Lion Cub

(M/b (10), masturbation, oral, intercourse)

He had no words, not at first. A silent little lamb, or a rabbit caught in the headlights. Not used, perhaps, to being pulled so far beyond the bounds of his zone of comfort. My heart went out to him, though not at the expense of noticing something else about him - he was pant-tightengly cute. Ten years old, young for our course, but not too young. Nearly eleven, anyway, so it hardly mattered. One of thirteen with us for that week. An unlucky sign, if you believed in luck. I believed in the forest, and the sharpness of my knife, and the beauty of innocent boys. Luck didn't come into it.

We ran survival courses. All kinds of people came to see us, to be taken out into the wilderness and scared shitless, and driven to within an inch of the gaping chasm of physical and mental breakdown. Our customers varied - some were military, from countries who couldn't afford to train their own, usually fractured African states or former Soviet republics. Some were there for team building - if your company could afford it, there is very little in the world better at bonding a group than carrying home the broken form of a colleague. And then there were the kids, the scouts and the lucky rich kids. Of course we tailored the experience for them. Of course we did. We made it fucking harder, because we knew that they would love it all that much more. I sometimes wonder if their parents truly understood what they were letting their kids in for. Not one of them ever went home and complained, that I do know.

So, thirteen joined us for those two weeks of hell in the mid-June heat, eleven boys and two girls. We operated out of a national park in northern California (I won't say which), and though most of our customers were from the US, this was a British party. A little slice of home brought to me, 'Limey', on a plate. I smiled at the familiar accents, a mix of harsh estuary English from the London area and lyrical northern speak. Tim was from Hertfordshire, and his piping little voice was posh as posh could be. I rather liked that: it reminded me of my school days, propelled into an unfamiliar social tier by excellence at maths, English and above all rugby. That bloody school was where I learned all sorts of things, like how to really swear, and where my sexual proclivities lay.

Thirteen scouts (Tim was barely more than a Cub) out for a week of adventuring. They were the very best, the most dedicated, picked from among the nation's troops and propelled across the Atlantic by some rich, unnamed benefactor. They were only the latest in a long line to come to us, and each year I looked forward to the arrival of the kids. To me, it signified the proper start of summer.

Summer in the park was glorious. Not as scorching-hot as some places further south, nor as humid until later in the season, when for a week or so the place was lit up by lightning and shaken to its very core by its sidekick, thunder. But it was hot enough when you were carrying tent, rations and everything else needed to survive out in the wild. We weren't totally alone, never out of sat-phone contact with our helicopter crews, but the experience was meant to be as authentic as possible.

Day 1 - Orientation

The boys were to be taken on the River Cruise, a rather euphemistic name for a nightmare descent through the whitewater rapids of a hidden tributary of the Klamath, and then onto the river itself for an easier route to the coast. Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy - first there was a three day trek from a drop-off point before we picked up our rafts and took to the water.

Orientation day was always going to be interesting. The boys and girls turned up about ten in the morning, bleary-eyed from jet-lag and an overnight stay in a hotel nearby. It was the closest they would get to comfortable for the next few days. They were thrown straight in at the deep end, marched into the reception hall where thirteen sets of equipment lay unpacked on the floor, name tags in front of each neatly ordered pile. Sizes had been sent ahead from England, and each youth now stood in front of his or her own personal outfit for the week. We couldn't afford to risk anyone turning up with anything less than the appropriate equipment, and so we nullified that risk.

Always the most exciting part for anyone joining our courses (well, the boys at least) was the sight of the sheathed knife which would be their utility tool for the week. I don't know what it is that draws the male mind to sharp objects designed to kill - something primal, perhaps? Almost immediately two of the older boys, in their mid teens, had swooped and seized their knives. Their haste was anticipated, and drew the same reaction it always did.

"Drop that fucking knife now!"

Mark "Sarge" Rogers could shout louder than any person I'd ever met, and had no compunctions about swearing in front of impressionable young people. He was a beast of a man, six foot four and packed with muscle. He'd spent twelve years at the tougher end of the US military, and the last two of those he never spoke of. He looked to all the world like a mean mother-fucker. But the kids had no idea that behind this façade was one of the gentlest family men I'd ever met, devoted to Sandra, his wife, and his little daughter Jess. They just heard that firecracker shout and responded, instantly dropping the knives to the floor where they landed with a dull thunk. Thank God they were still locked into their sheaths.

"Who told you you could pick that up?"

He was still shouting, though not so loudly, confronting one of the boys. I knew from experience he would have chosen his victim not simply because they could take the punishment, but perhaps because they needed it too. Sarge had always been quick to spot trouble makers and bring them down to earth before things had a chance of getting out of hand. While he continued to berate the unfortunate young lad, I turned to the nearest boy to me, a tiny little thing by the name of Tim Heath according to the name badge. He had a horrified look on his face, and when his eyes met mine I'm sure I could see tears welling up. I gave him a quick grin and a wink, indicating that Sarge's shouting was all for show, and when he got the message his mouth dropped into a little surprised 'o'. He turned back to watch the performance, and so did I.

The next couple of hours before lunch were filled with Sarge's lectures on the correct packing of the bag. The boys were made to pack, unpack and then re-pack everything, until both Sarge and I were satisfied. Peaks, so nicknamed for her impressive chest and the third member of our leadership team, popped her head around the door from time to time, though I knew she was occupied preparing the first part of the journey.

After lunch was tent-practise time. We were taking two-man tents, which obviously meant a bit of an imbalance in numbers. Pairing was, as always, made on the basis of what the kids wanted, which left young Tim on his own and in need of a tent-mate. We could have shoved him in with another pair to make a threesome, but instead I had a quiet word with Sarge and he agreed that the boy looked a little nervous and could do with a steadying influence. Therefore it fell to me to buddy up with the lad. I didn't argue.

The tents we used were the simplest pop-up kind. Purists would accuse us of taking the easy route out, but after a hard day's hiking or canoeing the last thing the kids wanted to do was struggle with a complex tent. There was, of course, also the advantage of lightness. For two hours practise continued until Sarge was happy that each person in each of the seven pairs could put the tent up, secure it, collapse and repack it in under ten minutes. At ten to five, after further instruction in field craft, such as firelighting, the eleven boys and two girls were told it was time to set up camp for the night.

So followed just about my favourite part of the week. The thirteen were led through a small forest run to an open area, with 'Campground' printed on a rusty sign nailed to a rotten lamppost. The site looked truly horrible, the ground sloping and uneven, and covered with protruding rocks. A chorus of quiet groans went up from the group. Sarge turned round and grinned at them.

"Is there a problem?"

When none of the kids took the cue, I spoke up.

"I think they don't like the look of the ground, Sarge."

"Oh, don't they now? Well then, we'd better see what we can do about that, huh?"

Right on cue, as if timed with military precision (which it was) we heard the first dull 'whumps' filling the air. The kids' eyes went skywards, searching for the source of the sound, but we were in a small clearing and there was little visibility. The sound grew louder, and the confusion greater. Ten seconds later three Bell Hueys, relics from 'Nam, came thundering over our heads, pitching up into the sky ahead of us before wheeling back and passing low overhead. They looped again and then came in for a rapid landing.

The kids were in shock, but Sarge gave them no time to think.

"Alpha group with me. Bravo to Peaks and Charlie to the Limey. Move it out!!"

The kids, still struck dumb, automatically fell into the groups Sarge had assigned earlier in the day. The three of us led them in a crouching run across the open ground to meet the choppers. On board I made sure each of my five was strapped in and given a headset, then got on the radio to Sarge.

"Charlie team ready to rock and roll, Sarge."

"Affirmative."

I heard Peaksy give the signal that Bravo team was ready, and then without further delay we lifted sharply into the sky.

Some of them just sat and stared. Other giggled, or laughed uncontrollably, or worked out how the comms functioned and started making a mess of the airwaves. Sarge let that continue for all of ten seconds before screaming over the radio that the next person to use the comms without permission would be thrown out of their chopper. Tim sat next to me, pale faced, buffeted by the wind from the open door. I gave him a smile, which he returned weakly, and then took his shaking little hand in my own. He ignored the breach in protocol and just squeezed back as hard as he could, as if afraid that letting go would mean he fell.

We reached the real campsite thirty-five minutes later, circling twice before landing. The kids streamed out of the choppers, full of adrenaline and the joys of life. Three or four of the younger kids went to throw up violently, their air sickness catching up with them after the euphoria of the flight. As always, it was Sarge who made sure they were alright, getting them to breathe deeply, arms around their shoulders and spinning tales of how he'd been just that way on his first flight.

Once order was restored camp was set up quickly. As the sun finally set on a long day fires sprang up, one for each team, and we sat around telling tales and getting to know each other. It was a great start to the week.

Day 2 - Crossing

The first of three days' hiking lay before us. It was to be an easy start, ten miles overland on ground which was fairly flat. The hike would take us to another deserted campsite near the base of the hills which speared skywards in the distance.

Night one in the tent with Tim had been nothing out of the ordinary. He was exhausted and slept well, with a cute snore. In the morning I found him with his sleeping bag thrown open in the rising heat of dawn, his shorts bunched up around the tops of his thighs and the small lump of his morning erection tenting the soft blue cotton fabric. It took all the willpower I possessed to not reach over and touch him there and then, but I resisted, taking a mental picture of him lying there, tummy exposed where his shirt had ridden up. With the image still fresh in my mind I made my way to the latrines and found a stall to let my seed tumble to the chemical stink below, feeling the tension leave me and allowing me to function normally.

By the time I had returned he was sitting up awake, looking nervously around himself as if wondering how he came to be there. He gave me a weak smile, and then asked in a tiny voice where the toilets were. I opened the tent flaps and pointed him to the longdrops, and then quickly dressed when he was gone.

Breakfast was a rowdy affair, Sarge relaxing and allowing the kids to let off a bit of steam before the serious day's work of hiking began. When the food had been downed and the plates swilled in the nearby stream, camp was struck, and before nine we were on the move.

As I've already said, the first day on the trail was easy-going, with a relatively short distance to cover over quite flat ground. At least, that's how it should have been. In a wooded valley we came across a ravine which should have held a high rope bridge across tumbling waters below. The bridge, though, was down, broken at the near side where the wooden stanchions had rotted through. Sarge swore and sent the teams away while he thought.

A few minutes later, while Sarge stared at the gap trying to decide what to do, one of the boys from Bravo team sidled up and stood next to him. James was a lanky 14 year old who had the look of a computer geek about him, not apparently suited to survival. He was, according to his notes, one of the youngest ever recipients of the gold Duke of Edinburgh award, and I'd been interested to meet him. He stood in silence at Sarge's elbow, occasionally looking up at the trees on either side of the bank.

Eventually Sarge turned to him, talking too quietly to be heard over the roar of the water below. There was heated conversation for a few moments, the young lad seemingly holding his own in the argument, until with a silent nod Sarge seemed to agree to whatever James was suggesting.

"Alpha team!" he shouted when he returned. "I need a rock the size of my fist," which he held up to demonstrate, "nice and smooth but not shiny. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" went up the combined shout, and the four members of Alpha team dispersed rapidly. When they had gone, Sarge pulled me and Peaks aside, bringing James with him.

"James has an idea. Go on, tell them."

"Well, I thought if we could get someone over there we could tie a line to the bridge, then we can pull it up."

"And how do we do that?" Peaksy asked.

"I saw a video online. You just need to get a rope across to the other side. It could be tied to the branch. They showed you how you could tie a rock to a rope and then throw that and it would wrap around a tree branch. It should be tight enough that if we tie it on a branch this side someone can go across."

"And that works, does it?"

James shrugged. "It did in the video."

Agreeing that nothing else was going to work beyond attempting to find another crossing upstream, we decided that we might as well try James' plan.

Alpha team returned shortly afterwards, with an oblong stone which Sarge started tossing up and catching, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You know, this might actually work," he said to me in low tones. "It might just work."

We fished out a set of ropes and found the longest. Sarge tied the rock to one end, and then sighted on the branch of a stout oak on the far side.

"You have to throw it upwards quite a lot, sir," said James uncertainly, to which Sarge nodded silently.

"Here goes," he said, almost to himself, and then with one huge thrust of his bulky shoulders sent the rock sailing over the gap, trailing behind it the length of rope. Our collective breaths were held, silence intruding as the world seemed to slow and the rock described a high, perfect arc through the air. It plunged past the branch, and the suddenly the line, held in my hands, went tight as the rope began to wind around the branch. The rock reappeared, disappeared, reappeared, disappeared at ever increasing speed until with a thunk it slammed into the branch. It had wrapped around nine times in all, and now hung limply from the branch. I tested the line will all my strength and found it unmoveable.

The collectively held breaths were expelled with a cheer and several shouts of "Come on!" and "Get in there!". Sarge turned round and grinned at me, shrugging.

"Right!" he said to the group. "I need a volunteer. Someone who knows climbing knots and is willing to go over that line. And they have to be light!"

The boys and girls looked at each other, the ground, the rope, anywhere but at Sarge. Only one kid looked up at us - Tim. He had an uncertain look in his eyes. I saw his jaw move as if he were about to speak, and nodded to him silently, trying to encourage without forcing. It seemed to work.

"I'll do it, sir," he said in a shaking voice. Sarge turned to him.

"Heath! Good man! Right, get over here and bring your harness."

All of us carried harnesses on our packs to cover any eventuality, such as this. Tim unhitched his and stepped into it with the air of an experienced climber, testing the straps as he sauntered over to us. Sarge had tied the rope off against a tree on the near bank, and hitched Tim up on his shoulder to clip on and test the weight. The line held, and without further ceremony Tim was sent across, hand over hand, using the harness clipped to the line to take his weight. With him he took a rope, the other end of which we held.

Once safely over land on the other side he unclipped and dropped to the floor, reaching up to pass the carried line through a carabiner which he secured in place with a loop of rope. Through this we would be able to belay him as he climbed down the face of the ravine to tie a third line to the end of the end of the bridge, allowing us to haul it back into place and tie it down.

His descent was special to watch. He really was a natural climber, scrabbling over the face of the almost sheer rock like a mountain goat, never in danger of losing his footing. The deck of the bridge was folded over on itself, sitting on a ridge about ten metres below the lip of the ravine, and Tim quickly went about securing a line to it, before ascending once more. If his climb down had been impressive to see, then his climb back up was nothing short of a master class. He swarmed up the rock face like a Ninja, every foot- and hand-hold perfectly chosen, his route seemingly planned before he even began to climb. He attached the bridge line to the belay rope, which we were to haul in, and then simply sat down on the bank cross-legged to wait for us.

It took all of the strength that Sarge, Peaks, myself and all of the kids had to haul the bridge up. Once we had it near enough Peaks and I were dispatched to add extra lines, and eventually, nearly half an hour after Tim had touched down on the far bank we had the bridge secured to two large, stout trees on the near side. Tim was instructed to make the other end of the high line safe, allowing us all to use it as a safety line as we crossed.

Sarge asked for a volunteer to test the bridge, but before the words were out of his mouth Tim was sauntering over the bridge towards us, a beaming smile on his face. Sarge greeted him with a thundering clap on the shoulder which nearly sent the kid sprawling, and a shout of "Great work, Heath!". Then Tim was surrounded by his peers, who all wanted to congratulate him. In the midst of it all, his face reddened with embarrassment, he looked my way. I gave him a smile and a little nod for a job well done, feeling pride swelling in my heart for my little tent-mate.

With the delay we were hard-pressed to make camp before nightfall. The site was even more basic than our first, on the last section of flat land before the trail began to climb into the mountains. The kids hardly noticed, though, doggedly erecting their tents and then falling in to sleep. I sat around for a while with Sarge and Peaks, discussing the day while the last of the light drained from the western sky.

Day 3 - The Hills, Part 1

I awoke with a start, though what had aroused me was unclear. A glance at my watch told me it was half past five, thirty minutes before camp was meant to wake. Tim's sleeping bag was open and there was no sign of him. I checked the outer section of the tent and found his boots missing, so at least he wasn't sleepwalking. I grabbed my own footwear and stepped out into the half-light of dawn.

I found him a short way up a nearby slope, looking back over the forest through which we'd come.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I asked as I drew level with him. He nodded, though his face belied his thoughts. He wasn't here, in northern California. He was miles away. Thousands of miles.

"Homesick?" I asked. Another nod, but this time more definite.

"It's a bit like where my uncle lives. The trees."

"Do you live with your uncle?"

He shook his head. "No, but I see him all the time. He's my best friend. He's our troop leader."

We stood in silence for a while longer, and then the pressing urge to empty my bladder became too great to ignore.

"I'm just going to have a pee, mate. You OK here?"

"Uh, actually, sir, I need to go too, but I couldn't find it."

Of course! In our rush to get camp set up last night we'd not told the kids that in fact there were no latrines here. There were a handful of shovels scattered around the place and it was up to you to bury anything you left behind, liquid or solid. I explained this to Tim, who didn't look all that impressed.

"It's OK, mate, I'll dig a hole then you can use it when I'm done," I said, walking off to where I knew a shovel would be and not waiting for him to follow. He did so anyway, scampering down the slope after me.

Having dug my hole I unzipped and fished out the old man, and was surprised by the sudden appearance of Tim as my side, the waistband of his shorts hooked underneath his little balls, his junk fully on display.

"Sorry, sir, couldn't wait! You don't mind, do you?" he asked with a lopsided grin, one eye squinting into the sun. I shrugged my shoulders and carried on peeing, trying ever so hard to appear to be concentrating on what I was doing whilst all the time perving on him. My whole body shook with nervous excitement, causing a misunderstanding with Tim.

"It's not that cold, is it sir?"

I just mumbled something, and having finished, zipped up and walked away.

Thank God my job is so demanding, and occupies me thoroughly, because if I wasn't so intent on ensuring the safety of the kids as we hiked that day I would have spent the whole time making my pants uncomfortably tight while thinking about Tim. Especially with regards the gift he had unintentionally given, the sight of that part of him which unequivocally identified him as 'boy'.

He walked with me as we went, occasionally chattering, sometimes silent for half an hour or more. It was my job to bring up the back of the line, to ensure that no-one fell too far behind. The kids were all fairly experienced hikers, but at elevated altitude, with the height climbing with every step, it was hard going for some. When anyone did drop back Tim was ready with an encouraging word, having a surprising knack of buoying up the spirits of the stragglers.

That was until he himself fell back. I saw him climbing ahead of me as the sun began to turn golden in the mid-afternoon, its heat oppressive. All of us sweated freely on the climb up the dried bed of a seasonal river, its course set inexorably for the peak ahead of us. The ground was slippery and studded with fist-sized boulders, and the going was tough - half of your energy spent climbing was frittered away as the stones slipped from beneath the soles of your boots.

I'll admit that I was daydreaming as we walked, inspired by the sight of the shorts-clad behinds of the kids in front of me, not least Tim's, which was skinny but beautifully rounded. I could have done nothing to stop him falling, though, nothing to prevent his accident. It wasn't even that bad, really, just a turned ankle, but by God it hurt him. He fell to the floor with a muffled cry, clutching at his left ankle. Immediately I feared the worst, and ran forward to where he had fallen. A group of kids gathered round, concerned, but I sent one away to stop Peaks at the head of the column. I then got Sarge, who by this time had returned to see what had happened, to get the rest of them gathered further up the ravine, out of sight so that Tim didn't feel crowded.

There were tears in his eyes when I knelt down in front of him, brought about by a mixture of pain and frustration. I think he feared the worst, too, feared the call on the satellite phone, the sound of the helicopter coming to rescue him, the ignominious flight home having failed to complete the journey. There would be no heroes on this trip, no carrying the injured home when there were kids involved. If he couldn't continue, he would have to be lifted.

I picked up his boot, wincing as I saw him grimace in pain. I worked it this way and that, feeling for movement which shouldn't have been there, and finding none. Good, not broken then; I lifted a little way out of the depths of despair. It was badly sprained, though, and already swelling slightly. I got him to try to put some weight on it, and was surprised to find that he could take a couple of steps, but then he collapsed again and howled in pain, and I knew we were in trouble. I sat him down on a rock and got down to his level.

"Tim..." I started, but he cut me off.

"No! Don't say it, sir! I'm not going back!"

"Look, mate, if you can't go on then you'll have to. We can't afford to be slowed down. You know that."

"I'll be fine. I won't slow you down. Please!"

He was crying freely now, tears making dark tracks on the dry skin of his face. Professionally, my decision should have been to send the rest of the group ahead to the next camp and wait for the chopper with Tim, catching up with the main party the following morning. But there was something of the fighter in Tim, something which told me he would give everything to keep up. I made my decision.

"OK. I'm going to give you a chance. If Sarge, Peaks and I decide at camp tonight that you need to go back, you have to agree, yes?" He nodded. "Right," I continued, "let's see what we can do about strapping you up."

I got him to lift his foot onto my leg, and it was then that I discovered something rather surprising - I could see all the way up the leg of his shorts to where his sweaty, loose scrotum stuck to the top of his inner thigh, and beyond to the root of his penis, the body of which was lying down the other leg. He must have noticed the look of surprise on my face.

"Oh," he stammered. "I, er... it's too hot, sir."

I smiled up at him. "Don't worry, mate," I said with a wink and a grin. "Too hot for me too!"

I didn't give a visual demonstration, but there was no need judging by the shocked look on his face, and the quick glance he shot at my crotch. I took the opportunity while his mind was elsewhere to quickly tug the boot from his foot, which brought a gasp and a muttered "ow, ow, ow!". When his sock was removed, I dug into my bag and pulled out an ice spray, liberally spraying the area, before immediately applying ibuprofen gel and wrapping the ankle very tightly in a bandage. Slipping the boot back on brought more tears to his eyes, but he remained silent until he was standing.

This time he was more cautious than ever, but he took one step, and then another, and suddenly he was walking. Not fast, but walking nonetheless. Peaks had an extendible walking stick with her which she came back and lent to him, and once more we were on the move.

Tim's plight bought him attention from all quarters, not least from one of the two girls on the trip, twelve year old Jessica. She dropped back from her position in Bravo team to walk with him, telling him how brave he was and how impressed she was by his climbing the day before. I could see the blush rising in his face to the root of his hair, and at one point, while we were crossing a bridge in single file, he told her to go ahead and quickly turned to me, whispering.

"What do I do, sir?"

He sounded almost pained by the attention.

"Well, she's a pretty girl, isn't she? Shouldn't you be flattered?"

"I... well... I don't know..."

He sounded so dejected that I had to stifle a laugh. At the same time, I was wondering whether there was any significance to his reluctance to be wooed by the girl, of if perhaps he was simply too awkward and shy. I pulled my mind back to the job at hand and filed the thought for careful consideration later.

Even with the injury we were, surprisingly, only half an hour late into camp, most of which could be accounted for in the time it took me to strap Tim's leg back together. As Sarge, Peaks and I had our little end-of-day conference, we came to the decision that as long as the pace could be maintained, Tim would stay with us.

Later that night, as I lay unable to sleep, listening to the noises of the wild at night and the snores of our trekking party, I heard a groan coming from Tim's side of the tent. The sound quickly resolved itself into a mantra of "Ow! Shit! Ow! Shit!" and Tim sat bolt upright, clutching at his hamstring. I sat up and asked,

"What's the matter? Cramp?"

"Yessssss," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Lie down," I instructed, taking charge, straightening his leg and pulling his foot back to stretch the muscle. Thankfully it was his right leg, not the injured left, or I wouldn't have been able to do even that. He must have overworked it compensating for the injured limb.

"I'm going to need to massage that, OK?" I asked when the initial pain had subsided. He nodded his assent in the gloom, and turned onto his stomach at my instruction.

"Should I take my shorts off so you can get to my leg easier, sir?" he asked, and without having to think too hard about it I agreed. I wasn't going to ask his to do so, but if he suggested it...

When I turned back from finding the small tube of massage gel in my pack I paused for a fraction of a second to take a mental picture of his utterly naked form lying on top of his sleeping bag. Immediately my shorts grew tighter, and I was thankful that the darkness hid the significant bulge at my front.

He gasped as the cold gel landed on the sensitive skin of his leg, and then let out an almost inaudible low moan as my fingers went to work it into his muscle. I worked my way upwards, circling my thumbs, pressing them hard into the knotted muscle of his hamstring. As I did so, his legs naturally fell apart, to the point where, at the junction of his legs I was gifted another look at his smooth little scrotum, its skin draped over the two little eggs within, and puddling either side, completely slack in the heat. His little dick was nowhere to be seen, even its base hidden by the drooping folds of his sack. I let it be and began to work on his other leg, deciding that both could do with the treatment.

As I reached the upper limits of his left leg, where the crease between leg and bottom lay, I felt his hip lift slightly. I made an upwards sweep with my thumb towards the valley of his backside and there it was again, that slight lift, as if pushing toward my hand. Unsure, uncertain of myself, I continued on safer ground, puling back from the brink of going too far. After another ten minutes of working his muscles I told him I was finished, and sleepily he rolled away from me onto his side. He drew up a leg to hide himself, and snaked a hand down beneath it to assist in the cover-up, but not before I caught a glimpse of his plump boyhood straining, hard.

"Thanks, sir," he said, dreamily, before drifting off to sleep. I covered his naked form and then went to find a quiet place to spend a few minutes alone with the images in my mind.

Day 4 - The Hills, part 2

It was becoming almost commonplace to see parts of Tim which perhaps I shouldn't have. The morning of our fourth day was no different - I spent the whole time I was meant to be concentrating on re-wrapping his ankle instead staring at his little dick and balls, shamelessly on view up the leg of his shorts. My unobstructed view took in his marble-sized nuggets, hanging loosely in their silken-smooth sack, and lying over that his narrow tube of flesh, puckered foreskin overhanging the tip of the rounded head by a comfortable half inch. As I watched it twitched and came to life, extending outwards and pulsing with his heartbeat, but it didn't make it all the way hard before we were interrupted.

He knew it, too, knew that I was mesmerised by the sight of him, and by his youthful, innocent, raw sexuality. I think we both knew things were heading in a particular direction. Why he was so keen to go there I didn't understand. I got the feeling that someone had coached him, and I began idly to wonder about Tim's relationship with his uncle.

Jessica had, fortunately for Tim, decided to return to Bravo team as we hiked that day. I suspected she was being nothing more than kind to Tim, but he seemed to take it very personally, feeling persecuted by the girl. He even confided that at school girls were always trying to take him round the back of the swimming pool building, which was apparently the place for boys and girls to go at his school to kiss and play 'doctor'. He'd so far escaped their attentions. I didn't honestly think he was gay, not at that age - just not into girls yet.

He was definitely less talkative than before his accident, silently trudging along next to me, favouring the injured ankle. When I told him that he would probably get cramp again that night, and that he would tell me if he did so that I could massage his legs, he gave me a thoroughly dirty little grin and then dissolved into a fit of giggles.

It was tough work traversing the hilltops, always climbing or descending, and beyond the cooling shade of the trees. We were only a few hundred feet above the tree-line, but our path rarely dipped far enough into the valleys to offer any meaningful cover from the sun's harsh glare. The repetitive nature of the day wore on us all, and by lunchtime even the team leaders wanted to be done with the hike. Thank the Lord, then, that shortly after we'd resumed following our break for lunch we finally came in sight of one of the most wonderful sights in the hills thereabouts - in a hollow between two peaks lay a small lake, the start-point of our journey by water. It was still three miles distant when we first glimpsed the shimmering waters, but it spurred us on to greater efforts, and in little over three quarters of an hour we emerged from a ring of trees at the shores of the lake.

At the sight of a proper campsite on flat ground, with our three rafts pulled up on the shore nearby, the kids went wild. There was cheering and shouting and a handful of the more excited ones were in the process of making a break for the water, regardless of the kit they were wearing, when a shout from Sarge brought them up short.

"I don't remember telling anyone they could break ranks!" he shouted when he had their attention. "First order of business is to set up camp. Then you may have noticed we are out of rations. There are sufficient rations on the rafts for the final two days, but nothing to eat tonight. What are we going to do about that?"

There was silence for a few moments, until from somewhere came the half-hearted suggestion, "Catch something?"

"Damn right! There's some fishing gear stowed with the rafts. No-one will be dismissed from duty until we all have enough food to feed us all. Understood?"

"Yes, Sarge!" came the reply, this time loudly and in unison, and the teams scattered to their task of setting up the tents and catching supper.

It took nearly three hours to catch enough to eat, despite the fact that I knew this to be a fantastic fishing lake. This team did have its weaknesses after all, it seemed. Once there was sufficient, and it had been gutted and scaled to Sarge's satisfaction, he finally dismissed the team and suggested that if they had nothing better to do then a swim in the lake might be nice. With a ragged cheer the kids dispersed to their tents to find their swimming gear and take good advantage of the couple of free hours before supper.

Tim wore a pair of yellow board shorts really low on his hips, low enough to attract my attention, low enough to show the crease of the V which would focus on his most special parts were he naked. They were practically see-through when wet, and clung tightly to his package, both front and back. It was near impossible to concentrate on being a life guard. He played freely in the water, less hampered than ever by the injury he'd sustained the day before. Eventually, though, he tired, and came to sit with me on the small jetty which protruded out into the water.

"How you doing, lion cub?" I asked as he sat down next to me, goose pimples beginning to appear on his arms as the cool prevailing wind caressed his damp skin.

"OK thanks, sir. Why do you call me 'lion cub?'"

"Because that's what you are. You're small and tough and you make little growling noises when you sleep."

He looked slightly shocked and a little perplexed.

"Growling noises?"

"Oh, yeah. Sort of like this," I replied, doing a passable impression of a lion cub.

"I don't do that, do I?"

I tried to keep a straight face, but his concerned expression was too cute. I cracked up.

"No, of course not," I said when I'd stopped laughing. "You're still my little lion cub though."

He chose not to notice my over-familiarity, in the same way he had accepted my hand holding his in the helicopter. I hadn't intended to say 'my', it just slipped out. We sat there together on the pier, watching the other kids splashing around and having fun.

"How's that ankle of yours?" I asked after a few moments' silence. He shrugged.

"Doesn't hurt so much now."

"And your legs? Tired after the hike?"

He nodded gravely. "Oh, yes, sir. I'll definitely need a massage tonight. That's if... well, if that's OK, sir?"

"Of course it is, Tim," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'd be happy to."

He gave me a bright smile and then turned back to watching the water, his legs swinging back and forth as they dangled above the water.

We hardly spoke a word that evening before retiring to the tent. There was a palpable tension between us, as if we were young teenagers on a first date. God, he wasn't even that old, was he? I could see that he was nervous. Excited, not scared, but nervous anyway. I don't know if he really understood my feelings towards him, but he had asked for me to massage him again, and the last time I had done so he had visibly enjoyed the touch of my hands on his soft skin. He must have been anticipating the same reaction, perhaps unsure of my intentions. I tried not to place too much importance on the brief glimpse of his hardness the night before - after all, it might have been nothing more than an accident, an unintentional slip.

Whilst normally Sarge would declare the official end of the day, on this particular evening he simply set a curfew of 10pm and then left the kids to it. I knew he would be off somewhere, in a high place looking down over the camp, observing, making decisions about the make-up of the rafts. The three teams were required to become two by daybreak, and it was his task to organise two boats which would work well together.

I saw Tim yawning fairly heavily about nine o'clock. He was more than ready to be asleep, and without drawing attention to us I suggested that I might head to the tent, at which he, too, declared his intention to retire. We made our way back through the darkness of the cap to where our tent stood, unintentionally placed furthest from the centre of the group. Inside there came the sudden realisation that we would both have to change for bed at the same time, something which until now had been avoided. I nearly wimped out, nearly suggested that I take my clothes and change elsewhere, but excitement bred boldness, and instead I stripped bare in front of him.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He paused, wearing only his boxers, and watched me. I don't think he realised how obvious it was. I made no pretence of hiding myself from him, letting my partially engorged member sway heavily between my legs for a few seconds before slipping my shorts on and hiding my nakedness.

"Perhaps you should just take those off and lie down for your massage," I whispered to him, trying to keep my tone light-hearted and businesslike, even as my heart threatened to jump right out of my throat.

"OK," he replied, barely audible. He slipped the boxers down his legs before spending a moment folding them carefully and stowing them, keeping the tent free of clutter as I'd taught him. I observed his naked form as he did so, for the first time given a full, unobstructed view of his body. His dick, which had at first lain limply over his taut little sack, began to expand as he went about the task, bobbing and rising with his heartbeat. By the time he manoeuvred around to lie face down it stood upright, its tip touching his belly in the way that only a young boy's erection can. He made no attempt to hide it, showed no shame in his state of arousal.

I tried to remain calm and neutral, but there was little hope of that. Even before I began to work on his legs my erection tented my shorts obscenely, and when he glanced around from his supine position his gaze went directly to it. There was no emotion in his face as he looked at me, just an appraisal of what might lurk beneath the dark blue fabric. His eyes flicked up to meet mine for a fraction of a second, but I could read nothing in their depths.

I worked his calves at first, gently and then more strongly, delaying the inevitable. His hamstrings were knots of steel, and I spent some time genuinely massaging him, working out the tension of the day's hike. As my fingers and thumbs worked ever higher his thighs parted of their own accord, until his knees were a good twelve inches apart and his sack was visible in its entirety, pulled up against his body in excitement. I worked higher and higher on his thighs until my fingertips were beginning to touch the base of his backside, exploring the crease where leg and bottom met. This was it, the moment of decision. What I planned next, if I went through with it, could not possibly be interpreted as an innocent act. I paused, and then took the plunge.

The cheeks of Tim's backside were firm beneath, but covered in the softest, smoothest skin. I kneaded them with a passion, feeling his hips rise rhythmically to meet my hands, and then plunge downwards. He was humping the sleeping bag as I worked, clearly enjoying himself. I let my fingers slide inwards on a slick of massage gel, running fingertips over his crinkled opening again and again, feeling him push almost desperately up at me each time I did so. Feeling that he was asking for it, I let a digit linger there for a few seconds, and as his hips rose to meet it I slipped the tip within him.

Immediately he gasped, and rolled over onto his back. I feared the worst, feared I had gone too far, but there was no anger in his face.

"Not, there," he whispered, a hint of anxiety in his voice. "Here," he said, pointing to his straining erection.

I wasted no time accepting the invitation, grabbing the steel shaft in my fist, pumping it up and down, wanking him rapidly. There would be time for slow, sensual sex later, but for now I just needed to make him come. He was so worked up that it took practically no time, and then he was bucking and writhing beneath me, his faced contorted in pleasure so strong that it resembled pain. No emission marred the beautiful skin of his stomach, but then at his age none should.

The tension had been building in me, too. Had I been any more in control I may have left him there and dealt with it myself, but I was crazed with lust for him. He lay there, eyes closed, a dreamy expression on his face, head resting on one arm and the other hand idly toying with his still hard dick. I pulled my shorts down to my thighs, and kneeling over him took my dick in my hand and wanked at the sight of him. His hand lazily made its may up my leg, across my hip and touched the base of my shaft, and suddenly he had taken control, hot little fingers gripping tightly to my oversized rod of flesh, wanking rapidly until with a groan I splattered his chest and tummy with string upon string of my seed.

When we had cleaned him of my emission, he spooned his naked back into my chest and we fell asleep together.

Day 5 - Rapids, Part 1

"Morning, lion cub," I whispered into his ear as he stirred.

Our bodies were sticky with sweat and glued together, my morning erection stiff between his arse cheeks, lying in a valley slick with perspiration. His body stiffened for a moment, and then realising where he was he melted back into me. He made a little growling noise in the back of his throat and wiggled his bum at me. With my hands around his body I slowly stroked the skin of his chest and stomach, working lower until the side of my hand bumped into the pointed tip of his erection.

I grasped the hot spike of flesh in my hand and tugged at it, drawing another low growl from the animal in front of me, a noise of appreciation rather than one of reproach. As I worked him faster and faster his legs began to writhe, hips rocking back and forth as waves of pleasure pulsed outwards from the tip of his penis. When his peak hit so did mine, pushing myself along his sweaty crack, pumping out my seed into the smooth channel, mashing it into a froth with my frantic movements. He lounged on his stomach as I cleaned the evidence from his crack, head on his folded arms, smiling dreamily.

He rolled away from me, onto his side when I was done. His hazel eyes bored into mine, searching, and then flicked away to settle on my nakedness, and on the soft form of my penis, hanging limply over my sack as I knelt above him. A hand reached out and touched it, lifting it to feel the heft of it, peeling the foreskin back, tugging until it began to inflate. When it was hard again he raised himself to a sitting position and wanked it slowly, carefully watching what he was doing. Without any encouragement he leaned in and took the head into his hot, wet mouth, letting his tongue tease the opening of my foreskin, bobbing and little and applying gentle suction the whole time. It was indescribably wonderful to be in his mouth, to have my shaft encircled by his lips, stretched thin around the pale skin of my manhood. His hand rocked back and forth on my shaft in counterpoint to the gentle bobbing of his head, and before I knew what had hit me I was gasping, dribbling a small load into his mouth, too spent to shoot in volume or at velocity.

While I collapsed back onto the ground in ecstasy he delicately spat my load into the towel I had used to wipe him clean, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Donning nothing more than a very small pair of shorts he whispered,

"Need to wee!" and then left the tent in search of relief for his full bladder. Only too late did I notice the dark, crusted smears of my dried semen on his tummy where I had failed to properly clean him the night before.

With breakfast finished and camp struck, we began the business of re-packing in readiness for the raft trip. We would be on the water for two days, stopping downriver to camp overnight once the serious rapids were done with, and then enjoying a relatively easy paddle downstream for our final day. New packs had been left in readiness for everyone, and we left behind a lot of unneeded hiking gear at the camp to be retrieved by one of our support team; we didn't tell the kids that there was an accessible dirt road only a few hundred metres away through the trees.

Our descent began gently, but rapidly evolved into proper, roaring white-water. Sarge and the older kids piloted the lead raft, with Peaksy and I and the smaller individuals in the second. Almost immediately we were in trouble, our second raft needing to take avoiding action as the lead suddenly slowed without warning, snagged on a huge rock hidden just beneath the surface. It was in a run which only a few weeks before had been checked to be clear, and was as such totally unexpected. While Sarge struggled to free their raft, Peaksy and I tried to steer clear of them, managing somehow to do so but with the unfortunate side effect of running up the side of a massive boulder. With a sense of dull inevitability the raft peeled free and capsized.

Immediately I went into survival mode, tucking my legs up in front of me and steering with my arms, desperately trying to navigate my way to safety. The rapids thankfully ran out into calmer water fairly quickly, and I turned into the flow, treading water and holding station as I scanned the river for both the members of my team and the raft.

The boat had come to rest at the side of the river against a boulder. Four boys and Jessica clung to it, and I could see Peaksy helping a sixth member of the crew onto the bank. With a start, I realised that the only person unaccounted for was Tim. I shouldn't have done so, but I panicked. I should have stayed calm and detached because if he was in trouble that would be the best thing I could do for him. But instead I looked frantically around, and I was lucky to spot a small yellow helmet bobbing in the water downstream, heading slowly but determinedly for the next set of rapids. Without a thought I turned into the flow of water and powered towards the retreating form of his helmet.

It was only when I came close that I could see it was unoccupied, bobbing along on its own in the water. That left an even worse problem, though - somewhere out there Tim was still unaccounted for, and with his head now unprotected. I swam hard against the strong flow of the water, desperately trying to head back to the calmness of the pool upstream, but I was making little progress and was heading for a very uncomfortable trip over the waterfall.

With no other choice, I protected myself as best I could and then relaxed, letting the river take me. I could hear Sarge swearing loudly as he saw what I had done - he and I both knew we would never agree on what to do in this situation. I favoured relaxing and dealing with whatever happened next, and he preferred to fight until the very last against the force of the river. For a beast like him it was easy to fight; for someone as slender as myself, letting what was going to happen, happen, was the best policy. I even managed a smile as I sped up toward the lip of the fall - making Sarge furious was the highlight of any given week.

I plummeted deep under water and kicked out as soon as I could, heading - I hoped - for the safety of the calmer water in the plunge pool. When I surfaced, I was further downstream than I thought possible, but at least the current had slowed, allowing me to kick for shore.

I was almost upon him when I found Tim clinging to a rock at the side of the river. He was pale but conscious. A gash in the side of his head was already drenching his shirt with the stain of crimson blood, and that's when it hit me - his body protector was missing, as well as his helmet. How it had come off was a mystery, but right at that moment it hardly mattered. He gave me a weak smile as I reached him, and threw his arms around my neck, piggy-backing me to the shore.

By the time we were out, Peaks was standing over us; she must have run down the traverse from the top of the fall. She had Tim's body protector in one hand and her first-aid bundle in the other.

"We saw the whole thing from the top of the fall. Sarge is holding the others above the drop until we give him a sign, OK?"

I nodded, and silently thanked Peaks. She knew what protocol was, so she surely knew what she had done went against all the rules we had written for ourselves. As soon as I went over that waterfall unaided, she should have been on the sat-phone getting one of the Hueys out to us, but something had stopped her. It was as if she knew how desperate I was to get the journey finished with Tim, not without him. Did she understand what I felt for him? How far things had already gone? Even as I sat there still frantically buzzing with adrenaline, I wondered quite how much Peaks knew.

She went straight to work on Tim, as I sat back and rested against a tree trunk, exhausted from my brief battle with the river. I watched as Tim's wound was rinsed, and then held his hand as Peaks sterilised it with alcohol. His shout of agony as the spray hit the wound was loud, but it was manly, a little roar, not a cry. I squeezed his hand, and hoped he understood how proud I was of him. The wound itself turned out to be smaller than I had feared, and two strips was enough to hold it closed. Before long, Peaks had Tim sitting up, checking his eyes for any signs of concussion.

It quickly became clear that although Tim had been through the wringer, nothing was going to stop him. He practically shouted at Peaks that he was OK, and that all he needed was a change of clothes before he could continue. Peaks glanced at me, her expression clear: she wanted me to make the decision, and to take responsibility for it.

"We need to move as quickly as possible," I told her, my voice more full of authority than I would normally dare use with Peaks. "Get the boats traversed past the fall using the normal route.  We'll wait here."

To her credit, although I saw her jaw clench, Peaks only paused a moment before nodding her head and heading back. It would take about half an hour to get the boats out of the water, packs unloaded, and get them transitioned by foot down the path to the side of the waterfall. Ample time for Tim to catch his breath.

When Peaks was out of sight, Tim slumped to the ground and sat staring at the river. I sat down next to him and put my hand around his shoulder. He gave me another smile, his crimson lips in stark contrast to the paleness of his face.

"You going to be OK, mate?", I asked. This time there was no defiance in his response; around me, his guard was down. He sighed and looked at the river.

"I'm not having any luck, am I?"

I grinned at him, and went out on a bit of a limb. "I thought sharing a tent with me was quite lucky."

He blushed bright red, but a smile curled the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, well... This thing is ruined, I suppose?" he said, picking up the body protector. It was quite clear how it had failed - the waist level strap had been sheared by a sharp rock, and it was only by luck that Tim hadn't been sliced open, too.

"It's alright," I replied, "there are spares in the rafts. Looks like you might be a bit stiff tonight, though," I continued, as he flexed his shoulder.

"With any luck," he replied, before dissolving in a fit of giggles at his double entendre.

---

The worst of the rapids were past us, luckily, and there were no more incidents that day. We drifted into our campsite about half five in the afternoon, almost on schedule despite the drama, and the boys and girls eagerly set to the task of raising camp so we could get fires and food going. Tim was exhausted, the adrenaline and his various injuries beginning to take their toll, and he fell asleep against me as we sat around the fire chatting.

As if he were my son, I gently lifted him and carried him to our tent. I should have returned to the fire, but for some reason I wanted to stay there with him. He woke as I undressed him, and smiled up at me groggily, but made no effort to help as I struggled to get him out of his clothes. I was going to simply roll him into his sleeping bag and leave him alone, but he grinned up at me in his nakedness, his little stiffy already pointing to the sky.

"Can I have a massage tonight? Please?"

I could hardly refuse his request, not after everything he'd been through that day. The poor lad probably needed the affection more than anything else. I nodded and gave him a smile, which he returned before quickly rolling onto his front.

"You know," he said, voice muffled because his face was in the crook of his arm, "I don't mind if you wanted to have no clothes on, too. You don't have to, but it's really hot in here and you might want to. Or something."

I smiled to myself. His come-ons were clumsy and juvenile, and all the more exciting for it.

"Thanks, Tim," I replied, trying to keep my tone light-hearted, praying he couldn't hear my voice cracking with excitement. "It is a bit warm and sticky, isn't it."

Tim just giggled and nodded, and before I could come up with any reason to stop myself, I had stripped out of my clothes and was kneeling above him. He took the chance to look around, and his eyes went straight to my dick. He smiled to himself, then his face once again disappeared.

He jumped slightly when the cold massage oil dribbled onto his back, and then groaned as I let a ribbon of the fluid fall into the cleft of his backside. My hands followed straight after, warming the oil by working into his flesh. For minute after minute I did nothing more than give him the massage he desperately needed, my hands gliding over his skin from the angular peaks of his shoulder blades, along his xylophone ribcage, across the firm globes of his bottom and down his lithe, taut-muscled legs to his feet. As I worked, the tension left him, and he signalled his pleasure with soft, barely audible moans, and the occasional gasp when I worked  a stiff muscle a little too hard.

When I judged that he had probably had sufficient relaxation, I set to re-introducing some tension into his body. Moving to kneel between his legs, I started the familiar routine of running my massaging fingers up the inside of his thighs, spreading them wider and wider until his soft little scrotum was laid bare. Tonight, though, his excitement left it pulled into a taut pouch at the root of his obviously hard boyhood. A little way above, the tight ring of muscle leading to his innermost sanctum still glistened with a droplet of massage oil, and I let my fingers dip into that gentle valley, gathering the slimy droplet on a finger tip and running it back and forth over the puckered skin of his hole.

It must have been heaven for Tim, because with a sudden burst of energy I hadn't quite expected, he pulled his knees up and raised his bum high into the air. It was a clear invite, and with my lust of the boy building I determined to see just how far that invitation extended. With one hand I poked and prodded at his hole, while with the other hand I dribbled even more oil into his crack.

We both groaned when my finger entered him. I couldn't tell whether Tim was excited or uncomfortable, until he rocked his hips back to push my finger deeper into his bowels. With permission to continue granted, I set to making him feel as much pleasure as I could. His face was crushed into his pillow, arse obscenely presented to me, waggling back and forth as I fucked him with my finger. I sat mesmerised by the sight of my finger disappearing between the globes of his arse, back and forth, in and out, making a thoroughly perverse squelching noise. Tim was really getting into it, one hand snaking down to take his cock in hand and furiously wanking it while my finger continued to plough in and out of him.

When he made to raise himself up on his hands I instinctively paused. What he said to me then stays in my mind as one of the most singularly erotic things a boy has ever said to me, couched as it was in such innocent terms.

"If you want, you can put your willy in my bum. Just not too far in, OK?"

I sat there with my mouth open for a moment, not knowing quite what to say. When I did speak, my mouth seemed to be trying to be sensible, while the brain in my balls screamed at it to shut the hell up.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He nodded. "Just a little bit though, OK?"

I nodded, finally willing to believe that my ultimate fantasy was about to come true. I pulled free my finger and moved behind him. With the differences in the sizes of our legs it wasn't too easy to line up, but when I did, and the tip of my penis touched the soft, hot, slimy ring of muscle, everything changed. Suddenly all the years of doubt about my sexuality were washed clean away. I wanted nothing more in the world to be inside this young boy, again, and again, and again.

I pushed forward, holding his hips and watching in delight the obscene sight of my adult penis parting the ring of his anus and surging forward into him. In one smooth stroke I was three inches inside him, and I felt my heart beating so hard it threatened to jump completely free of my chest. Tim gasped at the intrusion, and gripped the fabric of the sleeping back beneath him, fingers working back and forth, grabbing and releasing, over and over.

I tried a little movement, and it brought a whimper from Tim.

"You OK?" I whispered to him, and he nodded.

"Bigger than I thought it would be," he replied, though at the same time he rocked his hips back at me, taking another little bit of my shaft inside. "Do it really gently, OK?"

And I did. Ever so gently at first, I made love to him. I reached around beneath his hips to find his penis soft and unresponsive to my touch. I mashed it around, tweaking it roughly this way and that, but nothing would encourage it to inflate. Defeated, I returned both hands to his hips and began to thrust a little faster, until I could say that I was fucking him in the truest sense.

When I had reached my peak, growling in his ear as I hunched over him, pushing deeper than I should have done and firing my hot wetness into his bowels, he fell to the floor, his hand trapped beneath his body in his crotch. He lay there with a smile on his face, toying with himself. I couldn't have my pleasure without giving him his, and I rolled him onto his back, diving down on his crotch and sucking his tender but rigid member into my mouth, hoovering for all I was worth until with a buck of his hips he came, rod kicking in pure futility in my mouth, its emissions null.

We rolled apart, and with my body utterly spent I fell into a deep sleep.

Day 6 - Rapids, part two

The insistent beeping of the alarm on my watch told me I'd overslept. Not badly, but enough to need my little back-up to get me out of bed in time to get things going. I was spooned up behind Tim, his soft hair in my face, and the tip of my penis lodged in the recessed of his backside. He wiggled his hips, and stifling a yawn asked,

"Are you going to put it in again?"

Oh God, how I wanted to say 'yes', and to do just that, but there just wasn't time, and I told him so.

"There's time for this, though, isn't there?" he said with a grin as he scooted down and lowered his soft lips over the head of my morning erection. Mere moments later I was dribbling my load into his mouth as he looked up at me, blue eyes bright in the morning light, and filled with love. This time he swallowed it all, then knelt up over me and wanked himself off hard and fast, furiously wanting his release. I merely lay there and recorded the scene in my mind's eye. When his climax hit him he doubled over in pleasure so intense it was agony. I hugged him to me, glorying in the feel of his firm buttocks in my hands, then finally admitted it really was time to get up.

Camp was already alive and buzzing by the time we emerged. Today would be our last day on the river, and from tomorrow the kids would truly be on holiday for two days. As a group we had been exhausted after our days hiking and battling the rapids, but there was a sense that our adventure was nearing its end, and all we needed now was one last sprint to the finish. Sarge strolled around the camp without needing to give a single order - in the few days we had spent together, the scouts had become a well-oiled machine, taking on tasks without complaint. There were clear leaders there, too, a handful of older boys to whom the others naturally gravitated. An order had imposed itself without our having to impose it.

There was a lot of love for Tim, too. My little lion cub had quite a fan club, Jessica especially seeking him out to see how he was doing. He'd gained quite some respect among the others for his fighting spirit, and I stood back and watched with a proud smile as he was pestered by all the others for recollections of the previous day's fall over the rapids. Sarge sidled up to me and watched for a moment, too, before speaking to me in low tones.

"Quite the fighter, that one. You must be proud."

I looked across at him, seeing the slight smile touching the corners of his lips. We both knew what was afoot; I had well and truly crossed the line with Tim, and Sarge knew it. He was also telling me, without saying a word out loud, that as far as he was concerned there was nothing happening and he had no comment to make. He had seen nothing. I wondered if Peaks felt the same way.

"Yeah, he's a fighter, alright," I replied. "I'm glad we didn't send him home early."

"That head of his OK?" Sarge asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," I replied, awash with guilt. In my lust for the boy, I hadn't remembered to care for him, to check how he was feeling. He had seemed fine, but I hadn't taken the time to check. "I'll get Peaks to have a proper look over him in a bit, though," I continued, making it up as I went along. "She's the trained one after all."

"Good idea," Sarge said, giving me a look I couldn't quite decipher, before strolling away to another part of the camp.

I took a few moments longer to enjoy my thoughts of Tim and the intimacy which had grown up between us, before taking a quick dip in the freezing water of the river to purge myself and find some sort of focus for the day ahead.

It was meant to be an easy day's ride over some of the lesser rapids, but the surge from a thunderstorm high in the mountains had filled the river, and made the rapids rather more... rapid than normal. This meant that rather than the easy cruise for our last day, there would be a bit of excitement. Normally, when this happened with the corporate teams were took out, this would lead to much grumbling, as most of them just wanted to get back to civilisation. The kids, though, spontaneously erupted into cheers at the news.

There was only then the matter of choosing who would sit at the front of the boat in the danger seat, required to fend us off any rocks at the side of the river. Unsurprisingly, Tim's hand was one of the first to be raised when we asked for volunteers, and he was visibly disappointed when he wasn't chosen for the task. When we dispersed to pack up camp and get the boats loaded, I took him to one side.

"You can't do everything, you know, mate. It needed someone a bit bigger and stronger to do that today. Sarge made the right choice."

He looked up at me, eyes ever so slightly damp.

"I know, but I wanted to prove I could do it!"

I smiled down at him. "You don't have anything to prove, Lion Cub, least of all to me. I know how strong you can be."

I winked as I said it, and Tim blushed.

"I can be even stronger, you know," he said, his tone flirtatious. I had to stop myself pulling him into our tent and seeing just what he meant.

---

It was a good thing we chose the stronger kids to head up the rafts, as we were battered back and forth that day. The river was higher and stronger in that section than I'd seen it for some time, and by the time we hit the calm waters of the main river even Sarge was showing signs of exertion, the veins on his forehead bulging comically. Somehow we'd managed to come through without either of the boats turning over, though we were all soaked to the skin and grateful for the warm sun in our faces. Almost in silence, we paddled gently down the wide river.

At four o'clock, precisely on schedule, the dull whump of chopper blades could be heard in the hills to either side. For several minutes the pilots toyed with us, coming ever nearer but staying out of sight. Needless to say the kids spent more time looking around for them than they did concentrating on where we were going, at least until Sarge took one last chance to shout at them all. Eventually the pilots tired of their game, and swept over the brow of a nearby hill, buzzing stupidly low overhead and drenching us all in the spray from the downdraught. They wheeled in to land at an open stretch of land to our right. Sarge, in the other boat, turned and shouted across to me.

"Race you?"

Immediately it was on. There was no need to reply on behalf of my boat, because suddenly all oars were in the water. It was chaos to start with, until I was able to start coxing them, calling out the strokes so that we made some actual forward progress.

Sarge's boat won, but only by fractions. Our lot were disappointed, but by the time we'd hauled the boats out of the river and onto the bank all rivalries were forgotten. The choppers waited at the far end of a wide field, rotors lazily slicing the air, the alpha, beta and charlie signs clear to see on their tail booms. It should've been a simple matter of unloading packs, leaving the boats to our support crew to retrieve, and walking those last few hundred yards to the extraction point, but as always we had one last surprise for the kids.

We had started trooping across the ground in a ragged line. Suddenly, from the tree to our right came the crackle of gunfire, and to our left, carefully stage-managed, a set of squibs went off, sending up puffs of dirt. The kids absolutely bought it, which was helped by Sarge's acting. He piled us over a small rise and into a ditch just beyond, cowering in the dirt. The 'bullets' kept coming.

"What the hell?!" he shouted across at me. "I thought you told me they'd cleared the cartels out of these hills!"

I tried my best to match his skills.

"Obviously not! What do we do?!"

But Sarge didn't answer. He was doing a head count, and was coming up short. 'One down', he mouthed at me, but before I could react, Tim spotted it too.

"I'll go!" he shouted, and before Sarge could stop him he had leaped over the top of the hollow and was sprinting back to where one of the other younger lads, Jeremy, was covering with his hands over his head. Sarge just looked at me with wide eyes and shrugged at me. There was no real danger, but Tim couldn't have known that.

He reached Jeremy in seconds, and then was hauling him to his feet and dragging him to safety, literally throwing him over the edge into the ditch, and diving after.

At the same time the choppers were lifting off, apparently escaping the melee. They banked to the right, over the woods, and a few seconds later there was a huge boom from the forest, followed by a cinematic mushroom cloud. Then they were back, touching down only yards from us, pilots waving. The kids were scrambled to the aircraft and then we were away, rising rapidly into the sky and beating a path low across the tops of the hills towards the coast.

They looked shattered and scared, but jubilant, too. We had escaped.

When we landed, and Sarge revealed the trick, he was absolutely mobbed.

---

I hugged Tim to me, revelling in the feel of his little frame crushed against mine. We lay on the bed, naked and still damp from our showers. This was my hotel room, but Tim would be sharing it for the two nights we would spend together. The hotel was the reward for all the kids' hard work over the last few days - a chance to totally unwind and have a bit of childish fun. My reward was Tim, who could've chosen to share with one of the other kids, but instead had insisted on being with me. I don't know what the hotel staff thought about it, but the scouts didn't seem to think anything was strange, perhaps because we had shared a tent for the last few nights.

It was late afternoon, and we had a couple of hours to ourselves before we were expected to meet up for dinner. Most of the kids had gone off exploring the compound in twos and threes, but Tim wasn't keen to do so. Now, with him pinning me down to the bed, I understood why.

It started with kissing, and gentle grinding. His stiff little tool poked into my stomach, the puckered foreskin sticking to my damp skin. My own hardness poked at his rear as he ground up and down, and I dribbled a steady stream of my excitement into the cleft of his behind. After a few moments, he stopped and lifted himself up, looking down on me.

"That wasn't funny, what you did with the guns, you know," he said, but he was smiling, not angry.

"Yeah, but it gave you a chance to show how brave you were," I replied, and he blushed strongly, shaking his head.

"I just got there first, that's all."

"No, Tim. All your friends were cowering. We've done that so many times, and never before when someone has done what Jeremy did has anyone from the team run back into open fire to get their team-mate. That was beyond brave, mate."

He shrugged. "I told you I'm strong."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you? How strong are you?"

He sat up and flexed his biceps, which to be fair to him weren't bad for his age. I squeezed them appreciatively. "I'm strong enough to let you put it all in, if you want," he said, sliding down and grinding his arse on the head of my dick.

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "And where did you learn to do that?"

He shrugged again. "Nowhere. I saw it on the internet, so I practised."

"Oh," I replied. "I thought maybe you and your uncle..."

He shook his head. "No, we never did anything like that. There's someone at school, but he's my age and his willy is little like mine," he said. I grabbed his little three inch spike and gave it a gentle little wank. My dick jumped at the thought of him and his friend, and Tim felt it.

"Yeah," he went on, a dirty grin on his face. "We're always sneaking off to the bogs and having a wank and a fuck."

I closed my eyes and groaned at the image, my hardness becoming even more solid. Tim giggled and wriggled his hips, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I continued to wank him slowly as he ground on me, smearing lubricant all over.

"So," said Tim, stopping for a moment, "are we going to fuck?"

I grinned up at him. "The massage oil is in the front of my pack."

He scampered off to where my pack leaned against the wall. I watched him as he rummaged about in the front pocket. He looked so small and innocent, his little backside small enough that it made me wonder how he could possibly hope to accommodate all of me. Yet he wanted to try, wanted to prove himself to me; given the determination he had already shown this week, who was I to doubt that he could do it?

He came back with the oil and a grin on his face. He knelt over me, dribbling it onto my hardness, letting it run down and drip into my pubes before using his delicate fingers to smear it all over, rubbing it in until I almost lost control. He was all concentration now, and he shivered slightly, from excitement or fear I couldn't tell. A little of both, perhaps. He moved to kneel above me, and rubbed his little shaft against my adult version a few times, his skin darkening where the oil wetted it. Then, looking down between us, he raised himself up and grabbed hold of my shaft, pointing the head upwards and gently lowering himself down.

I breached him quickly, in one smooth movement which let me know just how excited and ready for it he was. He stopped when I was a little way in, breathing heavily, his erection all but subsiding. He placed his hands upon my chest, and began a gentle rocking motion, forcing a little more of me inside, ever so slowly. I moved my hands to rub his shoulders, comforting and encouraging him, and he flashed me a brief smile before his face once more became a mask of concentration.

He kept on pushing himself lower and lower, wrapping more and more of my inflamed manhood in the hot, satiny embrace of his body, until only a couple of fingers' worth remained uncovered. But this was his limit, and with tears in his eyes he admitted he could go no further. I pulled him down into a hug, slipping a little way free of him, easing his discomfort. He lay there atop me, hot tears leaking from his eyes to fall silently onto my chest. I said nothing, just gently stroked his back until his sobs subsided.

At last he looked up at me.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes still damp. "I really wanted to do it all the way. I wanted to be grown-up enough for you."

"Shh, Lion Cub. No need for 'sorry'. You're amazing. I didn't think you'd be able to get even that much in you. It doesn't have to go all the way in to feel nice, you know."

He just looked at me, face expressionless, and rolled his hips a little. I gasped at the pleasure that brought, and Tim grinned at me. He wriggled again, and this time my head fell back in ecstasy. He was so tight and so hot that even the slightest movement blew my mind, and with little wriggles of his hips he slowly began to drive me mad.

It wasn't enough, though, not enough for me to reach my peak. I needed more, needed to be in control. He giggled when I growled and pushed him off me, rolling him onto his back. He lifted his backside to me, showing his gaping hole, and I leaned myself over him on all fours, bending down to slowly slide myself back into him. He sighed at the intrusion, eyes closing, fingers gripping the sheets until his knuckles were white.

I started a steady rhythm, pushing his hips up as I thrust repeatedly into him, watching with obscene pleasure as my man-sized erection penetrated his boy-sized arse. Each thrust was deeper than the last, until I went further than ever before and his eyes flew open in shock. He grinned though, and with wonder I watched as his little dick twitched into life and grew to full mast in a matter of seconds. I thrust again, and it throbbed, and Tim gasped. Now it was my turn to be in control of the pleasure, and with a steady rhythm of hard thrusts I pushed him closer and closer to his peak.

Not close enough before I couldn't hold back, though. With one big thrust I filled him to bursting with my cum, panting as it surged out of me and into him with thunderous force.  He smiled up at me when I had finished, an impish little grin which said 'look what I did!'. I gave him one last thrust with what was left of my erection, then slid free of him.

He had been so close to orgasm, and I could just leave him hanging, so with a finger up his arse playing with the tight knot of his prostate I hoovered his little cocklet into my mouth and gave him the very best suck my exhausted lungs would allow. He began to whimper slightly, and held his breath, only to allow it to explode from his lungs every so often. With a finally fluffy of face fucking from his hips he came, his spike kicking and bucking in my mouth like it had a life of its own.

I looked across at the clock and swore. We had ten minutes to get dressed before we were meant to be at dinner. I hustled the now-sleepy boy out of bed and into the shower to wash away the evidence of our lovemaking, not least the sweat I had dripped onto him, and prayed that when people saw how gingerly he walked they'd put it down to his ankle injury. He smiled dreamily as I washed his little body.

Day 7 - Waterpark

The next day the kids had a chance to be just that - kids. We were going to spend the day at a nearby water park, and for once Tim's mind wasn't focussed solely on having sex as soon as we woke up. I still washed him tenderly in the shower, gently caressing his bruised hole, feeling massive guilt at the sight of it. Tim, though, felt no such remorse, waggling his arse at me and making me promise to play with him in the evening.

As it turned out, I wouldn't have to wait that long. Mid morning in the water park and I was doing my rounds, checking on the kids. I came across Tim with a group of friends, messing around with one of the smaller slides which they had pretty much to themselves. While I was chatting to them I made an effort not to be too friendly with Tim, as I was sure people were already talking about us, and I didn't want to fan the flames. But as I walked away, I overheard Tim saying, possibly louder than he ought to have, that he was going to take a leak.

I took a chance on that being a message to me. I made it appear that I was walking in the other direction than the toilet block, but as soon as I was out of sight doubled back and made for what I assumed was a rendezvous. When I got there, though, there was no sign of Tim, unless he was behind the closed door of a cubicle. There was one at the far end which was locked, and I almost walked up to it and knocked. Just before I raised my hand to the door, I stopped short, because from behind it came the unmistakable sound of sex.

Acting on a hunch, I stepped silently into the next cubicle along, and to my surprise found a little spy hole. What was beyond took my breath away. As soon as I focussed through the hole, I could see a pair of lips I recognised bobbing back and forth on a dick which I really didn't. Whoever the kid was he was clearly a little older than Tim, his dick fat, probably four inches longer or more, and with a scattering of hairs across his pubis, and a smaller collection of curlies on his taut scrotum. God, I wanted to suck that dick.

I was rather jealous of Tim, not because I expected fidelity from him, but rather the ease with which he found sex when he wanted it. Judging by the pale skin this was one of the boys on the expedition, but I couldn't work out who just from their dick. I made a note of the red swimming shorts bunched beneath the boy's balls, just in case I could work it out later.

Whoever he was, he had a hair trigger, because only about thirty seconds after I got in there I could hear his high pitched little gasp, and a moan, and watched as Tim swallowed what must have been a meagre load at best. He sucked hard at the boy's dick one last time before letting it flop out of his mouth.

"Thanks, I'll do you now," came the whisper from the other side, and I saw Tim stand up and move forward to receive his pleasure. I could see little other than Tim's buttocks clenching as he fucked the other boy's mouth, but it was enough to take me over the edge, knowing that I had been buried deep in that backside less than 24 hours before. My cum splattered onto the floor at the same time Tim's hips bucked frantically into his partner's face.

They both left pretty sharply, so I didn't have a chance to ask Tim about what had happened, and who the boy was, but I didn't have to wait too long to find out. When I next checked on Tim's group I recognised Graham, one of the boys who had been in the other boat on the river, and not someone I'd seen Tim talking to before. He was damned cute, too.

At lunchtime I had a chance to catch up with Tim somewhere we could talk without being overheard, and he immediately filled me in.

"I was meant to be meeting you there!" he said, the surprise still evident in his voice. "He wasn't meant to be there, but he followed me in and he was trying to get a look while I was pretending to have a piss. So I thought I'd just take the chance, you know? He has a nice dick," he said with a whisper, adding a dirty giggle.

"Yeah, I saw," I said, drawing a confused frown from Tim. "There was a hole in the wall to the next cubicle. I watched the whole thing!" I explained.

Tim blushed bright red, but grinned. "Was I any good?" he asked.

"Oh yes, mate, you were fantastic! Did he suck nicely?"

Tim nodded. "He said he does it with his brother all the time."

All this talk was getting me wound up, and that's probably why I went out on a bit of a limb.

"Do you reckon he might want to join us for a bit of fun later?" I asked, to which Tim replied with a shrug.

"Dunno. Want me to ask?"

"It's up to you, mate. I'm happy to have you all to myself, but he's hot isn't he?"

Tim blushed again. "Yeah, fucking hot. I want him to... you know. Do it to me."

I closed my eyes and let out a little involuntary groan at the thought, and started fervently hoping that Graham was as up for it as Tim clearly was.

---

My answer came that evening, as Tim and I prepared for dinner in our best traditions, with him on his knees in the shower, sucking me off and swallowing my load. I moved to make him cum, but he pushed my hand away.

"I want to wait," he said, smiling.

"What for?"

"For Graham, of course. He's coming tonight!"

Although I'd just spent my load in his mouth, my dick twitched at the thought and rose to half mast. Tim saw it and gave me a dirty little giggle.

---

That evening would be our last together as a group, with the following day marking the return home of the scouts to the UK. As ever with the groups, the last dinner would also be prize-giving time. Peaks made a point with the kids' groups to make sure that each and every child received a prize, and this time was no different. As we sat in the end of the hotel restaurant we had made our own, she called up the kids one by one, giving out little trophies she had hastily had engraved. Some of the kids looked embarrassed, others were thrilled; none looked genuinely unimpressed. Most of the prizes were made specific to the kids, little in-jokes based on the events of the last week. There was plenty of laughing and not a little teasing, but no-one took it the wrong way.

There was, however, one trophy which was awarded each and every year - the trophy for bravest team member. I could see it coming, but Tim had no idea that, as everyone else received their trophies and he was left waiting, it was becoming more and more inevitable that it would be him who was chosen. There could, of course, have been no other choice - from that first moment when he had confidently made his way over a thin line suspended high above a dangerous ravine, through his injuries, to the moment when without a thought for his own safety he had run to the aid of a petrified colleague, no-one else had come as close to defining bravery as my little Lion Cub. If only he knew what we called the award...

Peaks was a tough cookie, but even her voice caught a little as she spoke.

"There's only one trophy left to award. It's the one prize we give every year. Quite often the recipient has done nothing more remarkable than ignore an injury, or pushed the limits of their own confidence. We call it the Lion Award, and it's our award for bravery. The people who get this award usually deserve it more than their comrades, but no-one would really call them brave. This year, though, we have someone who genuinely deserves the title. This year, the Lion Award goes to someone who had demonstrated bravery which has genuinely astonished us all. Even Sarge is impressed!"

That got a good laugh, and broke the tension a little. When Peaks spoke again, her voice was as strong as ever.

"There is only one person deserving of the Lion Award, and I think we all know who it is. This boy has shown us all the depth of courage which can exist in the heart of even the smallest of us. The Lion Award, of course, goes to Tim Heath!"

The roar must have been audible half a mile away. Each of the other boys and girls was cheering and clapping as loudly as they could. I looked round at Tim, seated to my right, and he stared back at me, slack-jawed. I could see in his eyes that he genuinely didn't believe it could be him. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, and with a shock I realised my own vision was beginning to go misty.

"Go on," I said, encouraging him with a warm smile, though my croaking voice couldn't be heard above the clamour.

Tim rose on unsteady feet and made his way to the front, towards where Peaks stood with her face split for ear to ear by the biggest grin you've ever seen. On the way he was thumped heartily on the back by everyone he passed, and by the time he reached Peaks he was stumbling slightly. The cry of 'speech' went up from the group as he accepted his award, but when he tried to speak nothing would come out, which set the group laughing once more. Tim just grinned lop-sidedly at them and walked back to his seat. He spent the rest of the meal in a daze; from time to time he would pick up the trophy and examine it, as if he didn't quite believe it was his name hastily carved into the metal plaque on its base. Each time he would shake his head in disbelief, then ever-so-gently place the trophy back on the table.

We stayed later than normal that night, but by nine the week's exertions were catching up with even the toughest of the kids, and in twos and threes the scouts drifted off to their rooms to catch some sleep before the last day and the overnight flight home which would follow. Tim and I headed back to our room, holding hands in the lift like giddy little school kids in love. Of course, from his perspective that was entirely appropriate. It was only when we had made it back behind the safety of the closed door, and Tim had lewdly suggested we have a quick bit of fun before Graham turned up that I even remembered the older boy was going to pay us a visit.

In the end there was no time to take Tim up on the offer, because before we knew it there came a gentle knocking at the door. Tim rushed past me in excitement and opened the door, ushering Graham in. When he saw me in the room, Graham froze on the spot, eyes wide in shock.

"Oh, don't worry," Tim said with an air of nonchalance, "Zack knows all about it. Is it OK if he joins in?"

Graham stammered, and then said nothing. Clearly, Tim hadn't made all the relevant details clear to him. It was equally obvious that with me in the room nothing was going to happen, and so to Tim's surprise I made my excuses.

"Actually," I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice, "I said I'd meet Sarge to go over the details for tomorrow, so I'll leave you boys to watch your movie, or whatever it is you're doing."

It was a lie, but a convenient one which was unlikely to be scrutinised. Tim looked shocked for a moment, but he was a bright kid and I could see realisation dawning on his face.

"OK, see you in a bit," he said brightly, and I turned and left the room.

I was nearly at the lift when I heard the patter of socked feet running down the corridor behind me. Tim jogged up to me and gave me a quick hug, ignoring our rules about intimate contact beyond the bounds of our room, then stepped back.

"Come back in about twenty minutes, OK?"

I had a vague idea what he was planning, and I spent the next twenty minutes wandering around the hotel complex with my heart hammering in my chest, feeling dizzy and light-headed at the thought of what I would find upon my return.

---

What I found made me nearly double over with the jolt of excitement it sent through me. I had gently made my way through the door of the hotel room, to be met by the sounds of some serious boy on boy sex coming from the bed. As it came into view around the corner, the sheer eroticism of the sight hit me.

Graham lay back on the bed, stretched out with his hands on Tim's hips. Tim was riding him, bouncing up and down in the older boy's lap, Graham's thicker tool clearly travelling all the way inside his young lover. Tim's head was thrown back, eyes closed, and Graham was concentrating on the sight of their union, staring down between their bodies to the point where he fully penetrated the ten year old.

It was Graham who noticed me first, but by the time he had registered my presence it was too late. He was too close to orgasm to give a fuck that I was standing there. All he wanted to do at that point was come, no matter who saw him doing it, or how. Instead he grabbed Tim's hips even harder and hammered up into him. A high pitched whimper escaped his lips on every thrust, and a longer whine, accompanied by an explosive expulsion of breath from his lungs and an immediate cessation of movement from his hips, signalled his climax.

He panted as he came down from his high, exhausted but elated. Tim fell off him to one side, and only then looked across at me standing there. He grinned at me, and then beckoned me over.

"I didn't get off, can you do me too?"

Jesus, how was I ever going to refuse that? I stripped quickly and joined him on the bed, my throbbing member bouncing in front of me, leading the way to Tim's delights. My Lion Cub lay back with his knees drawn up, his slackened opening displayed to me. I looked across at Graham, who was watching in fascination as I approached the boy, my penis, as modest as it was, still much thicker and longer than his own.

Time took me easily up to the fourth inch, and then as I lazily fucked him opened up to allow me almost all the way in. Graham had fucked him well, because Tim was close to his own climax, his first from being fucked. It came a couple of minutes later, hitting him like a steam train, making his hands grasp his member and furiously wank as his hole spasmed around my shaft. He gritted his teeth and hissed through them as the feelings took him, and I kept up the pace, mercilessly bashing into his sensitive, engorged prostate until he begged me to stop.

I was so close that all it took was for me to pull out and pump myself a couple of times and I was splashing his torso with hot ropes of my seed, darkening his skin from his collar bones all the way down to his rapidly deflating boyhood. My ardour was aided by the sight of Graham, re-inflated cock in one hand, furiously wanking as he watched. Even though he had just cum inside Tim, he reached his peak soon after, a tiny little jet of semen flying out to join my own flood on Tim's body.

I sat back on my heels and panted a little myself. In the close evening air I was already sweating from exertion, and I could see the boys' bodies glistening with a sheen of sweat, not to mention semen in Tim's case. When I suggested a shower they jumped at the chance, and I spent a happy twenty minutes cooling us all off and lovingly washing the boys, getting my first feel of Graham's gorgeous-looking tool. As Tim had promised, he had loosened up completely.

So it was that I spent a happy few hours, until the small hours of the morning, exploring the ways in which we could combine. Graham was a definite top, and wanted no part of being fucked, but I watched as he fucked Tim again, and then he came in my mouth as I sucked him to a finish. Tim was eager to fuck me, and did so with such enthusiasm I thought he was going to pass out from the exertion. His tiny little rod felt no bigger than a finger in me, and for the first time ever I began to see the attraction of being on the receiving end.

As we finally fell asleep that night, having bid an exhausted Graham good night, I felt truly contented to have the boy in my arms.

Day 8 - Endings... and Beginnings

And so it came to an end. I had thought about adding as much detail of our last day as I had of the prior seven, and God knows you've read the most intimate details of our time together, but there's something rather special about that day which makes me hold back a little. So, while I could tell you how we parted, I won't.

What I can say, though, as I sit here writing this at thirty thousand feet, is that I got out of the adventure games business three weeks later, selling my share to an old army friend of Sarge, and the very next day buying the ticket which granted me passage on this flight to London Heathrow. This flight home, to England, to my old life, to a job working on extreme sports holidays in the Lake District. To a home three hours' drive from Tim's. Far enough away, but close, close enough. I'll be seeing him tomorrow, and he's promised his parents will be out...

The End

Copyright © Zack McNaught - Leave feedback