"Hey Mickey?"
"Yeah Lance?"
"Man, I m hot and tired. We've been paddling all day. Wanna call it quits and stop for the night?"
"Sure Buddy."
The two young men, best friends since third grade, are physical opposites as is often the case with best buds. Mickey is short and thin, not very athletic, very fair skinned with red hair and numerous freckles. Most people, seeing him for the first time, take him for at least four years younger than his twenty-two years.
Lance is dark and broad across the shoulders, with jet black hair. A hint of dark mustache crowns his upper lip and his arms and legs are thick with muscle.
With a fair amount of expertise, the two young men guide their 16' Grumman to a perfect landing at the chosen spot.
"Ya wanna pitch the tent or gather firewood, ol 'pal?"
I'll pitch the tent good buddy ," Mickey replies.
In half an hour the campsite is set up with fire ring, heaps of firewood and taut tent. The two young men spent several years in scouts together and have camped together many times.
Lance, his dark face flushed even darker from exertion, yells across the campsite to his friend. " Hey Lance. I'm really hot and tired, I think I'll take a dip in the river." And so saying, he dashes to the river's edge, dropping clothing as he runs.
Mickey watches Lance. He can't help but notice Lance's manhood swaying to and fro as he runs, long, dark and heavy, almost fearsome looking, hooded by its long dark wrinkled foreskin. "Woah, Mickey," he says to himself. "Since when are you interested in other guys dicks?" " Well." he answers himself, "I didn't DO anything. And it really is astonishing."
Lance cuts the current with a long slashing dive, yelling as he surfaces, "Catch me if you can, you wuss!"
Mickey answers the challenge, doffing his clothes somewhat more slowly and neatly and dives in, stroking strongly after his friend. The cold running current of the black river is stimulating on his small pink cock and balls. He has always loved the free feeling of swimming naked.
Suddenly the larger lad rises from the river and pushes Mickey under.
The two young men duck and splash and wrestle in the chilly water until they are near exhaustion, romping like a pair of puppies. Finally, Mickey surrenders. "I'm headin' in, time for some chow and a roaring fire." As he walks toward shore, he attempts to conceal the half-erection brought on by the frequent contact with the other's body. He goes in the tent and emerges with a soft towel for each of them, holding one partially in front of himself. As Lance's waist clears the water, he sees that he need not be ashamed, for Lance's large dark manhood shows signs of interest also. Tossing one towel to his friend, he proceeds to dry himself all over, pretending nonchalance.
Lance grins as he snatches the towel and begins drying his body, feeling a deep, warm pleasure at the prospect of spending time with his life-long friend, who he sees as this amazingly clever and funny elf-like figure, a leprechaun whose pot of gold is his trusting, caring, clever nature. "Turn around and I'll dry your back."
Mickey complies. Touching his best friend's back, even through the towel, elicits a reaction Lance had not expected, a deep warm flood of affection. He feels blood rushing to his groin. Confused, he turns away and immediately covers himself, walking away toward the fire ring.
"What's wrong good buddy?"
Stammering. "Uh Er, uh nothin' I'm okay. Let's get the fire goin!"
Strangely, even though both battle a flood of conflicting emotions, neither friend rushes to get clothed.
"I got a better idea. You get the fire goin' and I'll get us a coupl'a cold ones."
The friends sit by the fire, towels around their waists, sipping their beers and talking over old times, truly unconcerned now about their near nakedness, the earlier rush of passion subsided.
"Member that time in eighth grade I had to explain to that nun what 'the finger' meant?" Mickey says.
"Yeah and I told you to tell her it meant 'god loves you' so she would go around flashing it all day. They both gush with laughter, beer spurting out of their noses, nearly gagging. The friends char two big steaks, eating them with greasy fingers and greasy faces and greasy chests and bellies, sipping more beers, getting slightly buzzed, their voices ringing out along the vast spaces and echoing down the river
The lowering dusk paints the sky in hues of gold and scarlet and crimson, mirrored in the black glass of the river's surface. The two young men, their bodies aglow, stand side by side, awed by the miracle, the backs of their hands touching lightly. They return to their fire as night seeps from the river, swallowing them in its starless darkness.
