First to Phase 10 and the Start of Something More
Reveille echoes through the camp, pulling me from sleep and filling me with excitement and nervous energy for the day ahead. Staff training week is nearly over, and August and I have been separated into our different areas. As a Commissioner, my role is more administrative to start—liaising with Adult Leaders and SPLs—while August will spend his time on the front lines with the scouts. Our overlap now is limited to meals and our free time before and after dinner.
As much as I want to talk to August about what happened last night, it's easier to push it aside when he's not around. But that avoidance shatters when I return to my room after training with Ander and see August sitting on his bed wearing a neat white adidas Ajax football jersey, blue Hummel shorts, and classic white Adidas socks paired with black Samba sneakers. The outfit, sporty yet effortlessly put together, catches me off guard.
August looks up from where he’s tossing a weathered soccer ball between his hands, flashing me a grin. “Hey, Benji! Got some time to kick around a ball with me?”
The nickname takes me by surprise. It’s the first time August has called me ‘Benji,’ though I’ve let Eddie and Steve use it plenty this week. There’s something disarming about how it sounds coming from him, relaxed and friendly.
I hesitate for a beat, then shrug off my staff jacket and roll with it. “Sure thing,” I say, heading to the dresser to find something more suitable than my uniform. Taking out a tan Columbia moisture-wicking shirt, and a royal blue pair of vintage Nike nylon soccer shorts that were my brother’s, I prepare to change into them right in front of August.
“Those are old!” August exclaims as he watches me step into the soccer shorts.
“Uh yeah, they were my brother’s and vintage is in,” I say, grinning as I adjust the waistband and drawstrings. “Plus, they’ve got character.”
August chuckles, spinning the soccer ball on one finger. “They look good on you. Classic.”
As we walk onto the field in front of the mess hall, the air feels electric. The tension between us buzzes just beneath the surface, unspoken but palpable. August's grin is cocky, his confidence radiating as he positions the ball. The late afternoon June sun casts a golden glow across his face, making the fine sheen of sweat on his freckled face glimmer.
“Alright, Benji,” August says, positioning the ball at the center of the field. “First to five goals. Loser buys the ice cream treats when we’re in town.”
“Deal,” I reply, grinning.
The game starts fast, and August’s footwork is mesmerizing—quick, precise, almost hypnotic. I try to focus on stealing the ball, but every time he moves, my gaze flickers to how his muscles flex beneath his jersey or the slight smirk that plays on his lips when he dodges me.
“Too slow,” he taunts, his breath hitching slightly as I close the gap between us.
“I’m just warming up,” I shoot back, diving for the ball and managing to nudge it away. His hands brush against my arm as he tries to block me, the fleeting contact leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
As the game progresses, we’re both drenched in sweat, our shirts clinging to our bodies. The summer heat only amplifies the closeness between us. Each playful shove, each accidental bump feels charged, like a spark waiting to ignite.
At one point, I manage to steal the ball, sprinting toward the makeshift goal. August is right on my heels, his breath hot against the back of my neck. “Not so fast,” he growls, grabbing the ball back with a deft move and brushing past me, his shoulder grazing my chest.
“Cheap shot!” I yell, laughing but breathless.
By the time the score hits four to four, the tension is unbearable. August wipes his forehead, his jersey riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach and the waistband of his Hugo Boss briefs. He catches me glancing and raises an eyebrow. “Distracted, Benji?”
“Not a chance,” I say, trying to mask the heat rising to my cheeks.
We go all in for the final point. August has the ball, and I’m determined to stop him. I lunge, and we collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. For a moment, neither of us moves, too breathless from the game and the sudden closeness. His hand presses against my chest as he props himself up, his face inches from mine.
“Foul?” he whispers, his grin laced with mischief.
“You wish,” I reply, trying to show off my antagonistic side.
The moment stretches, the air between us thick. Then he laughs, rolling off me and onto his back. “Fine, fine. Call it a draw.”
I sit up, brushing dirt off my knees and trying to calm the pounding in my chest. “Next time, I’m winning,” I manage, sounding uninhibited.
August smirks, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “We’ll see.”
The walk to the kybo is quieter, the tension from the game lingering like a charge in the air. The cool water feels good against my heated skin as we wash up. August glances at me in the mirror, his expression softer now.
“Thanks for playing,” he says quietly, his voice almost shy. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” I admit, meeting his gaze. The innocence in his eyes makes my heart flutter.
When we’re back in our uniforms and heading to dinner, the bell rings in the distance, and the air between August and I feels heavier, like something significant has shifted. The staff has settled into small cliques, with all the Department Heads or Area Directors sitting together, while I usually sit with August and the two other Commissioners under Ander’s charge. There’s Brady, a Junior at UW with curly dark brown hair and rosacea-covered cheeks, and Amir, an ASM from Tukwilla in his late 20s.
Tonight, we’re also joined by the Archery Instructor Natalie, a long blonde-haired sophomore at SPU. For reasons I haven’t been able to figure out yet, Natalie has been super friendly to me all week and laments that she’s stuck on the north side of camp across the road, while my assignment is two campsites by Mystery and Central Beach.
As we’re all eating, the topic of our hard-earned weekend leave comes up, as does what everyone has planned.
Natalie perks up, twirling a strand of her long blonde hair around one finger. “I’m thinking of checking out Sequim. They’ve got those lavender farms, right? And I heard there’s a cafe there that makes lavender ice cream. Sounds like a perfect afternoon escape.” She turns to me, her blue eyes sparkling. “What about you, Benji? Do you have any exciting plans?
I glance at August, who’s busy poking at the last of his mashed potatoes with his fork, a slight smirk playing on his lips. The memory of our game earlier vibrates between us like a secret. “Not sure yet,” I reply, trying to sound undecided. “Might head into Poulsbo or Silverdale, maybe grab some ice cream if I can convince a certain someone to settle a debt.”
August looks up at that, his smirk widening. “A draw doesn’t mean I’m buying. Nice try, though.”
Brady chuckles, his red cheeks flushing deeper. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
“We aren’t like that,” August quips, but a teasing edge to his tone makes my stomach flip. He leans back on the bench, his legs stretching out under the table, the movement relaxed but deliberate as his foot brushes against mine.
Natalie raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between August and me. “Well, if you two don’t have set plans, maybe you can join me. There’s supposed to be a great lookout over the Dungeness Spit. It’d be nice to have someone to share the view with Benji.”
Amir, who has been on the staff the longest at the table, jumps in. “Sequim’s a good spot. Lavender farms are nice if you’re into that sort of thing. And there’s a wildlife refuge out that way, too.”
“Lavender flowers, aren’t they what girls like?” August says, wrinkling his nose. “Oh well, I'll tag along with Ben wherever he goes."
“Sure, it might be a last-minute decision. Did you forget to pack anything for the summer? Last chance to run into town for a while.” I glance back at August.
“Unnh, maybe,” August nods. “I don’t think I should keep wearing my leather slippers in the shower, and maybe my soap might only last a month, not two.”
“Okay, that's a Target run then. Anyone else?” I look around the table, but August is the only one who seems interested in joining me.
Dinner winds down, and as we clear our trays and head back to our quarters, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows over the camp. The evening air carries a chill, a reminder that the first scouts will arrive to join us in just a few days. August and I play card games with Eddie and one of his lifeguards before we settle into our room for the night.
When Friday morning comes, the camp buzzes with energy. Staff members rush between buildings, double-checking supplies and prepping program areas. Brady and Amir are hauling boxes of trail markers to the Ecology Lodge while Natalie preps arrows at the Archery Range. The hum of activity is infectious, and I find myself caught up in the flurry of the last-minute scramble.
I spend most of the morning with Ander in the Admin office preparing merit badge cards and going over intake procedures. I’m eager to finally show Ander I can hit the ground running when the first troops arrive Sunday morning, despite this being my first time as Commissioner and on Camp Staff.
In the afternoon, the entire staff gathers at Campfire Point to rehearse the weekly Opening and Closing Campfire ceremonies. These are the main events of the week at camp, like when I was a Boy Scout, and the highlight of the troops' experience. We want everything to go smoothly, from the chants and skits to the lighting of the fire, so we run through every detail with precision.
August is quick to get into the spirit of it all, fully embracing the energy of the ceremonies despite still being new to American scouting traditions. He’s been soaking up everything I’ve shared with him over the past few days, eager to adapt. He already knew about the BSA's strong focus on earning merit badges, but we’ve spent late nights talking about the deeper traditions, like the Order of the Arrow's strong ties to local Native American tribes. It’s something new I’ve tried to help him understand, and he listens with a quiet intensity, asking questions that show he’s trying to grasp the significance.
After the last Closing Ceremony run-through, Steve tells us he’s impressed with us all, and he thinks it’s going to be an epic summer. I also have a gut feeling that this won’t be a summer I’ll ever forget.
The following Saturday is a whirlwind of last-minute preparations. Supplies are triple-checked, tents are pitched, and program areas are swept one last time. By noon, the staff is given the afternoon and evening off to unwind before the troops arrive the next morning.
August finds me in the Commissioner’s office, leaning against the doorframe with his usual easy confidence. He’s swapped his uniform for a fitted yellow polo shirt and a pair of stonewashed jeans. "Ready to go to Powlzeebah yet, Benji?"
It’s Paalz-bo!” I chuckle. “And sure, let me get changed too.”
The drive into town is peaceful, the road winding through dense evergreens before opening up to views of Puget Sound. The small Scandinavian-themed town of Poulsbo feels like stepping into a postcard with its colorful storefronts, quaint bakeries, and Viking-inspired decor. We have time to explore later, but I want to get our Target stop at the mall further south in Silverdale out of the way first.
August seems captivated by the small towns of Washington State as we drive by, but the commercial landscape of Silverdale is a stark contrast. It’s full of big box stores and chain restaurants that August said he has only ever seen in American TV shows. He seems to be eagerly absorbing every detail of this new environment.
When we walk into Target, August is immediately struck by the sheer scale and variety of products. Towering aisles filled with everything from clothing and electronics to groceries and home décor seemed to stretch endlessly before him.
"Wow," August exclaims, his eyes wide with a mix of amazement and amusement. "This is…a lot of stuff."
I chuckle, "Yeah, welcome to America. They've got anything you could ever want or need here."
"It's impressive," August admits, "But also a bit overwhelming."
We stick to the plan and I take him to the personal care aisle to begin our search for shower shoes and soap. August meticulously examines the different brands and scents, his eyes scanning the packages as if trying to decipher the labels.
"What should I get? Seems you don’t have mine here," August asks, wrinkling his freckled nose at a particularly floral-scented bar of soap.
I scan the shelves, chuckling at his aversion to anything overly fragrant. "Here you go," I say, pulling out a 3-pack of Dove Men+Care body bar soap. "Simple and fresh."
He takes it from me, giving it a sniff. "Perfect," he says with a grin. "Now, for the shower shoes."
I lead him to the shoe section, and he grabs a pair of basic black Goodfellow slides. While he ponders what American size he wears, I remember my original objective for coming to Target.
"Hey, I'm gonna go check out the card games," I say, gesturing toward the toy section and the pass-through. "Want to come?"
"No, you go ahead, I’ll be here," August replies, as he flips through the rack for a bigger size than the 9 he has in his hand.
With a nod, I head toward the game aisle, my eyes looking at the shelves for anything that catches my interest. I’m hoping to find something new to play before bed, beyond the usual Uno and Monopoly decks that make an appearance at every camp. As I browse the selection, I find myself wondering if August would enjoy playing different card games and what kind of games he might be into.
A few minutes later, I pick out a Phase 10 game and feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I’m greeted by the sight of August, a naughty grin spread across his face. He’s holding a pair of vibrant red checkerboard Umbro nylon soccer shorts that are the same material as the royal blue vintage Nike pair I had worn for our soccer game back at camp.
“Look what I found,” he exclaims, his voice laced with excitement as he holds up the shorts for me to see. “I think I need a new pair of shorts for the summer. What do you think?”
I can’t resist smiling at his enthusiastic discovery. The shorts are bold, but they also look comfortable and stylish. Perhaps August also might enjoy the soft nylon fabric of sportswear in a similar way that I do.
"Those are awesome!" I blurt out, and I imagine August wearing the shorts, the fabric clinging to his legs and around his ass as he moves. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I clear my throat, hoping he doesn't notice my sudden nervousness. "I think I have ones like that at home."
"Speaking of your shorts," August says, his grin widening. "Those Nike ones you wore the other day? Those were cool." His eyes glance down at my legs for a moment, and I feel my face heat up.
"Thanks," I mumble, my cheeks burning. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of my burgeoning erection hidden only by my loose cargo shorts. "They were my brother's when he played soccer.”
August chuckles, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "So, you like classic old stuff, eh?" he asks, tilting his head.
"Kind of," I say, trying to sound like this isn’t the conversation I’ve been dying to have all week with him. "They don’t make shorts like those anymore, so I kinda raided my brother’s room for his sportswear after he left for college. Not like he was going to miss them.”
“You always talk about your brother so fondly, goh, I wish I had a brother or sister.”
“Yeah, Nick and I are close. He’s practically the reason I got this job. Was there anything else you needed here?” I ask August.
“No, I think this is it.” He shuffles his items to one arm and pulls out his wallet. “Will they take this?” August holds a debit card with a Mastercard logo.
“They should. If not, I can pay for your stuff, and we can find an ATM that takes that in town.”
“Thanks, Benji,” August’s face lights up with a big smile. “Everyone has been so nice since I came here, but you have gone out of your way to make me feel more than at home.”
“No problem,” I answer. “Let’s go find the checkout.”
His card works perfectly, and soon we’re back in my Subaru, driving north on Highway 3 toward Poulsbo. The traffic is light, but as we exit toward downtown, the road narrows, and I let out a groan about the lack of open parking spots. This is something I should have anticipated, given it’s a weekend in June.
“It’s a zoo here on the weekends—everyone from Seattle comes here for the day, especially in the summer,” I say, sighing as I peer through the windshield and circle the block for the third time.
August, gazing out the window at the colorful storefronts and the bustling crowds, just laughs. “We’ll find something, it’s not like trying to park in Amsterdam.” He’s right; of course, I need to chill and enjoy the day.
I eventually find a parking spot a few blocks from the main waterfront area, and we make our way through the crowds, stopping to admire the Viking-inspired decor and the colorful displays of flowers. The aroma of freshly baked pastries wafts from a nearby bakery, and August inhales deeply, his green eyes twinkling. “This place smells amazing!”
“I told you it was like a postcard,” I reply, grinning as we weave through the throngs of tourists. “Ready for some fish and chips?”
We find a small restaurant with a view of the harbor and settle into a table by the window. It’s cozy and bustling, filled with the chatter of families and the clinking of drinkware.
“So, what do you think of Poulsbo so far?” I ask, leaning back in my chair as I pick up a menu.
“It's gezellig,” August replies. “It feels like a different world from the camp, like when I visited Oslo.”
“It is,” I nod in agreement. “I’m glad we could get away for a bit. It feels like we’ve been working nonstop. The training week has been intense.”
“Me too,” August says, nodding. “I needed this break to get away for a few hours.”
As we order our fish and chips, the conversation turns to lighter topics – August’s impressions of America and our plans for the rest of the summer. I find myself relaxing in his presence, my earlier anxieties fading into the background.
“I still can’t believe how big everything is here,” August says, shaking his head. “The roads, the cars, the stores…it’s all so much bigger than I’m used to.”
I chuckle. “You’ll get used to it, but then you’ll have to head home.”
Our food arrives, and we dig in, the crispy batter of the fish flaking perfectly beneath our forks. August takes a bite, his eyes widening in appreciation. “This is delicious!”
“Yeah,” I say, dipping a french fry in ketchup. “I told you a lot about my family already, but you haven’t said anything about yours. You said you were an only child?”
“Yeah, no brothers or sisters. It’s just me and my parents. We live in a small town outside Amsterdam.”
“What do they do?” I ask, genuinely curious to learn more about him. I’m finding it so easy to be myself around August.
“My dad's a Civil Engineer,” August says. “And my mom’s a teacher. She teaches English at a primary school.”
“Wow, so your English must have been excellent even before you got here,” I say, impressed. “You haven’t slipped up once.”
August laughs a charmingly self-deprecating sound. “Oh, I’ve made plenty of mistakes, I’m sure. You’re just being polite.”
“No, seriously,” I insist. “Your English is perfect. But what about other stuff back home, like, do you have a girlfriend?”
“I’ve had girlfriends,” August answers innocently. “But none made it past high school.” He smiles and takes a sip of water. “What about you, any girlfriends back in Seattle?”
My heart skips a beat. This is it. The opportunity to tell him, to be honest. But as I open my mouth to speak, my courage falters. The crowded restaurant, the curious glances from nearby diners, the fear of rejection—it all overwhelms me.
“Uh, not really,” I stammer, my cheeks burning. “Never really found the right person, I guess. High school relationships are overrated.”
August’s eyebrows rise in amusement. “That’s one way to put it,” he chuckles. “Maybe we’re both destined to be lonely bachelors.” He winks, and I feel a strange mix of relief and disappointment wash over me. Relief that I’ve dodged the bullet for now, disappointment that I’ve missed my chance.
What am I doing? I berate myself internally. He’s asking, and I’m acting like a scared child. How am I going to last another week of this, let alone two months?
The rest of the meal passes in a blur of nervous chatter and forced laughter. We talk about everything and nothing—our favorite movies, the books we’ve read, our dreams for the distant future. But the unanswered question hangs in the air between us, a palpable tension that makes it hard to relax.
August and I leave the restaurant, our stomachs full of fish and chips, and the awkward tension from our conversation lingers between us. We stroll along the waterfront, stopping to admire the boats bobbing in the harbor and the colorful shops lining the streets.
"So, ice cream?" I ask, trying to break the silence and hoping a sweet treat might lift the mood.
August’s face brightens, and he nods. "Yes, please. I saw a sign for a place called Mora Iced Creamery. It looks promising."
We find the ice cream shop a few blocks away, a charming little storefront with a line out the door. The aroma of waffle cones and freshly churned ice cream fills the air, instantly making me feel better. I go to Swiss Chocolate while August opts for Cheesecake. We aren’t much for conversation with the ice cream in our hands as we try to eat it before it melts and drips onto our clothes.
When we finish, I check my watch. It’s getting late, and we need to head back to Camp for dinner. As we drive back, I point out some of the sights along the way - the lush forests, the Hood Canal Floating Bridge, and the charming small towns. August seems captivated by the scenery, constantly snapping photos with his phone.
"I'm already falling in love with this place," he says, his voice filled with wonder.
"Why do you think I love living here?" I reply softly, and for a second, our eyes meet over the gearshift. There’s an unspoken connection between us, a spark of something more than just friendship, and my heart skips a beat.
When we arrive back at camp, it’s eerily quiet. The usual flurry of activity is missing, and only a handful of staff members are milling around. We head to the dining hall, expecting the usual pre-dinner chaos, but it's only Ander at one of the tables, talking with a couple of other staff members, including Darren. He looks up as we approach, a surprised expression on his face.
"Ben, August, you're back early," he says.
"Where is everyone?" I ask, feeling a sense of unease.
Ander shrugs. "Everyone usually takes a full break the first few weeks here. Eddie went off to hang out in Bremerton, Natalie and a few others headed into Sequim, and Brady and Amir said something about exploring Port Angeles. I figured you two were still in Poulsbo."
"Yeah, we just went to Target, grabbed lunch and ice cream, then headed back," I say, trying still to sound upbeat amid almost everyone still away. "Guess we'll catch up with everyone later."
August places a hand on my shoulder, his touch light but reassuring. "Don't worry, Benji. We can find something to do later. Maybe play some cards or something." He flashes me a smile, and some of the disappointment recedes.
We grab our trays and fill them with the less-than-appetizing camp food, finding a table near the window. As we eat, I can't help but feel a sense of longing, wondering what everyone else is doing and wishing I'd been a little bolder with August earlier. The unspoken question still hangs in the air, and I know that I need to find a way to address it before it consumes me.
“Are you excited to meet your first scouts tomorrow?” I ask August after he eats his Salisbury Steak.
“Yes, though a bit nervous,” he admits. “This camp is so huge compared to home, and you said kids from all over America will be here. What happens when they realize I’m not a Yankee like you?”
“You’ve fit in so well with us in just a week,” I assure him. “Also, Ryan will be with you at all times during the sessions. If they have an issue with you, they can take it up with him.”
August nods at me thankfully and picks up his Jello cup. After dinner, we take a shower and settle into our quarters for a long first day of the camp’s full schedule. August decides to wear his new red Umbro shorts as he’s changing for bed, and I admire his pasty white legs contrasting against the bright red fabric when he sits on his bed.
“Ready for Phase 10?” I ask, pulling out the new deck of cards from the Target bag.
August grins, his freckled face lighting up. “Let’s do it.”
I push my sleeping bag aside, and we both settle onto my bed facing each other, the deck of cards spread out between us. The game is simple enough but requires strategy and a bit of luck.
August stretches, letting out a groan as he shifts his weight, his bare foot still resting on the thigh in his new nylon Umbro shorts as he absentmindedly rubs it. The way his fingers knead into the arch of his foot distracts me, and I fumble my next move, placing down the wrong card.
"Benji, you're slipping," August teases, his smirk growing as he picks up a card. "Distracted by the shorts, eh?"
I clear my throat, feeling the heat creep up my neck. "Just thinking about how I’m about to win."
August snorts, his freckles scrunching together as he laughs. "Big talk, considering you're behind by two phases."
He wins a few hands, but I catch up, determined not to let him get too comfortable. The competitiveness between us is lighthearted but fierce.
Eventually, we reach the final phase, and I’m one move away from victory. August watches me, his poker face evident, then lets out an exaggerated sigh when I place down the wrong card at the last second.
"No way!" August grins, throwing his arms up in victory. "Jeetje! I win!"
I groan, flopping against the wall dramatically. "Ugh, not fair! I had the worst luck with my draws."
August chuckles, shaking his head. "Excuses, excuses."
I prop myself up on my elbows, still grinning despite my loss. "Alright, what’s my punishment? Ice cream again?" I ask, trying to sound relaxed.
August smirks, tapping a finger against his chin like he’s thinking hard. "Ah, let me see... how about you give me a voetmassage?" His voice is playful, but the glint in his eye is more serious, as if he’s testing how far I’ll go for him.
I raise an eyebrow. "A foot rub?"
"Yes, that’s it. Since we can’t get ice cream again for a while."
I let out an amused huff, pretending to consider my options. "Fine, fine. But only if we make it fair. Next game, the loser has to return the favor."
August grins and shakes my outstretched hand. "Deal."
He shifts, stretching out his legs in front of him. He wiggles his toes before placing his left foot in my lap, smirking as if daring me to back out. I roll my eyes and start kneading into the arch, my thumbs pressing into the soft, slightly calloused skin. His foot twitches slightly at first, but then he lets out a satisfied sigh, leaning back on his elbows again.
"Oooof, Benji," August murmurs. "You’re good at this."
“Really? I haven’t done this to anyone before.” I admit, now noticing how hard I’m starting to get in the blue Nike soccer shorts I have on for bed as his foot is resting on my lap.
August chuckles, letting his eyes drift shut. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of the floor outside our door. His breathing slows, his body relaxing under my touch, and for an instant, I wonder if he’s going to fall asleep right here in my bed.
I take my time, dragging out my punishment, pressing my thumbs firmly into the ball of his foot before working my way to his heel. It’s oddly intimate, more than I expected, but I don’t stop. Maybe I don’t want to unless he tells me.
Suddenly, a loud bang on the door makes us both jump, August pulls away his foot and sits up straight on the bed.
“Who is it?” I call out, my voice trembling with shock and fear.
“It’s Eddie! Open up!” comes the muffled reply.
I exchange a puzzled look with August before getting up to open the door. Eddie bursts into the room, his face flushed and his eyes wide with excitement. He’s still wearing his uniform shorts, but he’s traded his staff polo for a faded band t-shirt.
“You guys won’t believe where I’ve been!” he exclaims, his energy filling the small space.
August and I glance at each other, both curious and slightly amused by Eddie’s sudden appearance and his enthusiasm at this late hour.
“Where did you go?” I ask, gesturing for him to sit on the empty bed.
Eddie plops down, grinning from ear to ear. “There’s this awesome board game pub in Bremerton! Boardom's End. They have everything from classic board games to the latest strategy games. I spent the whole afternoon and evening there, met a bunch of cool people, and even won a game of Terra Mystica.”
He continues to rave about the pub, describing the atmosphere, the games, and how pleasant the staff is. August listens patiently, both of us exchanging amused glances as Eddie’s excitement spills over.
“You should come with me to Bremerton next time,” Eddie insists, turning to me. “It’s the perfect place to unwind after a week at camp. You can’t come to the bar, but there’s lots to do in town. Maybe you can even make it a date night with Natalie!”
I groan at the mention of Natalie, the sound more automatic than genuine. “Bremerton sounds more like a boys' trip, being a Navy town and all.” I look over at August. “Do you like Navy ships, August?”
August’s eyes light up. “Are there the Aircraft carriers nearby? I’ve only ever seen them in documentaries or on the news,” he replies, genuinely excited.
“Yeah,” Eddie interjects, “Bremerton’s got a huge naval base with some of the carrier fleet. You guys would love it."
“I’ve always wanted to see one in person. Maybe we can all go,” August says, glancing back at me.
“Definitely,” I reply, my gaze lingering on August, the tent in my shorts still not disappearing.
Eddie checks his watch, and his eyes widen. “Woah, is that the time? I didn’t realize it was almost 11,” Eddie exclaims, jumping to his feet. “We better get some sleep; big day tomorrow!”
August and I glance at each other, also surprised by the late hour. “Yeah, I guess we should all go to bed,” I reply, stifling a yawn.
I watch Eddie close our door behind him, and in the sudden quiet, August shifts his other foot toward me. His silent signal reconnects the burgeoning intimacy between us, and I meet his gaze as if to ask, without words, if he's ready for round two.
"Looks like you're not done with your punishment yet," He teases me softly, a playful smile tugging at his lips as I slide my hand over to his other foot and sit beneath it.
Hesitating only for a second before resuming my ministrations, my thumbs start to work gently over the smooth skin of his right foot. The sensation is intimate in a way that transcends the simple wager of our game, it’s as if, with each careful stroke, we’re sharing a quiet understanding that goes far beyond games and bets
August shifts closer, and almost intentionally, his toes curl forward, brushing against the heat building in my shorts. I glance up to see his freckled face lit with desire as he glances his fingers across the nylon crotch of his red Umbro shorts. His eyes, half-closed in pleasure, invite me further into the moment.
In the charged silence, the world outside our little room seems to vanish, and I know this is my chance. The soft rustle of fabric and the gentle rhythm of our breaths fill the space as I continue, my hand moving with deliberate care along the curve of his foot. “Do you like how those new shorts feel, August?” I finally ask.
As I ask my question, August's eyes flicker open, and he gazes up at me with a hint of vulnerability. "They feel... nice," he says, his voice soft and inviting.
I smile, my hand continuing to caress the gentle curve of his foot. The softness of his skin is like a gentle summer sea breeze off the canal, calming and soothing.
August's gaze drifts back to his own hands, where he seems to have started to feel the tip of his cock through the material. His eyes are now half-closed in pleasure, and I can see the tension building between us.
I lean forward, my lips brushing against his ear as I whisper, "Maybe I can help you with that, too." August's eyes snap open, and he looks up at me with surprise and desire. We just stare at each other for a second, the air thick with anticipation.
Without asking, I lean down, my eyes never leaving August’s as I lower my head to start to suck on his cock through the Umbro soccer shorts. The red fabric is thin and tight, allowing the heat and the pressure of my mouth to be transmitted directly to his throbbing erection. His eyes widen in shock at the sudden sensation, but any objection he might have had is lost in a soft moan that escapes his lips.
His hand moves from his crotch to the back of my head, guiding me closer as he begins to rock his hips gently. The sound of my breath and the faint wetness of my mouth are muffled by the material, creating a deliciously private symphony of desire.
The scent of him fills my nostrils, a potent mix of his new soap and arousal and I can feel his heart pounding in time with the pulse of his cock. August’s grip tightens as my mouth moves in a rhythm that mirrors the one we had found earlier with his feet, each stroke building upon the last. His body tenses, and I know he’s getting close to the edge. The bulge in my shorts is almost painful now, begging for attention, but I focus solely on the task at hand, eager to bring him to climax and claim my victory in this unexpected turn of events.
With a swift motion, I pull down the waistband of August's Umbros, revealing the fiery red hair that frames his now fully exposed uncut cock. My eyes widen with excitement as I take in the sight of him, hard and needy against the stark white background of my mattress. His grip tightens on my hair as I lean in, my mouth eager to finally taste the reality of him.
As the head of his cock brushes against my waiting lips, I can feel his muscles tense with anticipation. I don't tease him further. Instead, I wrap my mouth around him, feeling the velvety heat of his shaft and the coarse hair tickle my nose. The fabric of his shorts is now pushed down to his thighs, leaving him open and vulnerable to my attention.
August's moan fills the room as I take him in deep, my tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his cock. His hips jerk in response, pushing himself further into my mouth. The salty tang of his precum coats my taste buds, and I can't stop moaning as well, the sound vibrating along his length.
Our eyes lock, and I see the unspoken question in his gaze: How far is this going to go? But the need for words evaporates as I continue to suck him, my teeth grazing the bottom of his shaft as I pull back, only to dive back down again. His thighs quiver and his breath comes in ragged gasps. I know he's close, and the thought sends a thrill down my spine. I want to be the one to push him over that edge, to feel the power of his climax in my mouth.
My hand slides up to gently cup his balls, and I begin to massage them in time with my sucks. His breath quickens, and his hips buck slightly as his left hand grips my crumpled sleeping bag beside him. I can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and I know it won't be much longer before he explodes. The room is a blur around us, the world outside forgotten as we're lost in this intimate dance of desire.
August's eyes widen almost comically, his pupils dilating as his body tenses to the point of snapping. His grip on my hair tightens, almost painfully, and his hips begin to thrust in erratic, desperate jerks. I suck harder, my tongue flicking against his swollen tip as he gasps for air. And then it happens—his body arches off the bed and he cries out, his hot, sticky release flooding my mouth. I swallow eagerly, not missing a beat as I continue to pump him with my hand and mouth, milking every last drop of pleasure from him. His orgasm seems to last forever, waves of it crashing over him as his legs quiver and his body goes slack with satisfaction.
Finally, with a gasping sigh, he stills, his cock pulsing gently against my tongue as he comes down from his high. I lean back, licking my lips, and watch as he collapses against my pillow, a dazzled smile on his face. "Oh my," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his moans. "Benji... that was better than the voetmassage."
I nod and relax, feeling both accomplished and incredibly turned on by the power of bringing August to such an intense climax. He leans forward, and his hand starts to drift down my thigh. He seems to have recovered from his daze, and his eyes are now focused on me with a newfound hunger as he gently starts to stroke me through my blue Nike nylon soccer shorts.
"Wait," I groan, my voice thick with arousal, "these shorts have like cotton underwear inside them." August's eyes perk up with curiosity, and he reaches inside the bottom of the shorts and carefully peels the liner aside, revealing my hardened, uncut length. He doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around my cock, the coolness of his palm contrasting with the warmth of my skin.
He pulls the shorts back over my penis and strokes me through the nylon, his movement tentative at first, feeling the contours of my erection beneath the fabric. I shiver at the sensation, my hips rising to meet his touch. His grip tightens, and he begins to pump me more confidently, the nylon of the vintage shorts adding a delicious friction that sends bolts of pleasure shooting through me.
August's strokes through the nylon of my shorts grow more insistent, the fabric growing wet with precum as my arousal reaches its peak. I can feel my orgasm building, my balls tightening with each movement of his hand. My eyes squeeze shut, and I bite down on my lower lip to stifle a moan, not wanting to break the spell that's been woven between us.
His touch is magic, sending sparks of pleasure dancing along my sensitive cock as he expertly works my shaft. I can't believe how good it feels, how much I wanted this. My body starts to shake, my hips buck, and with a muffled cry, I give in to the overwhelming sensation. I feel my cock pulse and throb, and then warm wetness spreads across my crotch as I cream my blue Nike America soccer shorts, the evidence of my desire for him soaking through the thin nylon fabric. We stay there for a moment, breathing heavily, the air thick with lust and the scent of our intimacy. August looks at a pearly dribble of cum on the tip of my cock that’s worked its way through the wet material and he rubs it between his fingers.
I lean in, my heart racing, and press a gentle kiss to August’s flushed cheek. He looks up at me with a mix of shock and affection, his breath catching as he pulls back. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second, and I see the desire still smoldering in his gaze. But just as quickly as it begins, the moment shatters. He pulls away, and the stark reality of what we’ve just done crashes down on me like a cold shower.
"I should... We should sleep," August whispers, his voice barely audible. He stands awkwardly, tugging his shorts back into place and deliberately avoiding my eyes.
I nod my head, my throat tight with unspoken words. "Yeah, sure," I say, trying to sound unconcerned, though my heart trembles with a storm of emotions.
He crosses the room to his bed, and for a brief, agonizing moment, I think he might turn back and pull me into his arms again, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls the covers over himself, leaving me alone with the echo of our brief intimacy. I crawl into my sleeping bag, and as I settle into the darkness, tears stream silently down my cheeks.
Lying there, the silence is deafening. I replay the kiss over and over in my mind—the softness of his cheek, the warmth of his breath—and I wonder if that moment meant as much to him as it did to me. My thoughts spiral: Is he scared of what we’ve just shared? Is the connection too intense for him to handle, or does he regret it already? The uncertainty gnaws at me, each unanswered question deepening the ache in my chest as I try to sleep.
