Author: Ellagon
Title: Summer Camp - The Journey
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: James Smith is a man haunted by the past and driven by a 
promise to a dying man.
Keywords: MF
Revision: 1.0
Web Sites: http://www.asstr.org/~scipio/
           http://www.asstr.org/~ellagonthedragon/
FTP Sites: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/
           ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/ellagonthedragon/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you 
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO 
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of Nick Scipio (nick_scipio@yahoo.com). 
This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer 
attached.

Summer Camp characters and universe copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick 
Scipio. Story by Ellagon. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

The Journey
A "Summer Camp" Tale
by Ellagon

-----

July, 1976

I breathed in the fresh air of this place, felt the sun on my 
face, and heard the wind through the trees on either side of the 
sandy road as I walked down it.

_This is a nice place,_ I thought.

I was really hoping I would find what I was searching for. The 
information I had gotten from a friend at the Pentagon said I 
would.

Eight years.

Almost eight years ago I made a promise to a dying man. I had no 
idea how long it was going to take to fulfill that promise.

-----

October, 1968

I was on my way back to my base after confirming the existence of 
an NVA supply depot just over the border in Cambodia. I was a 
week away from home, and alone. I had been doing this sort of 
thing since coming to this accursed land. The Brains in Langley 
had thought up the idea of sending guys like me on "Lurps"--
LRRPs, Long Range Recon Patrols. A good idea if you wanted to be 
able to double-check your intel on enemy positions and movements. 
It usually meant you were ten to fifty klicks _behind_ the enemy, 
and sometimes you were also _alone_.

_Damn, I hate this place._

I heard the jet engines overhead, then the explosion. One of the 
planes was hit. I saw the pilot eject and then I heard the plane 
coming down.

On me.

I ran like the whole North Vietnamese army was on my tail and 
dove into a hollow under a tree. Then I prayed that the falling 
wreck wouldn't decide to park on top of me.

It didn't. But it came in with all the aerodynamics and grace God 
gave the average rock. It was also one of ours; an A-4 Skyhawk, a 
carrier-based attack plane. It exploded on impact, so I 
hightailed it out of there. Through a break in the trees, I 
looked up and located the pilot's chute. Since we were still five 
klicks on the _wrong_ side of the border, I went to see if he was 
still alive.

The people I worked for didn't like us getting involved with the 
"regular" soldiers. I was what was called a "spook" or a "ghost". 
Plausible deniability they called it. Basically it meant that if 
I was ever caught, they could deny I existed.  Nice people, my 
bosses.

However, since I was where I wasn't, and this unlucky pilot had 
dropped in, I knew there would be no rescue sent for him. In 
essence, he wasn't here either, so I couldn't just leave him. The 
NVA base was two hours away through the jungle. Someone would be 
coming, and those people were not known for their manners.

I got to where the pilot came down. He actually made it most of 
the way to the ground. In this jungle, he was lucky he wasn't 
still seventy feet up. I silently crawled to within ten feet of 
him, still hidden in dappled shadow. Then I looked up at a very 
unconscious man.

-----

July, 1976

I walked up to a gate, if you could call it that. There was a 
chain across the road connecting two brick pillars. One of the 
pillars had a sign. I felt it: it stated that this was private 
land and no trespassing was allowed. I took a deep breath. Well, 
most people would simply ask me to leave before they called the 
cops, so I hoped I would be able to find out if she was here. My 
friend told me that the file indicated that this was her last 
place of residence.

It had been a long search.

I prefer to walk wherever I go, unless I have to cross the 
country. Then I fly. I stepped over the chain, reset my backpack, 
and walked on. It was peaceful out here; the only sounds were 
those of nature, no cars, and no people by the thousands, walking 
and talking and living in each others' pockets. I hate cities--
too many people, too much noise, and the air always smells funny.

_Well, my friend,_ I thought, _I hope we're closer to gettin' you 
home._

-----

October, 1968

After a minute or two, I approached him cautiously. If he were 
unconscious, he wouldn't have seen me coming, but it didn't hurt 
to be careful. Here, in this place anyone coming up to you would 
probably be an enemy. His eyes snapped open and his hand came up 
with a gun.

Instinct and training took over, and I automatically blocked his 
hand. He cried out; his arm was broken. I doubt he could have 
shot me anyway. Then I noticed the rest of his body. One leg was 
also broken, and from the sound of his breathing, he wasn't doing 
so well. I knew there was no way I could get him out.

His wild eyes focused, slowly, on me. Realization dawned in his 
pain-dulled eyes.

"Thank God," he said. He wheezed, and then coughed. Blood 
trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I was hoping..." He coughed 
a couple more times. "Promise me..." _cough_ "in my pocket..." _cough 
cough_ "get it to my wife...." He tried to draw a deep breath, but 
all he got was more coughs and a gasp. "Tell her... tell her I love 
her." His breathing faltered, then stopped completely. I stared 
into his dying eyes and nodded. His head slowly sagged forward. 
I'd seen enough death to know he was gone.

_Damn I hate this place._

I felt his pockets and found an envelope. I pulled it out, and 
slowly opened it. Inside, there were a couple of letters, and 
some pictures of a very beautiful woman and two little boys. I 
took a deep breath and reached up to find his dog tags. With a 
small jerk, they joined the pictures. I put the envelope in my 
pack, and with a sigh, I turned. I had to leave him where he was. 
I couldn't bury him. The enemy knew he was here, but they didn't 
know I was.

_Damn I hate this place._

-----

July, 1976

The early afternoon sun was shining down and getting me pretty 
warm. I pushed my sunglasses back up my nose and lifted my hat to 
let some air under and cool my scalp. I'd let my hair grow out a 
bit when I got back stateside, but I insisted on keeping in 
shape, even when the doctors told me not to strain myself. Every 
morning when I get up: fifty one-arm push-ups (each arm) and one 
hundred sit-ups, then I run in place for thirty minutes. No 
strain, just a warm up.

I could hear noises now, coming from up ahead, probably just over 
this next rise. My walking stick was making soft noises on the 
sand as I moved along. I had to nudge my sunglasses up my nose 
again as I crested the hill and began moving down the road into 
what sounded like the main area of the resort.

I could smell water in the air, and thought a cool dip in a lake 
would be nice. Sweat ran down my nose, and my damn glasses 
insisted on sliding down it. There was a largish building off to 
my right, and beyond I could hear children playing. I heard a 
young boy call out to someone that a stranger was here.

_That's odd,_ I thought, _how could they tell I was a stranger?_

As I turned to enter the building, I heard someone walking up to 
me from behind. He was a big man, from the sound his bare feet 
were making.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" His voice sounded strange, like he 
was looking at me funny.

I turned and smiled. "I hope so, I'm looking for the owner of 
this resort," I said.

From his pause, that was clearly not the reply he'd been 
expecting. "Well, this is private property," he said. "I'm gonna 
to have to ask you to wait inside."

"I'm sorry to intrude, my name is James. James Smith." I held out 
my hand, the big man took my hand in a firm grasp and shook it.

"Name's Dwight," he said. "Let's go inside and I'll see if I can 
help you."

"Pleased to meet you," I said, but I could tell by the tone of 
his voice that he was still looking at me funny.

He led me inside; I set my pack on the floor and then sat on a 
couch.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with someone who might help you," 
he said. "I'm sure you can tell the reason why this is a 
_private_ resort, so please stay here."

He left so quickly that I didn't get to ask him what he meant.

I smiled and shrugged. "Thanks," I said quietly

-----

October, 1968

It had been a long week. I was almost back to base, only a couple 
more klicks. I had come across enemy patrols a couple of times, 
but managed to sneak around them and continued on.

But I could still see the eyes of that dead pilot; see the love 
he had for the women and sons he would never see again. Lost in 
those thoughts, I didn't notice the stillness of the jungle, no 
birds chirping, the air itself had stopped. I was snapped out of 
my reverie by a shout off to my left. I heard the sound of the 
machine gun as it fired... felt the impacts of the bullets as they 
tore through my flak jacket... felt myself flying backwards through 
the air... felt myself crash into the jungle as the world seemed to 
explode with intense white light.

As the whole world faded to blackness I thought to myself, _Damn, 
I hate this place._

-----

July, 1976

As I sat there waiting for Dwight to return, I slowly began to 
relax. There was something about this place that just made you 
want to do that; the smell, the sounds, the _feel_ of the place. 
Perhaps I could live near here when I finished this, but I doubt 
_she_ would want me around. I would be a constant reminder of her 
loss. I'd never really thought about what I would do when this 
search was done.

I guess I'll just have to learn some things. I smiled to myself. 
Yes, a person can learn a lot of things given enough time.

I waited.

I heard someone come in, gasp, and leave again. I was beginning 
to wonder just what was going on. I heard a door open behind me. 
Then Dwight and a smaller, lighter person walked up to me.

"Mr. Smith, this is Beth. Beth, this is James Smith. He says he's 
lookin' 'for the owner.'"

"Perhaps I could help you," Beth said. "We don't often get... 
visitors here."

"Ma'am, I assure you, I mean no harm to anyone, especially the 
owner. Though what I have to say may sadden her. However, it's a 
private matter," I said, still confused about what was going on 
around here. Beth's voice had the same strange quality as 
Dwight's had.

"Perhaps my husband should talk to you first. He's in town, but 
will be back soon," she said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Lemonade would be good, ma'am. Thank you. It's warm out today." 
I sighed. I could tell she'd been about ready to send me on my 
way. I was relieved she hadn't; I didn't know where else to go.

"Please, call me Beth," she said, turning. "Let's sit over at one 
of the tables, and I'll get you a glass."

I stood and followed her. When we came to a table, I leaned my 
stick against it and pulled out a chair. Dwight was still nearby, 
and I could tell that he was unsure if he should leave or stay.

I turned back to him. "This sure is a wonderful place," I said. 
"Very relaxing."

"We all come here every year to relax and unwind," he said. He 
still had that strange tone to his voice, like he expected me to 
do or say something. So had Beth. Maybe they just figured I 
needed to be treated special. I often get that.

Beth returned to the table and set a glass of lemonade in front 
of me, the ice clinked as she did. Dwight came over and sat with 
us since Beth had brought him a glass too.

We chatted for a while about my travels and the country I had 
passed through, but I soon heard a car pull up outside. Beth 
excused herself to go speak with her husband. A woman entered the 
building from another door and Dwight got up and went over to 
her. They talked quietly, but didn't approach me.

-----

November, 1968

I awoke in a quiet hospital room. The smell of the place is 
always the first thing you notice. I could feel the bandages 
covering most of my chest, as well as a good portion of my upper 
left leg. I could feel the painkillers washing through my body, 
and I tried to sit up.

That was not one of my better ideas. As soon as I tried to lift 
my torso, angry fire erupted in my stomach and right shoulder.

_Damn, that hurt._

A nurse at the end of the ward noticed and came quickly to my 
side, her shoes clacking on the floor like gunshots. My head 
ached as well. I felt like someone had dropped a building on me.

"So you're awake I see," she said. It sounded like she was 
yelling.

I groaned.

"Shhhh. Don't try to talk yet. Yes, I know you're in a great deal 
of pain; you were shot up pretty bad. I'd give you more of the 
painkiller, but the doctor wanted to see you first. Hang on, I'll 
go get him."

I was desperately trying to get her to shut up so I could ask her 
a question. A very pressing question. Unfortunately, she walked 
away before I could get my mouth open.

I heard her return with the doctor in tow. I tried to turn my 
head but that hurt too.

"Well, back with us at last, Master Sergeant," the doctor said. 
"You've been in a coma for three weeks. We were beginning to 
wonder if you were going to come back or not."

I tried to ask for some water, but what I said sounded more like 
"waaa." Despite the pain, I still needed to ask him my question.

I heard him pour something into a cup and then he held it to my 
lips. "Just a sip or two," he said. "Too much too quick will make 
you sick"

I finally got enough liquid in my mouth, and I managed to ask him 
the question that had been burning in my mind since I awoke.

"Doc, why can't I see?"

-----

July, 1976

I heard the door open off to my left and two people walked toward 
me. I stood.

"I'm David Hughes," a man said.

"Sir, my name is James Smith. Is there a place we can speak? 
Privately?" I asked.

I picked up my pack and he led me to a building thirty or so 
yards away. As we stepped inside, he said, "Paul, would you see 
what Erin is up to? I need to speak to this gentleman alone for a 
few minutes."

"Um... sure, Dad," the teenager said. Then the screen door slammed 
and he was gone.

David led me over to a chair and asked me to sit.

"Mr. Smith?"

"Please, call me James," I said.

"James," he continued, "my wife tells me that you're looking for 
the camp owner."

"Yes, sir. For Susan MacLean."

"Okay," he said. "But first, can I ask you something?"

I heard him wave his arm. People often do that. They think I 
can't hear them when they do. "Yes, sir," I said.

"How long have you been blind?"

I smiled slightly. "A while," I said. "I've gotten so good at 
compensating that a lot of people don't realize it. But that's 
all part of the story on how I came to be here..."

For the next forty-five minutes, I told him my story. I finished 
with the two years in the VA hospital and the five years learning 
to be human again with another veteran. Truth be told, I would 
have started my search earlier, but the military lost my 
belongings, including the envelope.

When I was almost done, I reached into my pack and brought out 
the battered envelope. The envelope was the reason I was here. I 
opened it and withdrew a picture; I could tell by the feel that 
it was the picture of the beautiful woman. As I passed it to 
David, I finished my tale.

"So I came here," I said. "I know it seems hard to believe, but I 
made him a promise. I've pretty much lost everything else, but I 
still have my honor. I _will_ fulfill this promise."

"James," David said, "I'll take you to Susan. Although I don't 
think it'd be a good idea to tell her how..." He couldn't finish.

"No, I hadn't planned on telling her that. Only what he told me. 
And I need to give her this," I said, holding up the envelope.

"It's only across the camp, and you can leave your pack here if 
you'd like," he said, his voice full of compassion. Then he 
continued, "You've come a long way my friend; it's time to end 
that journey."

"Thank you," I said.

As we stood, I heard someone open the room's door. From the 
sound, it was Beth. David went to her. In a few quick, quiet 
sentences, he explained the reason for my journey.

"If you don't mind my asking," David said, "how do you compensate 
so well? I don't think Beth or Dwight realized you were blind."

I smiled. "Touch. And sound. I can hear when people walk, and I 
follow them, as I did when we came up here. Do you mind if I ask 
_you_ a question?"

"Go right ahead," he said.

"When I followed you here, I couldn't hear your clothes swishing. 
At first, I thought you were just wearing a swimsuit. But you 
don't make _any_ noise, and Beth doesn't either. Just your feet 
on the floor."

"That, my friend," he said with a chuckle, "is why you've been 
treated strangely. You're in the middle of a nudist camp."

"You mean....?" I stammered. "I had no idea. But you know, it does 
explain a lot." I grinned stupidly, the thought of all those 
naked ladies running around definitely had its effect on me; I 
felt my dick twitch and begin to awaken.

"So," he continued, "I should ask you to take your clothes off. 
It's up to you, though. But you can't stay long if you don't. 
It's nothing personal, just the rules. Clothed people make 
everyone else feel somewhat... exposed"

"You're serious? This isn't just some trick to pull on the blind 
guy?"

"No," he said, laughing kindly.

The whole idea actually excited me. I really didn't mind taking 
off my clothes--I had nothing to be ashamed about--but I knew how 
my scars sometimes affected people.

"Here," Beth said, "let me show you." She took my hand, and 
raised it to her shoulder. She guided it down her arm and then 
onto her hip. The soft warm skin under my hand was testimony to 
the beauty that she must be. I was also sure beyond a doubt that 
she was nude.

"I don't mean to be rude," I said, turning to David again, "but 
how do you keep from having a hard-on all the time with women as 
beautiful as your wife running around naked?" I was very hard by 
then, and somewhat embarrassed. I wouldn't normally touch another 
man's wife. However, she was nude, and I _had_ touched her. It 
was very arousing. I felt it was also rude, because I'm sure they 
could tell--my shorts felt about two sizes too small.

"To tell you the truth," he said with a chuckle, "sometimes I 
can't."

Beth slapped him lightly. "Don't tease him," she said. "Tell him 
the truth." Then she turned to me. "The men simply get used to 
it, James," she said

"She's right," David said. "We _are_ used to it, but for a new 
person it can be a little rough. This lifestyle takes some 
getting used to. However," he said, then paused. "Um... if you want 
some privacy, to change, we can go wait in the clubhouse. You 
can... um... take as long as you want."

I caught his meaning.

"Then we can go to Susan's," he continued. "It's not far."

"That's not a bad idea," I said, "but I don't think it'll be 
needed." I closed my eyes and concentrated. One of the things I 
learned a long time ago was how to control certain things. I felt 
the pressure in my crotch begin to ease. Then I opened my shirt 
to expose the scars on my chest. "I don't want to frighten 
people, though. Will these bother anyone?"

I heard Beth gasp softly.

"No one will stare at you," David said, "but I think people might 
be curious. But like I said, they'll get used to it."

"Well I'm used to being stared at, so I think I'll survive. To 
tell you the truth, I only feel truly at ease when I am naked. 
I'm usually alone when I am, though." I chuckled and then removed 
the rest of my clothes.

Then I picked up the envelope, grasped my walking stick, and 
followed them to a house a short distance away. I heard a knock, 
and a moment later, the door opened.

"David, Beth," a woman said. Then her tone changed. She must have 
seen the looks on their faces. "What's wrong? Is Paul okay?"

"Paul's just fine, the reason we are here is.... well... him," Beth 
said. I heard her shift and point to me. "James Smith, meet Susan 
MacLean."

As we entered the house, I left my stick leaning against the 
outside wall, next to the door--I didn't want to break anything. 
In my nervousness I'm sure I would have. I nervously clutched the 
envelope in my right hand.

I began to notice the odors of the house, all pleasant. I knew we 
were in a kitchen, because I could smell a roast in the oven, and 
the light smell of fresh bread. I could also smell another odor, 
a light, clean female odor. I immediately forced my thoughts to 
the task at hand.

Before I moved much further, however, I stopped. I felt a soft, 
feminine arm loop through my own arm, as if I were supposed to 
lead her into the house!

"I think we should all sit down in the living room," Beth said. 
Then I heard her turn to Susan. "James has something for you," 
she continued.

We sat down and then David spoke.

"James has been searching for you for a long time, Susan," he 
said.

I'm sure he did it to let me know who was where.

I took a deep breath as the silence drew out. "Mrs. MacLean, 
Susan, a long time ago I was in the jungle in... North Vietnam." 
Then I told her an edited version of my story, of her _husband's_ 
story.

I couldn't tell her that I had to leave him there.

I couldn't tell her that his eyes had haunted me for years.

"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come to you," I continued. 
"But the simple truth is that I just wasn't allowed out. I never 
forgot my promise, though. I knew how much he loved you. I came 
as soon as I could." When I finished, I handed her the envelope. 
I felt empty. I felt relieved, too, but mostly, I felt..._empty_.

I heard her crying softly. As she stood, I stood too. I felt her 
soft arms go around my neck, her warm breasts pressing into my 
chest. I blushed. When I felt my arousal stirring, I was ashamed. 
In spite of that, I put my arms around her as she laid her head 
on my shoulder and cried.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "Thank you for bringing this 
to me." She kissed my cheek, and I let her pull away.

_You're safely home my friend,_ I thought. _Farewell._

Perhaps I might be a bit crazy to say goodbye to his memory, but 
I'd been searching for so long. He was an old friend, though I 
never really knew him. The memory of his eyes had driven me, the 
love I'd seen there. I had to do this.

I felt a warmth in my heart. I wish I would have known such love. 
In my mind, I thought I saw a slight smile on his face, but that 
image was already starting to fade. Tears ran down my face.

I found the door. With a sigh, I opened it and then stepped 
outside. I retrieved my walking stick from its place by the door, 
took two or three more stumbling steps, then stopped. I had no 
idea how to leave; all memory of the walk here was gone. I was 
alone, I was empty inside, and I was lost.

I heard the door close behind me. Then I realized that David had 
followed me out.

"Are you okay, James?" he asked.

I let the tears run freely down my face. I hadn't cried in years, 
since before the war, and all the horror. I nodded slowly to him.

"Tell me, David," I asked, "what does a tired old soldier do when 
his final duty is done?" I honestly had no idea what to do. I 
never really thought about it. I couldn't stay here; I would be a 
constant reminder to that beautiful woman of her loss. I felt 
attached to her in a way. During the endless hours of walking 
alone, I had wondered about her. In the picture, I had seen her 
smile. I wondered what she looked like mad, or frustrated. I'm 
ashamed to say that I even wondered about what that angelic face 
looked like when she was lost in passion as an orgasm swept her 
away. I wondered what her touch felt like, her kiss, her gift of 
love. I resolutely pushed those thoughts away as David spoke 
softly.

"We return to the people who need us," he said, "to the people 
who gave us a reason to go on."

I nodded to him, suddenly feeling very tired. "If it's not too 
much to ask, is there a place for me to sleep tonight? I won't 
make it back to town before dark, and I'd like to be available, 
in case she... I'll leave tomorrow." When I heard him hesitate for 
a moment, I quickly added, "I can pay for a night's rent if 
there's a room, preferably one with a shower."

Though he didn't actually chuckle, I could hear the smile warm 
his voice. He'd seen that I misunderstood his hesitation.

"I think we can find a place for you," he said. "You're welcome 
to stay as long as you like."

-----

Summer Camp characters and universe copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick 
Scipio. Story by Ellagon. All rights reserved.