, it’s Holland’s. The one he was wearing as Garrett exploded all over him last night. But how did it end up here, so quickly, just like my compass?
Struggling to retain my fear, I watch as Ben reads the jersey. The cum stains aren’t visible thanks to it being white, but I’m worried Garrett’s distinct spunky smell can easily be detected on it.
“This is obviously from Jamie’s troop, why didn’t the person who found it or one of the Commissioners just give it back to them?” Ben ponders.
"I... I don't know," I stammer, my mind racing. Had someone seen Holland sneaking back to his cabin? Had he lost it on the way back from our minidak? Was this a sign, a warning that our secret was about to unravel?
Ben shrugs, tossing the jersey back onto the pile. "Weird. Well, I'll mention it to Jamie later. Maybe he knows who it belongs to." He turns to leave, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me.
"Wait," I blurt out, my voice nearly silent. Ben stops, looking back at me with a questioning gaze. "Maybe... maybe I can take it. I might know who it belongs to." It’s a flimsy excuse, but it’s the only thing I can think of. I need to get that jersey out of the office, away from prying eyes. We can’t risk anyone else discovering it, examining it closer, and connecting it back to us.
“Okay seems like the right thing to do. Grab it and I’ll tell Rob what we took when I see him again. Do you know where 737’s site is?”
“No.” I shake my head and grab the jersey, balling it up in a way to keep the cum stains from being detected.
“It’s the second one on the right at the end of this road here.” Ben points along the direction Rob and the Junior Ranger left. I think the site is called Schooner. I’ll let Oliver and Garrett know where you are.”
“Okay, thanks Ben, I’ll see you at the lake then?”
“Yeah, hopefully Jamie or someone is still there.” Ben smiles and he starts walking back to our site by the beach.
Schooner isn’t too far from the Discovery Lodge, and when I get there I see much of Holland’s troop is already changed for the lake and making their way in that direction. Troop 737 is considerably smaller than mine as I count only 4 of the 6-person Adirondacks that Holland described and one minidak for their adult leaders. Each patrol seems to have labeled their Adirondack, and I find Chameleon patrol written in Sharpie on cardboard in the middle.
No one seems to have noticed me yet, so I knock on the Chameleon Patrol’s Adirondack wall and call out. “Holland, are you still here?”
“Yeah, come in.” I hear Holland yell back.
I push aside the curtain and find Holland in black swim trunks. His chest looks amazingly smooth and I’m shocked at how impressive his tall body looks shirtless in the daylight. The memory of last night’s intimacy floods back, a mix of excitement and nervousness channeling through me, but then I notice a younger kid, probably about Tenderfoot age, digging through his bag.
“Did you find your goggles yet, Grant?” Holland asks him from across the room.
The boy shakes his head, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continues to rummage. Holland turns to me, a comforting smile playing on his lips. “Don’t mind him, that’s Grant. He’s got the attention span of a gnat.” He lowers his voice, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “What’s up, Walker?”
I hold out the crumpled jersey. “You lost this,” I whisper, my heart still pounding from the close call at the Commissioner’s Office.
Holland’s eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and panic flashing across his cute face. “Holy mother of…where did you find that?” He snatches the jersey from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine, leaving me breathless momentarily.
“Lost and found,” I reply softly, glancing at Grant ensuring he's still preoccupied. “I told Ben I might know who it belonged to and that I’d return it.”
Holland lets out a deep breath. “You’re a lifesaver, Walker. Seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if anyone saw the…you know.” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He looks down at the jersey, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he tucks it into his bag. “Guess last night was a bit… eventful.” He meets my gaze, a playful glint in his eyes. “Speaking of which…”
My cheeks flush, the memory of Holland’s sweet lips around me, flooding back with a rush of heat. “Yeah?” I manage, my voice low and conspiratorial.
“So, about tonight…” Holland begins his voice husky. He leans in closer, his hand brushing against my arm. “Thinking… round two?”
My heart pounds in my chest. “Definitely,” I reply, the word barely audible above the roar of anticipation ringing in my ears. “Same time, our cabin?”
Holland grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You know it.” He pauses, glancing at Grant, who’s now attempting to put his goggles on upside down. “Guess I better walk with Grant down to the lake, are you guys down there too this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice back to normal. “But I need to get changed first.”
“All right, we’ll catch you down there!” Holland grabs his towel and slips his familiar red Crocs on as we exit the Adirondack.
I let Holland and Grant make their way to the lake together while I take the trail toward my troop’s site, however just as I round the tail to Lookout, I see Wade coming the other direction.
Everyone knows about my close relationship with Ben, and I try to hide the grin on my face silently as we near each other. Wade, however, seems preoccupied, almost nervously kicking a small rock as he walks. He’s humming a vaguely familiar tune, but I can't quite place it. As he is about to pass, his gaze is drawn to the compass on my belt.
“Where did you get that?” He stops abruptly, adjusts his glasses, and points to the compass. His usual scowl is replaced with a look of genuine curiosity, though a hint of suspicion lingers in his eyes.
“Uhm, it’s mine,” I say, my voice a little higher than usual. “My grandfather gave it to me. It’s kind of a family heirloom.” I touch the compass protectively, hoping the sincerity of my gesture will be enough to convince him, as Wade’s slightly chubby and taller fame hunches over me. His breath is heavy with the scent of beef stroganoff from lunch and sweat drips from his short black hair to his face.
“Well, it looks suspiciously like the one I found on a trail this morning,” Wade says, his voice slightly more calm. “I turned it into one of the Commissioners, wondering who H.H. was.”
“Oh, you’re the one who found it then? H.H. was my great grandfather, Herman Hallegg, he came to Washington to work as a logger.” I answer with a hint of nostalgia in my voice. “Ben and I were just at the Commissioner's office to see if someone turned it in and it was you. Thank you, Wade!”
Wade looks back at me, his expression unreadable. He seems about to say something more, then hesitates. "Yeah, well," he finally mutters, shuffling his feet. "Try to be careful. Next time you might not be so lucky with who found it." There’s a strange mix of concern and resentment in his tone as he continues past me, the tune he was humming fading into the background noise of the camp. There’s some worry as he departs that Wade might have found the jersey as well, and I wonder how quickly it got there and how often things are turned in, but I push it to the back of my mind as overthinking.
Back at my nearly empty site, I see Paul and Mr. Smedstad talking to one of the other Junior Rangers about a firewood delivery. I deftly slip into my minidak unnoticed by them to change into my blue Old Navy trunks and join the rest of my troop on the lake.
Lake Chamberlain buzzes with activity, roughly a quarter of the camp's scouts splashing, shouting, and enjoying the early afternoon sun. Badger Patrol is in the thick of it: Garrett, Collin, and Arvid are a blur of playful jostling in the water. Further down the dock, I see Oliver trying to coax a reluctant Tobey and Minh into joining the patrol in the fun. Their legs dangle over the edge, wet but hesitant, as Oliver kneels beside them, offering encouragement. At the far end of the dock, the lifeguard Chase stands watch, his muscular physique accentuated by his red lifeguard shorts and white tank top.
On the other side of the dock, I spot Holland and Troop 737. Grant is perched on Holland’s shoulders, with lime green goggles and askew on his face, as Grant waves to me on the shore. I’m torn between expectations that I should be with my troop and the pull of being so close to Holland again. Ultimately I decide that Garrett is my forever loyal friend, and I shouldn’t leave him wondering why I’m not joining him on his side of the dock.
I make my way toward Garrett and the rest of the Badger Patrol, letting the cool breeze carry me toward the familiar chaos. Garrett spots me first, his broad grin breaking across his face. His wet brown hair is plastered to his forehead, and he waves exaggeratedly.
“Finally! Thought you’d got lost, Walker!” Garrett teases, splashing in my direction.
“Just had to deal with Wade,” I say, rolling my eyes dramatically.
Garrett groans in mock sympathy. “Wade? Yikes. What did he want with you today? Another invitation to join his nightly Magic the Gathering tournament?”
“Close,” I laugh, kicking off my flip-flops. “He found my compass and made it a whole thing.”
“Classic Wade,” Garrett says, shaking his head. “Well, you’re here now. Let’s show these newbies how it’s done!”
Before I can brace myself Garrett lunges, yanking me off the dock into the lake. The cold water shocks my system, but I surface laughing, splashing him back with everything I’ve got.
“Too slow, old man!” Garrett taunts, swimming just out of my reach.
I chase after him, weaving through the melee of scouts. Collin and Arvid join the fray, turning it into a full-on splash war. For the afternoon it’s just us, teenagers in a moment of innocence—the laughter, the water, and the sun overhead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Holland watching from the other side of the dock. He’s smiling, but there’s a hint of something else there. Jealousy? Curiosity? I can’t tell. Grant tugs at his arm, redirecting his attention, and Holland turns away, his laughter mingling with the rest of his troops.
“Walker! Heads up!” Garrett’s voice snaps me back as a frisbee sails toward me. I catch it just before it hits my face, earning cheers from the patrol.
“Nice reflexes!” Oliver calls from the dock, finally coaxing Tobey and Minh into the water. They’re hesitant but smiling, splashing cautiously near the edge.
“Thanks!” I shout back, tossing the frisbee toward Arvid, who leaps to catch it mid-air.
The afternoon blurs into a whirl of games and laughter, the lake is alive with our energy. Eventually, Chase blows his whistle, signaling the end of the free swim.
“Badger, let’s head back!” Oliver calls, rallying the patrol.
As we trudge back up the trail toward Lookout, dripping wet and sun-warmed, I find myself stealing glances at Holland. He’s walking ahead with Jamie, their conversation punctuated with bursts of laughter. Badger Patrol starts to peel off the road to our site, and I see Holland turn around to look at Garrett and me before we disappear around the corner. He gives us a wave, and I silently count the hours until we see him in private again.
Dinners at camp in the dining hall are always a bit more formal than lunch and breakfast, so it’s expected we eat with our troops. As I sit with most of Badger Patrol, the familiar blur of faces and forced conversation barely has me looking up from my food. When we leave dinner, a bunch of my troop meets up at the parade grounds for a Wilderness Survival overnighter, including Collin and Arvid, so there will be considerably fewer people back at our site tonight.
Back at Lookout, Wade convinces Tobey and a handful of other scouts to play Magic while Garrett, Evan, Jacob, and I play Uno. The easy camaraderie of the Uno game and the familiar banter with Garrett and Evan almost lull me into a sense of normalcy. It’s a fleeting echo of a simpler time when Ben was our Patrol Leader, before Holland, before the weight of our shared secret. I catch myself glancing at Garrett, a silent communication passing between us, a combination of expectation and anxiety for the night ahead.
The anticipation becomes almost unbearable as the night winds down and everyone drifts off to their bunks after brushing their teeth. The minidak feels too small, the air thick with unspoken desires. I slip Garrett’s Nike shorts on, the familiar silky fabric against my bare skin, a tangible reminder of our hidden intimacy. We wait, the silence punctuated only by the distant sounds of crickets and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.
However, as Holland’s agreed-upon time nears, the usual quiet of our campsite fire dying down leads to raised voices beside our minidak. My heart leaps into my throat, the sudden fear momentarily eclipsing the thrill of suspense. Had Holland been caught? Was this the end of our fragile, forbidden world? I look at Garrett, his eyes wide with panic and confusion mirroring my own.
“Griffin, go back to your cabin!” I hear Bryan shout animatedly.
“Man you don’t have to yell, you’ll wake up Ben and everyone else. He’s younger than us and wasn’t around when we snuck out under Paul’s nose.” Gizmo shoots back.
“This isn’t back home at Fire Mountain Guillermo! There are other people around us and a lot more staff. What on God’s green earth were you doing with Griffin down in the bushes by the Handicraft Shelter? The washroom is in the other direction and Griffin is old enough he didn’t need an escort.” Bryan fires back, sounding more heated than I’ve ever heard him.
Garrett and I exchange a tense look, the dying light of the campfire peeking under the curtain barely illuminating our shared unease. The voices just outside our minidak grow louder, cutting through the tranquil hum of the night.
“What the hell is going on?” Garrett whispers.
I shrug, my chest tightening as I strain to catch every word from the argument outside. Bryan's voice, sharp and accusatory, echoes through the wall.
“I don’t care who you are or what excuse you think you have,” Bryan continues, his tone teetering between anger and disbelief. “This is not happening tonight or any other night for that matter.”
There’s a muffled response from Gizmo, his usual sarcasm lacking its bite, followed by Bryan’s exasperated groan.
Garrett starts to rise, but I wave him back into his bunk. “What if they’re checking to see if we’re awake or found Holland too?” he whispers back, his voice barely audible.
“We’ll deal with it if they do,” I reply, though my heart pounds at the thought.
The voices outside shift, growing fainter as Bryan and Gizmo seem to move farther from our campsite. The tension in my chest eases as I let out a shallow breath and my shoulders relax slightly.
Garrett leans closer. “What do you think that was about?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, though my mind races with possibilities. The mention of Griffin, and what Holland said about Gizmo last night seem to fit together into some tangled web of our troop’s senior leadership that I’m not ready to confront. Garrett and I have our secrets that I’m dealing with, secrets that I hope never leave this minidak. I believed fewer people at our site tonight meant less scrutiny and more privacy with Collin and Arvid not sleeping next door, but this is not the case.
When I think Bryan and Gizmo have cleared off I get out of bed and put on my flip-flops.
“Where are you going!” Garrett whispers and tries to grab my arm.
“I'm going to see if Holland got scared away. Wait here.” I order him to sit still and grab my flashlight.
With Collin and Avrid not in their minidak next door and Bryan dealing with Gizmo, I feel there’s less chance of getting caught outside. I follow along the route Holland might have taken from his site to ours, scanning the between the bushes and trees for any sign of him.
“Walkeeeer…..” I hear someone call out from the trees.
I shine my flashlight in the direction of the sound and spot Holland. Instead of his uniform shirt, he’s sporting a blue version of his soccer jersey with red stripes on his sleeves and a pair of black adidas soccer shorts.
“Are they gone?” Holland turns his headlamp on and steps toward me.
“I think so, did you see Gulliemro again?” I ask him.
“Yeah, same guys as last night, though I only saw them after one of your Scoutmasters dragged them back there. I thought I was going to get caught too so I had to hide and wait for everyone to leave. Everything ok?” Holland grabs and shakes my wrist.
“That was Bryan, he’s just a Junior Assistant Scoutmaster. We better get back inside before they come back. Bryan was pretty angry and he’d probably be even more pissed if he caught us out as well.” I turn around with Holland on the trail and start leading him back to my minidak.
My stomach flutters as Holland and I walk back to the minidak. The adrenaline from Bryan and Gizmo's argument, coupled with the lingering excitement of our previous night’s escapades, has me buzzing with nervous energy.
Slipping back inside, I can’t help but steal a glance at Holland. The blue soccer jersey hides more of his thin form than the white one, but his shorts show off more of his long skinny legs.
“That was close,” Holland whispers, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and amusement. “You guys have more people snooping around your place than ours.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I reply, thinking of the tense confrontation we overheard. My mind still reels from the pairing of Gizmo and Griffin, but that’s another secret I have yet to process. “Bryan can be pretty intense, especially when it comes to rules. But hey, at least we’re safe now.” I try to steer the conversation away from our troop’s drama, hoping to focus on the anticipation building between us.
“Safe…for now,” Holland echoes, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. He steps closer, his faint smell of sweat mingling with the scent of pine needles and conditioner from an afternoon shower.
Before I can fully process the implications of his words, Holland leans in, his lips brushing against mine. The kiss is electric, a surge of warmth flowing through me. It’s different from the hesitant, exploratory kisses I shared with Garrett. There’s a confidence, a boldness in Holland’s touch that makes me forget, for a moment, the precariousness of our situation.
Garrett, who’s been watching us from his bunk, clears his throat. “So, are we just going to stand here all night? Or are we going to get to the good part?”
His words snap me back to reality. Right, Garrett’s still awake. And well…he’s expecting something.
“Okay,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
Unable to resist the charged atmosphere, Garrett slides out of his bunk and stands beside us. He looks from me to Holland, then leans in to kiss him too. The kiss is more urgent, less tender than the one between me and Holland, and I feel a flicker of envy. But when Garrett pulls back, grinning, and says, "You know what I want to try tonight, Holland?" my heart skips a beat.
Holland's eyes flash with trepidation as he waits for Garrett to continue, and his gaze never leaves mine. My heart is still racing from the unexpected kiss we shared moments ago. I try to focus on the conversation unfolding before me, but it's hard to concentrate when my mind keeps wandering back to the sparks flying between Holland and me.
Garrett's words hang in the air as his eyes lock intently on Holland. "I want to try something new again," Garrett says confidently. He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the tension build before adding, "See how it feels in a butt."
Holland looks at me, his eyes searching for a hint of what I might be thinking. He bites his bottom lip, uncertainty playing across his face. "I don't know, Garrett. That seems...kinda a huge step up," he says, his voice wavering slightly.
Garrett's grin widens, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, it'll be so hot. Trust me, it's worth it. Maybe you can even go down on Walker while we’re at it." he coaxes, stepping back, and already beginning to spread his sleeping bag on the bunk.
I feel myself rise in the basketball shorts at the thought of Holland between us. My only concern is the cramped confines of the minidak, and how much room we have to play together. Holland’s right, this is a huge step up, but I want it to happen, so I try to convince him. “I’ll try to give you a blow job too if you want Holland.”
Holland's eyes widen at the offer, the tension in the minidak thickening as Garrett and I wait for his answer. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and for a second, I think he's going to refuse. But then, a hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and he nods. "Okay," he whispers, his voice low and filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Let's do this."
Garrett's eyes light up, and he practically bounces back onto his bunk, tearing off the red shorts he’s wearing and t-shirt. I slip off the Nike shorts and join him, resting Garrett’s pillow against the back wall of the minidak, then watch Holland slip off his soccer shorts and underwear in one smooth motion, seemingly ready to keep his jersey on again for the fun.
His uncut cock is thick and slightly curved, and I admire it as Holland climbs onto the bed with us. Garrett wastes no time, pushing Holland’s face into my crotch as he eagerly takes me into his mouth, his tongue swirling around my shaft while his hands explore my balls. He takes a deep breath, and then, with a gentle touch, he lowers his mouth onto the tip of my cock. The sensation is heavenly, his soft, wet lips moving down my length as Holland continues to suck me off. Then, I look up to see Garrett preparing to enter him.
“Are you ready Holland?,” Garrett asks, slaps him on his bare cheeks, and reaches for a small bottle of Vaseline at the side of his bunk. He rubs some onto his fingers, warming it before sliding his fingers into the crevice between Holland’s cheeks. With a gentle push, Garrett penetrates him, watching for any sign of discomfort. Holland relaxes, and Garrett nods to me, giving me the go-ahead. I lean back, my legs parted, as Garrett lines himself up behind our newfound companion. He takes a deep breath and slips into him further. The sight of Garrett’s dick disappearing into the tight ring of muscle sends a fresh wave of desire through me, making me shiver with excitement.
The three of us are lost in a rhythm of pleasure, our moans and breaths the only sounds breaking the quiet of the night outside our minidak. Holland's mouth on my cock is pure heaven as I watch Garrett grab onto the sides of Holland’s jersey. The way his ass clenches around Garrett's dick makes me want to reach out and touch, to be part of that intimate connection, but I'm afraid to break the spell. Instead, I focus on the sensation of my cock sliding in and out of Holland’s wet, warm mouth and the way he moans around me with each push from behind.
Garrett's pace quickens, the slap of skin against skin growing louder. The tension in the air is palpable, each of us lost in our world of pleasure, yet bound together by the shared intimacy of this moment. As my orgasm builds, I can feel the heat of Garrett's breath on my thigh, and I know we're all close. I thrust harder into Holland's face, my grip tightening in his hair, as I come closer to the edge. Then, with a final groan, I release my load, and the warmth of my jism fills his mouth.
Holland's eyes water as he takes my last spurt, swallows, and then pulls off, gasping for air. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks up at me with a mix of shock and desire. Garrett's breaths come in ragged gasps, his eyes glazed over as he sees my spent cock bob in the dim light. He's so close, his hips jerking erratically, fucking the air above Holland's ass. With a final, primal growl, Garrett pulls out, his dick throbbing with need. He reaches around and jerks himself off, aiming for the space between Holland's cheeks. Thick ropes of cum shoot out of Garrett and paint a messy pattern across the pale skin, a stark contrast to the dark fabric of the jersey still on Holland’s back. The sight sends a fresh wave of lust through me, and I reach forward, smearing some of the warm liquid over the soft curve of Holland’s butt.
Exhausted, Holland rolls over, the rest of the cum smearing into Garrett’s sleeping bag. I slip out from under him and shift myself between his legs to grab at Holland’s already hard cock. Garrett learns against the front wall as he grabs my red basketball shorts to clean off his dick. How he intends to sleep in them now I wonder, but I quickly focus on peeling back Holland’s foreskin and lowering my lips to his cockhead, kissing it and tasting his penis.
“Is this good?” I look up at Holland, hoping my inexperience doesn’t destroy the moment.’
“Oh yeah,” Holland purrs, running his hand through my hair.
As I tentatively begin to suck on the tip of Holland's cock, Garrett watches with a mix of curiosity and arousal. He leans over and whispers in my ear, "You've got this, Walker. Just go slow and feel what he likes." Encouraged by his words, I start to bob my head up and down, taking more of Holland's length into my mouth with each stroke. The taste is slightly bitter, but not unpleasant. I feel him twitch and moan with every movement, his hand tightening in my tousled hair.
Holland's moans grow louder as I pick up the pace, my mouth eagerly taking more of him in. His hips rock gently against me, guiding my rhythm. The intimate scene is almost too much to handle, with Garrett's cum still smeared on the sleeping bag and the musky scent of sex filling the air. I'm aware of how close we might be to being caught if Bryan and Gizmo come back, but the thrill only adds to the intensity. Garrett's eyes never leave us, rubbing my red silky basketball shorts against his dick in a steady rhythm as he watches. The room feels like it's spinning as I become more and more lost in the sensation of giving pleasure to this gorgeous boy from Virginia. His breath hitches as I feel him hit the roof of my mouth, and I know he's close.
The grip tightens in my hair as Holland’s moans become more urgent, and I can sense the tension building in his body. I keep going, my mouth moving faster and faster along his shaft, eager to make him cum. Then, with a guttural groan, he bucks his hips upward, and his cock spasms in my mouth. A warm, salty burst fills me, and I swallow it, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. Garrett watches, his eyes glued to the scene before him, as I continue to suck and lick at the sensitive tip, drawing out every last drop of Holland’s release. When I finally pull away, gasping for breath, I'm met with a satisfied smile from Holland. He leans over to kiss me, his tongue slipping into my mouth, sharing the taste of his cum. Garrett's hand slows its rhythm, and he sighs contentedly, the tension in the room dissipating as we all lay there, tangled in the sticky mess we've created. Our hearts pound in sync with the unspoken understanding that we've just shared something incredibly intimate, and for now, our little secret is safe.
“That was awesome,” I say, pulling myself back up to the head of the bunk. I look at Garrett’s Indiglo watch he’s left on the bed and it’s already past midnight. “You better get back to your troop Holland, but don’t lose your jersey this time ok?”
Holland sighs but nods. At the same time, Garrett gives me a curious look.