The Brotherhood

Part II

It was the summer before seventh grade and I had never been away to overnight camp, never thought I would want to. Camp meant sports, and my feeling of inadequacy in sports made the prospect of camp seem like a nightmare. But Jon really wanted me to come with him to his camp. I had no doubt Jon thrived there, being the gifted athlete he was. For me it was a whole different story. But Jon persisted and eventually I relented. We never spoke about the reason for my resistance, but I was pretty sure Jon knew what it was about, and that being the case, I realized that I trusted him not to make me feel compromised or diminished. Such was the intimacy that had developed between us. "You’ll love this camp, dude," he’d say to me, and if he seemed so sure of it, then maybe I really would.

And I really did. My trust in Jon was completely vindicated. It was an all-boys camp, and though there was a heavy emphasis on sports, there was also an emphasis on variety and choice, and each boy was encouraged to spend his time doing whatever he most enjoyed and excelled at doing. So while there was a lot of basketball and baseball and soccer going on, there was also swimming and water skiing – solo sports, which suited me better. Being a strong swimmer I discovered I was also good at water polo, even if it is technically a team sport. I learned to play tennis, a sport that requires coordination (my weakness), but that is played one-on-one (more my style of competition) rather than in teams. I wasn’t great at it, but I didn’t totally suck either, and in any case I really enjoyed it. 

And there was wrestling.

The counselors were fantastic. Great, good-looking, athletic guys who also happened to be really decent and very committed to helping younger boys develop a sense of confidence and competence in themselves as growing males. I didn’t make the connection at the time, but I realize now that it was from these role models that Jon learned to become the kind of guy he was, a guy who could reach out to me as a buddy and help me feel good about myself as a fellow male.

About a week into camp, just as I was starting to relax and enjoy myself, I discovered the real reason why Jon was so eager for me to come with him. Late one night I was roused out of a sound sleep. When I started to protest, someone pressed a hand over my mouth. I bolted upright in bed, alarmed, only to find it was Tom, my counselor, sitting on the side of my cot with a finger to his lips in the universal "hush" sign. "Come with me," he whispered. Behind him stood Jon, smiling at me reassuringly. They were both dressed in t-shirts and shorts, and Tom told me to get dressed too. I slipped on my shorts and pulled on a t-shirt, and stepped into my sandals. Jon watched me while I dressed, then motioned for me to follow him and Tom. We slipped silently out of the cabin and into the woods behind them, the beam of Tom’s flashlight lighting our way.

Our destination, it turned out, was the "old camp", the original site of our camp before it relocated to the new and improved site we currently occupied. Several of the cabins of the old camp still stood, the windows all boarded up and the doors padlocked. We followed Tom to the farthest cabin and circled around to the back door, which was unlocked and ajar. We went inside. A single flashlight beamed up to and reflected off of the ceiling, lighting the interior dimly, but enough for me to make out the forms of four other campers my age, and Steve, one of the other counselors. The entire floor was covered with mattresses.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood," Steve said. "We’ve invited you in on Jon’s recommendation. Nobody else knows about us. Not the camp director. Nobody. Can you keep a secret?’

I swallowed nervously and nodded.

"I’m serious," Steve continued. "You can’t mention this to anyone. And you can’t talk about it with Jon or any of us outside of here. If word gets out, it’s over. We’ll have to disband. And that would really suck. You don’t want to be the reason we have to disband, right?"

I nodded again.

"Okay then. Let’s get started."

There was no further explanation, but it soon became clear how things worked. Tom and Steve were in charge and imposed a strict decorum, matching us up two at a time, while the others circled around and watched in silence. Basically we wrestled. There was, however, one essential innovation: 

Each pair of competitors wrestled in the nude.

It didn’t start that way, though. The match progressed in four rounds, with all but the final round each lasting a minute. Round One began with both wrestlers barefoot, but fully clothed. The second round was fought shirtless. Then the shorts came off for Round Three and the two wrestlers fought in their underwear. And in Round Four, the wrestlers went at it in the nude, fighting without time limit until one pinned the other, or until both collapsed in an exhausted draw.

There was one other innovation that totally – I mean totally – blew my mind. Before the final round, each of the wrestlers approached one of the counselors, who poured a small amount of baby oil into the right hand of each. Then they returned to the center of the circle to face each other and, standing close, each rested his left hand on the right shoulder of the other, and with their right hands proceeded to massage baby oil all over the cock and balls of the other boy. They did this slowly, deliberately, ritualistically, alternating their glances, first looking into each other’s eyes, then downward at their lubricated cocks and balls, and back up again. After many long seconds a towel was thrown in between them and the two boys wiped their hands clean before starting to wrestle.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, and couldn’t get enough of watching these other boys wrestle. The slow build-up from the first round to the fourth, with each successive disrobing, was exquisite. By the time the wrestlers stripped off their shorts you could see their erect dicks bulging inside their briefs. And then the briefs would come off – I had never seen another boy’s erection before – and I thought I would explode. Then came the lubricating ritual, the nude grappling, the two hard and greased cocks pressing together, slipping and sliding against each other, again and again… without thinking I reached down and began to rub my own massively stiff dick. But I quickly registered that none of the other boys watching was doing so. I could see in their faces that they were as inflamed by the sight as I was, but their arms hung stiffly at their sides. Some were clenching fists. I looked up and saw Tom watching me, and quickly dropped my hand from my crotch, and he nodded slowly at me and smiled. Self control on the sidelines was clearly a requirement of the ritual.

My turn came last, and I was thrilled to find myself paired with Jon. By now we were longtime wrestling buddies, but this was taking it to a whole new level. I found that wrestling for an audience was incredibly exciting. I had never been an exhibitionist -- in fact I tended to be a little shy about my body being seen by others. But I had just watched the other boys get naked and wrestle, and I realized now that doing the same for them would turn them on as much as I had been turned on watching them. It gave me an extraordinary sense of virility and power knowing that I could ignite the erotic passions of male peers. Second, the gradual escalation of erotic intensity as the rounds progressed and we shed more clothes, and the anticipation of where it was leading, was exquisite. And finally, there was the thing I have not yet mentioned (because frankly I'm a little embarrassed), which is... I've got a really big dick. It's not all that noticeable in a non-aroused state, which was its usual condition in locker-room and communal-shower conditions. But I had just seen the other boys' erect cocks, and I realized now that I was unusually well hung. I didn't know what reaction to expect, and it made me nervous. Would it seem freakish to the others? Would I be ridiculed? Or maybe I would be admired. I still wasn't very used to feeling myself an object of admiration by other boys, so it was a little hard to believe. But it wasn't the jealous sort of admiration I desired. I really just wanted to be affirmed and embraced as a boy. To be loved for my masculinity. The way Jon loved me.

As it happened, I needn't have worried. By the end of Round Three, our raging hard-ons strained against the fabric of our briefs. I watched as Jon slowly slid off his underwear, his beautiful hard dick springing loose, and I followed suit. There was an audible intake of breath from some of the boys as my own stiff cock was unveiled, and I felt my face flush red. But my eyes were on Jon and his reaction, and -- God bless him -- he was visibly thrilled. I cannot express the intensity of my love for him in that instant, a love I felt quite literally flooding my heart.

It is not an exaggeration to say that the moment when I took Jon's warm, hard dick in my hand -- and he took mine in his -- was a life-changing moment for me. It was as if I was holding the very essence of his life-vitality right there in my hand -- so warm, so pulsingly alive, so incredibly responsive to my touch. And the feel of his oiled hand on my cock -- holding it, massaging it, slowly jacking it back and forth, his middle finger extended to caress my taut scrotum -- it was as if I was transported to an entirely new plane of existence. I don’t even recall the outcome of the wrestling match that followed. All I remember is an overall sense of rapture, of bliss, of merging, his cock indistinguishable from my own, our two hearts as one.