Fruit Float

[VicBCtop]

Back in the 90's, a regional gay/lesbian group in the western Canadian province of BC held an annual week-long camp and celebration alongside the Slocan river in the Kootenay Valley. Several hundred campers on a massive farm alongside a wide slow river of crystal clear water fed by the Kootenay glacier.  Although this was not ostensibly a sex party event, a lot of sex happened and in my experience, always BB.   I attended each year for the ten years it was held, before local gay politics ended the event.  Each year I had many memorable encounters.

Part of the fun of camping alongside the river was when the arrangers provided a truck to haul campers along with various air mattress flotation devices and beverages many miles up river and allowing them to flow back down river  at leisurely pace.   Smart campers learned to not travel with the main pack of floaters, but rather to hold back and find private moments together along side the banks of the river or the many sand bars which formed in the middle of the river.  On two occasions one summer I bred a two visiting American Adonis hotties on the same sand bar.  The funny thing I later learned at a dance the third night that they were lovers and I don't think they had an open relationship - but I fucked both and so did quite a few others I hear, LOL.  I gave and took a dozen loads each week of each year.  Locals and travelers from all over learned of the camp and showed up each year.  I topped and bottomed freely with many.

 One cherished memory however is an anonymous bottom who, every single year, sought me out on the same evening of the big amateur talent show night, which was held on the final night of the week-long camping event.  From our first encounter until our last, I never spoke a word to him, and all the years of the festival, in the several days leading-up to the annual talent show, I never saw him.  Amazingly, I didn't see him once, over all those years, except for the night of the talent show when, as most (if not all) of the campers packed into the tiny hall up the road from the farm land campground, he and I walked out and met at the far end of the small baseball diamond field next to the hall.  Wordlessly he would kiss me hug me grope me and disrobe me.  In the dark moonlit knee-high grass he would pull me towards him.  The only words he ever said would be, at some point after we passionately made out, "Fuck me and cum inside my ass!"

Not another word spoken until I came deep inside, and after he had held me inside him tightly until with a sigh he would murmur "Thank you," let me slide out, we would disentangle our discarded clothes and dress in silence.  

I saw him only by moonlight.  He was a blond, sharp featured yet delicate boy with an innocent look in his eyes.  Back then I was thin and wiry, with hairy legs and chest and a navy crew cut.  I can't tell you why he found me that first night and successive year.  

By the way, the first year I encountered him I had walked out there to smoke a j, but instead bred him.  Each year, never varying in any detail, we met and fucked.  On the last year the festival was held, well, everyone seemed to know the locals were not going to continue it ...and our fucking reflected as much.  It was rougher more urgent.  Raw spit 'n' push as always but with a frenzy of insistent passion that made it wilder than ever before.

Again he begged me to fuck and cum inside his ass, and again he thanked me, but as we parted that last time, he grabbed me and pulled me close to see his face in the dim light.  His eyes were full of love, yet sadness, yet still tears of joy.  He smiled widely, then turned and ran away.  To this day I recall the look he gave me that last night and marvel the memories remain stuck in my mind like a grit of sand.  What was it about the look?

I've see glimpses of that look in others, but just flashes now and then.  Most recently I saw it when I gave a twink his first fisting.  But I do see the look - it's a mix of total gratitude and melancholy, a deep sadness.  I see hints, but not quite the intensity I saw in the eyes of the guy from that festival alongside the Slocan River.  

I doubt I'll ever understand why, of the thousands of men I have known, I recall him and that look.  Moreover I'll never understand how it is we came to find each other year after year.  Of course I'll also never know who he was, or what the look expressly meant, but clearly it meant something to me.

So, there you have it.  A random memory.  Raw in every way and most real.  For a fiction site, LOL.

 

[PERVERSATILE]

''On my return you and I will spend a single night together.
We shall enjoy it enough to regret it is to be our last.
But then we shall remember, that regret is an essential component of happiness.''

-Pierre Choderlos de Laclos