Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 7

The appearance of each new car at the entrance of the camp drive, as the rest of the families started arriving, kept drawing my attention. Each time however, yielded disappointment; Neal and his family had not yet made their way. I stopped watching for them around four o'clock in the afternoon.

I was helping Mom and Dad in the kitchen. The dinner was well underway, and it smelled absolutely delicious. It was a chicken concoction packed in a puff-pastry with vegetables, potatoes with a thick gravy; sort of like a fancy pot-pie. My mouth was watering in anticipation, as I busied myself warming up the steam tables and wrapping the silverware in napkins. I didn't mind the busy-work because it kept my mind off Neal's delayed arrival. Dad, having suffered through a thorough scolding from me for neglecting to keep me in the loop about Neal's impeded progress, gave me as much information as he had. Sadly, no word had come yet as to when they could be expected.

Sitting near one of the big windows in the kitchen afforded me a panoramic view of the kids cavorting as their mothers and fathers mulled about in the great room, visiting with old friends and making introductions to new ones. The fire crackled warmly in the distant fireplace, casting a warm glow over everything and everyone. Some of the children I recognized from past years, others were new to the group. A handsome boy with glossy brown hair approached the window and stood before me.

"Hey Oliver," he said. The voice sounded familiar, I couldn't quite place it, so I looked directly at his face and concentrated, scrunching up my nose in the process. "What?" he asked, laughing, "Either you don't remember me or I smell real bad!"

"Eddie?" I blurted out, recognizing him at last, "Holy cow, is that you?" Eddie Parnell grinned. A year younger than me, he'd shot up a good 6 inches in height, and thinned out. A lot. Eddie-Pie, as most of the other kids referred to him, had been a little dumpling of a boy. His mousy hair was always unkempt, and he often had a sour-sweat smell to him. Not so the lad standing at my window now. He had grown longer and more angular. His once dull brown locks shone a deep, lustrous mahogany. His nose was dusted with a few remaining freckles but not nearly as many as once resided there. He did a model's turn with his arms out, letting me see the new look.

"What do you think?" he asked, grinning, "I grew a little bit."

"Heck yeah," I exclaimed, "I'd say so." I looked him over as he turned, managing to catch his profile at his waist line. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or not, but there definitely seemed to be a presence behind his fly of his absolutely terrible plaid polyester bell-bottoms. "I wouldn't be caught dead in those pants though," I chuckled, "Geez-Louise where did you find those hippie waders?" His face darkened for just a moment, but he laughed out loud.

"It's the seventies baby," he said in his best hipster imitation, "Gotta look 'with-it' and mod, ya know?"

"Those lapels get any wider," I chided, "You won't be able to get them through the door!" We both laughed and he started talking about his newfound ability to attract the attention of "da-ladies", as he called them. Sure, he was handsome, but he was still a good foot shorter than me, and he still looked like he was twelve. His voice wasn't much deeper, but now it had that pubescent twang that made all his lady-talk seem kind of silly. He reminded me a lot of a young Greg Brady from television. All that aside, I still found myself wondering what lurked beneath his chrome belt buckle.

"Heya, " he said, shifting his eyes around and lowering his voice to barely a whisper, "I uh... wanted to say thanks for... uh... telling me how to uh... you know...," his eyebrows moved comically as his eyes darted back and forth again, checking for possible eavesdroppers, "take care of uh... business." He made a short, barely perceptible shaking motion with his fist, in front of his ridiculous belt buckle, nodding his head in time the movement. I narrowed my eyes for a second, but it didn't take me long to figure out his meaning.

"Ah," I said, returning his whisper, "Well, with the way you were sprouting wood all the time, I figured if I didn't show you what to do with it, you were gonna end up stabbing me in the ass when I wasn't looking." His eyes shot open wide and he stood up ramrod straight, his mouth moving like a guppy before he said anything.

"I wouldn't do that!" he muttered earnestly, "I ain't no fag." He appeared almost a little hurt.

"Who knows," I shrugged, continuing to wrap my silverware, "A dick's got a mind of its own, there's no accounting for where it might end up." I smiled at him and he seemed to relax some and nodded nervously.

"Well, I gotta go back to uh... my family," he said, "See you around?"

"Sure will," I replied, "see ya." I watched his butt as he walked away from the window. Smiling to myself, I remembered the brief encounter I had with him last season. It was during an ice skating session on the lake where me, Eddie and most of the other kids were skating on a large patch of open ice on the lake. The wind had cleared the lake of most snow, the ice was perfectly hard and glassy. We watched as kids of varying ability glided, twirled or otherwise fell and fumbled around. I saw Eddie stumbling up the beach on his skate blades, heading for the restrooms. After he'd been there for a while it seemed, I started wondering if he was okay. I decided to check on him and see what would cause him to linger in such a cold place. Donning my blade protectors, I nimbly pranced up the boardwalk to the boy's restroom, and pushed the squeaky door open.

"Eddie?" I asked, into the darkened room, "You okay?" I heard a little moan from a stall, so I walked in and let the door slam behind me. The sound must have startled him, because I heard him breathe in suddenly. I heard a short "zip" sound, followed by a howl of pain. Jumping to the stall, I pulled at the door, but it wouldn't budge."Eddie," I said with authority, "Open up, what's wrong?"

"No," came his voice from beyond the door, "I can't."

"C'mon man," I said impatiently, "Whatsamatter? Did you hurt something."

"Uhm...," he sniffed back tears, "yes." He started a woeful sobbing.

"Open the door Eddie," I said quietly, "Maybe I can help."

"I don't think you can," he wailed, his voice choked with tears and snot, "I don't think you can fix this." Even as he said this, I heard him throw the little bolt on the door, it eased open a little. Swinging the door wide, I looked down at the pathetic little Eddie, his snow pants at his ankles, and his jeans open partway. His little pecker, stood straight up in the air, with a small tab of skin puckered into the teeth of his zipper. He was breathing heavily, panicking and gasping for air. He looked about to pass out.

Having been in the very predicament myself, I immediately understood the nature of his panic. I lowered myself to my knees awkwardly, as my skates were still on, and reached out to free the snared flesh.

"Oh NO!" he screamed, "Don't touch it! Oh God, it hurts!" He covered himself with his hands, the mittens dangling wildly from his cuffs as he did so.

"Shhhh!" I admonished, "Don't be a baby, let go and let me fix it." Eddie's little dickie emerged as he pulled his hands free, standing straight as an arrow and beating rapidly in time with Eddie's racing heart. As I reached for the tab of his zipper, he drew in a sharp breath and held it, squeezing his eyes shut into a grotesque grimace. Stabilizing his stiff little rod in one hand, and grasping the tab with the other, I managed to pulled the zipper down with one swift yank. Eddie's dork was a little bruised, but the skin was otherwise unbroken.

"There," I said with satisfaction, "all set." Eddie sat back up, expelling all his pent-up air in a great sighing rush. Carefully, he inspected himself, gently prodding the little bruised area and wincing a little.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked plaintively.

"Naw," I assured him, "just a little black and blue, nothing major."

"Phew!" he breathed, leaning back against the toilet tank again, his little penis standing tall and barely peeking out of the open fly. He was as stiff as a board, and it showed no sign of getting soft again. I found myself giggling a little at it. "Not funny," he stated loudly, his little voice echoing off the bare wood of the walls, "It gets like that all the time now and I don't know what to do with it."

"I know what you mean," I laughed, "get's so hard it hurts sometimes huh?"

"Oh man," he said in a hushed voice, "all the time. Like in church, makes me all antsy." I nodded in agreement. "So what do you do about it?"

"Oh, that's the best part," I grinned at him, "you wanna know the secret?"

"Secret?" he whispered, eyes wide.

"Yeah," I nodded, lowering my voice, "here… take your hand and spit in it a buncha times, like this..." I demonstrated by spitting into my hand. "Then wrap your fist around your dick like so." I took his tiny tadger in my warm hand, wrapping my fingers all the way around his throbbing stiffness, and slowly started stroking it.

"Holy cow," he breathed, "that feels awesome!" I nodded again, watching the different expressions of confusion, pleasure, consternation and bliss as they crossed his face. He visibly relaxed as I built up to a steady rhythm. "So," he asked quietly, against the squishy, squelching background noise of my hand stroking his little dick, "this is how you make it go down?"

"Well, sort of," I said, "You gotta do this for a little while until you get the feeling, and then it goes away."

"What's 'the feeling'?" he asked.

"It's like a sneeze almost," I explained, "it starts at your dick, and then spreads out through your body and feels really, really good. Your dick jumps around a bunch, and then gets soft."

"Really?" he sounded incredulous.

"Yeah," I assured him, "just wait, it'll start to get better real soon." I spit on my hand again and began making longish strokes, concentrating on the little frenulum just beneath the opening of the pee hole. The little head bobbed in time with the motions of my thumb; I noticed Eddie was starting to breath in short, shallow gasps.

"Uhm..." he said, his voice wavering and unsure, "It kinda feels like I gotta pee real bad, but I know I don't 'cause I just went. Sometimes though, I gotta go again right after I think I'm done so maybe I do gotta go and maybe I'm gonna pee on your hand, so maybe you should..."

"Shhhh..." I hushed again, "it's the feeling, just relax and let it happen." I redoubled my efforts, squeezing a little tighter, like I was milking the teat of a cow. I added a rolling motion, the slick surface of my palm sliding over every part of Eddie's tortured dick. It throbbed mightily in my hand and Eddie's hips started to buck.

"Huh... huh..." he started to huff a bit, his wheezy little voice coughing out a rhythm as I beat his tiny meat. "I'm gonna... I don't know... I... uh...," his body spasmed, I laid a comforting hand on his thigh. I watched his face as he clenched his fists, thrust himself up into my hand and bellowed out a high-pitched squeal. "AAAAAAHhhhhhh!" he rasped. I stopped pumping his dick and held it fast as it jerked and throbbed rapidly in my hand. I cupped his balls with my other hand as he lowered his butt back down to the seat. His heaving breathing gave way to several deep sighs. I sat there, the backs of my skate blade protectors poking me in the butt, just holding his withering penis in my hand as he came down from the stratosphere.

"See that?" I said, releasing his pecker. We both watched as it shrank and returned to its normal, flaccid shape and size.

"Whoa," he breathed, "that was frickin' amazing." We both looked up at one another and giggled. "That is so cool!" he blurted out so suddenly and loud that it startled me. I stood up on my skates, and then helped him to stand. He gingerly rearranged his pants around his tender penis and zipped himself up very carefully. I helped him secure his snow pants and braces, gave him a wink like my father did to me all the time, and led him out of the stall. We resumed skating as if nothing had happened, and we didn't speak of it again. His family left two days later, to be home in time for New Years Day, so I didn't see him again until he'd walked in again this very year.

I watched Eddie from the window, as he wandered around with his parents, talking to other kids. I was more than a little curious about just what he was sporting for dick-size now, but I dismissed the thought as I returned to my silverware wrapping task. Looking down, I discovered that while I was lost in thought, I had completed wrapping all the silverware in the tray. I slide off the stool, grabbed the empty tray and turned to get another one. Instead, I ran headlong into somebody, knocking my glasses from my face and sending us both sprawling to the floor. The silverware tray skittered off along the concrete and bounced off a cabinet with a loud bang. Shaking my head, I rolled over to my back, trying to regain my feet.

"Sheez!" came a familiar voice, "better watch where you're going buddy!"

"Neal?" I looked up to the fuzzy face hovering over me. He nodded and I leapt up, grabbing him in a huge hug, hanging on as if for dear life. My Christmas present had finally arrived.

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