Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 28

You could hardly describe a spring morning on the lake as quiet. As I walked along the beach on the cove, the sound of the many birds, wind coming down the mountain and sighing through the new leaves, the sound of a fisherman's boat as it puttered across the glassy water; all these things would make it very tough to sleep in, had I parked a tent there.

Little Brian had been up with the dawn. His restless stirring above me, as much as the sunlight streaming through the dirty windows of the cabin, awakened me. As I lay there, blinking in the light, trying to wake up, Brian peeked his brown mop over the side of the bunk and looked down at me.

"You awake Oliver?"

"Getting there, Brian," I yawned, stretching. Braving the chill of the little room, Brian scampered down and climbed into my sleeping bag with me. I wrapped a brotherly arm around him as he snuggled in next to me to share my warmth.

"You don't got no jammies on?" he asked, lifting his inquisitive little eyebrows.

"Nope," I said, "don't wear 'em anymore." Brian lifted the top of the sleeping bag enough to let in the daylight. He glimpsed down the length of my body and saw that I was, indeed, nude. Giggling, he snapped the cover shut and looked up at me with huge, mischievous eyes. Brian quietly laid his head on my shoulder, his arm across my chest. Figuring he was going back to sleep; I bent my arm and ran my fingernails through his hair and gently tickled his earlobe. He chuckled softly, his breath warming my skin. I let my arm rest against the lower part of his back, where I patted him gently.

As we lay there quietly breathing, Brian began to slide his hand around my chest, feeling the newly developed muscles. Eventually, his palm found one of my nipples, which hardened under his touch. His fingertips danced over it as he explored the small, round nub. Slowly, Brian slid his palm down, and the tip of his index finger brushed against my belly button. His delicate finger grazed the perimeter, probing the center, feeling how the skin moved around as he twirled his digit about. Ordinarily, if anyone touches me there, I get very ticklish, but Brian's tender exploration provoked no such reaction.

After a while, he lifted my arm, and peered into the depths of my armpit, lightly stroking the fine, red hair that had sprouted only in the past few months. I watched the intent in his eyes as he looked up to me and lightly touched the downy hair adorning my upper lip; he seemed truly fascinated as he compared that hair to my eyebrows. Looking into my eyes and realizing I was watching him, he giggled a little, almost as if a bit embarrassed. Still looking into my eyes, Brian moved his hand lower to brush my sparse patch of pubic hair; he raised his eyebrows as if to ask my permission to go ahead. I wasn't sure, but I nodded anyway.

He threw back the top cover of the sleeping bag, and bared my penis to the cold air, I felt my nipples and scrotum pucker-up involuntarily. Brian hovered over me, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the sight of my naked body. Ever so gently, he plucked at the soft, red curls and poked tentatively at my freckled skin. I lifted my head and looked down my body as the inquisitive Brian hefted my nuts in his small hand, and finally grasped my limp penis in his cold, little fingers. Eyes glued to my foreskin, he slid his fist slowly down my shaft, and coaxed the purple head from the hood. He giggled a little nervously as he gently squeezed the spongy tissue between two fingers. When he let go of me, my penis didn't flop over; semi-erect from being handled, it sort of sagged under its own weight a little bit.

"Sheez," I said, comically rolling my eyes for him, "you act like you never seen another guy's dick before!"

"I have too," Brian protested, "I seen my friend Scott's lots. And Will and Carter too, bunches of times. It's just that, well, I never seen yours and it's bigger than them guys and you got hair too, kinda like my Dad, but not so much."

"So you and friends check each other out," I shrugged, "that's cool."

"Yeah but," he looked at me gravely, "you can't tell nobody, okay? You gotta promise."

"I won't tell a soul," I said, holding up a hand, "cross my heart and hope to die." Brian burst into a huge smile and scooped up my now completely deflated dick once more. In one, swift motion, he pulled his pajama bottoms down and off, and climbed astride my waist. Sticking out his tiny tadger, he pressed it up against mine, as if to compare the two. It took some effort, but eventually, he was able to grab both mine and his penis in both hands, lining them up at the base, pressing them together. All his wriggling about, made both of our dicks hard, making the comparison easier, but then I got that funny feeling in my stomach as I started to get aroused. I didn't want to pop off while he was fiddling around with my dick, the thought made me feel vaguely uncomfortable. Luckily, Brian seemed satisfied with his bone-to-bone comparison, and released his grip.

"I'm getting hungry," he said matter-of-factly, "can we get dressed now?" I smiled at him and agreed it was time to eat. I helped him change into his clothes, and walked him over to his parent's cabin, where he proceeded to wake the household and demand breakfast. I left him there as his bleary-eyed parents thanked me and shuffled about in their robes and slippers.

I didn't return to my little cabin, I felt the need to walk along the deserted beach. Brian's surprise explorations left a residual jelly like sensation in my gut and I felt a little weird. Even though Garrett had allowed me to do much the same with him, around the same age, I still wondered if I had been wrong to let Brian continue in his playful examination.

I heard a rhythmic slosh of an oar in the water, and strolled out onto the deck to find Lizzie-B in her canoe, paddling her way toward me.

"Ahoy Oliver!" she cried, "What's doin'?"

"Hey," I replied, my hands stuffed into my pockets. She looked up at me, shielding her eyes from the glare of the morning sun off the water, squinting.

"You're up early," she observed, "what's with the puss on your face?"

"What puss? This is how I always look," I mumbled.

"Get in Oliver," she said firmly, waving me aboard with a crooked finger. I sighed, knowing full well the futility of resisting her. Climbing down from the dock, I made sure not to capsize the canoe as I got in. She silently handed me the other oar, and with practiced precision, alternating every other stroke, we rowed the boat out of the cove. She'd done this before with me, when either of us had something percolating in our mind, dragging us out to the middle of the water where we could talk privately.

This time, however, Lizzie steered us toward the island, with its stand of oaks and pines, and the little cottage. The island and cottage, though technically a part of my family compound, had no running water or electricity, and was far enough from the cove that nobody ever wanted to rent it. The place had become disused over the years, and when my dad took over the running of the property, he didn't do much beyond the bare minimum to keep it up. As a result, the flora of the island slowly grew over the small patch of meadow where the cottage sat.

Ever since Lizzy and I had been able to venture out on the water on our own, we liked to go there to sit on the hearth of the old fireplace and talk about life and stuff. You couldn't smell the smoke on the scorched rocks any more, but you could still see where the heat had left its mark. Whenever Lizzie had something on her mind, she liked to go there. Sometimes she brought me along, other times, she wandered through the cottage on her own; up the stairs, to look out the second floor window, and work through whatever problems she might have. So, the moment she steered us toward the island, I knew something was weighing on her.

Once we landed the boat, it was a few, short minutes to navigate through the underbrush, to the little used pathway that lead to the cottage; I listened to Lizzie's even breathing as she and I crashed through and made our way up the hill. Naturally, this piqued my curiosity, but for some reason, I felt a little anxiety about what she might be bringing me to talk about. She didn't let me off the hook quickly either; we wandered around the cottage before she eventually lead me up to the bedroom on the second floor, where she leaned back on the springs of the old bed; they creaked loudly, but supported our weight easily.

Eager as I was to find out her thoughts, I bade my time silence. I laid there, next to her, and waited for her to speak.

"Oliver," she said finally, "do you think I'm pretty?"

Boom. There it was, probably the most feared question a guy could get from a girl. I knew instinctively, that the timing of my response was just as important as the real answer.

"Yes," I said simply, hoping I'd struck a balance between panicked silence and introspective pause, "I've always thought so."

"Really?" She asked, a smile in her voice.

"Yup," I affirmed, "I wouldn't lie." The springs squealed in protest as she turned on her side to look me in the eyes. I desperately wanted to know why she asked me this, but was afraid to ask. She was quiet for a moment, and then she dismounted the bed quickly. In a flash, it seemed, she pulled off her shirt over her head, yanked her shorts down to step out of them, and then turned around to face me, stark naked.

Lizzie stood before me, with dilated eyes, a little bit of a smirk on her face. Over the past year, both Lizzie and I had both experienced sudden growth. Truth be told, I had marked the changes in her, but felt too awkward to comment on them. We had, over the years, engaged in brief episodes of show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine behavior; normal kiddie curiosity which hadn't amounted to much. For some reason, this seemed different.

"Whoa," I breathed, looking at her firm and rounded breasts; she also sported a pretty substantial little bush. Her pale skin glowed as the sunlight poured through the thickly glazed windows; I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"I know, right?" she said, looking down at herself. She cocked her pelvis to one side, and stuck her hands on her hips with a wry, comical grin on her face, "who know I'd grow up to be such a babe, huh?" I snorted and we both laughed at the same time.

"You are totally one hot chick," I smirked.

"Seriously," she asked, her expression turning cloudy, "does this look okay to you? I need a guy's opinion, and I know I can trust you not to totally jump my bones."

"Huh?" I feigned insult.

"You know what I mean," she grinned wickedly, "I'm not like, too skinny or nothing, right?"

"Definitely not too skinny," I agreed, perhaps too quickly.

"What?" she shrieked, "So now you're saying I'm fat?

"No, no, no!" I exclaimed, knowing full well she was just toying with me.

"Go, ahead," she said, thrusting her chest out, "touch 'em, you know you've wanted to, go on." The truth was, I did want to touch her breasts. Fascinating globes of warm flesh, the skin looked so smooth and incandescent in the light, so dark and puckered around the nipples. Strangely, when I saw that, my mind drifted off to a picture in my mind of Neal's nipples, stiffening under my tongue. The springs beneath me popped and creaked as I turned to poke a fingertip into her left boob. She recoiled, cupping her breast in her hand, giggling.

"Sorry!" I said, "did that hurt?"

"No silly," she chortled at me, "you just took me by surprise, is all." She took my hands, and cupped them to her breasts, the skin felt baby-soft and warm to the touch. She looked flushed and I felt the nipples stiffen beneath my palms. "Aren't they amazing?" she asked softly. I had to admit, they were nothing short of astounding. I sat up on the edge of the bed frame, and then stood up, my hands still in place. Without her asking, I reached down with my right hand, and stroked the softness of the dark thatch of hair down below. She closed her fluttering eyes as my fingers roamed the lips that I had once explored, what seemed like, a long time ago. It felt damp and hot between her legs, and when I pulled my hand away, my fingertips glistened with moisture. Instinctively, I raised my hand to my face and smelled her on my fingers; an unfamiliar essence of perfume and pee came to my nostrils, which I wasn't quite sure I liked or not.

A small knot developed in my stomach. Nothing alarming, just a twinge of something that almost caught my attention. Here I was, standing in an abandoned cottage, in the middle of a lake, with a naked girl in front of me. Every bit of schoolyard scuttle-butt I'd heard over the years, told me that this was a junior high-school boy's fantasy; something other boys bragged about but rarely ever, actually accomplished. This did little to assuage my growing sense of danger. This was going far beyond the furtive titillation of pre-adolescent exploration.

The weirdness of it all made my head spin, my fingers were beginning to tingle, like they were going to sleep; I realized I was breathing hard. Lizzie and I had always gotten along together, and being with Neal, I certainly was no stranger to physical intimacy, but therein seemed to be the crux of the problem. Was Lizzie looking to take our friendship to that same level? Her next words reassured me.

"I don't want to do anything Oliver," she whispered soothingly into my ear, "I just wanted to see your reaction."

"Oh," I said, sheepishly, "okay." For a split-second, I felt a little put-off, and wondered why she wouldn't want to have sex with me; my sense of relief however, quickly overrode any perceived insult. Lizzie quickly donned her clothes once more and sat against the window sill and stared at me.

"Your turn."

"Huh?" I startled.

"C'mon," she waved at me impatiently, "I showed you mine, time for you to show me the goods." I swallowed hard, immobilized. "Since when are you bashful, Oliver?" she urged, "I wanna see how you've come along too." She was right, we'd never been shy about such things before; I shrugged my shoulders and untied my sweats, pulling them down to my ankles; I stood back up.

"Tada!" I said, holding my arms out. Lizzie's face got suddenly serious.

"Oh my God, Oliver," she said, "Would you look at that?"

"What?" I blushed.

"Oliver," Lizzie gushed, "wow, it's beautiful! I mean, look at how much longer it is, even from Christmas time!" I saw her calculating in her head. "I bet that's like, four inches now, at least."

I looked down at myself, and back up to her face and giggled.

"What?" she smirked.

"The look on your face," I laughed, "like you've never looked at it before." She moved to touch my penis and I shied away.

"Hey, wait a second," she protested, "fair is fair!" I stood there, studying the wood grain in the ceiling, as she knelt in front of me and picked up my dick in her soft hand. Despite my furious efforts to think of something else, my penis responded to her gentle touch and pointed skyward, becoming rigid in seconds. Silently, she pushed the foreskin down and left my glans cooling in the morning air.

"Well?" I asked, a mixture of raw excitement and impatience.

"Oliver," she breathed, her warm breath caressing the tip, "your dick is amazing."

"Compared to what?" I inquired dubiously.

"Oh, " she grinned, "I've seen a few." I looked down at her as she warmed my balls in her hand.

"Really? Like who?"

"Well, I've seen my dad's getting out of the tub a few times," she shrugged, "and Garrett, he's gorgeous, but I honestly thought he'd be bigger."

"Wait, when did you see Garrett's dick?", I asked, incredulous.

"I didn't really," she explained, "but when he wears his swimsuit, I can see it." Lizzie was right about that, Garrett's skimpy, little suit left little to the imagination. "Hey Ollie?" she asked, releasing my turgid willy from her grip and sitting on the bed once more, "are you a virgin?"

I honestly did not now how to answer that. Lizzie registered my hesitation.

"I mean with a girl," she clarified. I stared down at her, feeling suddenly naked and ridiculous with my sweats around my ankles.

"Uhm, yeah," I faltered, "I guess I am." My mind whirled, wondering exactly what Lizzie knew.

"Me too," she said matter-of-factly, "and when it's time for my first time, I wanna have the same kind of thing you and Neal have."

A wave of dizziness washed over me momentarily as I bent over to pull up my sweats. Always a clever girl, I guessed Lizzie sensed my connection to Neal long ago, but I never expected her to give voice to it. Even though my hard-on quickly deflated after she let me go, my nerves felt all jangly and a distant ache settled into my nuts.

"Honestly," she said with a sudden catch in her voice, "I wanted it to be you."

I did not have had the words to say anything, but she didn't give me a chance. She smiled wistfully, kissed me, a brief, slightly lingering moment, on the mouth, and led me by the hand out of the cottage.

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