Beer and Camping
Gabriel Duncan

Prologue:

I'd like to tell you a sordid tell of one boy scout. My name is very very unofficially important because you may have seen me before. Or maybe you saw me while you were sitting in the audience. Or, perhaps-- as you are-- part of the jury. But my name is most importantly unknown, because the names have been changed.

This story takes place while I am an official tropp member of the Boy Scouts of America, Troop 238. Soon after this story ends, though, I will be an ex-scout for life. The events that caused my stray from the pack is not exactly what you may think it was. Jason, my scoutmaster's lust was obvious to an obsence amount even before this story. Just as my relationship with his son, Jacob, had been well established since the first day I set foot in the troop hall.

By the time you step into my life, Jacob and I had been together for four months. We started as a trick. And I thought it was going to stay that way. When it began, I wasn't looking for anything complicated. You might think that a bit humurous coming from a fifteen year old (that's how old I was at the time.) But I'd been through a few relationships already, and they'd ended in catastrophe. That's not what I was looking for then. I just wanted something non-commital.

Jacob was so much more than I thought he was. At first glimps, he was a lean little faggot. He looked like someone who was just coming to terms with his own sexuality. I'll admit it, I saw him as easy prey. We just gave each other hand jobs and sucked each other off. It was exciting for both of us to know that mommy and daddy were in the next bed. I was the bad boy who was teaching their little boy (he wasn't so little-just a year under me) the thing his parents would kill me for.

I can't reiterate the fact that I didn't want what developed enough. But it happened. Time went by and we grew closer. Camping trips came and went. We started tenting together. I learned that he wasn't such an uninteresting person after all. He played the guitar. And he was really good at it. It was nice because, every once in a while, I fancied myself a singer, and we enjoyed a lot of the same music.

Jacob's father, Jason, was an orbital entity that didn't get involved until the third or fourth weekend I had spent at their house. He made it obvious that Mrs. Jacob's Mom wasn't being as friendly as he had wanted her to be. Or, he didn't want that after all, just me. Jason and I were on the level with each other the day after he found a shoe box full of Jacob's love notes to me. He never made it clear why he was going through his son's things to begin with, or the level of intimacy he and his son had (though I suspected it was zero to none). Jason made it perfectly clear what I had to do to make this problem disappear. Of course, I refused. I don't like being black mailed into sex by anyone older than me. I also made it perfectly clear to him that I knew he could be arrested for what he was trying to do. That didn't stop him, though. Every moment alone after that, he was trying to get in my paints. Later, he used the shoebox as a reason to kick me out of his troop. Unofficially, of course, the official reason for my departure was a lack of scout spirit.

So, welcome to my life. I present to you: Beer and Camping.

WE ARE both sitting under a tree. This is some national park in California . I'm camping here. We're in the shade on a clear, blue, wonderful summer day. Did I just say "wonderful"? I'm supposed to be straight. I'm not gay. I like girls, pussy, box, muff. I don't buy Playboy and Hustler because I just want to fit in with my friends here and hide my complete disinterest in girls. And I don't read the columns directed towards the perverts' girlfriends. I have a girlfriend; and she's not the kind of girlfriend that I sit around with, eat popcorn and gawk at fashion magazine ads that feature a cute boy. That's not me. I have sex with her. I'm a lady killer. I had sex with her on Friday, before I came up here.

Here we are: my scoutmaster and I. We're drinking beer and "bird watching." My scoutmaster just took one last swig of his beer and handed me his binoculars. He told me there was a nice bird sunning across the water on top of a rock. We're a hundred or so feet from the lake in front of us. Anyway, that bird, she's wearing a pink bikini. If I were a heterosexual adolescent boy, I would be interested. I zoomed in on the dude behind her wearing red Speedos.

Jason--my scoutmaster --handed me another beer. I've had six beers in the past hour to his three. He's been trying to get me drunk for the past eight days. My scoutmaster is slurring his words a bit. I lit a cigarette for us to share. He had trouble taking the cigarette out from between my fingers. His binoculars were resting between us now. Jason started talking about guns. I was already gone. I wanted to go back to my tent and sleep.

"Hey, Jason," I said, "I'm going to take a nap."

"Alright, man." He smiled and wanted help up from me. "Do you want someone to wake you up for chow?"

"Sure."

And, with those last words, I went into my tent and slept. Jacob, his son, woke me up. This wasn't any kind of formal dinner. We didn't have to wear our Class A's (scout uniform) and sit at a table with a couple of hundreds other scouts. Instead, we lit a lantern and cooked on a propane stove. Unfortunately, someone forgot to fill the big propane tank before we came up here. So we had to settle for luke warm meat.

Jason looked a little bit less loaded when we were all gathered around and eating. Ted asked him if he was okay. Jason said that he was, he was just tired. I was sure at that moment that none of these scouts had seen anyone loaded in their life. Except for maybe Gherret and Noah; who, by the way, had been kicked out just last summer when they were discovered sharing a joint in the bathroom. There's something in that oath or slogan or law that says we can't do such things. But the Scout Oath and Slogan are more guidelines than they are rules. So what the hell, right? We are supposed to be "morally straight" (whatever that means) and I've a lot of things so far that I wouldn't even consider straight.

Anyway, dinner was done now, so we set out on a night hike. Jason and I taught the scouts how to navigate at night. In the woods, if you look straight up and you can clearly see the sky, you're on a trail. Trails are cut paths, no trees or brush grow directly on a trail. If you were not on a trail, there would be too many trees in your view to see the sky. And, in that case, you're shit out of luck.

Jason took his opperitunity for some quality time with me when he arranged for another scout to lead the others. He held me back until we were out of ear shot of the others.

"WHAT'S UP, dude?" I may be trying to act straight. But there's no way in hell I am going to act naïve.

"Not much," He smiled at me. "I just thought you could use a little time away from them."

"They aren't that much of a handful. Thanks, though."

Then we talked about different things. Soon, Jason and I stepped into a large clearing. The rest of our troop had turned out their lights and were pointing out constellations. Someone was taking the astronomer's badge. He was pointing at Orion and said he was Ursa Major (the Big Dipper).

"Are you enjoying camp so far?" Jason's breath seemed to have whiskey in it now.

I looked at him, his pretty blue bedroom eyes. His was mouth slightly agape. Here was this thirty-something year old man with a wife and a son who I had been fucking ever since I joined. Not the wife too. Though, that would be a trip. His face was closer to mine now. It was poking at my personal bubble. I wanted to tell him camp was ending in two days.

Seem interested in what he has to say. But not too interested.

Accept his whiskey. But don't accept his invitations to bunk with him.

Help him keep the members of our troop under control. But don't control his member.

A half an hour spent in the clearing under the stars was enough. You can tell this when people start to get tired. The same boy was in charge of leading us back to camp. Jason and I stayed behind again.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" That took a few seconds to come out correctly. He had to try it a few times.

"Yeah," Of course, a stud like me should always have a girlfriend. I mean, you have to set a good example for the other scouts. Let them think there's some sort of honeymoon in Italy and a white picket fence waiting for you back in good ole Alameda .

You're sixteen.

You're still in scouts.

And you're definatly gay if you don't have a girlfriend. Trust me.

Lights were traveling farther down the trail. But Jason and I, we were taking our sweet time. Proceeding slowly "pleasantly forward"; I mean, straight. "What's her name?"

Oh hell, what does Jacob turn into? "Uh . . . Jessica."

"Are you two a serious thing?" He looked me in the eyes this time. Our amble turned into a dead stop.

I could sense something else poking at my personal bubble this time. I'm not naïve, and neither are you. Use your imagination. The scouts were out of earshot now. Even the lights were dim. There was nothing but silence.

"Every Tuesday," I replied.

Drunken laughter ensued as we walked farther down the path.

At camp, the lanterns were dim, and the scouts were playing cards. Or chess, or sharing dirty jokes they heard from their friends. Remember that voodoo dildo? The voodoo dildo that would fuck anything you commanded. I can't believe they actually shared that. I was more appalled that they knew the word "dildo".

Jason and I passed jokes back and forth until it was lights out for the kids. Jason and I sat around. We finished our second bottle of whiskey. Jason had managed to sneak his way closer with every pour. We were talking about something. Maybe about the Giants or the Niners. Maybe the meaning of life. Maybe about how his kid was doing in school. Maybe that's how his hand landed on my knee. Somehow, Jennifer or Jessica or Josephine comes up again. He talks about his son, and how he thinks he might be gay.

"Oh?"

Don't sound surprised. But don't tell him you had his legs spread on Friday.

Light his cigarette. But don't offer to own his sex life for seven years.

Pat him on the shoulder and compliment his son-- and his father for bringing him up so well. But don't offer to show him how well.

His face is close again. And his eyes are slightly glazed. But they're still a pretty blue. Like the sky. There's a fleck of green right next to his retina. Just like his son. He moves closer, for checkmate. And I yawn and tell him I need to sleep. Just like his son, Jacob in the bed next to mine.

I kissed Jacob good night and close up my sleeping bag to keep away from whatever may have lurked into our tent as we went out for our hike.