Naptown 14 - Summer Camp - 1. Summer Camp

Summer Camp

A Naptown Tale by Altimexis

Summer camp was a blast! I was having a wonderful time. I probably hadn’t had this much fun since I was a little kid, and I wasn’t even one of the campers - I was here as a volunteer although I wasn’t any older than some of the campers. It was a short summer this year because Labor Day was on September first, and I was giving up all of it to help out at the camp, but damn, was I having fun!

A lot had happened during the last year, since Mom and Dad separated, and although I was no longer ‘the preacher’s kid’, we were still a religious household and my brothers and I were still expected to give generously of ourselves to the community. Helping out at a church-run camp for disadvantaged youth seemed a perfect way to do just that, particularly since Trevor Austin would also be here, but more on that in a bit.

My name’s Kurt DeWitt, I’m fourteen years old, and it’s the summer between middle school and the start of high school. My birthday was all the way back in November, which really sucks big time, ’cause it means I’m older than most everyone in my class. Some kids might like that, but I’m smart, and I kinda feel held back, you know? Luckily, I look real young for my age, so everyone thinks I’m a lot younger than my real age. I’m short, and I have what some call a ‘baby face’, so a lot of folks think I’m only like, twelve. That really sucks too . . . Big Time.

It’s not like I’m a late bloomer or anything . . . oh no. Puberty kicked in, right on time in the middle of my twelfth year. Boy, did it kick in, with wet dreams and everything. The trouble was, my dreams and my fantasies were all about boys. Can you imagine that? My father was a Christian Evangelist minister, and I wanted to get naked with the boys in school. Needless to say, at first I didn’t quite know what was going on, but then it hit me. Fuck! I was gay!

After I got over the initial panic, I just plain got scared. I didn’t know what to do. I knew my dad would probably send me to one of those Christian re-education camps if he found out. I spent a lot of time on the Internet, visiting gay teen sites, but being careful to erase my Internet history and all, not realizing my dad could track the sites I was visiting, anyway.

Then I heard a rumor. There was this kid, Jeremy Kimball, that I used to know in elementary school. He was a grade ahead of me, so I didn’t know him well, but we used to live in the same apartment townhouse complex when we first moved to the area, and we waited at the same bus stop before school. We moved to a much nicer house at the start of fourth grade, and then I heard he moved to Lake Shores at the start of Middle School, so we never saw each other again, but then there was that rumor that he was caught feeling up a boy in gym class toward the end of eighth grade.

It took me a long time to get up the nerve, but I called Jeremy last year, in August, and you know what? The rumors were true! Not only is Jeremy gay, but he has a boyfriend. He and David Reynolds have been going steady for a year now, but I’m getting ahead of myself. When I called him, they’d just met, and they invited me to come over. Man, does Jeremy have a house! More like a mansion.

David and Jeremy were my lifeline back then, helping me to accept my sexuality and survive in the closet in the homophobic environment I faced at home. Not only was my father a real fire and brimstone preacher, but my brothers were both strapping football jocks. Needless to say, I tried to stay away from home as much as I could get away with, and when I was home, I spent as much time on the phone with David and Jeremy as I could . . . until my dad complained I spent all my time on the phone, like a teenage girl. It was then I knew I’d have to be more discrete.

Then all hell broke loose. First, there was all the flack when David and Jeremy and a bunch of kids from the Gay-Straight Alliance at the high school showed up and danced together at their Home Coming dance. Even at my middle school, it was big news and it was all the kids could talk about, and then at home, my dad couldn’t stop ranting about it. My brothers were there and they were livid. As if all of that wasn’t bad enough, there was a kid, Trevor Austin, who belongs to our church, who was among the kids who danced at Homecoming. He outed himself by dancing with David. Well for my father, that was the last straw, seeing one of his own flock led astray . . . at least that’s what I thought had set him off.

What I didn’t realize at the time is that he’d been tracking my computer and my telephone usage, and he knew I’d been spending a lot of time talking to Jeremy and David. In short, he already knew I was gay and was laying plans to send me away to a Christian high school in the south, but first he wanted to get his revenge for what he thought were the influences that had led me into the devil’s ways.

I knew something big was coming, but even I was shocked when my father mentioned Trevor by name in his sermon and called for a petition drive to disband the GSA. Poor Trevor was beside himself. His parents had been fairly supportive, but when they heard my father’s sermon, they joined in on the petition drive. Good thing Trev’s a computer geek. With a little help from me, he was able to hack into my dad’s computer and figured out what was goin’ on.

The real hero of the day, however, was a Lance Cohen, a senior, whose father’s a senior editor at The Star. Thanks to him, they ran a big article on gay youth in the New Year’s edition that sucked the steam right outa my father’s petition drive. Not only that, but the lead reporter on the story, Harold Warren, wanted to interview me. It was an idea Trevor had about how I could come out in a way that would make it pretty hard for my dad to just ship me off to be reprogrammed. The problem was that I needed a signed release from a parent. Well Dad sure wasn’t gonna give me one!

It’s not like I’d planned to come out to my mom on New Year’s Eve, but I figured, if Dad knew I’m gay, she probably knew, too, so what did I have to lose?

I went to her and said, “Mom, I know about you and Dad planning to send me to the Christian Academy next year.” Right away, she got tears in her eyes. I asked her if she really wanted me to go, and she said she didn’t. We talked about me being gay, and that it wasn’t something I thought I could change. She didn’t say she agreed with me, but she really didn’t like what they did at the Academy. She said that torturing gay teens and teaching them to hate themselves rather than to love each other is not the Christian way. I told her what I planned to do and, you know what, she signed the release!

And so I came out in The Star to a readership of fifty thousand, and I’m sure by the end of the day, the entire metro population of two million knew the preacher’s son, Kurt DeWitt was gay. I say, if you’re gonna come out, you might as well announce it to the world.

After that, I expected my brothers to give me a hard time, but they didn’t. Once Dad wasn’t around to influence them, bit by bit their attitude changed from tolerance to acceptance. I think Mom had a lot to do with that.

I thought I’d get picked on in class, too, as the only openly gay boy in my middle school, especially after Dad skipped town, but it didn’t happen. I might be small for my age, but I’ve always been able to hold my own in a fight - not that any of the fights that I get into are very serious - but most of the kids know that, and they know from years of experience with their teasing of my short stature that I’m unflappable to that sort of thing.

Oh, someone did write ‘FAG’ on my locker, but I embellished it, adding a smiley face, some flowers and a rainbow. It stayed that way for a few days until the school got around to painting over it, and that was the end of it. I think once everyone saw that I didn’t care, no one bothered to try it again.

The only thing I lacked was a boyfriend, so I couldn’t wait to get to high school and join the GSA. Thank God our high school has such an active GSA! Thanks to Jeremy and David, a lot of freshmen came out last year, and I’m hoping that a lot will this year, too. Little did I know when I volunteered to help at the camp that I’d get a head start.

Trevor never intended to become a gay activist, or so he tells me, but when my dad publically humiliated him, he felt he had no choice but to become more involved in the GSA. Trev’s a real computer geek. First time I looked for info on the high school’s GSA on the Internet, there was nothing. Zippo. Nada. Trev’s changed all that. He really knows how to code a website, and he does it all in raw code without using any software tools. And he’s put together an unbelievable website! You really have to see it to believe it. It’s like a virtual high school with a library, a cafeteria, a gym, an auditorium and classrooms and everything. Anything you want or need to find on being a gay teen is there and accessible - it’s sooo cool!

Anyway, with Paul Levine graduating this year, Trev was elected to succeed him as the new president of the GSA. How do you like that? So here I am for twelve weeks - three full four-week sessions - with the president of the GSA at a church-run summer camp for disadvantaged youth.

Now I’m not naive . . . after all, Trev’s two years older than me . . . but it was nice to know that I wouldn’t be the only ‘out’ gay boy at the camp. But there was no way Trev would be interested in me as a potential boyfriend, would he? I mean, I’m two years younger than him . . . well, actually just a year-and-a-half.

Boy, was I wrong! At the orientation meeting, Trev sat down next to me, and he ate with me at dinner, and then at breakfast the next day, and then he asked it I’d liked to go for a walk with him after we’d had lunch together. As we left the other volunteers behind and started to walk around the lake, Trev asked me how things were at home, and if I was getting along OK with my brothers. It was then that he dropped the bomb on me.

“Kurt,” he said as he started to blush, “let me get right to the point. “The campers are going arrive this afternoon and from then on, we aren’t going to have any privacy. I may be a bit older than you are, but in the time I’ve known you, I’ve been impressed at how mature you are. You seem wise beyond your years.”

“It comes from being the ‘preacher’s kid’,” I told him. “Always in the public eye, always having to act grown up and yet trying to get away with stuff when I could. You really get to learn a lot about people and what makes them tick.”

“Well, I can’t say I envy you, growing up in your house,” he continued, “but I’m glad things are settling down for you, and I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

Trevor started to turn beet red as he continued to talk to me. He was so cute! “God, this is soo embarrassing! . . . Kurt, if I’m off base here, just tell me, and I’ll still be your friend, but I like you . . . I like you a lot. What I’m trying to say is I’d like to go out with you.”

“Really?” Such a witty reply. Here was this incredible boy asking me if he could go out with me and all I could come up with was, ‘Really?’

“Of course, really. You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re kind and you helped me out of a real jam back in January.”

“And if it weren’t for you, I’d be on my way to the Christian Academy for a little reprogramming,” I pointed out.

“So we helped each other out,” he replied, “but Kurt, would you be willing to go out with me?” Before I could even open my mouth, however, he raised his hand and continued, “Before you answer, you need to think about what that will mean here. This is a church-run camp, but it’s non-denominational. Everyone knows we’re gay, and the rumors have probably already started about the two of us even though we’re not even dating . . . yet. If we really do start dating, everyone’s gonna know about it. Like I said, we aren’t gonna have any privacy here, so don’t even think about getting into the sack with me . . .” He turned brilliant red when he said that - it was sooo adorable, “It ain’t gonna happen here. Even if we both want it, it can’t happen here. It would be a scandal. I hope you understand what I’m saying.”

I nodded my head, yes.

“So with that in mind, are you willing to go out with me?”

I tilted my head upwards and planted a quick peck on his lips, and smiled at him. “Does that answer your question?”

He wrapped his arms around me and the expression in his eyes became more serious as he looked down into my eyes. “I don’t know, I’m not sure I heard you right . . . maybe you need to say it a bit louder.”

At first I was a bit confused, since he’d clearly heard what I’d said, but then it dawned on me what he meant as his smile turned into a grin. Slowly, our faces came together once again - and this time the contact between our lips was not so brief. Our lips still remained closed, but at least it was a lot more obvious it was a kiss.

“Yes, this time I definitely heard you,” Trevor answered, “now to give you give you my answer . . .”

Trev gently caressed the side of my face with one hand while he used the other to cradle the back of my head. Our lips didn’t just connect, but they fused, moving together as one. I’d always hoped my first kiss with a boy would be special, but I never expected it to be so electrifying. I was instantly rock-hard. It’s one thing to read about it in a story on the Internet, but until you feel it yourself, you have no idea how awesome it feels. And then I felt Trev’s lips part and the tip of his tongue gently teased at the space between mine. It was magic.

Although I’d never done this before, it seemed so natural. The velvety smoothness of his tongue felt no more out of place in my mouth than did my own, but yet it felt so much more exciting. The seductive dance of our tongues gyrating together in perfect synchrony felt so sexual, I just about came in my shorts.

“What’d I tell you?” I heard a girl’s voice from behind me. “I told you they’d be at it!”

My heart just about stopped beating as Trevor and I jumped apart. My dick instantly went limp and my face felt like it was on fire.

“Aw, how cute, they’re blushing!” I heard the other girl say.

Finally, I could see them. It was Cindy and Debbie, two of the other volunteers from the camp.

Speaking loudly enough for the girls to hear him, Trev said, “Like I said, there’s no privacy around here.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Debbie said. “Everyone already knows you two are, like, boyfriends.”

“Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean we’re boyfriends,” Trevor corrected her.

“Well with what we just saw, you guys coulda fooled us,” Cindy countered.

“OK, I admit it, the thought has crossed my mind,” Trevor relented.

“For the time being, we’ve just agreed to go out with each other. Where that’ll lead . . . who knows?” I added.

“But you like each other,” Cindy said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “We definitely like each other.”

“But don’t expect to see anything more than you did today,” Trevor threw in. “We’ll be on our best behavior while at camp.”

“Sure you will,” Debbie giggled before they took off running back to camp.

Trevor sighed and said, “This could be a very long summer.”

I smiled and said, “I’m counting on it,” before I reached up and kissed him on the lips again.

“We’d better get back ourselves,” Trevor said. “The campers will be arriving very soon, and then all hell’s gonna break loose.”

Trevor wasn’t kidding! From the moment the buses arrived, it was pure pandemonium as kids of all ages had to be gathered, processed and assigned to their cabins. Most of the kids were from the poorer inner city neighborhoods. About a quarter were African American, a quarter were Hispanic and the remainder were what some would call poor white trash, most of whom spoke with a strong southern accent.

That was a surprise to me. Where I lived, most people spoke with a pretty standard middle-American accent. We were nowhere near the Kentucky border, so it came as a shock that there were people in our city that spoke with a southern accent, except of course those that grew up in the South.

Since I was so young, I was assigned to help out with a cabin of eight-year-old boys. Thankfully, no one seemed to worry that I might molest them, but then there was another “assistant counselor” in the cabin, Jerry Rubin, who was fifteen, and the senior counselor was Jeff Snyder, a nineteen-year-old pre-med student. The three of us were responsible for corralling twelve hyperactive boys who were away from home, many of them, for the first times in their lives.

As a former preacher’s kid who was intimately familiar with the bible, I was also responsible for organizing the camp’s daily evening prayer services. Although not mandatory, campers were encouraged to attend services before breakfast and after dinner. There were also daily bible readings and I was one of two volunteers leading those as well.

Trevor was assigned as the one assistant counselor in a cabin of twelve-year-olds, sharing responsibilities with Gary Walker, a twenty-two-year-old graduate student. In addition, Trev would be running the camp’s computer lab and teaching computer classes to the campers. In short, he and I would be way too busy to spend much time together, anyway.

After the cabins were assigned and after Jeff, Jerry, and I introduced ourselves to our charges and played a game of twenty questions with all the campers in which everyone had to try to remember everything about everyone else, we laid down some basic ground rules to maintain order, and then headed to the ‘mess hall’ for dinner.

The camp was arranged in a semi-circle around the end of the lake with the boys’ and girls’ cabins on opposite sides, separated from each other by the common recreational facilities, administrative and maintenance buildings, which were shared. Unlike some camps where boys and girls never saw each other all summer, here boys and girls were together all day, which was certainly more natural, but it was still hard as hell to get away with a secret rendezvous. Gay boys had it so much easier!

Anyway, because our campers were among the youngest, our cabin was situated as closely as possible to the recreational facilities and the mess hall. Of course, our boys wanted to run ahead inside and we had to restrain them and it took supreme effort to get them to hold back and walk in, single file, and take their seats and wait patiently for the older campers to be seated. Once everyone else was inside, the head of the camp introduced me and asked me to lead the camp in a prayer of thanks for the food we were about to eat.

“Thank you, Father Jensen,” I replied.

“We’re gathered here today in celebration of the wonderful bounty of that which we are about to eat. We come here from many different walks of life, from many different backgrounds. Some of us are African Americans, some are Hispanic, and some are white. Some talk with a different accent than I do,” I said with a chuckle. “Some are Christians of various denominations, some are Muslims and some are Jews.”

Just then, there was a shout from one of the campers, or at least I presumed it was a camper, “Faggot!”

“Oh, yes, that is certainly true. About one in ten people in this room is gay, so there certainly are many, many gay people here today. For those who are not already aware, I am gay. I was featured in The Star in an article on gay youth last January. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality. God made me this way, and as far as I’m concerned, God doesn’t make junk.” That got a round of laughter from the room.

“Now if anyone has a problem with that,” I continued, “or in dealing with any other minority group, we’d be more than happy to set up one-on-one counseling sessions with you, and we can do it completely anonymously. Part of growing up is learning to get along with people who are different than you, and that’s a part of what this camp is all about.

“If any of you are the victim of bullying, or racism, or sexual harassment, please let any of us know. We’re here to help!

“So getting back to our prayer . . . Dear God, You go by many names, be it Jehovah, or Allah, or Yahweh, or Adonai. For most in this room, Jesus was Your son and the Messiah, but for some, he was Your prophet, and so was Mohamed, and for others, we still await the coming of the messianic age. And there are others for whom Your existence is in doubt, yet even for them, there’s no doubting the greatness that is the creation. And so, let us give thanks for the food we are about to receive. None of us directly toiled for it, and yet we enjoy the fruits of the labors of those who did. We are grateful to all who made this meal possible, from the moment of creation, that gave birth to our world, to our own conception, without which we’d never know of the ongoing greatness of the cycle of life.

“And let us all say, Amen.”

There was a loud chorus of ‘amens’ followed by a round of applause. After that, Father Jansen said, “Well, Kurt, that was certainly one of the most unusual prayers of thanksgiving I’ve ever heard, and one of the most heartfelt. I trust the next one will be shorter?”

“You can count on it, Father,” I replied with a laugh.

After I sat down, one of the boys at our table, a black boy who looked to be closer to ten than eight, asked, “So are you really a fag?”

Mustering all my courage to appear to take it in stride, I replied calmly, “I already told you and everyone else here that I’m gay, but I’m no more a faggot than you’re a nigger, or than Julio’s a spic, or Larry’s a wop. There‘s certain words that are only meant to hurt, and we don’t use those words here, or anywhere for that matter. Hurtful words, hateful words are never cool. They’re never OK, no matter who we hear use them. It doesn’t matter if your best friend uses them . . . it still doesn’t make it right. I didn’t choose to be gay . . . I was born that way, and it’s as much a choice I made as it was your choice to be black.”

“But my dad calls people fags all the time,” the boy said in his defense.

This was a very delicate matter, and I hated to tell the boy his father was a bigot, but it was a necessary step to get him to start thinking for himself. Sadly, I was going to resort to a stereotype - one that was more than likely true. Remembering the boy’s name, I asked, “Nathan, does your dad smoke?”

“Yeah, he smoke two pack a day.”

“Do you think that’s a smart thing to do? Do you plan to smoke when you grow up?” I asked.

“Hell no, it ain’t smart. It’ll give you cancer. Cigarette’s’ll kill ya. Don’t know if I’ll smoke or not, but it’s stupid.”

“So you think it’s wrong for your dad to smoke, but you might do it anyway?” I asked.

“Don’t know. Depends on what the other guys do,” Nathan answered.

“Now that’s a very important message, Nathan . . . and honest. What you’re saying is, that if the other kids jump off a cliff, you’ll jump off with ’em. That’s stupid, but it’s human nature, and it’s called peer pressure, and it’s the most natural thing in the world. Peer pressure is prolly why your dad calls people fags. Bet he doesn’t even realize he knows people who are gay . . . it’s just something he heard when he was growin’ up, and he still uses it ’cause that’s what he heard other boys calling kids who were weak . . . kids who didn’t stand up for themselves . . . kids who were different.

“Now I want to make it clear that there will be no name calling around here based on race, background or sexuality. And in case anyone of you think otherwise, I’m no weakling. I may be short for my age, but I can take any of you on. Secondly, being gay doesn’t mean I’m a pedophile. I’m not going to ‘perve’ on any of you. In fact, I’m going out with someone . . .”

“Trevor Austin?” one of the kids at the table asked.

“God, what is it with this place? Who I’m dating is my own business and no one else’s. But anyway, to continue, you have to know that I have no sexual interest whatsoever in kids younger than me. Now being together with all of you in a tiny cabin, I’m gonna see you in your birthday suits. You’ll prolly see me, too. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, so get over it.

“Bottom line is we’re all gonna have a great time this summer,” I concluded.

“Well put, Kurt,” Jeff chimed in.

“And if you’re interested in learning more about the Bible, I’m your man,” I added.

“What do you know about the Bible?” Larry asked. “Doesn’t the Bible say that you’re gonna go to Hell for bein’ gay?”

“Actually, the Bible never once says anything about being gay, but a lot of fuss has been made over a single verse about the man who lays down with another man as with a woman. Lotsa folks think that refers to gay men, but why is that verse any more important than the one about not eating fish without scales or animals with cloven hoofs. The Jews don’t mix meat and dairy products because the Old Testament says not to boil a kid in its mother’s milk, which was a common pagan ritual in biblical times. Is that really what God intended? Not only that, but the Bible says it’s OK to own slaves. Does anyone here believe that’s true?

“You see, the Bible, just like the Constitution, is subject to interpretation. It’s been interpreted and reinterpreted by different religions and different men over the years to suit their own needs. Before the Civil War, the South used the Bible to justify owning slaves. They felt God was on their side, and even that blacks were inferior to whites and that God created blacks to be slaves, all based on what was in the Bible, even though it says no such thing.

“I know you’re all just learning about the Bible and the different books and chapters, and the prophets and apostles and so on. Just remember that whatever your faith . . . whatever beliefs your parents have . . . religion isn’t about what happened a long time ago. What’s in the Bible may be real, or it may be a nice story, but what we do today is what matters. Each and every one of us can make a difference today. The creation isn’t over yet. God isn’t done with us . . . He did His part, and now it’s up to us to finish what He started.

“And with that, I think it’s time to get back to our cabin so that those of you who wish, can join me in the chapel for the evening prayer service.”

Thus started the first of many dinnertime discussions. For a bunch of eight-year-olds, I was surprised just how much they understood about their world and the real problems their parents faced. Perhaps it was because they came from difficult backgrounds, with many of them being from single parent families or even foster homes, and some of them having parents who had dealt with or wrestled with drug addiction. These kids had been exposed to far more than any kid should have to deal with, let alone kids so young.

I couldn’t believe it when the Fourth of July holiday weekend rolled around, and the first session was already drawing to a close, and then it’d be time for another group of campers, just as I’d gotten close to this group. For the Fourth, the local fire department put on a nice little fireworks show as a sendoff that the campers really loved. It was nothing compared to the show I was used to downtown back home, but it was nice to spend it with the kids, and with Trevor. They repeated the fireworks the next night as a welcome for the new campers. I thought that was a nice touch.

Trevor showed me the article The Star did on the GSA. It was really awesome, and the picture of Jeremy and David on the front page was great, but the part on Brian Philips made me cry. I didn’t know Brian well, but I’d heard about his suicide, and I’d read his blog over and over again. It really touched me, and made me realize what’s important. It’s such a shame he didn’t realize how precious his own life was.

It was a few days later, when we were eating lunch in the mess hall, that I heard some of Brian’s words on the radio, sung as a song. I think it was John Mellencamp singing them. I never did catch the name of the artist, but it sounded like him. The melody was haunting and it was clearly one of the most beautiful songs I’d ever heard. Damned if I wasn’t crying again, but you know what, I wasn’t the only one crying. Some of the campers were crying, too!

It wasn’t until well into the second session that Trevor and I finally went out on our first date, although we’d spent a lot of our free time taking walks around the lake. Between his running the computer lab and teaching computer classes, and my leading the evening prayer services and leading the Bible classes, we were both busier than we ever thought we’d be. Not that we weren’t having fun, but we never had the time to be ourselves. Finally, we got a Saturday night off.

It was the weekend of the premier of the new Batman movie, and man, was it ever awesome. Trevor had a car, and we drove all the way back to the city to see it, but it was worth it. ’Course everyone thought we spent the night making out when we didn’t return until after one AM, but let them think what they want. Trevor and I had a great time, and that’s what mattered.

But then all the work I’d been doing to build the campers’ trust came to an end one hot Tuesday night. I heard Willie, one of the smaller boys in my cabin, sobbing in his bed. I thought it might just be another case of homesickness, but when I went to see what was wrong, he latched onto me like I was his long lost uncle, or something. He was absolutely hysterical.

I took Willie outside, so he wouldn’t disturb the other campers, and it was when I got him under one of the outside security lights that I noticed there was a bruise on his cheek. I asked him who did that to him, and he told me it was Trey, one of the twelve-year-old boys in Trevor’s cabin. I asked him if he had other bruises, and he just nodded his head up and down. I asked if he’d show me, and he lifted his shirt to show me several large black and blue marks on his torso. My eyes flew open wide as I realized I had a major problem on my hands.

I immediately took Willie to Father Jensen, figuring this was a serious enough matter that he’d want to be woken up for it, never dreaming the series of events I’d be unleashing. Willie was taken to the camp nurse, and after some discussion, he was taken to the nearby hospital to be sure there were no serious internal injuries. The whole thing had kinda upset me and it was after midnight before I got to sleep.

The next morning, the police picked up Trey for questioning. I should have known immediately something was very wrong, as twelve-year-old boys aren’t picked up by the police for bullying unless it’s more than just bullying. Trey never returned - neither did Willie.

The following day, I was beside myself when the police returned to arrest Trevor on multiple charges of sexual assault. By now Trevor and I had been close for several weeks, and I knew him well enough to know he was the kindest, gentlest and most generous kid around. There was no way he’d ever assault a kid. Hell, he had no need to have sex with younger kids. He could have had his way with me anytime if he wanted to - I’d certainly let him know that enough times - but he felt we had an obligation to be on our best behavior for the campers.

There was absolutely no way he could’ve done this.

I tried talking to Father Jensen, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Growing up as a preacher’s kid, I recognized spin control when I saw it, and the good Father’s spin machine was in full swing. I respected the man and what he was trying to do with the camp, but he was trying to keep the whole thing out of the news and sweep it under the carpet. He wouldn’t tell me shit, to put it politely.

From what I could gather, interpreting as much from what he didn’t say as what he did, Trey beat Willie up and forced him to perform sexual favors for him - most likely blowjobs, because he himself was being sexually abused. When confronted, Trey accused Trevor of being the one abusing him. After interviewing the other boys in his cabin from this and the earlier session, other boys came forward and accused Trevor of sexually abusing them as well. It was an open and shut case, or so it seemed.

Trouble was, Trevor didn’t do it. The only other possibility, as I saw it, was that Gary Walker, the senior counselor in Trevor’s cabin, was the one doing the abusing, and then threatening the boys with bodily harm unless they pointed the finger at Trevor. He was the only other person in common with all the other campers involved, but how could I prove it.

Well, that was something that would have to wait for the moment. The first order of business would be helping Trevor. Knowing Trev’s parents, who had a tenuous relationship with him as it was, they’d probably believe that he was a sexual predator and wouldn’t help him at all. It was therefore up to me to help him out. The first thing he needed was a good lawyer. I didn’t know how he’d pay for it, but I reasoned we could figure that one out later - finding someone was the top priority.

I didn’t know anyone personally, but I figured that a newspaperman would. Remembering Harold Warren, the reporter who interviewed me for The Star, I decided to give him a call. Father Jensen’s plans to keep the incident quiet were about to be blown away. It was later that day that Harold returned my call.

“Kurt, it’s nice to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked.

“Harold, there’s been a series of sexual assaults at the camp Trevor Austin and I volunteered at for the summer, and Trevor’s been arrested and taken away.”

“What?” he gasped. “I can’t believe it! Trevor seemed like such a nice boy. I can’t believe he’d do such a thing.”

“He didn’t!” I replied, “and I think I know who did, but I need your help. As much as they love him, I think Trevor’s parents will be all to willing to believe he could be a pedophile and probably won’t help him in his time of need. They just don’t understand homosexuality.

“Right now, Trevor needs a lawyer, and a damn good one. I’m sure you know just the right person for the job. We don’t have the money up front, but this’ll be a high profile case. If he can do it pro bono at first, Trevor’s parents are loaded and once they realize he’s really innocent, I’m sure they’ll pay up, with interest.”

“Actually, I do know just the right man for it, and I know he’ll be willing to take on Trevor at no cost until things get sorted out as you said. I’d also like to have a private investigator look into the kid you think might be the real predator. As a reporter, I can’t do it without it being a conflict of interest, but a P.I. working for Trevor, can.”

“I’m gonna try to gather some evidence myself,” I added.

“Don’t be stupid, Kurt,” Harold admonished me. “This kid may have been doing this for years and may have a record. He might think nothing of killing you to cover his tracks.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I put on a brave face and said, “Don’t worry, Harold. I won’t do anything unless it’s completely out in the open. . . . Oh, and Harold, I’m giving you an exclusive on this. Could you please not use Trevor’s name, at least not until you have to?”

“Once it gets out into the general media, I’ll have no choice, but until then, I’ll withhold his name as long as I possibly can. Kurt, I owe you one, and it’s the least I can do.”

As I hung up my cell phone, I started to think of how I might be able to catch Gary in the act without putting myself in danger. No matter how hard I tried, every idea I had meant sneaking out at night and catching him in the midst of forcing a boy to have sex with him. I’d literally have to photograph him with my cell phone and make a run for it, which meant my only protection was the speed with which my own two legs could carry me. It seemed risky as hell, but probably the only way to guarantee Trevor’s exoneration. For him, I’d do it. For Trevor, I’d do anything. Plus it’d put an end to the pain that the innocent kids were suffering.

The irony is that Trevor would have known exactly how to go about catching Gary in the act. With web cams and the camp’s wireless network, he’d have caught reams of video inside and around the cabin, detailing every lurid act. I didn’t have the foggiest notion of how to do that, so I’d just have to do it the old fashioned way, by sneaking around at night. It was risky as hell and I could easily be caught, but what choice did I have?

I figured that if Gary was going to do anything, it would prolly be just after midnight. Any earlier and there’d still be a chance for a twelve-year-old or two to be awake. Any later and his victims’d be too tired come the morning and someone’d notice. So I set the alarm on my cell phone to vibrate at 11:30 that night, and when the time came, I cautiously got up, quietly dressed in shorts and a tee, putting my sneakers on outside, and then I hid outside the twelve-year-old’s cabin and waited. And I waited, and waited, and waited until it was nearly dawn before I dejectedly made my way back to my own cabin to get an hour of sleep before we all got up to start the day.

I wasn’t much help at camp that day and just told everyone I didn’t sleep well. Everyone understood how I felt about Trevor, so no one suspected anything out of the ordinary. For three nights I repeated the same routine, catching naps during the day as much as I could, so I could keep up my vigil at night. Little did I realize how the sleep deprivation was affecting me, and how it would impair my judgment when it was really needed.

Finally on the fourth night, I awoke with a start in my hiding place to a snapping sound. At first I felt disoriented, but then I remembered where I was and knew I’d heard something. Then I heard another snapping sound and in the dim security lights I could see a couple of figures walking outside the cabin.

Suddenly, my heart was racing as I realized it was Gary and one of the campers! I was right - it was Gary!

I’d obviously dozed off in spite of my efforts to stay awake. I had to do this right - there was no margin for error - and so I waited until the pair was nearly out of sight, and then I cautiously and silently crept out of my hiding place and followed them at a distance, being careful to stay hidden in the shadows as much as possible.

They made their way down toward the lake and eventually toward a clearing amongst some trees. As I approached, I had to be especially careful - one false move and I might make a sound that’d alert them to my presence. By the time I reached the clearing and got close enough that I could peer into it from around a tree, they were both already naked and lying on a mattress. I wasn’t sure where the mattress came from, but I guessed that Gary had found it in storage and brought it there.

Although the light was very dim, what I saw horrified me. Gary was hard as a rock and the boy was giving him a blowjob. This was my chance. I’d only get one shot. Slowly and silently, I opened my cell phone and fired up the built-in camera. I got ready to frame my picture, but then the unexpected happened - the camera lit up the scene with its ‘pre-flash’ to help it focus, alerting Gary and the boy to my presence. Fuck!

I was caught totally off-guard. I was planning to stealthily shoot the picture and then make a run for it, alerting them to my presence only after I’d taken the photo, but now they were both gawking at me, Gary’s dick had shriveled up to be barely noticeable and my hands were shaking so much I could barely hold my cell phone steady. I tried in vain to shoot the picture anyway, but it was pointless - there was damn little to shoot, and with Gary making a grab for me, the camera couldn’t focus and outright refused to take the shot. I was screwed!

Finally, it dawned on me that if I didn’t hightail it out of there, I’d be a caged animal, and so I kicked into high gear and made a run for it. It was a smart move and might have worked if I’d started just a second or two earlier, since Gary was barefoot and naked, but Gary was much taller than me and had no trouble overtaking me before I got more than a few feet away.

“Well isn’t this my lucky day?” Gary asked with a grin once he pinned me to the ground. “Not only did I get to frame your boyfriend, but you set yourself up, too. This is just simply perfect.”

Pulling me back to my feet, he continued, “Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way, you do everything I tell you to and I’ll let you live, pure and simple. If you don’t do what I tell you to, well, we have a lake over there, and it’d be a real shame if you drowned, now, wouldn’t it? Don’t think I wouldn’t do it, either. It wouldn’t be the first time I killed a boy, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. When it comes to my freedom or your life, I’ll always choose my freedom over anyone else’s life . . . including yours.”

Gary’s words sent a shiver up my spine. It was just as Harold had warned me.

Marching me roughly back to the clearing, Gary said, “Now the first thing you need to do Kurt, is hand me your cell phone, and then take off all of your clothes.”

It made me sick, but what could I do? Gary smiled evilly as I stood naked before him. Sammy was standing there with a stunned look on his face.

“This is great,” Garry said. “You’re every bit as cute as I thought you’d be. We’ll have some fun, but first I need to get some evidence on your cell phone for the authorities.”

I swallowed hard at both thoughts, and could only imagine what kind of ‘fun’ he had in mind.

“OK, first off, I want you and Sammy to get down on the mattress and I want you to suck Sammy off. NOW!”

I was scared shitless, but I had no choice. This was not what I thought my first experience with sex would be. For a twelve-year-old, Sammy was well endowed. He was blond, and he had thick, curly blond pubes more like what I’d expect to see on a thirteen-year-old at least. Feeling guilty as hell that I was molesting an innocent boy, I took him into my mouth and began to suck on him as best I could. Sammy began getting hard! Although I was petrified, Sammy was now sporting a full-blown six inches. At first I gagged, but eventually I got into a rhythm, trying to make the best of it so it would look good for Gary.

“Ouch!” Sammy cried out. “You keep getting me with your teeth!”

I took my mouth off of him long enough to say, “Sorry, but I’ve never done this before,” and then went back to work, being more careful this time.

“Gees, I’d’ve thought you and Trevor were going at it like jackrabbits by now,” Gary added with a sarcastic sneer.

I felt more than saw the flash from my cell phone going off as Gary took picture after picture of me sucking Sammy off, and then Gary abruptly told us to stop.

“OK, boys, that’s enough of that. Now I’d like to capture some video for my collection. Kurt, Sammy knows exactly what to do, so you just need to follow his lead. You’ll start by kissing and move on to sucking, and more. . . . While you’re kissing, I want you to do a lot of feeling each other up and groping. Again, Kurt, just follow Sammy’s lead and you’ll do fine.”

I really didn’t want any of this to be happening - it was giving me a sick feeling inside, but I had to do what Gary said. As the light on Gary’s camcorder shone brightly, Sammy came up to me and stared into my eyes. He really was a cute boy with sapphire blue eyes, shiny blond hair and full red lips. He leaned forward and drew me into what quickly became a sensuous kiss and, with my eyes closed, I could almost believe it was Trevor I was kissing as our tongues intertwined. He grabbed my dick and it became rock hard - I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to become aroused and I even tried to will my erection away, but a cute boy was kissing and fondling me, and I really was aroused.

“Kurt,” I heard Gary shout, “You need to get into the act, too.”

Knowing my life depended on it, I started to slide my hands up and down Sammy’s back and his sides, and grazed his nipples before groping his ass. I then moved my right hand around front and gently started kneading Sammy’s balls. This was a whole new sensation for me and before I realized it, it sent me over the edge and I came. I couldn’t believe it - I actually came! I was mortified.

“Whoa, a little quick on the draw there fella? You need to learn to make it last a little longer,” Gary admonished me. “OK, let’s move onto a little 69 action, boys. Down on the mattress with your equipment in each other’s mouths.”

The whole experience was a nightmare. Gary shouted out his encouragement and specific instructions as he choreographed what to him must have seemed like the perfect porno.

I’d be lying if I said the sex didn’t feel good, but it was rape, pure and simple. I was raped, and Sammy was raped. I didn’t want this to be happening and I didn’t think Sammy did either.

We were forced to cum in each other’s mouths, and before the night was over, I was forced to perform anal intercourse with Sammy, and to endure more pain than I’d ever thought possible as he performed anal intercourse on me.

Nothing was worse, however, than when Gary forced me to give him a blowjob. I’ll never forget the taste of his spunk in my mouth so long as I live. It was positively vile.

“OK, boys, time to get dressed,” Gary said when it was all over. “Now here’s how it’s going down. About an hour ago, I got up when I heard the sound of Sammy getting up during the night. When I looked, I found Kurt leading him away, and I followed the two of you to this clearing. I heard Kurt tell Sammy to take off all his clothes, then watched as Kurt did the same. When I saw Kurt force himself on Sammy, I knew I had to do something, but I needed proof. I saw Kurt’s cell phone sticking out of his pocket, so I grabbed it and took some photos while you guys were going at it. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Sammy and I said in unison.

“OK, let’s go wake up Father Jensen. This is gonna be fun.” His remark brought a really sick feeling into the pit of my stomach again. Neither Sammy nor I were smiling.

When we got to the Father’s residence and Gary told the Father his side of the story and then showed him the pictures, Father Jensen went white as a sheet.

“Was this the first time, Sammy?” Father Jensen asked.

“Gary’s been forcing me to have sex with him, practically since I arrived here,” Sammy answered honestly. My heart skipped a beat. What a gutsy kid!

“What? No, it was Trevor and Kurt!” Gary shouted. “Don’t lie, Sammy. Tell the truth.”

“I am telling the truth, Father Jensen,” Sammy answered. “Gary threatened to tell my mom if I told on him. He even threatened to kill me. . . . And I liked what we did, but then I found out he’d been screwing Trey, too, and only God knows who else.”

“He’s got it all wrong!” Gary continued to shout.

“Father, there are five photos on my cell phone,” I added. Each time Gary shot a photo, it would have made a couple of flashes . . . once to focus and once to take the shot, just like it did when I tried to take a photo of Gary forcing Sammy to give him a blowjob, but the first flash alerted them that I was there, so I never got the picture. Gary forced us to have sex while he used my cell phone to take those photographs.”

“Is that true, Sammy?” the Father asked.

“Yes sir.” Sammy sounded so sad.

“These kids are lying!” Gary all but screamed.

“There’s more, Father,” I continued. After he shot the photos on my cell phone, Gary shot a video of Sammy and I having sex using a camcorder. He forced us to have oral and anal sex with each other. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t do it. I’’ll bet a rape kit would show that Sammy’s been repeatedly sexually penetrated, and that I’ve been assaulted annally. The police should also search for Gary’s camcorder and for other tapes he might have made.”

“Father this is a fabrication of lies!” Gary yelled.

“Sammy, were there other times Gary recorded you?” Father Jensen asked continuing to ignore Gary’s outbursts.

“Yes sir, lots of times,” Sammy answered.

“OK, I’m going to call the police now, and we’ll wait for them to come and straighten this all out.”

Before the Father could even turn to reach for the phone, there was the audible click of a switchblade opening.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Father,” Gary said as he grabbed Sammy and brought the switchblade up to the trembling boy’s neck. “I could kill all three of you before you could even dial the first digit of ‘9-1-1’.

“Now give me the keys to your Lincoln Navigator.”

“And you’ll release the boy?” the Father asked.

“Once I get away from here, safely. I give you my word that if no one interferes with my escape, I’ll let the kid out by the side of the road, unharmed. If anyone makes any attempt to stop me however, even for a speeding ticket, so help me God, I’ll kill him.”

“Why should I agree to that?” Father Jensen asked.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll kill the boy right here, right now and take the other boy as my hostage,” Gary said as he pulled the knife even tighter against Sammy’s throat.

“Let him take me, Father,” I found myself saying. “Give him the keys, and I’ll go with him.”

I knew it was a tough choice for the Father, but it was no choice. It was much better to let Gary take a mature fourteen-year-old volunteer as his hostage than a twelve-year-old camper, particularly when there was a good chance the hostage wouldn’t make it. If it came down to a fight, short as I was, I had a much better physical chance of surviving than scrawny Sammy would. I also felt I was at peace with God and that meant everything to me.

I kinda expected Gary to bind and gag me, but he actually let me ride shotgun. We started out driving the regular county roads in the area, sticking to the speed limit so as not to draw attention, but then Gary turned off onto some gravel and even dirt roads, and then some routes I’d have been hard-pressed to even call roads at all.

We came out in an area I didn’t recognize at all until we crossed over the Interstate, but we stuck to county and farm roads the whole way, cutting across the state and probably beyond. We stopped for breakfast and later for lunch in some small towns, but at no time did Gary ever let me get out of the SUV other than to pee by the side of the road while he watched, which kinda creeped me out.

Finally, as it was getting toward evening, Gary said, “Well, I guess we’re far enough away from the camp and to where I’m headed. By the time they find your body, I’ll be long gone.” I gulped at the implication of his words. “If you’re good to me, though, I’ll be sure to make it quick and painless. I’ve sure been wanting to get a piece of that fine ass of yours, and if you make me happy, I’ll make your final moments as painless as possible.”

Slowly, I nodded apprehensively. Then I realized that at least I might be able to buy myself a little time, and remembered how once before I’d let my paralyzing fear allow a missed opportunity slide past when Gary was in a compromising position. This time I vowed that while he was naked and vulnerable, I wouldn’t let any potential advantage pass me by - after all, I had absolutely nothing to lose.

As we crawled into the back seat, I took note of everything, from the keys left in the ignition, presumably to facilitate his quick escape, to the way the Navigator was parked off the road among some trees, out of sight, but ready for a quick getaway. I was psyched, and I was ready.

Gary didn’t undress completely as I expected him to, but he kept his shoes and socks on and dropped his shorts and boxers to his ankles, baring his ass. In many ways, this was better. Naked he could run. This way, he couldn’t. Gary made sure I got naked, though. He fondled me, but I didn’t get the least bit hard. He didn’t like that one bit - I guess it didn’t play into his fantasy, so he slapped me, hard.

“Give me a Goddamn blowjob, and don’t even think of trying anything,” he ordered. Oh I was thinking it all right, but I knew he’d kill me before I could spit his severed penis out of my mouth, so I did the next best thing - I gave him the best blow job I knew how. I put everything I had into it, fondling his nuts, stroking his chest, and even grazing his ring. I eagerly drank his offering down, making sure he was in a state of pure post-coital bliss.

Then I made my move.

I leapt over the front seat, started the engine, threw the SUV in gear and sped away at breakneck speed. I amazed myself at how quickly and smoothly it happened. It was like I’d rehearsed the moves several times.

There was no time to buckle up, nor to adjust the seat position and my feet barely reached the pedals with me sitting at the edge of the seat. I’d only practiced driving a few times in my life and this was dangerous as hell, but the worst that could happen was that I’d get us both killed, which sure beat the hell out of him killing just me, and then going on to molest or even murder another kid again. I just needed to make sure I didn’t hit anyone else on the road, but we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere and that was highly unlikely.

Of course, by now Gary was recovering from his shock and was doing everything in his power to get control back of the vehicle, and I couldn’t let that happen, so I kept swerving from side to side and accelerating and slamming on the brakes. Although I had the steering wheel to hang onto, it still made it extremely hard for me to stay in my seat, but no where near as hard as it was for Gary, who was off balance to begin with and never managed to get his balance back before I threw him out of his seat yet again. Then added to that, his shorts were around his ankles and his balls were getting pretty badly bruised, not to mention his head that was constantly banging against one side of the car and then the other - you should’ve heard him curse!

I didn’t know where the sheriff’s car came from, but boy, was it a welcome site! I slammed on the brakes, sending Gary slamming into the back of the front seat and onto the floor. I stormed out of the car and ran to the sheriff’s car, screaming.

“Help! I’ve been kidnapped and raped!” I must’ve been quite a site, an obviously underage driver, running naked and screaming hysterically.

The officer had obviously run the Navigator’s plate, ’cause he came out with his weapon drawn, and it wasn’t pointed at me.

Once the police gathered all the information they could after me giving them statement after statement, they drove me home.

My brothers and my Mom - well as soon as I walked in the house, they kept touching me, hugging me, always smiling whenever they looked at me. Mom said she had quite a phone call from Father Jensen about what a great counsellor I was. I hope he doesn’t think I should be a preacher some day.

I knew over time, I’d be OK. I had a loving mother and two loving brothers, and a very loving boyfriend who was more than understanding.

Predictably, Trevor’s folks were shocked and only now proclaimed to have been steadfast in their belief in their son’s innocence. While they may have had their doubts in their son at first, Mr. and Mrs. Austin certainly came around, and they couldn’t have been nicer. I think they had their eyes opened, and learned to never lose faith in their son’s honesty again. The next day they treated my family and me to a great dinner at the Olive Garden.

Just as we pulled into the parking lot, I spotted Trevor standing there. I’d talked to him on the phone, but this was the first time we’d seen each other in over a week. Our car hadn’t come to a complete stop before I was out the door and running towards him. Together we hugged and we sobbed without letting go.

Once the crying eased, he whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” was all I could muster through my emotional upheaval. It was the first time either of us had spoken these words aloud and yet, I knew we both sincerely meant them.

I wanted to say so much more, but surprisingly Harold put his hands on each of our shoulders smiling. “OK you two, time to break it up. Trevor, your folks have our table ready.”

During dinner, we got quite an earful from Harold. If I’d been patient and let the P.I. do his job, there would’ve been no need to prove Gary was molesting those kids at camp. It seemed Gary wasn’t even his real name, and he wasn’t a graduate student - it was an identity he’d stolen to pass the background check. His real name was Peter Simmons, and he’d gone to school to become a teacher, but kept losing jobs because he was accused of inappropriate behavior with his students. It turned out he’d been molested as a kid.

Dinner was a great success. Our two families got along so well at a social level that didn’t involve the church. It seemed that Harold could keep the conversation moving regardless of the subject.

Harold got quite an interview, and Trevor and I spent an afternoon ‘shooting the shit’ with him about some serious topics - pedophilia, child abuse, rape, and recovery from rape. I ended up agreeing to speak about my experience as a rape victim, both at my school and at a city-wide round table on rape to be held in the fall. Finding women who are willing to speak up is difficult enough, but finding teenage victims, let alone male teenage victims, is virtually unheard of. Not only would I be breaking new ground, but as I saw it, I’d also be helping myself to heal.

Trevor couldn’t have been more understanding, and proud of the way I’d risked my own life to save Sammy’s. He understood that it would probably be a while before I’d feel comfortable having sex, and that I could potentially end up being HIV positive, but that’s a bridge we’ll cross when my final tests come back in six months. For now, we’re gonna take things slow . . . I have a lot of scars to heal - hopefully, more emotional than physical.

Trevor and I did have a few heavy dates during the next week, but for some reason we both felt we had to go back to the scene of the crime. So after a bit of pleading with our parents and a phone call to Father Jensen, Trevor and I returned to the camp to help with the final session. This was a fresh batch of kids who knew nothing of what had happened other than what they might have seen on the news. The other counselors treated us like heroes without bringing up the subject of why they thought that way.

For sure, we were nervous, but interacting with the kids was everything; their relative innocence and joy of life brought our minds back to a healthier reality. Thanks to that, along with a lot of firm guidance and one-on-one talks with Father Jensen, Trevor and I came through it with a strong sense of accomplishment.

What worried me the most was what would happen to Gary’s other victims - the other kids he raped at camp. Most of them came from disadvantaged backgrounds to begin with, which is what made them perfect victims in the first place. We’d already seen one of his victims, Trey, take out his frustration of being a victim by victimizing Willie, and so the cycle of the victim becoming the victimizer had already begun. How many of the other boys would do the same? The resources of the camp were already stretched thinly, as were those of the social service agencies that placed the boys there in the first place. These boys needed intensive counseling and would continue to need it throughout their teenage years, but who would step up to the plate and provide it for them?

I spoke to Trevor about asking his parents to set aside some money for counseling sessions for the raped campers, which he thought was an outstanding idea - in fact, he promised he wouldn’t let them rest until they did so.

Then I remembered my friend whose parents were even more loaded than Trevor’s. I picked up the phone and dialed. “Jeremy, I know your parents have money, but do you think they might be willing to part with some of it for an extremely worthy cause?”

Please note that there are significant public health and psychologic consequences resulting from the forced, unprotected sexual activity in this story. These issues are explored further in the my story, Positive.

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