Wyoming Camping Trip

Wyoming Camping Trip

This is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed are over18; all sexual activity described is between guys of at least that age. All places are fictional. Content warning: some of the sex portrayed is non-consensual. If this bothers you, please move on. Copyright, 2023, all rights reserved. BD

Jeff and Drew were enjoying the post-graduation party, sponsored by the senior parents' committee of Trinity Prep. It was being held at the home of a graduating senior whose family owned a place on large secluded acreage with a pool—a perfect spot for a blow-out end-of-high-school party. The committee had provided the barbeque and there were a few kegs propped on one of the picnic tables. A large dance floor had been erected near the pool and there was a DJ. All car keys had been collected upon entry. A small shuttle school bus had been rented to ferry the party-ers home—assuming that any decided to leave before morning. Otherwise the house had a dozen or more designated crash pads, and the pool house had even more. Just about the entire class had come—so there were about 80, including dates from other schools. Dress was casual—most were in swim suits and tees. Chaperones were theoretically present, but deliberately scarce. Couples were making out in the pool, on chaises, in the pool house—and even in some of the first floor rooms. The entire scene, viewed from an upper balcony of the house, looked like a "B" Italian orgy movie which had never made it to the US because of censorship.

The guys were both 18, about to celebrate a 19

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birthday during the coming summer. They had known each other since grade school, played on various teams together, double-dated, partied hard and were definitely besties. Now they were in the pool playing co-ed pool-volleyball—where it seemed dunking (balls and teammates) occurred every few seconds. They were all a little high and roughhousing—using every play as an opportunity to grab a tit, an ass or a cock.

The small size of the prep school (about 300 total in four "forms") had guaranteed that their friendship would flourish. It was an all-boys prep school and non-boarding. It was fairly liberal: mixed race, and several out gays were students. Scholarship money was plentiful thanks to a few bequests and so every economic stratus was represented. Homosexuality was just not a big deal—perhaps just a phase, like puberty. Most of the guys had had at least some sexual experience with young ladies, a few of the hunkier athletes with cougars, and a few had had some encounters with other guys. In short, the atmosphere was "tolerantly permissive, but generally hetero", and of course in an all boys school, testosterone levels were high.

The all-boys enrollment meant that conversation typically centered on sports or dates—recently had or desired soon and more often than not, exaggerated. Most were off to college in a few months and many had landed summer jobs—Jeff would be a pool lifeguard; Drew an intern journalist at the local shopper that called itself a newspaper. Their jobs would start in a week—because they were planning a triumphant camping trip to celebrate the end of one part of their lives. So they planned to "have a few" and depart early to be ready for the next day's adventure. Thus, they had elected to attend the party "stag" with the flexibility to leave at any time.

Jeff was probably unaware that Drew had been having erotic daydreams about him for nearly a year. A vision of Jeff naked was often a part of his stroke sessions. This trip would be their first extended time alone together. Drew was hoping; Jeff was looking forward to advancing his sexual experience, but presumably with a young lady.

Jeff's Dad had an extended cab, heavy duty pickup, used in his construction business, and Drew had a large dirt bike (used, but well-cared for, a double-seater, with new tires). The cab would accommodate the guys; the truck bed would handle the cycle and the necessary camping gear. Food and bedding would be in the back of the cab. They were headed to Wyoming from the small Denver suburb where they had been raised. Camping, riding, swimming, hiking—and generally fooling around were planned for a week. The pickup was packed and in the garage—except for the food in the fridge, before they left for the party. They had stocked up on marijuana, which was legal in Colorado, over several weeks, since purchases were rationed.

Both guys were wholesome, healthy small-town jocks with just the hint of late adolescent male muscularity and early summer tans. In fact, they more or less had looked like brothers until about 14--with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and clear skin. At that point, their interests and physiques had changed. Jeff was the earliest to mature: he put on muscle and height, ultimately reaching a lofty 6-4. He spouted the first chin hairs and grew in a full pubic bush at 15. His cock was beginning to take on the shape and length of a well-endowed male adult. Within two years, he was by far the larger, stronger and taller of the two—and a star on Trinity's basketball team—because of its small size, Trinity's most important sport.

Drew had matured more slowly, gaining some height and weight, but he could not be described as muscular. Tennis, golf and gymnastics became his sports. By senior year, Drew was only about 150 lbs and 5-10, but he was an all-state gymnast with the carved muscular body to prove it. In fact he had won a partial athletic scholarship to CSU which had one of the best gymnastic programs in the country.

Although both had dated in high school, often doubling, they were technically virgins—each had necked and even gotten to second or third base a few times, but neither had yet scored. Both were pretty casual about solo sexual activity and even had had some one-on-one same sex experimentation—although none had vaginally or anally penetrated. This was teen experimentation, not gay. They often talked about this status—and one object of the trip was to remedy that problem. In fact, that was the unspoken premise to the entire trip, although specific plans to execute on that strategy remained very vague—other than research into a roadhouse near the campsite. Drew had begun to look at Jeff in very different, not-just-buds ways, but he was confused and assumed Jeff didn't notice.

Jeff had planned the loose itinerary—with a week in a rustic one room cabin—with the possibility of one or two nights in motels—for showers and a decent bed. The cabin was one of five, set far apart from each other, lakeside at a Wyoming state park north of Cheyenne. The cabin was described as having two sets of bunks, a farm sink (with pumped water), an outside cooking grill (no open fires in this dry part of Wyoming), a separate privy, and an outside shower with a "new" solar heated water bladder supplying "tepid rain showers." Very rustic and secluded, but near trails for hiking and bike riding. And of course on a lake. The brochure had noted a roadhouse nearby with nightly dances and implied liberal ID requirements. That was the determining factor in their choice. Both guys had passable fake ID's.

Both guys seemed normatively hetero—but they probably hadn't thought much about sexual preference as they chased skirts, masturbated often and occasionally jerked each other off—all in a very tolerant "modern" environment. Sex was fun. So long as you had a willing partner, they were up for anything. They were casual with nudity, swimming nude at the water hole they had found just out of town, often told homo-erotic jokes, and even slapped or grabbed each other in jest or while wrestling which was one of their favorite avocations. However, with the looming prospect of separation at the end of August, Drew was beginning to have deeper feelings for Jeff—which he carefully hid. Intense interest in casual sex was acceptable; admission to gayness or male to male affection was not.

Early Saturday, a day that was going to prove that Colorado was having an early hot summer, the guys, dressed in tees, cargo shorts and flip flops, finished the packing, and piled into the cab, taking their standard positions with Jeff as driver and Drew as shotgun. They were hoping to arrive mid-afternoon so that they would have time to move into the cabin before night. Traffic was light and after a fast food stop, the pickup pulled up to the ranger station at the park's entrance where they registered and received directions, a key and warnings.

The ranger was young, probably just out of college, in uniform (khaki shorts and an ironed button up shirt with epaulets, banded in colorful ribbons, with the military bearing, tight muscles and crew cut of a Marine. He was definitely handsome and projected confidence. He was old enough to suggest authority and dominance and young enough to invite speculation about whether he was a sexual player. The ranger advised that they were the first customers for the season—and that only one of the other cabins would be occupied. The boys asked about local "entertainment" and were somewhat disappointed to learn that the roadhouse described in the guidebook didn't open until later in June; the closest spot was over 25 miles away, and open only on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights—"and they card." Summer season hasn't really started yet.

"You probably noticed that small grocery about a mile back down the road. They have a little of everything—and they are the only game within miles. I hope you brought most of what you expect to need. I think the only females you are going to see will be of the wild furry variety—so watch for those mama bears. They are not friendly, and, at this time of year, they are very protective of their new cubs."

"The lake is a very refreshing 69 degrees. I see you have a dirt bike. Please be very careful to keep to marked trails. We are trying to keep this park open for riders, but if you are not careful, the environmentalists will shut down that activity. We've had some recent rain so the fire potential is moderate—but please keep your fires to the pit in front of the cabin or the concrete grills set up for cooking and always attended. Use only the wood that is stacked by the cabin for fuel. The pump water is potable, sweet and cool."

Unlike so many mountain men, Phil was an in your face kind of guy. He liked to be in your space. Throughout the spiel, the ranger kept touching the boys, first on their arms and shoulders, then their lower backs, then their asses. Occasionally, he would drop his hands to his crotch and adjust. It was pretty clear that he was getting hard. Phil was gay and, without asking, he was trying to determine whether they boys wanted to play. They were not dumb. They got the message, but they weren't ready to acknowledge the invitation until they had had a chance to talk about it. Jeff wasn't even sure he was interested. So they ignored the advances.

"Incidentally, you need to go the grocery to get cell service. This station is staffed 24/7, but there is only one ranger here at any given time—that'd be me for the next seven days—and I do sleep here. I'm available for emergencies." And, with might have been a secret smile and an invitation, he added, "Or if you need me for anything. I have most nights off. If I'm not here, wait. I'm on patrol and will be back. Have a good week. I hope to see you before your time is up."

The boys hopped back into the pickup and drove about five miles deeper into the park until they found the cabin. It was as described—secluded, rustic, sparsely furnished, but clean. The lake was visible from the long covered porch along the side of the cabin. Bedding (sleeping bags and blow up pillows), duffels, food and other camping paraphernalia were quickly unloaded. Inside they found two sprung cots with thin mattresses—originally designed as bunks, but now placed side by side and a narrow bunk on the adjacent wall with a narrow aisle between. The narrow bunk quickly became their closet. With this configuration, there wasn't much more space in the cabin--just a corridor at the foot of the beds and a wall with a sink, a few open-faced cabinets, and a wardrobe. The table was on the porch. Cooking would be outside. Two hammocks and four Adirondack chairs completed the porch furnishings. About fifty feet away was the privy—yes with a corny crescent moon carving on the door. The roof was covered with two solar panels, connected to a small trellis-like structure with a wide canvas water bag on top and a rain shower head suspended below. In order to shower, it would be necessary to use the hand pump to fill the bag periodically. A pull cord released the water from above. Some sort of osmosis apparently circulated the water non-mechanically through the panels, warming the liquid. It was obviously new, experimental and clever.

Neither of them had mentioned the incident at the ranger station. They were both processing and perhaps reluctant to make the first move.

"I'm ready for the lake," Jeff shouted as he sprinted to the beach. The water was clear; the bottom was a mixture of small round pebbles and white sand. He reached the beach, stripped and dove in. He came up sputtering and shivering a few seconds later. "This water is going to shrink my dick to the size of a six year old. So, no comments, Drew."

Soon a second pair of cargos and another tee were strewn on the beach and the two guys were splashing around in the cold, clear water. They dunked each other, played grab ass—and dick, and soon felt fully refreshed—and reasonably aroused. Drew was the first to emerge and he moved to a grassy area and stretched out to dry in the warm sun. His chubbed, but cold-shrunken dick rested heavily on his cut abs. He fluffed, closed his eyes and reveled in the sun. Jeff soon followed as Drew followed his slow walk and swinging dick through slit eyes.

Jeff was the first to speak. "This place is going to be great. But, it's pretty clear that we aren't going to have any privacy from each other—and probably no girls for company. So I'm making this a nudist colony for the week. Clothing optional. And, I'm not going to be able to wait a whole week to jerk off. I'm a three per day guy normally. So I'm just going to do it when I want. If that bothers you, just look the other way. I know I've got a big beautiful dick and that I'm going to make you jealous, but those are the breaks. Any objections? Anything that happens in Wyoming stays in Wyoming." Looking into Drew's eyes, he added, "And I sure hope we can find some time to help each other out."

There was silence. Jeff had set the tone—and the rules. Drew couldn't have asked for more. Within a few minutes, both guys were stroking and glancing furtively at the other. Curiously, Drew was shaved. Why hadn't Jeff noticed that before? Jeff's eyebrows shot up in question. Drew reddened and said, "The gymnast coach recommended the shave. Then, Sherry told me that if I didn't shave she wasn't going to blow me. She doesn't like hair in her teeth."

Jeff broke up as he fluffed his bushy pubes. "I'd shave too if I could get a blow job from Melissa, or from anyone for that matter."

Drew quickly retorted, "That can probably be arranged—both the shave and the blow-job. What did you think about Phil?"

"I'm not exactly sure what to think. He's gay. That's a given. He was baiting us. He's a pretty good looking guy. Beyond that, I don't know what to say—or think.

Both boys were athletes, comfortable with nudity, and had sported common erections and participated in circle jerks back home. They were internet savvy and had often cruised porn—but usually in private. But maybe this was going to be different. They were alone for a week—without internet. And now it seemed they would be mostly nude. The possibilities were almost endless—and Jeff, always the aggressive athlete, began to think competitively—who was bigger, who was cut, who would shoot first, farthest, the biggest load. Drew, on the other hand, began to see the potential for fulfillment of his fantasies with Jeff. It was going to be an interesting week. And then you add the complexity of Phil's apparent offer.

Without another word and after only a few minutes of rapid stroking, both guys had blown their wads into the nearby grass. They rose, picked up their clothes and began the "walk of shame" back to the cabin. They were reluctant to dress, but weren't ready for total nudity yet. Soon each had pulled on swim shorts as they went about prepping the firepit and grill to cook the evening meal. A large iced cooler was removed from the pickup (thankfully, they had brought their own alcoholic drinks) and simple choices were made for dinner. There was little joking and not a lot of talking. Clearly, they were processing the events of the afternoon. Decisions were made about chore allocations, shower times, and bed allocations. At dinner, it was decided that they would hike the next day and hold the bike for later in the week.

Sun set around 8:30—producing a star-filled sky, but with a waning moon, not much light. The cabin had a few kerosene lamps which were lit. But it was soon obvious that entertainment was going to be very different and self-generated. Cards were pulled out; the table was moved near the firepit; and, they began to play poker—wondering what wagers could make the game more interesting. None had brought any significant amount of cash. Strip poker didn't seem reasonable—they were almost naked as it was—although the evening chill had brought out flannel shirts. Jeff, of course, came to the rescue, "Let's combine poker with Truth or Dare—we'll play a game of five hands--the loser is then challenged by the winner of each game. And the loser must comply."

"Agreed."

At the end of the first round of five hands, Jeff had won. Before he was even asked, Drew shouted, "Dare."

"OK, jerk me off," said Jeff, handing him a bottle of lube. Jeff leaned back on the chair, dropped his boxers, and beckoned Drew over. Jeff smiled and placed his hands behind his head in an exaggerated posture of relaxation pushing his hips up from the seat to exaggerate his long thick 8 incher. Drew reached over and tentatively grabbed the hard shaft, beginning the pump that would achieve his dare. He reached under Jeff's balls and began to fondle them in his fist, rolling them together in their soft sacs. Drew tried some different strokes, faster, slower, two-handed, twisting. Jeff grew harder instantly and after leaking for a minute or two, warned Drew away from the trajectory path of what was about to happen. Jeff's stomach drew in; his balls drew up, and he blasted—only partially in Drew's fist, the rest dribbling to the soil near the pit. Jeff had challenged and Drew had responded, casually and without any issues. It was a whole new ballgame.

A second table resulted in Drew as the winner and Jeff as his victim. Fearing the worst, Jeff, said "Truth."

"Okay. Tell us in detail the farthest you've ever gotten with a girl and a boy."

"That's pretty easy. I've gotten inside Melissa's blouse, squeezed her tits and sucked on her big brown nipples until she was so hot, that she let me slide my fingers inside her bikinis to stroke her pussy. If I had had a few more minutes to curfew, I think I would have scored."

"And the boy?"

"Do you remember Dylan—the dark haired tall guy who graduated last year? Well, he blew me in the showers after a b-ball game one night—in fact, it was my 18

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birthday present from him. He tried to stick a finger in my ass, but I stopped him. He wasn't going there. That's as far as I've gotten."

"I'm impressed, Jeff. You certainly have more experience than I with a girl and with a guy." Jeff laughed, but rose to head for the cabin. He had had enough for the evening. He knew the jerk-off was one-sided and unsportsmanlike, but he could tell that Drew's attitude toward him had changed a lot in the last hour. He needed to process.