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His behavior also gave me new insight into the falling-out he had with a mutual friend several years ago, while we vacationed in the same resort town. In any case, we never discussed what happened. But I also began to suspect that my friend was manipulating the situation, forcing me to lie in front of others in order to create an "official" version of events that let him off the hook. Since our housemates have to count pennies for a trip like this, I did not want to create tension for them, and invented excuses. Several times, he asked why I was sleeping in the living room, but always in front of others. Needless to say, the rest of the week I slept on the sofa. I was struck by how self-centered it was. This time I was simply parachuted into a situation I didn't expect or want, and I had no say or control over what was happening. I also became angry when I realized that he had given me no choice in the matter - at least I was awake for our 30-minute fling from years before. I can understand waking a spouse or a romantic partner for sex, but not a platonic friend. Both times he must have shaken me awake, and I was incredulous that he thought it appropriate to interrupt my sleep just because he was horny. Hours later, the implications of what happened suddenly occurred to me. Stunned and confused, I plopped back down on the bed, ignored a brief caress and went back to sleep. There was no mistaking it this time - he was looking at me while he masturbated. I don't remember what woke me, but it was alarming enough for me to rise up and check my surroundings. He said he didn't, but I wondered if he'd simply forgotten and gave it no more thought. Later that morning as we had breakfast with our housemates, I asked him if he'd had a nightmare. It did cross my mind that the noise he was making was also very similar to an ejaculation, but I instantly dismissed the idea. I assumed he was a having a nightmare and decided to wait for a bit to let it pass before I woke him. I went back to sleep but awoke some time later when he started to moan. I had already told him that I need my space when I sleep, so without rolling over I asked him to move, which he did with a snort of impatience.
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It was very early in the morning of our first full day of vacation when I woke up to feel him pressed up against me. I should also mention that I have boyfriend and my friend is married, but neither of our partners came with us on this trip. That first time was something of a quirk for both of us, fueled by too much drinking and ecstasy. Like many gay men, our platonic friendship began with a roll in the hay. We have shared many rooms together over the years, but this time our housing arrangement required us to share a bed, which did not give me a moment of pause. My friend can be high-maintenance but I am pretty low-key and we've managed to work out our different styles and to enjoy ourselves. We are both gay men and have traveled many times together over the years with few problems and a hell of a lot of fun. These readers know what I’m talking about.Several months ago, I took a trip with a longtime, close friend. And it’s a valuable rite of passage, even when you’re screaming obscenities into a payphone like a complete moron. It is 3-10 weeks of pure peer pressure, made from concentrate. You get to shed your overbearing parents and liberate the dipshit teen within. My oldest kid hasn’t gone to sleepaway camp yet for various reasons, and I have implored my wife to send her for at least one summer because (A) I want these kids out of the house, and (B) as one of my friends said about his kid at camp, “I know they’ll come back a different person than when they left.” Summer camp is an indelible experience for so many kids because it represents the first time they’re really, truly out on their own. Then again, I’m not sure why we did anything. I’m not quite sure why we ran from, you know, a phone call. And whenever a real person answered the phone, we would scream I’M A MOTHERFUCKER WITH A BUFFALO BUTT, hang up the phone, and then run away. So, at night, we snuck down to the phone and started dialing random 1-800 numbers, hoping to either get a live operator or a live girl at the other end of the line.
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I don’t remember playing any soccer whatsoever at that camp, but I very much DO remember the camp was at a boarding school, and that we got to stay in the dorms all week, and that the dorm had a pay phone that was the only phone in the whole joint.
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My most vivid memories of summer camp all feature me being a teenage shithead.