Camp Refuge - 2. Clay

It was May 11th, a Friday. Greg waited for Clay and Mason in the tiny airport lobby in Crescent City, California. It was around two p.m. and a steady, heavy mist fell from the sky. Greg had already put in almost eight hours of work on the campground and Cabin Two today. But that didn't diminish his excitement at all.

He was still dressed in his work clothes - sturdy canvas brown Docker pants, black work boots, and a green checked flannel shirt. His hands were a little dirty and he smelled a bit like sweat, rain and the punky scent of old wood and humus.

Greg had worn his poncho while he worked out in the weather earlier in the day. However, there was only so much the article of clothing could do to protect him from the rain. He was pretty much soaked, with only his shoulders and his upper back remaining dry. But again, he didn't care. In his opinion, a little discomfort from the chill was a small price to pay for realizing a dream.

He watched from the vinyl seats in the lobby, and then he grinned. Greg stood up.

A tall, imposing slab of a man strolled through the security gate which led into the lobby from the concourse. He was six feet two inches, and weighed in at two hundred and fifteen pounds of muscle. He was observed by the TSA agent at the gate, who quickly recognized the physical challenge a man that size could present. He had short salt and pepper hair, a strong, clean-shaven jaw, and wide cheekbones from a distant Native American ancestor. At forty-four years old he was still in top physical condition, though he worked hard to stay that way. His green eyes shifted around as he walked in, and they landed on Greg. Clay Jameson returned Greg's grin.

"Hey, Partner." Greg met him and held out a hand. It felt like he hadn't seen Clay in months, but it had only been a couple of weeks since Greg left Alabama.

Clay shifted the bag on his shoulder and took Greg's hand in his meaty paw. "Hey, Partner." Then he pulled Greg in and gave him a quick "man hug" - where only the chests touched.

"Better watch, Dad." A dry voice said as Clay hugged Greg. "Someone might think you're gay." Mason was a few steps behind Clay and smiled slightly at the pair of men. The gangly youth was an inch taller than Greg, at six foot one, but he only weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had the same green eyes as his dad and very dark black hair. His face was more narrow than his father's, more like Kathy, his mom, in that respect. Greg couldn't help but notice a healing, bruised cut on Mason's jaw and a slightly black left eye.

Greg chuckled at his comment. "Hi, Mason." He smiled at the boy. Greg offered a hand and Mason shook it. "Good to see you too."

Greg helped the guys with their luggage. Mason had more since he would be staying the summer. Greg walked them out to his truck, Mason's old, hand-me-down suitcase in his grip. It was still lightly raining, and Greg waved a hand over the gray, wet scene as he loaded the luggage. "This is supposed to clear up tomorrow. Sorry, the weather isn't great."

Both of his guests laughed. Clay shook his head. "This is fine. It's already eighty-five degrees and eighty percent humidity in Huntsville." Mason nodded in agreement. Clay looked thoughtful. "Though, tent camping in this will be a little interesting. Maybe I'll get a tarp to go over the top of our tents."

Greg climbed into the truck cab and Clay got in on the passenger side. Mason sat behind Clay in the back seat of the truck, next to all of their luggage.

Greg looked over at Clay. "Well, let's get you settled at the campground first. If you decide you need tarps, I've got a few we can use already."

The big man nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He smiled. "We're both eager to see what you've done with the place," he looked over his shoulder at Mason behind him, "right Mason?"

"Yeah." The dark-haired youth looked at the rear-view mirror at Greg's eyes. "I heard you have a river nearby where you can swim. That true?"

"Yep. I own a little bit of riverside beach." Greg pulled out of the parking lot of the airport. "Though, swimming right now is not for the faint of heart. The water is freezing. And from what I've heard, it will be for at least another month."

They continued to talk about the campground as Greg drove them out of town. They turned onto the 199, and his visitors both watched and commented on various aspects of the scenery. They passed through the tiny village of Hiouchi, and then, about a half-mile farther east, Greg turned carefully into his campground's paved driveway.

"Oh, wow." Clay gawked at the sight. Greg had worked hard to make it somewhat presentable, and now they could see deeper into the grounds. Trees dotted the middle and a lot of the briars and brush had been removed. So now you could actually see all eight of the cabins. It was also evident that some work had recently been done on a couple of the cabins.

Greg drove slowly on the paved loop, and his guests both pressed their noses against the glass. Greg looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled at Mason's excited expression. The young man was quiet, but it was apparent on his face that he liked what he saw.

"Greg, man. You've busted your ass on this place." Clay had seen pictures of the campground before Greg began work on it, so he knew how much effort had gone into the way it now looked. The truck reached the entrance of the campground again, and Greg pulled off to park the rig. "It looks great."

"More to do," Mason said from the back. Greg could tell that he was eager, though the young man tried to act as if he were only mildly interested. The image was ruined when they stopped, and Mason was the first one out of the truck. He made a beeline for Cabin One and quickly ducked inside. Both Greg and Clay looked at one another and smirked.

They unloaded the truck and put the luggage on the concrete pad under the canvas awning attached to the Airstream. As they finished that chore, Mason reappeared from inside the cabin. He walked back over to the two men through the gentle mist as it continued to fall, and sheltered with them under the canvas porch.

"Dad, you should check out the cabin," Mason said and smiled slightly at Greg. Greg returned it, and Clay noticed the conspiratorial atmosphere between the two of them.

"Okay. Why?" He asked, but he also moved and started walking over to Cabin One. Greg and Mason didn't answer and only followed him.

Clay entered, and his eyes widened. "What the hell?" He turned in place and looked at the small but cute cabin. It was only one room. A twin bed was against the southern wall, and a window was on the eastern end of the little space. Under the window was a potter's wheel that sat on a simple newly made desk, and a dry bag of powdered clay was in a basket next to the desk. There was a second-hand, but comfortable looking futon against the western wall. And above the doorway in inexpertly created hardened clay letters was "CLAY". They were mounted on a wooden board, somehow, and the board with the letters was hung above the door.

The big man looked both mystified and amused. Greg grinned at Clay's expression. "I wanted each cabin to be sort of a focused space for different activities. So this one," he pointed at the potter's wheel, "will be all about pottery and ceramic stuff. I was gonna wait on the activities, as that's just not the highest priority. But I saw the potter's wheel at the same thrift store I got the futon. It works so I couldn't pass it up."

Clay shook his head and looked back up at the lettering above the doorway, his expression one of approval. "It's a good idea." He frowned and glanced around. The bed was made, and everything was clean. "I thought you said the cabins need work? This looks like it's ready to go. Needs paint, but otherwise, it looks good."

"It is ready. I got a couple of cabins fixed up, one for each of you. I mean, they're simple little spaces. There's no running water inside or bathrooms. But you've got power with light, and a roof overhead. Though bathrooms and water are both super close, and that all works now." Greg smiled. "No tent camping for you guys."

"Really? I have my own cabin?" Again Mason tried to hide his excitement.

"Yep. Cabin Two." Greg leaned out of the doorway and pointed at the next cabin in line. "That one's yours for the summer. Part of your payment for helping me out."

Mason nodded, bit his lip and turned to go take a look. Though he tried, he couldn't hide his eagerness. Clay laughed when he and Greg were alone. "He's in heaven right now. A teenager getting his own space, a stone-throw from the river."

Greg smiled. "I'm glad he's into it. I didn't know if he'd be bored, or upset about coming here."

Clay shook his head. "Mason is a lot of things, and one of those is a nature lover. This whole campground is his happy place." His face grew serious. "I really want to thank you for letting him stay with you. Sometimes I don't know how he's going to make it back home. It worries me."

Greg nodded and put a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Well, he just finished high school. If he wanted to start over, here in California, he could. He'd always have a place to land here." Greg squeezed Clay a little. "You too, by the way."

Clay frowned and swallowed. Greg realized the big man struggled when it came to Mason and his future. It was an emotional topic. Clay nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks. Seriously. It helps to know that's an option."

Mason appeared in the doorway, his eyes bright. "Dad, I'm gonna go down to the river."

"All right. Be careful. Don't get too filthy, you'll mess up your cabin."

Mason nodded and was gone again. Clay chuckled. "That boy is definitely in heaven." He clapped a big hand on Greg's back. "Let's go sit on your porch. It looks like a fine place to hang out over there."

The two men made their way back to Greg's Airstream with its canvas awning. Clay pulled out a patio chair and sat heavily. He sighed, tired from travel and from worry. Greg looked down at him. "Want a cider?"

"Yes. Or four."

Greg laughed and ducked into the Airstream. He returned with a couple of bottles. "You want more there are plenty where these came from." He handed one over to Clay, and the big man twisted the top off of the bottle.

Clay took a long drink, then lowered the cider and made a satisfied sound. "Mmmm. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Greg pulled up a chair and sat beside Clay. The two men had a great view of the campground. The mist fell over the whole area, and the quiet noises of a wet, peaceful forest and the babbling of water in the river to the south were the only sounds to their ears.

They were both silent for a time. Greg felt an indescribable happiness to have Clay there with him. By far, Clay was the most important person in Greg's life. And after Mason, Greg knew that he was the same for Clay. There was something about that knowledge. Something rare, precious, and it made Greg feel lucky to have Clay in his life. He was the one reason Greg had almost stayed in Alabama. But it was Clay himself who finally convinced Greg to go.

"Greg, man, you can't stay here." Clay had told him. Greg remembered that conversation during one of the last patrols they did together. Clay had turned his face away from Greg when he said it. "You should go. It's your dream, and you should go get it."

Greg felt as if he had upset Clay somehow, and he felt as if he had decided to cut off a limb when he finally made the purchase of the campground. Greg hadn't quite known what he was giving up until he had left, but now he knew.

He loved Clay. There was no doubt of it. He had never allowed himself to look at the man sexually at all, but he knew that what he felt was love. It killed Greg that Clay never even dated after he lost Kathy. If anyone deserved to be happy with another person, it was Clay.

As Greg sifted through his memory, Mason returned from his trek to the river. The young man smiled despite the wet weather and his moist clothes. He wordlessly pulled out a chair and joined the two men. Clay reached and patted Mason's back affectionately - the movement loving and unconscious. A pang of longing went through Greg when he saw it.

'He's a great dad.' He swallowed, and pushed his own memory away, a stark contrast to Clay and Mason's relationship.

The time approached three p.m., and with the difference between Alabama and California, Greg assumed the guys would be hungry either right then or soon. He got up and loaded his charcoal grill that was just a few steps from the "patio". It was largely protected from the rain under a nearby redwood tree. Greg lit the briquettes, and he turned to find Clay standing behind him.

"Need help?" The big man asked holding his empty bottle in one hand.

"Just for you to get us more cider." He looked around Clay at Mason. "Hey, Mason. Do you want to try kombucha? Some woman at the store told me I needed to try it." Greg smiled. "You could be my guinea pig."

Mason frowned and then shook his head with a laugh. "When you put it that way, sure."

"It's all in the fridge in the Airstream, Clay."

Clay turned and went to gather the drinks. On his way, he dropped his empty bottle into the newly cleaned and repaired recycle bin beside the Airstream trailer.

Greg was satisfied with the charcoal, and he went back to sit at the table. Clay rejoined them. He slid an opened bottle of cider in front of Greg and handed the kombucha to Mason. He sat, and Mason smelled the drink. The teenager made a face. "It smells weird."

"Yeah, she said it was fermented tea." Greg sipped his cider then looked over at Mason. "Give it a try. You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

Mason raised the bottle to his lips with a dubious expression while Greg and Clay watched him, curious. He took a swig and lowered the bottle. Mason frowned, looked at the bottle, and licked his lips. "Huh." Then he took another drink.

Greg smiled at Mason's reaction, then got up and checked the grill. The coals were beginning to whiten, and Greg put the top back on slightly ajar so the rain wouldn't get to them but they would still get plenty of airflow. Then he went into his trailer. He came out with a bag of chicken thigh and leg quarters. They marinated in honey, lemon juice, mustard, olive oil, season salt, and cracked black pepper. He had started the marinade that morning, and there were four of them in the large ziplock bag. He knew he could only eat one, but he was pretty sure Clay could polish off a couple.

Both of his guests sat up straight so they could see what was destined to be their dinner. Greg saw Clay smile, and the big man settled back in his seat. Mason did the same.

"Let us know if you need help," Clay said. Greg only nodded. He didn't plan to make them work at all today.

That is how it was with them. Nobody said all that much. They didn't have to. Greg hadn't hung out often with Mason, but all the times he had the boy had been quiet and kept mostly to himself. He was a lot like his dad in that respect. That suited Greg. He didn't like talking for its own sake.

He busied himself and prepped the carrot sticks, cauliflower, and chunks of mushrooms that would go on the grill with the meat. He had what was supposed to be a disposable aluminum pan he repeatedly used for that purpose. Greg coated the veggies in olive oil, salted and peppered them, then put them into his container.

Greg opened the lid to the grill. The coals had whitened and were ready. He put his pan of vegetables on one edge out of the way. Then he lay the chicken on the hot grill. Each piece sizzled with a satisfying sound as he put them on, and the smell of honey and mustard hit his nose immediately. The lid went back, and he retook his seat.

Magically, there was a fresh cider that waited for him beside his warm almost finished drink. He laughed, downed the remnants of his nearly empty bottle, and took the new, still-cold cider in hand. "Thanks."

"Welcome. Thanks for cooking. Smells good." Clay tipped back his third cider. He finally seemed relaxed. He let his body slump a little in his chair, and his face slackened a bit so that there were fewer lines around his eyes and on his forehead. Greg liked this Clay. It always seemed the big man was under a certain amount of stress, and it was rare for him to let it go. But right now Clay was free of it.

They spent a quiet, calm afternoon grilling and then eating the food Greg had prepared. Once they finished with their meal, Greg led them to the center of the campground with their dirty dishes in a plastic tote.

Greg had already started construction on a free-standing kitchen and meal-prep area for use by the whole campground. In his mind, he envisioned teaching kids and other campers about cooking there. He wanted to help them gain the skills they should have learned from their parents, and he wanted them to have fun while they gained confidence.

Currently, only the foundation pads that would go under the posts for the kitchen were in, and even those were still curing. Greg had only poured the concrete for them yesterday. Each had a sturdy metal bracket embedded in the concrete where a post would eventually be secured.

In the meantime, Greg put an E-Z Up in place. Under it was a spigot and good drainage. That was the spot he did his dishes, and it would eventually be replaced by a full sink with a counter. Clay looked over the area as Greg sat the tote down next to the spigot. "You've got some big plans." He nodded at the concrete pads.

Greg smiled and began to clean the dishes. "Yeah, I guess I do."

As Greg washed, Mason frowned in thought. "What's this going to be?"

Greg explained the kitchen idea that could be used by the whole campground. Mason listened attentively, then he looked confused and shook his head. "I've never seen anything like that in a campground. Why are you doing it?"

Greg glanced at Clay and straightened from his now clean dishes. "Did you tell Mason what I'm doing here?"

Clay shook his head. "I told him you were building a campground." He shrugged. "The rest is your business to tell him if you want."

"Ah. Okay." Greg motioned at some chairs under the E-Z Up, and the three of them took seats. He looked at Mason's green eyes. "I'm building a campground, and I'm going to advertise it as 'gay-friendly'. I'm going to give particular focus to younger folks who need help, but anybody is welcome to stay."

Mason stared at Greg. He blinked, and finally seemed to find his tongue. "Why are you doing that?" Before Greg could answer, his eyes widened. "Wait. Are you gay?"

Greg looked hard at Clay. The big man shrugged. "Your business."

Greg shook his head and laughed quietly, then his eyes found Mason's. "Yeah. I am. I know how hard it is for kids growing up in the wrong household. And I wanted to help."

Mason sat back in his seat, obviously shocked at that revelation. He had known Greg for his whole life, and though true they weren't close, it was still a bombshell. "I had no idea." His eyes narrowed. "You hid it well."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I guess I did."

Mason frowned and clenched his jaw. "I'm tired. I'm going to go to my cabin." The lanky boy stood and walked through the falling mist. After a few moments, the two men heard the door to his cabin shut.

Greg frowned and looked over at Clay. The big man only shrugged, a perplexed look on his face. Greg copied the motion.

The two of them stood and walked back over to Greg's patio. By now Greg was buzzing hard from three ciders. Clay was a bigger man, but Greg could tell he still felt the three he had drunk, though not as much as Greg.

"I'm getting another. Want one?" Clay had a hand on the door of the Airstream and looked over his shoulder at Greg.

If he were sober Greg would have said no. At that point in the day, his decision making wasn't the best. "Yeah. Sounds good." He sat back in his chair and let his body relax. Clay came back and held out a wet, cold bottle of cider. Greg grinned at him and sat up. "Thanks, Clay." He took the bottle and continued to stare at Clay. "I'm glad you're here."

Clay's face quirked into a smile. "Me too." He reached down and rubbed Greg's head. Greg let his eyes close under his touch. Clay's hand lingered a moment, then he pulled away. He dragged his chair close and sat back down next to Greg. "You let your hair grow out." Clay took a drink of his cider and exhaled. "Looks good on you."

"Thanks." Greg felt a roil of competing emotions. He wasn't totally sure what was happening, but his cock was hard in his pants. 'Clay is off limits. Just stop. Off limits. He's just drunk, and a little sloppy.' Suddenly Clay as a sexual partner became a possibility in his mind, and Greg struggled to squash the idea. 'He's straight. Don't do this.'

Greg felt the force of a gaze on him and looked over. Clay stared at him, his green eyes intense. "What are you thinking?" Clay asked, and swigged his cider.

Greg swallowed. Lying to Clay was nearly impossible, but he'd have to try. "That I probably shouldn't have another cider." He smiled, and Clay returned it.

"Why not?" Clay reached and patted his shoulder. "You've done some hard work here. You deserve it."

His hand remained, and Greg swallowed. They both took another drink. Greg liked the feel of Clay's warm palm on his slightly damp, flannel-covered shoulder. They sat that way for a time, Clay's hand on Greg as if it belonged there.

Clay shifted, and he stood up. "I need to piss." With Clay right in front of him, Greg couldn't help but notice his crotch looked fuller than it had before. Greg only nodded, and Clay walked off to the edge of the grounds. He watered the weeds for nearly a full minute, then he came back over. Greg watched him as he did, and the big man had a subtle smile on his face.

He stood almost directly in front of Greg and drained the last of his cider. Greg had a perfect view of Clay at waist level, and he was too drunk to avoid staring at his crotch. Clay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked down at Greg. "I'm gonna head to my cabin, lay down for a bit."

Greg forced himself to pull his eyes off of the clear outline of Clay's cock in his pants. He drank the last of his cider, and he stood up. His own erection was visible too, and Greg saw Clay look and smile. "Ah, I'll walk you over."

The two of them slowly walked to the cabin, and Greg struggled with control. Clay opened the door and stepped inside. He turned and looked at Greg. "Come on in out of the rain." His eyes focused on Greg's face.

'He's drunk. No. No. No.' Greg struggled hard. "I… I better not." He shook his head. "I should let you sleep."

Clay's stepped close enough that Greg could feel his body heat and his voice dropped. "I don't need sleep."

Greg's resistance snapped like a twig. He looked into Clay's eyes, swallowed, and nodded. "Okay." He stepped inside, and Clay reached past him to close the door.

The big man loomed over Greg and gazed down at him. Slowly, Clay folded his arms around him, as if he were trying it out - testing how it felt. Greg's head spun, from both alcohol and desire, and his own arms went around Clay.

They stood that way for a few minutes. Clay's hands gently ran up and down Greg's spine. Eventually, one came to rest on the small of his back, and the other on the back of his neck. Clay leaned back a little and looked at Greg's face. After a moment he tentatively leaned in, and the two men kissed.

Greg made a small, desperate noise. He tried to leash his aggressive desires and let Clay take the lead, but it was difficult. Clay's tongue explored Greg's mouth - the moment slow, unhurried, and thorough. Clay kissed him for a solid minute then pulled away and wet his lips. Their foreheads were together, and Clay made a low growling sound in his chest.

"That was good." He said. His voice was tinged with lust and a little surprise. "Didn't know if I'd like that."

Greg couldn't answer him. He buried his face against Clay's neck and breathed in his scent. Clay smelled faintly of musk, and Greg opened his mouth, his tongue pressed flat against the skin of Clay's throat. Greg slowly licked the bigger man. Clay exhaled a little in surprise, and his jaw dropped, breathing heavily as Greg tasted him.

Greg was slowly losing it. He knew what he wanted to do. "Tell me if I do something you don't like." He didn't wait for an answer and dropped to his knees.

Greg unbuckled his own pants, then reached for Clay's. The big man seemed a little unsure at first, but Greg felt Clay's hands on his shoulders as he unbuttoned Clay's jeans. He pulled the denim open, and he was hit with that same musky odor, though it was stronger. It was the smell of Clay. Clay's white briefs strained to contain his erection, and they didn't have to for long. Greg peeled them down, and Clay's cock was exposed for him to admire.

Clay's member matched his frame. It was heavy, thick, but not overly long. A little above average length, but the girth made it look impressive. Greg was definitely impressed. He tried to take his time, and tease Clay a little, but his own impatience took over. Greg reached and put one hand on Clay's warm, furry balls while his mouth eagerly swallowed the big man's cock.

Clay gasped. "Ah … ah shit." His hands opened and closed on Greg's shoulders. Greg slid up and down, his mouth and tongue eagerly working the big man's dick, all while his hand gently rubbed Clay's scrotum. He also got his own cock out and furiously stroked himself as he pleasured Clay.

"Shit. Shit." Clay's breath began to come in staccato gasps, and Greg tasted precome on his tongue. "Greg … ah man. That feels so good." His hands gripped Greg's shoulders hard. "Don't stop. Fuck, don't stop."

Greg continued. Clay started to make clipped grunting noises and went up on his toes. One of his hands shifted and gripped the back of Greg's neck, his body began to shake, and he exhaled in a burst of air. Then Greg felt Clay's cock spasm in his mouth, and the first volley hit his tongue. Greg kept at it. He sucked and coaxed the trembling man's member until it was spent.

Greg had already finished himself, and he knelt in front of a small puddle of his own semen on the floor. He took one last delicious lick and pulled off of Clay. Greg swallowed and stood up. He dragged his pants and boxers back up over his still hard dick.

Suddenly hit with fear Greg pointed his face down. 'What have I done? My best friend, my only friend.'

"Hey." Clay's hand pulled on Greg's chin and made him look up at his face. "Don't do that." Clay's eyes were now worried. "Don't make me think this was a mistake."

Greg shook his head. "Shouldn't have done this. You've been drinking." He grimaced. "I … I fucked up."

"Greg, man." Clay smiled reassuringly. "I've thought about trying this for a long time." He shrugged. "Yeah, the alcohol helped get me there. But you should know, you've been what I think about when I go at it solo."

He looked into Clay's eyes. "Really?" He blinked, dumbfounded. "You're gay too? Or bi?"

Clay sighed. "I don't know what I'd call myself. You and Kathy are the only people I've ever been attracted to. I mean, REALLY attracted." He took a breath. "But I admit, when it started to happen with you it fucking terrified me. Didn't know what the hell was happening."

Greg was drunk, and it was a lot to think about. He did the first thing he wanted, and he leaned forward. He put his arms around Clay and held the man tight to his chest. Greg leaned against Clay a little to hold himself up.

Clay gently rubbed Greg's back. He held his inebriated friend then pushed away a bit so he could look at Greg. Clay searched his face. "So, we okay? I mean, I didn't totally fuck things up?"

Greg blinked slowly and shook his head. "You didn't fuck up." He reached up and put a hand on the side of Clay's head. "You can't fuck up. I love you." Greg frowned, and then he looked appalled at the fact that he spoke the words aloud.

Clay grinned. "Yeah? Well, I love you too. But you can tell me again later. When you're not about to fall over."

Clay gently stripped Greg, and he put him in the little bed in the cabin. Then he peeled off his remaining clothes and climbed in with him. The big man put his arm around Greg, tight across his chest.

"Sleep well, partner." He whispered. He rubbed his chin against the back of Greg's neck. Then he sighed, and lay his head down.

Greg's head still spun. But he was warm, comfortable, and for the first time in his life, he was being spooned. Greg only managed to get out one word as he slipped into dream.

"Partner."