Camping – A Gay Teen Fantasy

Disclaimer

Copyright, 2012, Patricia Steel ([email protected])

Do whatever you want with this story, only keep my name attached, please. Please report any and all orgasms arrived at through reading and masturbating to these words. I love knowing that I am deliberately manipulating your mind into an erotic state. Thanks, and Enjoy. This is FICTION, folks, and while it has its basis in reality, is not a true report of underage sex, or of underage persons watching other persons having sex. Please be adult enough, and responsible enough to understand the difference between the two.

When I was between the ages of 13 and 15, my parents would frequently go camping in the summer with one particular set of friends, who, I’d dare say were their best friends, overall.

I was an only child to my mother, and her husband, my stepfather. I think I enjoyed camping the most because it was a guarantee that even though he’d get really drunk, he wouldn’t beat either me, or my mom, with these friends around to see it.

They had a daughter about 17, and a son, about 19. It was the late 1970’s, so the boy had long, curly hair, seldom wore shoes or socks, or even a shirt or underwear.

Jeans were the wardrobe for just about every day…. jeans only… tight at the waist… although the waists were higher in those days than today. Still, on Kenny, he looked beautiful, all tan, smooth-chested, and having a 6 pak, even in those days. His long, curly brown hair hung down to his shoulders all the way around, and all he had to do was shake it in the morning, and he looked fine — fuck, he WAS fine.

Sometimes, I would bring along my, then, best-friend, whom we’ll call Mel. Mel was “out of the closet” with me, and we had “fooled around” a little in the past, but you wouldn’t call us “lovers” in any way, shape, or form. I had no idea “what” I was.. I didn’t consider myself “gay” back then, but I didn’t consider myself like everyone else, either. In truth, I didn’t know why I needed to “consider” myself at all. I still don’t, really.

Kenny had brought along his long-time girlfriend, Jean-anne. Jean-anne was a bitch, but Kenny was devoted, for the most part. She wasn’t pretty enough for him, was the general consensus. People used to say “she must have a golden pussy” for him to stay with her.

One night, it must have been really late, because my stepfather was in the tent, asleep, I woke Mel, and told him I had to go use the toilet, which was on the other side of the lake, and I wanted him to come with me. He grumbled, but he came with me.

Those old zippers were loud, but we managed them without waking mom or her drunken husband. Walking around the back of the tents, we came across Kenny’s and Jean-anne’s sleeping bag — there was no room in his parents’ tent for 5, and so they decided to sleep outside in a big sleeping bag.