What I Learned in the Boy Scouts
I never had sex in the Boy Scouts. I know. Disappointing. Fuck, my memories of Boy Scouts seem filled more with fear than anything else. I see the water moccasin snake with its head cut off, the bloody body tied around a tree limb, supposedly meant to encourage rain. I remember the lesson of how to survive a bull charge -- remove your clothing as you run to the fence because, supposedly, the bull will stop to inspect each article of clothing. I recall the oppressive darkness as I went snipe hunting, sitting like an idiot in the woods with my hands over my eyes and a paper bag in front of me. I remember the sound and kick of the first and last time I shot a buckshot rifle.
Boy Scouts frightened me.
Fag that I was then, I knew I was different. Yet scouting probably turned out to be the last place I attempted to fit in completely. Look at it. You wear the same clothing, recite the same words, and do the same stuff together.
On my only camping trip with the troop, we slept in a tent named "Big Bertha." The teenage leader of my preteen group stood lanky with a late 1970s bowl cut. I don't know why but I still admire him in a strange way even though we were never particularly close. Fuck, I don't even recall his name.
Late one night as we slipped into our sleeping bags, he spoke of an initiation right that needed to be accomplished by us all. He went first to the tent flap and stepped outside. In the next moments, his lily-white ass appeared. Apparently, we were to run around the tent bareass naked and, as we passed the tent flap each time, shove our ass through the flap. He did this but on the tenth time, we did not see his ass. Instead, we got a glimpse of the other side.
I remember his cock surrounded by the dark brown bush as his cock flapped up and down. He made quite a little show of the flaccid thing before slipping back on his clothes and returning to his bed.
I do not recall who else accomplished this task of initiation. At some point, I earned initiative by alternative means -- I think I was the first to swim to a floating dock in the middle of the lake we camped upon. No other memories of naked Boy Scouts emerge and I can't even recall whether this camping trip occurred before or after the molestation began.
So I didn't learn a damn thing about sex in Boy Scouts. But I did learn one thing: Trim your pubes.
Boy Scouts frightened me.
Fag that I was then, I knew I was different. Yet scouting probably turned out to be the last place I attempted to fit in completely. Look at it. You wear the same clothing, recite the same words, and do the same stuff together.
On my only camping trip with the troop, we slept in a tent named "Big Bertha." The teenage leader of my preteen group stood lanky with a late 1970s bowl cut. I don't know why but I still admire him in a strange way even though we were never particularly close. Fuck, I don't even recall his name.
Late one night as we slipped into our sleeping bags, he spoke of an initiation right that needed to be accomplished by us all. He went first to the tent flap and stepped outside. In the next moments, his lily-white ass appeared. Apparently, we were to run around the tent bareass naked and, as we passed the tent flap each time, shove our ass through the flap. He did this but on the tenth time, we did not see his ass. Instead, we got a glimpse of the other side.
I remember his cock surrounded by the dark brown bush as his cock flapped up and down. He made quite a little show of the flaccid thing before slipping back on his clothes and returning to his bed.
I do not recall who else accomplished this task of initiation. At some point, I earned initiative by alternative means -- I think I was the first to swim to a floating dock in the middle of the lake we camped upon. No other memories of naked Boy Scouts emerge and I can't even recall whether this camping trip occurred before or after the molestation began.
So I didn't learn a damn thing about sex in Boy Scouts. But I did learn one thing: Trim your pubes.
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