Oliver of the Adirondacks
by Dashiell Walraven
Chapter 27
Even though school didn't get out until the second week of June, Memorial Day was the unofficial start to our summer, and I could not wait. Always a big weekend for us, almost all the cabins had been booked since the previous year, and we spent the better part of May getting them prepped and ready. My parents and Garrett planned out an entire three days' worth of events, including a barbecue picnic on the beach and campfires each night. Mom hung patriotic bunting around the Lodge, and we hoisted a brand new flag up the pole in the middle of the circular drive.
The Coopersmiths again rented one of our small, lakeside cabins for the holiday weekend. They arrived a few days early, so I found myself with little Brian once more, tagging along when I went any place or did anything. Mostly, when I wasn't helping out my father or Garrett, I was working on my little hunter's cabin. Brian helped me to sweep the floor, scrape paint, wash windows, or whatever he could manage.
"Do you live here?" he asked in his characteristic husky voice.
"Well," I grinned at him, "Sorta. I don't LIVE, live here, I just kinda hang out."
"Yeah but," he protested, "You got bunks in here." I nodded, and explained that the cabin was originally for people who liked to hunt in the woods, and only needed a place to crash, since they spend most of their time hunting.
"Do you hunt, Oliver?" he asked, earnestly.
"Naw," I said firmly, "I don't like to kill things. Besides, without my glasses, I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn. I don't think I'd make a very good hunter." Brian nodded his head in understanding. After we spiffed up the old cabin, I sat down at the table to rest a little; Brian perched himself on the edge of the lower bunk.
"Do you think I could camp out with you here, one of these nights?" Brian ventured, very tentatively.
"Uhm, well," I shrugged, "There's only two bunks, and my friend Neal is coming this weekend, he was kinda planning on staying in one of 'em."
"Oh," Brian looked down at his kicking feet, crestfallen, "okay."
"Wouldn't you be afraid at night, out here in the middle of the woods?"
"No I wouldn't," he shook his head, "not with you around."
Heavy boots clomping across the little porch heralded someone's arrival, a gentle knock sounded at the door.
"Come in!" I called. The door swung wide as I reminded myself to put some WD-40 on those hinges.
"Hey you two," Garrett waved us out, "Wanna come with me to the store? I've got a bunch of stuff to pick up at the butcher shop for the picnic on Sunday." Brian cheered and jumped up from the bed, a little too fast and bonked his noggin on the upper bunk. After a few, very brief tears, we managed to get Brian hoisted into Garrett's old truck; he sat between us, as we bounced off to town.
"I'm glad to see you're better," Brian shouted to Garrett, over the roar of the trunk's motor and squeaky suspension.
"Thanks, little buddy," Garrett flashed his famous smile at him, "that means a lot coming from you! Glad to be back among the living." Garrett tousled Brian's hair, who smiled from ear to ear. The bouncy ride in the truck, naturally gave me a boner, something I could count on that happening at least twice or three times a day. It happened so often, I became an expert at keeping things under wraps. Garrett looked over at me in time to see me pull my over-sized t-shirt out from my waistband, fluffing out the hem to cover the tent in my pants. I caught his glance; he smiled and winked at me. Brian looked back and forth between us, sensing he'd missed something; I just quietly smiled.
We stopped at the store to get some seasonings and cooking supplies, and then off to the butcher shop. Garrett and I loaded some heavy, waxed cardboard boxes of beef, chicken and pork, from the freezer to the back of the truck. On the way back, we stopped in at the Snack Shack and told Brian he could pick out his favorite candy. This did not prove to be very easy because Brian proceeded to run around the counter declaring each choice as, in fact, his favorite. We managed to get him to narrow it down to a handful of salt-water taffy, some Atomic-Fireballs and a little box of Good 'n Plenty.
By the time we got back to the lodge, young Brian managed to consume most of his sugary hoard. His teeth and tongue practically glowed red while happily slobbering over a spicy jawbreaker. We set him loose to burn off his candy-induced mania, while we turned to loading the meat into the large, walk-in refrigerator. As we surveyed the huge cache of food, I could fairly smell and taste the deliciousness of the impending cookout. It seemed to me like the perfect way to kick off the summer.
"Hey Oliver, look," Garrett pointed to the front of my shirt, "you got drool on your shirt." I laughed and reflexively looked down at the front of my t-shirt as Garrett guffawed and ran his finger up my chest quickly, bumping my nose. I recoiled with a grin and once again, felt immediately grateful that Garrett was getting back to being his old self. On a sudden impulse, I reached over and tweaked the outline of his dick in his jeans, and sprinted off with him in hot pursuit. He tackled me on the lawn, and we both fell into a pile of gasping laughter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad, ferrying a wheelbarrow full of wood down to the fire pit near the beach; he watched us and shook his head in amusement.
Brian and his family joined us at my house that night for my Mom's famous grilled cheese sandwiches and cream of tomato soup. Brian entertained the table with steady chatter about his adventures during the day, including a mile-by-mile description of our trip to town. Afterward, Mom made some hot cocoa and we retired to hearth-side in the living room where the adults continued talking on the couches, while Garrett, Brian and I made ourselves comfortable on the large floor cushions.
"Hey Oliver?" Brian asked lazily, rolling over onto his back.
"Yeah buddy?"
"Are you gonna sleep in that cabin of yours tonight?" Brian looked sleepy and it sounded to me like he was angling to get at least one special night of "camping" in.
"I wasn't planning to," I shrugged.
"Aw," he muttered quietly, letting his disappointment hang palpably in the air. I glanced over to his father, who smiled and threw me a wink.
"I guess I could," I ventured, "why, do you want to join me?"
"Could I?" Brian leaped to his feet, nearly upending my mug of cocoa, "Mom, Dad, can I, can I?"
"Well, I don't know," Brian's father said, making a great show of mulling it over, "I'm not sure Oliver needs to have a little squirt interrupting his sleep."
"I won't be a pain in the ass Dad, I promise!" Brian chirped, earnestly. My father did a spit-take into his cup, Brian's mother turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, my mother suppressed a smile behind her hand, and Garrett snorted. Brian's father cleared his throat. Brian, suddenly realizing his outburst, clapped his hands over his mouth.
"Well, if it's okay with Oliver and his parent's, it's okay with me."
That pretty much sealed the deal, Brian could barely contain his excitement as he scampered out the door with his parents, to get his stuff. I heard Mrs. Coopersmith quietly scold her husband, blaming his occasional use of obscenities in front of "the boy", as the reason for Brian's colorful language. We all thought it was pretty funny. I sped up to my room to get my bedroll, a couple of extra blankets, pillows and my kerosene lantern, which Garrett helped me to carry down to the cabin.
I was pleased to see a full moon reflecting off the water, filtered enough through the trees so that the interior of the cabin was not entirely dark. I struck a match and lit the lantern, which filled the space with its warm glow. Garrett and I unrolled my sleeping bag on the lower bunk, little kids always seem to gravitate towards upper bunks anyway. I just finished when Brian and his dad, overburdened with a pile of pillows, blankets and stuffed animals, came through the door; Brian was already dressed in his pajamas.
Brian breathlessly nattered on about our impending adventure "camping out" together, while his dad patiently, and silently, made up the upper bunk with Garrett's help. As they listened to Brian carry on, both of them bore bemused smirks on their faces, as if they pitied me.
"Okay, kiddo," Brian's dad said, holding out his arms, "I guess I'll see you at breakfast." Brian rushed into his arms and hugged him fiercely.
"Thanks Dad," he muttered into his father's shoulder. Brian's dad flashed me another wink and a smile.
"Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!"
As soon as his father and Garrett left, Brian completed a circuit of the small cabin, inspecting all the little shelves and nooks, and giving the hand pump in the sink a try, before giving in and crawling into his bunk. The hour wasn't terribly late, not for me anyway, but poor, Adrenalin-soaked Brian, looked like he was finally running out of gas.
As he settled into the bunk, I pulled his blankets up around his shoulders; he snuggled up with a stuffed dog up next to his face and yawned. His eager eyes sparkled in the light of the lantern.
"Having fun yet?" I asked, quietly.
"Mm-hmmm," he mumbled affirmatively, his eyes fluttering. I smoothed his soft bangs away from his forehead, and he smiled expansively. Brian didn't seem to so much "drift" off, as he seemed to fall, with a thud, into sleep. The moment he shut his eyes, his breathing became deep and regular, taking on the characteristic sleep-of-the-dead of kids his age. I doubted anything less than a bombshell going off, could have roused him.
"That was easy," I whispered to myself. Dousing the lantern, I pulled off my shirt and pants, and climbed into bed with only the moonlight softly illuminating the floor. The soft flannel of the sleeping bag was cool against my skin, but quickly warmed with my body heat. The scent of the freshly laundered bag helped to draw my memory back to the night on Block Island, when Neal and I, slowly and ferociously, ground against one another. I found my hand wrapped tightly around my throbbing dick as I recalled how marvelously cold and hot we had been at the same time.
I reached over and grabbed my discarded sock from the floor, just in time to throw it over the end of my squirting penis. I groaned aloud as I gripped my sock-encased dick in my fist. Brian stirred above me, I froze and tried to keep my breathing quiet as my last few jets throbbed into the material. After a few minutes, and no other movements from Brian, I released my grip, tossed the sodden sock to the ground, and promptly fell asleep myself.
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