Part 2: The Snake in the Garden
By Tarowen ([email protected])
With the following morning came actual sunshine, warm enough after breakfast to haul the heavy adirondack chairs out of FDR for a staff meeting on the lodge field. For this entire week they'd have meetings in the mornings, then chores and activities in the afternoons, followed by more activities after dinner. Already Jack's head was spinning, but the returners seemed unconcerned. Jack turned to Stu, lounging next to him. "I'm surprised you even come to the meetings anymore."
"I usually don't, but we're all supposed to be at this one," Stu replied, eyes closed and head tilted back. "I won't stay for the whole thing. It's just time for Trav to tell us how we can get fired."
Jack blinked, then settled back into his chair and nodded at a girl with corn rows. "How can you get fired?" He asked Stu, keeping his voice carefully casual.
"Being unreliable or irresponsible, drinking, drugs, anything illegal... mostly no-brainer stuff."
Stu was right. Travis, serious once more, spelled out the basic camp policies with no room for doubt. At the end of the litany, though, he added a few more subtle infractions. "Secret Creek has an unbreakable policy of respect and tolerance," Travis declared, gazing down at the crew. He clutched his ubiquitous clipboard. "That goes for campers, counselors, staff, visitors, and me. I respect everyone's right to their own views, but here at camp, where we have to live with each other every day, it's vital to think before you speak or act." A few of the counselors shifted uneasily. Jack's eyes were riveted on Travis.
The director continued. "If I hear of anyone making anyone else uncomfortable either through words or actions, there will be consequences, depending on the severity of the situation. We have expelled campers and fired staff for this, so don't test me on it. This includes sexual harassment, persecution of any kind, comments on race, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender..." Travis waved a hand. "Whatever. You must respect your fellow Secret Creekers--or at least act as though you do. That's an indisputable condition for being allowed to a Secret Creeker. And I think it's more than worth it. Any questions?"
And as Jack turned his head towards Ty, he found the other boy's hazel eyes resting on him. Their expression was unreadable.
A few days later, lying back on his sleeping bag, Jack stared up at the clarity of stars. A damp, insinuating wind shivered through the trees, and Jack snapped up his fleece. Tumbling over rocks close by, the Snowmelt's rush filled the background, and trees soughed in the breeze. Woodsmoke and crackling flames mingled with guitar chords, and all was right with the world.
Almost.
Grimacing, Jack reached under his sleeping bag and tried once again to smooth out the protruding stones. As Overnight Island was largely composed of rocks, however, he did not experience notable success. Sitting up instead, he reflected thankfully that at least he didn't have to sleep here--the tents for the staff practice overnight were pitched on gentler ground. Not that everyone was camping on Overnight Island; the Greenwoods had established four small campsites along the Snowmelt, the others whimsically named Hop, Skip, and Jump. Glancing towards the fire--where Ty had abandoned camp songs for complicated jazz riffs--Jack was glad the other boy had to hike all the way to Jump after the fire ended.
"He's good," Stu adjuged, arms around his bony knees.
"And he knows it," Jack replied, chafing cold hands.
Stu nodded. "Just take it for what it's worth," he advised, turning to talk to Mike, the maintenance guy.
Teresa, Ty's constant but tentative satellite, sat watching Ty with smothered yearning. A delicately pretty girl, she had a fawnlike face and fine, short brown hair. As Ty finished, she declared reverently, "You're so good! Where did you learn to play?"
Ty grinned, fingering a chord. "In church. Same place I learned to play cards and pool." He tossed her an impish look. "Though I don't think the youth group leaders forsaw how I would use my new skills." Before anyone could comment, Ty continued. "Speaking of cards and pool, how's the action in Whiskey Falls? Or Cedar Mills?" Those were the two towns closest to camp.
"Action?" Someone questioned as murmurs ran through the gathering. The fire popped and flared, sending up a shower of sparks.
"Yeah," Ty said, laying his guitar aside. "Trav said we could leave camp after lights out. So is there a good place to play pool and listen to music?"
"Nothing you're old enough for," Stu told him bluntly, flipping up the collar of his disreputable barn jacket.
"Ah, I got a fake ID, like everyone else," Ty waved a hand.
"Hey, aren't you the Bible Boy?" Sarah--the riding counselor with corn rows--questioned. "Aren't you the one who wants to start Bible study classes during rest hour?"
"I don't see the two as incompatible," Ty replied. "After all, you gotta have something to repent, don't you? Back me up, T," he smirked at Teresa.
"Well...as long as you're not drinking, I guess I don't see a problem," she offered hesitantly, not wanting to disappoint. Quiet and shy, she seemed pretty straight-laced to Jack.
"That's my girl," Ty smiled, and Jack watched with cynical eyes as Teresa's firelit expression glowed. Looping an arm around the girl, Ty pulled her close, and the campfire turned into a quiet murmuring of couples and friends. Jack, who had deliberately dropped hints about his 'girlfriend' in Capeside, gazed around with a sudden sense of dejection. As his eyes strayed to Ty, he found the other boy watching him slyly, while dropping a casual kiss onto Teresa's hair. She snuggled close with a blissful sigh.
Ty had made himself very popular this week, friendly, eager, helpful, joining in every game, charming the girls and impressing the boys. So far as Jack knew, Ty'd said nothing either about them knowing each other, or about Jack's sexuality. Which didn't leave Jack any easier; it was just like that cliche about the dropping shoes. And Ty knew it. Now he was playing other cards, so subtle Jack couldn't possibly voice objection.
Abruptly Jack rose and fetched his sleeping bag. "I'm beat," he declared to the general populace. "I'm going to sleep."
Stu rose also, stretching, and beckoned to Sarah and Mike. "I'm headed back to camp," he said, flipping on his flashlight. "You two coming?"
Sarah joined him, and Mike--a beefy young man with a blond crewcut and phlegmatic temperament--pushed himself upright. "Be sure that fire's all the way out, whoever's last," he reminded the other counselors.
"I'll take care of it," Ty promised, fingers twined with Teresa's. Glancing at Jack, he said, "Sweet dreams, McPhee," with such a slight emphasis on 'dreams' that no one unattuned to the nuances of their relationship would notice.
Jack's jaw clenched, and Stu laid a light hand on his arm. "Tomorrow, would you help us out down at the corral during projects? We could use an extra hand."
"Glad to," Jack nodded. "Trail-clearing is getting old, anyway. My shins are covered with bruises from that brush whip--I can never get the swing right."
They parted, Jack to his tent, Stu, Mike, Sarah and a few other non-overnighters back across the Snowmelt. The other counselors lingered long around the fire, and Ty and Teresa were indeed the last ones to their separate sleeping bags.
Friday marked the last full day of staff week. Saturday noon all the staff had a day off before the kids arrived Sunday afternoon. After the regular meeting (assigning tent groups--Jack got the ten year old Lynxes, and Ty got the thirteen-year-old Cougars), Jack made his way to the corral for a hard day of fence and bridge repair. As the last of the horses were being shod, Stu let Jack take a break and hold a couple for the shoer. Jack found the process fascinating, but was glad it wasn't he pounding the flat nails into the newly-pared hooves. The camp dog, Bismark, chewed on the old hoof-parings.
After lunch and more songs Jack didn't know--east coast camps seemed to sing different ones--Jack flipped through the staff mailbox. He didn't expect many letters, especially this soon, but he really wanted to know how Andie was doing. He'd written her twice, and sent a general letter to the Capeside gang a couple of days ago, so just maybe...
Suddenly Jack froze, finding a note labeled 'Jack McPhee.' As he held it in work-scarred hands, he had no trouble recognizing the handwriting. His stomach twisted. Glancing around for Ty, he spotted him behind the porch with Teresa, putting their guitars away.
Jack eyed the note as other counselors edged him away from the mailboxes. He ought just to toss it, but what if someone found it? A large part of him urged him just to shove it in his pocket, not giving Ty the satisfaction, but another part wanted to know how dangerous it might be.
And it was that part that suggested that if it were along Ty's usual lines, perhaps it could be used against him.
Jack opened the note.
...Boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.
--William Shakespeare
Jack crumpled the note bitterly. Ty was too smart. Jack couldn't use this. Looking up, his eyes caught Ty and Teresa heading over to TR for their Bible study session--Ty'd actually found a couple interested people. "Ty!" Jack called, descending the concrete steps. Overhead the sky hung pewter, the air damp and cool.
Sending Teresa on, Ty halted, the usual smug look on his arrogant face. His light brown hair was tousled, and his green gortex deepened his hazel eyes. "Make it quick, McPhee. I'm already late."
Jack thrust the crumpled note at him. "Try this crap again, and I'll take it to Travis," he threatened. "You heard what he said about respect."
"Hey," Ty lifted his hands. "It's just a nice quote I thought you'd like. To help you with your new life. Why the attitude?"
Jack's face darkened. "I swear, Hicks, if you don't leave me alone, I will go to Travis."
"Oh, really?" Ty folded his arms. "Do you have that much faith in Travis? Sure, he talks the talk. But he's running a camp, for children, and their parents might not be so understanding. One scandal, and a place like this could go under. Don't rock the boat, McPhee."
Abruptly, then, he switched from Eddie Haskell to Bible Boy. "I'm just trying to help," he claimed with evident earnest. "It's my duty to help when my fellow men go astray. As God expects that of all good Christians, I see you as a sacred challenge."
"So is that why you came here?" Charged Jack. "Did you follow me?"
Ty didn't answer, but his eyes were once more sly.
A vein standing out in his forehead, Jack hurled the note at Ty then stalked away. He spent rest hour on the Potlatch Island bridge, pitching stones into the brown waters of Secret Creek. Rhode Island--even with his father--seemed suddenly a lost paradise.
At staff snack that night, Ty announced that he, Rick and Dan were off to a pool hall in Whiskey Falls. He invited anyone interested to join them, especially those with cars. Teresa wavered, uncertain, then finally capitulated. Throwing an arm around her, Ty winked, and Teresa blushed. Several other counselors--almost half--decided to go, and a few moments later Jack watched as multiple crammed cars rolled out of the camp gates. Stu was standing next to him, sipping coffee and wearing his usual decrepit felt hat.
"You didn't want to go?" Jack asked rhetorically.
"Been there, done that," Stu quipped. He took another sip, then glanced at Jack. "Something on your mind, McPhee?"
Jack shrugged. "I just don't get it. Ty, I mean," he explained, glancing at Stu. "I always knew he was a hypocrite; he admits it himself. Bible Boy by day, and 'ratpacker' by night. I just don't buy that argument about needing something to repent. Why do you suppose he does it? I'll swear he's serious about the religion thing."
Stu grimaced. "Popularity bid, to counteract the Bible Boy image. With false rationalizations to fit them together. And 'ratpacking's' a safe sin."
"Safe sin?"
Jack frowned, but instead of replying, Stu asked, "You play poker?"
Nonplussed, Jack stammered, "Uh--I've played, but I don't think I'm very good."
"Got any pennies?"
"Maybe a few..."
Stu shrugged. "Bring a couple of bucks and meet us at the office--Trav's got penny rolls. He'll make change for you." Without awaiting a reply, Stu ambled off towards the camp office building, tucked behind the dining hall.
Somewhat perturbed, Jack trotted off past an unusually quiet TR and retrieved some money from his tent. Arriving back at the office, he found the game set up on the outdoor table under the office porch roof. He paused to assess the situation.
Bright electricity created a pocket of illumination in an immense dark, emphasized by rustling black towers of hemlock and spruce. Defying the light, they crowded close, thick and foreboding with shadow, but Jack no longer felt any menace. After a week adjusting to the rhythms of the forest, he now accepted darkness as he accepted daylight, comfortable as a cat. All his attention centered on the gathered players.
They formed a motley company--all male--laughing and sipping coffee about the table. Stu was there, and Mike, along with Bruce, the capable, red-headed assistant director. The impressive cook, Kurt, had spread his bulk on a bench as well, black hair shiny in the light. Enigmatic and solitary, respected but not liked by most of the counselors, Kurt was nearly as old as Travis. Adding to his mystery, he was at least half native--Lower Elwha, Jack had heard. Travis had a pinch of native blood as well, though not local; Cherokee, Jack thought. Hesitantly Jack took a vacant stool, and Stu nodded at him. "Got money?"
"A couple of bucks, as you said," Jack nodded, glad of his layers as the temperature dropped further. "Is this another Secret Creek tradition?"
Mike nodded. "I've been here four summers, and we always play at least once a week." He shuffled the cards. "You should be flattered, McPhee. Usually it takes at least a year before you get into the game."
"Well, I'm...honored," Jack smiled, though he didn't really understand why he was here. All these guys--far older than he--were long-time Secret Creekers, from radically different backgrounds than his. He no more fit here than he did...well, at Capeside High. He turned his head at footsteps, and saw Travis approaching with another man.
"Hey, guys! Look who showed up on my doorstep. You'd think he had radar for penny poker." Playfully he punched the other man. "You know how pathetic you are, bro? When you could be enjoying all the delights of P.A.?"
His companion chuckled, pulling out a brightly painted stool. "You mean the karaoke bar down by the ferry? Or the third run movie house? I tell you, Trav, this *is* the night life in this part of the woods." He glanced around the magnificent, looming evergreens. "Literally."
"Well, if you want to lose your money, who am I to tell you how to do it? Do you know everybody?" Travis' eyes swept the gathering, resting on Jack. "Jack! Good to see you! I didn't know you played poker."
"I know the rules, but I don't play often," Jack greeted him. "Stu invited me."
Travis' eyebrows rose faintly, but he made no comment. "Well, you're welcome. This is my brother, Keith. Keith, Jack McPhee, who joins us all the way from Capeside, Mass."
"My pleasure," Keith grinned, shaking Jack's hand. He was taller than his brother, with hair less tightly curled. It flopped over his brow with a dramatic streak of grey, and he wore a neat moustache and goatee. His mobile face was faintly lined and cleanly boned, and his warm brown eyes held humor and welcome. "I spent many pleasant weeks in Boston some years back," he told Jack, "as a summer law intern. Wonderful city, though I could do without the humidity."
"You don't...look like a lawyer," Jack told him honestly, and both Travis and Keith burst out laughing.
"You sound just like our mother," Keith told him as he slid Trav some dollars in exchange for rolls of pennies. "I assure you, I look different in a suit. And Port Angeles isn't exactly New York, or Boston. We're not quite so formal."
"I can't remember the last time I wore a suit," Travis reflected as he rolled Jack some pennies.
"The hoe-down masquerade last summer," Keith suggested, and Travis laughed again.
"Probably. Do you remember the time you came dressed as a an ape and nobody could figure out who the heck you were? Even I was worried for a minute until I saw your boots--"
"Are we playing, or chatting?" Kurt interrupted, adjusting his bulk.
"Playing," Mike replied, dealing. "Seven card stud, nothing wild. Ante up."
The game began, and Jack found that despite his unremarkable skill, he enjoyed himself. The group, while not chatty (except for Keith and Travis, who continually bantered under their breaths), was solidly companionable. Jack found all of them immensely restful, no one questioning or making sly comments or throwing dubious looks. Stu had brought him, and they accepted him without comment. Despite the chilly northwest night, Jack felt warmed.
Two hours later, their fingers too chilled to deal, the players separated. Jack had lost most of his money, but Stu promised he would have the chance to win it back the following week. Jack bid farewell to Mike and Bruce as they headed off, and to Kurt as he silently took himself back to his kitchen apartment.
As for Travis and Keith, Jack felt somewhat confused, remembering his first conversation with Travis. Tonight the brothers seemed the best of friends, still joshing as they headed for Travis' house. Certainly the whole night Jack had felt none of the tension he'd sensed when Travis had first mentioned Keith.
"So, you liked Keith?" Stu inquired, reading his mind as they fell into step towards the tents.
"He's great--not like any lawyer I've ever met," Jack acknowledged, stepping over a puddle. Much of the camp was still oozy with mud, and he was glad of his duck boots. "He and Trav seem to get along better than any brothers I've ever known, too." They walked a few more steps, then Jack said, "I...guess you were right about Trav only being uncomfortable about Keith because of the camp thing."
"Told you," Stu replied succinctly. "Don't worry about Trav or Keith. Done is done, and they know who they are."
Jack frowned. "What do you mean by that?" Crossing the road, they paused by the flagpole. The light from TR's windows threw odd shadows over Jack's face.
"I mean they're doing the best thing for each of them, and they know it." Under the brim of his hat, Stu's eyes were unreadable.
And once more, Jack wondered why Stu had invited him to the game. Why him, a sixteen-year-old easterner who'd never been to Secret Creek--or even Washington--before? Someone only just learning the rituals and traditions of this insulated little world? Why had he been invited into the inner circle? And Stu, like Kurt, was known for not tolerating fools. He didn't hang around with the younger counselors much, and many were uneasy with his penetrating perspicacity and swift condemnations. So his attention to Jack just didn't make sense, unless... Jack felt his cheeks warm. Unless Stu, with his sharp sense for dissemblage, had sensed something about Jack, and--
"Hey, Poker-Boy!"
Stu and Jack pivoted as someone thrust open the heavy door of TR. Light streamed out behind her, but Jack saw the corn-rows and recognized Sarah. Closing the door, she jumped down the steps and joined them. "Have you finished your ridiculous little bonding ritual?"
Stu grinned. "I'm all yours."
"Who says I want you?" She retorted, tossing her head. Her dark eyes, however, were suggestive, her creamy brown skin luminous in the light from the windows.
Stu just jerked his head toward the corral. "Come on. I'll show you some new stars from the back pasture."
"He's such a romantic," Sarah rolled her eyes at Jack, but she stretched out for Stu's hand and tugged him away. "I'll show you stars, sweetheart."
"'Night, McPhee," Stu said as she dragged him away.
"'Night," Jack replied. "Thanks for inviting me to the game."
"No problem." Then they were gone.
Jack felt like an idiot. Not that he would have been interested in Stu--too old and too scruffy--but...
Cars came bouncing in the driveway, then, raucous laughter issuing from open windows. Apparently it had been a lively night in Whiskey Falls.
Swiftly Jack wheeled and made for the washhouse. He was quick about brushing his teeth and washing up, but unfortunately met Mike. The maintenance guy--now that Jack had been approved--was feeling talkative, and by the time Jack got away, he ran smack into Ty in the doorway of the washhouse.
"God!" Jack reeled back, waving a hand. "You're drunk!"
"Shh!" Ty hissed, eyes dancing. "I only had one drink. Someone spilled a beer on my jacket."
"An old story." Jack tried to pass.
Ty blocked him. "You thinking about reporting me, McPhee?" He didn't sound drunk, anyway.
"I should," Jack replied tightly. "At least then I'd be rid of you."
Other boys were approaching, so Ty and Jack stepped out of the washhouse onto the path. Salal and huckleberry brushed their clothes. Ty cocked his brown head. "I really don't think that would be a good idea, do you, McPhee? If you reported me I'd feel obligated to report you, as it were."
"How can you call yourself a Christian--be so holier-than-thou--then go and deliberately break rules? Isn't that a sin of some sort?" Jack demanded.
"I'm not a perfect person, Jack, and I know that," Ty said patiently, and Jack knew Bible Boy was back. "So does God," Ty continued. "We are weak, we are tempted, and we sometimes yield. But it's not so bad if you know your own limits and weaknesses. How can you know goodness if you don't know sin? How can you withstand the great temptations if you have no experience with the small ones?"
"So you're saying you deliberately tempt yourself to make yourself stronger?" Jack exacted, blue eyes narrowed. A bat zipped past, a flutter of black in the spilling washhouse light.
"Some sins are greater than others, Jack," Ty replied smoothly, eyes calculating. "To deny yourself--a weak vessel--any type of sin or indulgence is to clamp a lid on a boiling pot. Eventually it will explode, and you will commit the greatest sins imaginable to slake your need. Better to permit yourself the small sins--lift the lid just enough--and repent on Sunday. God will understand."
"You are beyond belief," Jack stated flatly, nodding to Rick as he passed. "You're just finding excuses for blatant infractions! Do you think Travis will buy that crap? Will he accept that you 'need' to sin to...armor yourself against 'temptation' and 'greater sin?' And speaking of," he added before Ty could reply, "Was that why you pursued Jen? As a deliberate sin and to prove you could withstand temptation?"
"What happened between Jen and me is private," Ty countered. "As is my relationship with God. You have no right to question me."
"Then what right have you to question me?" Hissed Jack. "What about that garbage about your duty to guide your fellow men who go astray? Doesn't that make it my duty to guide you when you go astray? Doesn't that make it my duty to report you?"
"I am in perfect control of my actions," Ty responded, lifting a hand to Dan. "And as I said, some sins are greater than others, McPhee." Bible Boy's eyes condemned. "I'm not saying God won't forgive you, but you have to understand what you risk, and truly wish to change if you seek forgiveness."
"I haven't even done anything!" Jack spat.
"That's why I'm taking such trouble with you," Ty avowed. "You can still beat this, Jack! I can help you. God can help you."
"I'm going to report you to Travis," Jack pronounced. "You disgust me." He turned, but Ty again blocked him.
"Would you really risk everything just to score off me?" He questioned. "In your heart, you know you seek to sin in a far greater way than I. And you know how the world views such sin. Especially in a setting like this. You know I'm right, Jack."
Jack stared at Ty, trying to control himself, trying for once not to let the other boy get to him. 'He's nothing,' Jack swore to himself. 'Look at him! Drinking, mindless...he's like a chihuahua, nipping at ankles and hoping people won't notice his insignificance!' But as Jack continued to measure Ty, breathing in the liquor fumes, he couldn't make himself believe it. Ty was real, life-size, standing there in the woods, a faint dew of sweat on his upper lip, soft hair rumpled, hazel eyes glittering. Not a chihuahua, but a pine marten, all silky energy and surface ingenuousness masking sharp teeth. Dangerous. Reckless.
And as he considered Ty, Jack felt something shift in his mind. Something vital, something visceral, but before he could comprehend it, Ty swept an abrupt step back. His eyes reflected suspicion. "What are you looking at, McPhee?" He demanded uneasily, casting sidelong glances at the other counselors going to and from the washhouse. Some glanced their way, but paid no further attention. Ty backed another step, arms crossed tight. "I swear, if you ever so much as touch me--"
"Touch *you*?" Challenged Jack incredulously. He uttered a short, bitter laugh. Opening a long stride towards Ty, he backed him into a thimbleberry. Taller than the other boy, Jack gazed down, angled brows low and saturnine. "Let's get one thing straight, Hicks," he grated. "I apologize for the clich�, but even if you and I were the last people left on earth, I would no more touch you than I would touch a rotting carcass. Satisfied?"
Ty's face whitened, and he edged away. "The feeling is more than mutual, McPhee," he snapped.
Then Ty visibly collected himself, face abruptly blanking out. He turned back to Jack, and Jack couldn't help but think of an actor assuming a role. "I apologize for my rudeness, Jack," Bible Boy said carefully. "I should not have reacted--not returned anger with anger. I know you are struggling, and I know it is difficult, but it would be easier if you would let people help you. Let God help you. You're not alone."
"Oh, go to hell!" Shoving the other boy aside, Jack strode away.
As he went, though, he couldn't help hearing Ty's last words. "If one of us goes to hell, McPhee, it won't be me."
Jack was dreaming. He had to be; he knew his father's house didn't have a round bed with gold silk curtains and a live giraffe. Nor did Joey usually wear Princess Leia's gold bikini while she recited Shakespeare, though Jack had to admit it looked good on her.
The dream shifted, and Jack was suddenly aware of warmth behind him. He was lying on the bed, swathed in cashmere blankets, and someone was nestled up behind him. Jack could feel warm, supple skin, underlain with a muscular resilience that made him shiver. Oh, God! His whole body felt alive and tingling, and when an arm snaked around his middle, drawing him close, he realized he was completely nude. Christ! Now he felt breath on his neck, shivering his nerves, and a warm tongue traced his jaw and ear. He writhed in wanton mortification, and heard a low laugh. The tongue continued to torment him, the possessive arm clasping him tight. A second hand skimmed through his hair, infinitely arousing, and Jack thought he would dissolve.
Desperately Jack wanted to turn his head, to see who possessed him, but somewhere inside he knew that if he did, it would all disintegrate. He must not look, must not know. So he held his head still as the unknown traced fingers over his chest and stomach, exploring, luxuriating, relishing in the taut pliability and responsive shudders. He kissed his way along the base of Jack's skull, tender and inflaming, making Jack suck in a sudden, shattered breath. And then, suddenly, the unknown shifted, holding Jack harder, thrusting a knee between Jack's thighs. Briefly Jack felt fear, mitigated by a desperate lust and need.
And when he felt pressure on a very specific spot, he groaned.
What followed, Jack could only describe as blissful. The sweet painlessness of a dream mingled with melting warmth and utter, intimate fulfillment. He clung to the sensations as long as he could, hungering for more, satiated yet fired, yearning...
But the gold silk dispersed into the plebian tangle of his nylon sleeping bag, the warmth dissipated into the chill of a Northwest night. Jack lay back, heart pounding, and knew his sweats were damp. He prayed he'd made no noise, and his bedsprings squeaked alarmingly as he tried to gaze around the quiet tent. He heard nothing but breathing, a little snoring, and rusty springs. If anyone were awake, they weren't telling.
Unsettled, Jack grasped the threads of the dream and quivered at remembered sensation. God! He'd never had a dream like that before. He felt...the way he had after the first time he'd had sex. As if he'd abruptly changed, turned something inside out, and was astounded that no one could tell. But something warned him not to probe too closely into the dream, the same thing that had warned him not to look, not to ask who had done this to him. Because he knew that somewhere, buried deep, he knew who it was.
And he wasn't ready to face that knowledge.
Stirring again, springs protesting, Jack tried to find a dry spot. As he drifted into sleep again, his final thought was of things hidden.