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Bunkered Down
by
Tragudis
How did two normally heterosexual men become involved in doing something associated with gay men? All these years later, Rick Wyatt still doesn’t quite understand it.
Back in the summer of 1970, Rick was a twenty-year-old college guy who spent summers in Pennsylvania as a camp counselor at Camp Lake Forest. The pay wasn’t great, but you got room and board and decent food. Plus, if you were athletic as Rick was, as most of the counselors were, you got to play sports—softball, volleyball, tennis, etc. When the counselors weren’t supervising their charges, they played in a special league among themselves.
Like many camps, Lake Forest offered a safe, isolated haven away from some of the bad news that happened around that time. American troops were still dying in Vietnam, and so were college students protesting the war per what had happened in May when national guard troops gunned down Kent State students (killing four and wounding nine) during a protest on campus. Patton, MASH and Five Easy Pieces were some of the top films released that year. And Mungo Jerry, a British rock group, provided the season’s biggest summer hit:
In the summertime when the weather is hot
You can stretch right up and touch the sky
When the weather’s fine
You got women, you got women on your mind
Rick did have women on his mind, and so did Arnie Page, his co-counselor in a bunk of eleven-year-old lads whose parents were well off enough to send them to Lake Forest for six weeks. Rick and Arnie had known each other for years, ever since they were campers themselves at the same camp. As young teens, they had bunked together. In the summer of 1970, they were young men who felt like “giving back” to the camp that had given them the summers of their life. Ergo, they became counselors. Both of them had an eye for some of the female counselors that supervised all-girl bunks located about a quarter-mile from the boys’ bunks.
Other male counselors shared similar proclivities when it came to women. Romantic liaisons did happen at Lake Forest, but they were relatively rare for lack of privacy. Flirtations were more the norm, and Rick and Arnie had their share. They often compared notes on who they liked and why. It was typical locker room talk, talk that would have made feminists cringe. Their conversations, held a safe distance from their boys, could get graphic—graphic enough that it wasn’t unusual for them to become aroused just talking about the way Cindy Foreman looked in a bikini or the way Sherri Becker might respond to oral on her clit.
Young guys like Rick and Arnie could get mighty horny seeing all that college-age poon, prancing around wearing their revealing summer duds. Just about nobody got laid, leaving masturbation as the only outlet. The problem was finding the privacy to do it, no mean feat with a bunk full of kids. However, there were occasions when the kids went on day trips to Hershey Park or to a Phillies baseball game, and they were supervised by other camp staffers, leaving counselors like Rick and Arnie free to do as they pleased until the kids returned.
On one such afternoon, the guys found themselves in their bunk alone, listening to the radio and chewing the fat, which included discussions about the feminine assets of the Cindy Foremans and Sherri Beckers of the camp and becoming aroused in the process. They were on adjacent beds, shoes beylikdüzü escort off and wearing typical Lake Forest attire, khaki shorts and blue T-shirts that read in big white letters, Lake Forest Staff. Both were around the same height, five-foot nine, about their only common denominator as far as looks, save for their brown hair. Rick was the more athletic of the two and looked it. He lifted weights and it showed, from his thick quads to his mounds of pectoral muscle. He was a fast runner also, deflating the myth of the so-called muscle-bound athlete, a myth that was all but dead anyway by that time. Arnie, while not a bad athlete, had struggled with weight issues as a kid. He had been chubby, never obese, but that “spare tire” around his belly had made him the butt of cruel comments while growing up. His exercise regimen had helped to reduce the tire, though not completely, and he had all but given up on achieving the sort of sharp muscularity, not to mention strength, that Rick enjoyed. “I’ve got too many fat cells, it’s not in my genetics,” he’d say in resignation.
On that day in the bunk, Arnie wasn’t talking about fat cells, but how horny he was. “I’m so horny, I could jerk off right here,” he said.
Rick, sitting on the edge of the steel-framed bed, chuckled. “Yeah, me too.” He then proceeded to shove a hand down his shorts. “I’ve got a boner like you wouldn’t believe.”
Arnie, lying sideways with his head propped up on his elbow, rubbed a hand over his crotch. “You’re not the only one.”
A novel idea (novel to him, that is) popped into Rick’s head. Competitive in just about everything, he suggested a contest to see who could come the fastest.
Arnie raised his eyebrows. “Ah, that’s something I usually do in private, old buddy.”
“Me too,” Rick said. “But let’s be daring. I mean, it’s not like we’ve never seen each other’s dicks. Are you, um, UP for the challenge?”
Arnie considered this. Rick usually beat him in sports that required speed and strength: track and field, wrestling, hitting a baseball, even swimming. Arnie knew that Rick was the better athlete overall. Even so, he never backed down when Rick challenged him to something. He lacked Rick’s power, but he was just as good, perhaps even slightly better when it came to hand-eye coordination in sports such as basketball, tennis and ping pong. And yes, he was definitely UP for the challenge. “You’re on,” he said, though he felt a bit shy in exposing himself to his friend in this manner.
Rick didn’t waste time in pulling down his shorts and underwear. “Now your turn,” he said, watching his friend hesitate.
Arnie looked over, seeing his friend’s erect cock pop from under the tight band in his underwear as if it was shot from a spring. Boing! “Okay, here goes,” he said. Then he turned on his back, eased his head down on the pillow, and began stroking his cock with thoughts of Celeste Moffatt, one of the hottest counselors in the camp. He didn’t know her personally. However, like most of the guys there, including some of the older male campers, he thought she was prime fantasy material.
Rick turned his face away from the wood rafters that ran horizontally under the ceiling. “Celeste Moffatt?” Arnie nodded. “Atta boy. It’s Brittany Rayner for me.” Like Arnie, Rick turned on his back and proceeded to pleasure himself, his mind filled with thoughts of Brittany Rayner. Brittany beyoğlu escort wasn’t the prettiest counselor in the girls’ camp, far from it. But she was undeniably cute, stood a couple inches over five-feet, had short brown hair and was slightly chubby, a far cry from the five-eight, blond, shapely, conventionally beautiful Celeste Moffitt. Yet she possessed this erotic way about her that Rick found irresistible. He’d see her around camp, swishing her sexy butt when she walked by and at the pool during the counselors’ mixed swim periods, her juicy melons hanging halfway out of her bikini top. He pictured himself and “the Britt,” as he called her, humping away in a tent, deep in the woods next to a crackling campfire.
It didn’t take long before Rick won this “contest,” too, shooting his load in less than two minutes. Then he grabbed a tissue, wiped up and pulled up his pants. Meanwhile, Arnie was still wanking away. “You can stop now, Arnie, we’re done.”
Arnie paused and looked over at Rick. “Okay, you won. But I’m too worked up to stop now.”
Rick nodded. “No problem, carry on, guy.” Rick remained seated on his bed, watching Arnie stroke his cock with gleeful intensity, his mind presumably focused on the comely Celeste Moffitt. This was the first time he actually saw another guy jerk off. Rick was as heterosexual as they come, yet he felt himself becoming aroused at what he was seeing. It wasn’t Arnie’s cock that turned him on, but the intensity of the act itself, his friend’s heavy breathing, his chubby thighs flexing, his straight hair falling into his eyes, eyes that were half-closed, squinting with concentration. Even though he had just climaxed, Rick could feel his cock stirring once again. A minute went by, then another, and Arnie was still at it. On impulse, he said, “Maybe I can help.”
Arnie stopped and turned. “What?!”
“Not to rush things, pal,” Rick said, “but we’re not going to be alone in this bunk forever.”
Arnie sighed. “Maybe I can’t do this with you here. It might be best if I do it in the bathroom.”
The bathroom, located in the back of the bunk, had a urinal, toilet and shower, and afforded some measure of privacy but not much. It was a worst-kept secret that counselors and some of the older campers ensconced themselves in the toilet stall to pleasure themselves.
Meanwhile, Rick could see that Arnie’s cock was deflating. Getting him hard again and then to actually get him off would be like another game, a personal triumph. His own cock continued to rise at the thought. He sat on the edge of the bed and advised Arnie to do the same.
Arnie, lying on his side with his shorts and underwear still pulled down around his ankles, stayed put. “Do you want to jerk me off? Is that what you mean by help?”
“It’s not something I’ve ever done before,” Rick said. “But it’s something I find…intriguing. Look, neither of us is gay. But, for some reason, the idea is turning me on.” He saw Arnie purse his lips in a shy expression of agreement. “You too?”
“Um, maybe. Geez, I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.” He reached down and began to stroke his cock. Watching Rick watching him and knowing it turned Rick on, made Arnie feel weirdly seductive, and he looked the part, with his mouth hanging open and his tongue swishing across his thin lips.
Rick got even more excited. His bed was close enough to Arnie’s bostancı escort where he could reach over and begin what he had proposed and what his friend was obviously willing to go along with. “Here, let me do that,” Rick said.
Arnie moved his hand away and watched as Rick stretched forward, extended his arm at full length and then gently wrapped his hand around Arnie’s cock. “This position is awkward,” Rick said. “Lay down on your back again.” Arnie complied and then Rick took a position on the edge of Arnie’s bed. “Now, just relax. You might want to close your eyes.”
Arnie lay spread-eagle on the bed, eyes closed, his arms draped over his head. It didn’t take long before Rick got him up once again. Arnie’s cock was on the small side; calling it a pecker would be more fitting than dick or cock, or even the generic penis. A pecker it was, but a hard pecker and one that Rick felt confident would soon be covered with jizz. Rick never thought he’d live to see the day when he’d put his mouth over another guy’s sex organ. That day was here, though the act was intermittent and brief and for lube purposes only. Arnie didn’t seem to mind, though Rick couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed it. What he did enjoy was watching Arnie moan and squirm, moaning louder and squirming more as Rick upped his pace and used his other hand to run the backs of his fingernails over his friend’s soft belly. So erotic, Rick thought, aware that his own cock was pressed hard against the fabric of his underwear, crying out for relief—a cry that compelled him to drop his shorts and stroke himself, but not at the expense of letting up on what his other hand was busy doing. He did it without missing a beat, so to speak.
Rick was in complete control, a master of coordinated effort. He knew he could come any time, but remained determined to hold out because he wanted to shoot his load in sync with Arnie’s. He could see that it wouldn’t be long. Arnie was at full mast; his eyes were closed and he was moaning so loud that Rick feared they’d be heard by someone walking by. The door was closed but the green shutters over the long, screened-in windows were wide-open to let in the gentle breezes that wafted through the hot summer air in this region of rural Pennsylvania.
It wouldn’t be long now, Rick reckoned. The rhythm of Arnie’s breathing, his flushed complexion and his jerky body movements clued him in. Sure enough, moments later, jets of jizz shot from Arnie’s cute little pecker, high enough to where dabs of it would have shot into Rick’s eyes had he not jerked his head out of range. As was, it dropped harmlessly on to Arnie’s belly, mixing with Rick’s own cum that landed in the same place. The sound of their release, their ooos and ahhhs, reverberated off the wooden walls of the bunk. Rick shot his arm into the air, triumphant “We did, it pal, we did it!”
Arnie sat up, shook his head, grabbed a tissue and began to wipe up. “No, YOU did it, my friend. Whew! That was some trip!”
Some trip was right and worth repeating. Next time, the roles would be reversed. At least that’s what they talked about. Except it never happened. Not that summer for lack of further opportunity and not the following summer, their last at Lake Forest, for lack of desire. It had been a one-time thing, one of those weird, explosive, impulsive, other worldly erotic moments. As noted, Rick couldn’t fully comprehend what had possessed him to suggest something that straight men aren’t supposed to even think about, much less engage in.
He and Arnie remained friends for decades after that. They married and led “normal” lives. Like many long-term friends, they got together to rehash old memories, including the time they bunkered down on a certain HOT afternoon at Camp Lake Forest.
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