Son of a Preacher Man
(Boy/boy, friendship)
by Luz Rojo
author@luzrojo.com

As a child I was unreachable. Unbearably shy I stayed quietly to myself. Books were my only friends and I was very much alone in the world. I do not to this day know who my actual father was. I was named Thomas after my great-grandfather on my Mother's side. My mother was a single woman and her life was a mess of boyfriends coming and going. Although I know she loved me she was not really fit to raise a child. This was never more true then during the period she found religion and we joined a church.

Without asking how I felt she registered me for the church's summer camp. She said it was to help bring me out of my shell, but I think she was far more concerned with getting me out of the house so she could spend more time with "Jack," her current lover. He'd made it clear he was not interested in playing daddy to someone else's kid.

I was twelve at the time and just entering puberty. The first peach fuzz had only barely begun to appear above my uncut organ. I knew it felt good to touch it sometimes but I still hadn't discovered actual masturbation. Since there was no male in the world I could talk to about these things I had a poor understanding of the changes that were happening. I read books, of course, but the ones in the school library were deliberately vague in wording and limited in depth.

Facing two weeks of church bible camp was the most traumatic experience of my young life. I was too much of an introvert to have any real friends and, being new, didn't even have a passing acquaintance with most of the children. It was frightening and I don't know how I would have gotten through it at all if it hadn't been for Scott.

I met Scott when I showed up at my assigned cabin. Each cabin held about twelve boy campers and one counselor. Usually the counselor was an adult but sometimes they were older boys. Scott was 16, the preacher's son and our counselor.

I liked him from the moment I met him. Even though he was only 16 himself, he had been attending these church camps for years. He was very mature for his age, probably the result of being the eldest child in a family of six. He was a responsible young man and quite serious (in a good way) about his assignment. He had shoulder length blond hair, blue eyes and the most wonderful smile I had ever seen. I vividly remember walking into the cabin that day, a frightened, friendless boy, and being greeted by this strapping youth with his sincere and inviting gaze.

He introduced himself, shook my hand and found my name on his roster. Once I was checked in he showed me to my bunk, which as luck would have it was near his. He knew I was fresh at the church and I think he also knew I didn't have any friends yet. He treated me no different than the rest of the boys but something about him made me feel special. Just taking an interest in who I was made me believe he cared and I immediately felt a strong attraction to him.

During the first day I doubt I said ten words. I spoke only when spoken too and answered with nothing more than a yes or no when I could. I didn't want to be there, I didn't know how to make friends and shyness made me want only to be alone.

That night they held a sing-along next to the bond fire before lights out. As we marched back to our cabins in the darkness there was a narrow path above a nearly dried up creek. Without warning I was pushed off the trail, the victim of some other kid's sick sense of humor. All the kids started to laugh as I slide down the muddy side of the hill and landed in the ooze at the bottom.

I was covered in filth. I tried to climb out but the hill was too slick. Just as a sense of total worthlessness began to overwhelm me I heard Scott's voice cutting above the others.

"What are you laughing at? You think this is funny?" The other kids grew silent as Scott tore into them. "What if that had been you? Would you like to be laughed at?" His words were strong and delivered with power, he sounded just like his father doing one of his Sunday morning sermons.

Scott had one of the boys grab a rope from the supply shed and sent the rest back to our cabin with one of the counselors. With the help of an adult he tied the rope around a tree and threw an end down to me.

"Grab hold and pull yourself up." He tried to encourage me, but I just couldn't do it. My hands were slick with mud and I was too much of a weakling to pull my own weight.

Eventually Scott had to come down himself to get me.

The adult councilor held the line steady as Scott lowered himself. He choose his steps carefully, but halfway down he slipped, tumbling face first into the mud, just like I had. He landed in the ooze beside me and when he looked up his face was like a dirty-blond minstrel, Al Jolson doing "The Jazz Singer" in mud-face.

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

"What are you laughing at!" he snapped. My heart almost stopped as I realized what I'd done. I felt horrid, certain he was furious with me. Then a slow grin spread along his face as he realized something.

"That's the first time I've seen you laugh, kid." He said with a sincere voice. "You've got a nice smile."

The moment he said that, of course, I stopped smiling. I couldn't believe he was being nice to me. His hand reached out and touched my face, then he moved his fingers around my ear and down the back of my neck, grasping me firmly in a brotherly fashion.

"Let's get out of this mess."

Without another word he put his arm around my waist and began helping me up the hill. As he did I felt a sensation I had never experienced before. I thought at first it was from climbing the rope, that funny feeling between your legs as your balls pull up tight. That cool, tingling sensation in your crotch that makes you feel as if your whole body needed something.

When we reached the top he thanked the other councilor, said a few words, then placed his arms across my shoulders and began walking me back toward the cabin. I know he spoke to me and I think I answered him, but I recall very little of what was actually said. All that kept running through my mind was "he's touching me. He has his arm on my shoulders and it feels wonderful. He's actually, physically, TOUCHING me!"

No one ever touched me. For mom a peck on the cheek was a good-night kiss and that was that. There was no one else, no one who ever made physical contact with me. But now this virile Adonis, this blond superboy, had his arm around me, holding me close as if I were someone special, and it was intoxicating. My twelve-year old mind began to swim.

As we walked, he asked something about if I had any shampoo and soap in my bags and I said no and he said I could borrow his when we got to the showers and I muttered a weak okay and... then it hit me. I was going to have to take a shower! (Of course I was, I was covered head to toe in mud! My hair was already getting crusty as it began to harden.) But until that moment I hadn't thought about what this really meant.

It meant I was going to have to actually, you know, take my clothes off, possibly in front of another person. Probably in front of... Him! Then I was going to have to stand naked in an open, public shower area where I could be seen. I'd never done that. I was twelve years old and I'd never actually been fully naked in front of anyone.

This was more than the usual pre-adolescent fear of public showering. I was an uncut boy at a time when circumcision was the norm. Very early in my school days I'd been teased by other boys in school who had seen my "ant eater" (as they called it) when we peed at the urinals in the boys' room. It had been humiliating and ever since that time I had gone to great lengths to keep my little pee-pee covered from others. But now, I was about to stand naked in an open shower! I wasn't ready for that and I didn't know what I was going to do.

As we approached the cabin we could hear talking but our entry was met with an abrupt silence. It was dark, everyone was in their bunks, but no one was asleep. Scott knew that and didn't care for their pretending. He turned on the light, startling everyone. Unashamed, perhaps even proud of his mud soaked appearance, he walked to the center of the cabin so everyone could see him and began to berate them all for their behavior.

He said how disappointed he was in them, reminded them of the Bible verses they had been studying just that afternoon, of the lessons of kindness and good will to others. He spoke of what Christian behavior should be and ended by saying everyone (except me) would spend some extra time tomorrow studying a few bible verses back here in the cabin.

He was great, and it worked. Over the next few days every one of them came up and apologized to me -- not because they'd been told to, but because Scott had truly made them feel sorry for what they had done. He turned my humiliation into a parable on Christian behavior. I've had some bad experiences with religious people since then and I must say that I no longer trust many so called "Christians" that I meet, but this boy was no hypocrite. He believed what he said, he lived by it and I have never known him to practice anything less in his own life.

When he was done he placed one of the older boys in charge, making him responsible for everyone's behavior until our return. He grabbed his bag, got a change of clothes for me out of mine, put out the lights and walked me to the camp showers.

The Showers!

Each step brought me closer to the inevitable. I looked uncomfortably over at Scott. (My God, he was a handsome boy!) So far as I could tell he was in no way nervous. 'Course not,' I thought, 'he's done this every summer of his life for God knows how long.'

But I was nervous, to the point of getting sick. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins in nervous anticipation of being naked with this boy. My knees began to shake and my body to shiver. I felt cold as we walked, although it wasn't really that cold.

The camp had only one cabin that housed showers. Inside was a large open area not unlike what I'd later find in locker rooms and school gyms. There were no private stalls. Whoever showered there would be visible to all.

I was terrified. We were the only two there since everyone else had long ago showered and turned in for the night. We were alone and it was becoming increasingly obvious that we were about to expose ourselves in front of each other.

I watched as Scott very casually began to remove his clothing. First off came that mud soaked shirt revealing a beautiful, well muscled chest. I remember thinking he must work out a lot. His pecs were firm and smooth. There was no hair at all on his chest and only the barest hint of blond fuzz perked up above his belt. His stomach was smooth, flat and firm. His ribs were girded by muscles that looked like tight steel bands.

He sat down on the bench and peeled off his shoes, then his socks, then his hands reached up for his pants and.... He looked over at me.

I was staring. Oh jeez, I was staring at him! My face flushed red with embarrassment. I looked away and started to unbutton my shirt, or at least, I tried to. My fingers fumbled awkwardly with the mud caked buttons as I kept my eyes firmly down toward the floor. I didn't want to look up, didn't want him to think I was looking at him, but I couldn't keep my mind on what I was doing, couldn't control my fingers and I couldn't get those damn buttons open. I kept trying, but I was nervous and they were coated and...

Suddenly I felt a calm, firm hand on top of my own.

"Let me help."

Scott turned me toward him, gently moved my hands aside and began to undo the buttons on my shirt with calm, capable fingers. I looked up at him. His face was inches from my own. He peeled off my shirt and as he did, he looked up, his deep blue eyes meeting mine.

"It's alright," he said, "don't be nervous. I've got three little brothers and I've been giving them baths all my life." His words were calming. Something in the way he said it made me feel like I didn't need to be nervous. His eyes looked into mine and...

I had to look down, I couldn't keep my eyes locked in that gaze. His eyes so close, staring so deeply into mine, made me feel like he could read my thoughts. I'd have rather died right then and there then have him know what I was thinking.

Looking down I noticed he had continued to undressed after I had looked away. He was wearing nothing except his mud stained underwear now. I couldn't help noticing there was a definite bulge. Not the kind that comes with an erection, just the normal bulge of a man's healthy, unaroused organ -- but I'd never seen that before. In a moment, I realized, those muddy underpants would come off and I'd get to see what was underneath. That thought suddenly caused a new problem.

"Sit down," he said. "You're shivering."

He was right. I was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. I sat on the bench and he began taking off my shoes. I know he removed them quickly, without ceremony, in the innocent, matter of fact way a boy goes about undressing his brother at bath time. I'm sure there was nothing sexual in it, nothing erotic in his intent, but in my memory the scene always plays slowly. I watch him untie each lace, grasp my leg firmly in one hand and slowly slip off the shoe with the other. Then his fingers touch my flesh, slipping inside the top of my sock, stroking against me as the cloth is peeled away. Slow, sensual foreplay...

But it's only in my mind.

In the real world, he didn't give a damn about seeing me naked. He had three little brothers and was a long time camper. He'd seen so many boys nude that it meant nothing to him. But something had happened to me when I looked down at his bulge and thought about seeing HIM naked. My little boyhood had suddenly sprung to life and began to swell until my penis was stiff enough to pound nails. 'Bet he's never seen a boy get hard in the showers before,' was all I could think. 'He's gonna think I'm queer or something.'

My shirt, shoes and socks were placed in a neat pile on the bench, then...

"Stand up," he said.

With only the slightest hesitation, I did as I was told. He began working on my pants. He undid my belt, then the snap on my jeans. As he slid down the zipper I felt the pressure of his hand move across my firm little dick. 'He must have felt that,' I thought to myself. Finally, he took down my pants. I had to put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I stepped out of my soiled jeans. The skin of his bare shoulder felt lustrous to the touch, warm and soft, which did nothing to help my problem.

It was just my damp underwear now and there was no hiding the teepee in my BVDs. My little crotch was right in his face and there was no way he could miss it. Next he would slide them off and my life would be over. I closed my eyes and began reciting the multiplication tables in my head. (Look, I know it sounds stupid, but even to this day I can almost always make an unwanted erection go away by blocking out all thoughts of everything else and reciting the multiplication tables in my head -- and that's what I started doing.)

"Come on," he said suddenly, "let's get the hot water going."

I opened my eyes. He was half way to the showers and his underwear was still on. So was mine. What was this? We were gonna shower with our undies on? A huge wave of relief swept over my body and my unwanted hard-on rapidly began to fade.

By the time I got to the shower the steam was rising.

"Here," he said indicating the one he'd warmed up, "You're cold. Get under this and get warmed up." I did and he stepped under the shower next to me. The water felt good. I hadn't realized how chilled I felt until the warm water began flowing over me. But I still couldn't get over my luck. I thought for sure he'd been about to reveal my erection and then...

"Yeeee-haaawww... Feels great doesn't it?" he shouted, looking over at me. He smiled that beautiful smile of his, and then casually turned away.

That's when I realized I hadn't been lucky at all. He had noticed my tiny monument, swollen and protruding, right through my underwear. He had seen the state I was in but had chosen not to embarrass me. He let me keep my underwear, and he kept his, just to avoid putting me on the spot. It had been an act of courtesy, its only intent to spare me from that embarrassing moment.

He continued to shower with his underwear on for a few minutes, then casually turned away. I watched as he nonchalantly slipped his underwear off and rinsed them out. He didn't look over at me, didn't say "Your turn." He just went about his business and set an example that I was free to follow... or not... depending on what I felt comfortable doing.

By now I was warm and relaxed. I trusted this older boy more than anyone I had ever known. If he was willing to expose himself in front of me, to share that level of intimacy and trust with me, (even after seeing I'd gotten hard watching him undress) then I had no reason not to do the same. (Besides, my wet, skin-tight, near see-through underwear wasn't hiding anything.)

I put my hand inside my waistband and slid down my wet underpants. I'm sure he noticed, but he didn't react at all, didn't turn, didn't say a thing. After a few moments he poured some shampoo into his hand. When he did he briefly glanced my way, smiled as if to politely acknowledge what I had done, then began to work a lather through his hair.

'Wow,' I thought. Here I am in a shower, alone, naked with another boy. Heck, almost a man. (There was that funny feeling in my balls again -- like climbing the rope.) Two naked boys, alone, together. I wasn't afraid anymore, I was excited.

He began moving the lather through his long blond locks. His eyes were closed and he was turned in a way that had him fully open to me, his crotch clearly exposed. I had to look, had to see with more than just my peripheral vision what this boy had. I let my eyes drift down to below his waist and took a good, long look at my first "mature" penis.

It was a beautiful sight to behold. His skin was smooth as milk, his penis long and supple. A shock of blond hair graced the firm abdomen just above his shaft. The tip of his dick head protruded from a soft foreskin.

Foreskin? Hey, was he uncut too? I couldn't be sure, his manly cock looked so different than my "ant-eater." It was the first post-pubescent weenie I'd ever seen and I had nothing to compare it with.

Seeing him in that shower for the first time is still the most beautiful image in all my memory. Even then he reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Michelangelo's David; poised, beautiful, the picture of perfect youth, only more realistically endowed.

I compared his organ to my own. There was no comparison. I felt my first wave of penis envy. 'No wonder he's not ashamed to get undressed in front of someone else,' I thought. His dick was everything mine wasn't. His was long, smooth, hanging heavily by its own weight with a beautiful head peeking out of the end. Mine was small, wrinkled, so light of weight that it didn't "hang" at all. (I didn't realize then that all little boy's peckers tend to stick out from their bodies. They don't "hang" in the manner of an adult penis.) But the most embarrassing thing was that I had no head at all. It was hidden back under a sheath of foreskin, not standing out proudly. I wanted my dick to be like his.

When I looked back up from my own finger sized boy meat he was still rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. When he'd done that he turned back to me.

"Here," he said, offering me the shampoo, "you need this." I thanked him, took it and started to wash my hair.

"Ow!"

"What's wrong?" Scott asked. The mud had so dried in my hair that it was like cement. I couldn't tell the parts of my hair that were stuck in the mud from the parts of mud that were stuck in my hair. It wasn't going to just "wash" out.

"Let me help." Before I knew it Scott was standing behind me (fully naked!) in the shower washing my hair. From his vantage he could see how the mud had mixed in and dried and he started working it out for me. I couldn't have done it. Someone else might have been too uptight to get that close, but he did what was necessary, without worrying about the appearance of it. He just did it, because it needed to be done.

I loved the feeling of his hands in my hair and I began to get turned on again. Quickly I started into my mental multiplication tables. But then I felt... IT. As Scott leaned forward to cup some water into my hair I felt something brush against my little boy buns and I realized, 'That was his dick!' The thought startled me. 'His dick just brushed across my bottom.' I jumped.

"Whoa, sorry. Did I hurt you?" He was asking about the mud in my hair, afraid he'd pulled too hard or something.

There was that feeling again. My balls tightening -- feeling hungry all over. I liked the way Scott paid attention to me. I loved it when he touched me, even just putting his arm across my shoulders. Now here we were, naked, alone, standing in a warm shower, his hands moving through my hair and I had just felt his...you know...rub against my...

"Boy, you got mud all the way down your neck and your back. Hand me the soap."

I took the soap off of the tray in front of me and handed it back to him. He started to wash my neck. No, not just washing it, he was rubbing it, massaging it. God, it felt so good.

"You've got a bruise on your neck here. Did you hurt it in the fall?" he asked.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. He rubbed it a little harder, massaging deeper. It felt great.

"How does this feel?" he asked.

'Like heaven,' I thought to myself, but...

"Okay," was all I answered back. "Feels okay." He kept rubbing it, pressing a little firmer, digging into the muscle with strong hands.

"Let me know if I do anything that hurts, or anything you don't want me to do. Okay?"

"Okay," I answered.

It was ecstasy. It was agony. It was heaven and hell. I wanted to turn around, face him, throw my arms around his waist and hold him tightly against me. And I wanted to do more, I just wasn't sure exactly what. I had feelings, strong feelings, but I didn't know what they meant or how to act on them. I knew they seemed to be feelings I should be ashamed of. They were indecent and this boy was the epitome of decency and kindness. How could I think such thoughts of him!

All I know is at that moment I'd have done anything for him. I would have been his willing, twelve year old boy slave, performing any act he would ask of me, just for the chance to be near him, to see him naked again, to have him touch me again and perhaps even to be able to actually reach out with my own hand and touch him.

I'd have done anything! But instead... I did nothing.

I was too frightened to move, to afraid of breaking the spell. I knew how I felt about him, but I also knew he didn't feel that way about me. I was just another boy in his cabin and he was my kind, considerate, exceptionally sensitive and generous councilor. AND he was the preacher's son.

If I acted on my feelings, I'd lose him forever. The thought of life without his friendship was more than I could bear. So I became the stone boy. Frozen, unmoving, as my penis continued to grow rigid, threatening to again betray my thoughts.

Fear was all I felt. Fear that when he eventually saw my hard-on Scott would freak out and never trust me (much less be willing to get naked around me) ever again.

My mind was racing -- 'twelve times seven is eighty-four, twelve times eight is ninety-six..."

He worked his hands lower down my back, massaging my spine as he worked to get off the mud I couldn't reach.

"Sometimes when I put my little brother's to bed I give 'em a back rub like this. It feels good, helps to relax before you go to bed."

I felt the shampoo suds sliding down my back, tickling their way between my butt cheeks. His hands kept moving over my back and despite my best efforts, my boy-meat was now at solid attention.

Suddenly his hands moved around to the front of me and he began to slowly rub the soap across my chest.

"Do you mind if I do this?" he asked sincerely.

"No," I stammered back, then afraid he might misunderstand, "I mean... I don't mind."

"Tell me to stop if you don't like something, okay?"

"Okay."

His hands began soaping my nipples, then moving down across my stomach. 'God, this can't be happening. He can't really be doing what I'm wishing?'

His hands continued down across my abdomen, rubbing soap in just above my boyhood. Then lower and...

His hands scooted around my penis and moved straight on to my legs. He lathered them slowly then moved his hands up the inside of my thighs, again approaching my erect member.

"You know, it's none of my business," Scott spoke softly, "but has your Dad ever talked with you about how important it is for guys like us to clean down here?"

"Huh?" Guys like us?

"You know, uncut, like us."

He was uncut! I hadn't been sure before, his looked so different from mine, the head stuck out slightly and all, but now he was telling me -- his dick was like mine. HE was like ME!

He took his hands off my legs and turned me to face him.

"Tell you something -- when I first came here, I was younger than you are now, and I was so nervous about taking my first shower."

"YOU were nervous?"

"Terrified, because I was different from other boys. I looked just like you. Only I wasn't calm like you. I was stupid and got all embarrassed about it."

"You did?" I heard myself sputter out.

"Yeah. I did. Then Dad explained to me how this is the way God made us, everybody's born like this, only some people cut off the foreskin when a boy is born. And then they all look like, well, like this."

He reached down and took hold of his own penis to use as an example. Grasping the shaft he pulled back the foreskin, fully exposing the head.

"See, now it looks just like everybody else's. We can look like them if we want too, but..." he pulled the foreskin forward across his penis until the head was entirely concealed. "They can't look like us. And this is the way God made us all, they're the one's who've been changed."

I couldn't believe he was sharing this with me. For the first time I began to realize that maybe my feelings weren't all one sided. I was sure he didn't share this with everyone.

"But..." he added, "You gotta keep it clean. Did your Dad show you how to pull back the foreskin and wash it?"

I didn't know what to say for a moment. Finally, I told him, "I don't have a Father." I could tell he took the news seriously.

"Do you have any brothers or a step father or...?"

"No. Just my mom and she doesn't... You know, we don't talk about..." I faltered.

"It's okay," he finally said apologetically. "Tell ya' what, just between you and me, I'll show you what a dad would teach you if he were here, what my Dad taught me.

"Guys like us have to clean real good under the skin. Pull it back all the way to wash it, like this." Again, he grasp his own organ and pulled back the foreskin, freely exposing himself for my education.

I stood frozen, staring openly at his penis, so willingly displayed for me to look at, right in front of my face. Did he know what he was doing to me? The dangerous feelings he was fueling. Was he really just trying to help or was he purposely teasing my boyish affections to the point of exploding.

"Here," he turned me back around, then got on his knees behind me. "Like this." He reached around my body and grasp my firm little-boy cock between his fingers. I'm sure I gasped. I thought I was going to die and go to heaven right then. Gently, he pulled back the foreskin to reveal the head of my own little member, a head much smaller, but not otherwise unlike his own.

"See, now it looks just like the rest. That doesn't hurt, does it?"

Hurt? It was the most delightful sensation I'd ever felt.

"Then, when it's like this, you soap it up real good and wash it, see..." he took the soap in his hands and actually began to wash my penis, moving his hand back and forth, working up a little lather as he stroked it. A wave of new sensations began to shoot through my body, my hips moved involuntarily.

I didn't know what was happening to me, but when he placed his hand on my penis, every time he moved forward and back across my exposed shaft, I felt like I was going to explode. He couldn't possibly know, I thought, what sort of wonderful, erotic torture he was subjecting me to. All I knew was that I didn't want him to stop.

Unexpectedly I felt the tip of his cock, suddenly firm, as it touched against my little boy's bottom. It wasn't something he had planned.

Like a reflex he let go of my cock and began to pull away. He suddenly knew that he'd made a mistake. He had gone too far -- for both of us.

But I wouldn't let him go. I'd been teased to the point of erupting. In an uncontrollable moment I lost all restraint. As he tried to let go of my dick my hand grabbed his and pushed it tightly back against my boy cock. My head flew back in ecstasy and as I looked up I could see the shocked expression on his face. And I didn't care.

He wasn't shocked with me. He was shocked with himself. His expression revealing the sudden realization of what he had done, the logical conclusion of events HE had set in motion. Now it was too late to stop, the horses had broken loose and were running wild -- I was out of control.

I made an audible gasp and closed my eyes as my fist tightened over his hand, holding it there as my hips began to gyrate, pushing my boyhood repeatedly through his warm palm, pumping in uncontrollable surges as I experienced the first dawning of adolescent passion. The water flowed over me and I felt his penis, suddenly firm, pressing against the back of my legs and pushing up between the cheeks of my bottom as I pulled him tighter.

I was a boy overcome with sexual desire and opportunity. All reasoning was gone, all self control spent. His touch had finally sent me over the edge into a boy's sexual madness.

Within moments I had my first orgasm in the hands of the preacher's son. A flood of rapture tore through my body, a quivering wave of passion sweeping through me...

A few moments later, my head began to clear and the full impact of what I had just done came crashing down on me.

As reason returned I let go of his hand like it was a hot poker. I was sure what had just happened had been totally my fault. I had just corrupted this sincere boy, someone who had only wanted to help me, and in doing so I had destroyed all hope for any kind of friendship. It was over before it had started because I was a perverted little pecker! I'd lost him. The realization forced tears to my eyes.

"I'm sorry,...." I sobbed openly. "I don't know why I did that. "

Scott didn't back away. He turned me to face him and he looked like HE might be about to cry. He put his arms around me, pulled me toward him.

"It's okay. It's my fault."

"No," I cried, "I wanted to..." I sobbed back at him, still feeling like the responsible party. "I wanted you to touch me and I wouldn't let you stop when you tried to."

Suddenly Scott took a more forceful tone, grabbed me harder. "Listen to me," He was commanding again, his grip firm, stronger than I could imagine, almost to the point of hurting me. "You think you could've held me? You think you're that strong?"

He was squeezing me so hard. For the first time I realized just how much stronger than me he was. There was no way I could have keep his hand there if he'd really wanted to pull it away.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was all me. You remember that."

I stopped crying as I realized he didn't blame me.

When we'd started his intentions had been sincere. Every action had been what it seemed, truly innocent, truly nurturing. But near the end he had started feeling different, a feeling he was totally unprepared for.

You see, no one had ever warned us that boys could fall in love.

Scott had kept telling himself there was nothing to it, he was only helping the kid, like a little brother. Until he began reaching down, touching me more and more intimately. He hadn't fully realized what was happening until his own teen-cock began to harden, betraying HIS real feelings. Now the deed was done.

"I don't know why I did it," he continued, "but I want us to be friends. If you can forgive me for what I did, I want to be with you because...." he had trouble saying it, "Because I just want to be with you."

I threw my arms around him in a tight hug and we held each other in the shower for a long time. We were a couple of confused kids trying to come to grips with new feelings we didn't understand. Feelings that didn't fit in to what we had been taught was right.

That was my first day at camp and the beginning of many adventures with Scott.

In the years that followed he remained my best friend, mentor and surrogate father. He helped me through some of the most difficult periods of my life. His father was proud of the way he took me under his wing, knowing I had no father of my own. We did things together and I began to feel like part of his family.

Of course no one knew that we continued to have sexual encounters. Eventually we learned to enjoy it without guilt in the sincere belief that a benevolent God does not condemn boys to hell just because they love each other. Love is good in God's sight, and any God that would feel otherwise was not a God worth honoring.

Over the years my faith has waned, but not Scott's. He followed in his father's footsteps and became a minister. He still maintains that God approves of all sincere love, but he is quick to point out that not all sex grows from love. We are both well adjusted adults now, married to wonderful women and each with growing families.

He was the special person who changed my life and saved me from an uncertain future. As long as I live I will always think of him when I hear that song....

"Son of a Preacher Man"*

The only one who could ever reach me,
was the son of a preacher man.
The only boy that could ever teach me,
was the son of a preacher man...

(*-Performed by Dusty Springfield, Written by John Hurley and Ronnie Wilkins)