(Author Note: This is the fifteenth story in a series. The characters and situations were introduced in the episode:
Camp Torowa Falls 1964 - 01: A Fair To Remember
Read that episode first! Then read episodes 2 thru 14 before reading this one.)
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"I can't believe how barbaric this place is!" said Sandy Welles. The 13-year-old reached back to rub the seat of his khaki camp shorts, which covered a backside still sore from the severe paddling it received just the night before.

Corey chuckled, "Alan feels the same way about it."

"I never said it was barbaric, Corey," said Alan Dunson, rolling his eyes. "All I said was that it was a bit... primitive."

"Isn't that the same thing?" asked Corey.

"Hardly!" said Alan. Sandy and Eric quickly agreed with him.

"A place can be primitive without being barbaric at all," said Eric.

"You guys say so," said Corey. To his surprise, Sandy had started talking to his cabin mates on Friday morning, without even using five-dollar words. Sandy was even participating in the breakfast conversation.

"And you guys don't think this place is barbaric?" said Sandy. As if to emphasize his point, Sandy shifted his sore bottom on the hard bench before going back to eating his breakfast.

"Barbaric, no," said Alan. "Very strict, yes."

"Draconian, possibly," said Eric.

"It just takes some getting used to," said Jerry.

"I'll say!" said Sandy. "The physical plant is shockingly primitive as well. Are those communal showers the only bathing facilities in this place?"

"Yep," said Jerry.

"Wait," said Corey. "Didn't you ever shower after gym class at school?"

"Of course," said Sandy. "But we had private shower stalls, with doors and everything. And don't even get me started on that urinal trough. It's like a bunch of barnyard animals relieving themselves."

"It's not that bad, Sandy," said Jerry, grinning.

"So what exactly are you doing here, anyway?" said Alan. "I mean, since you're obviously used to such high culture."

"Good question," said Sandy, sighing mightily. "Let's just say that my father has a regrettable fetish for rustic environments. That's bad enough, but now he's trying to infect me with it."

"So you're a real city boy, eh?" said Corey.

"Of course," said Alan. "The Brooks Brothers underpants alone should have been clue enough."

"I did wonder about that brand," said Corey. "I had never heard of them before."

"Not too surprising," said Sandy, eyeing Corey's clothes critically. "They're the leading men's clothier firm in Manhattan. But you have heard of Brooks Brothers before, Alan?"

"Sure," said Alan. "I have a suit from Brooks Brothers - my father has several."

"Oh, so you're a New Yorker too?" said Sandy, suddenly showing some interest in Alan.

"Nope, New Jersey," said Alan. "My father has a urology practice in Paramus."

"Oh," said Sandy, already losing interest. "I noticed that you don't wear Brooks Brothers briefs, though."

"Nope," said Alan. "My father refuses to pay that kind of money for underwear. He thinks that regular Fruit of the Loom briefs are plenty good enough."

"I see," said Sandy, clearly unimpressed with Dr. Dunson's thrifty ways.

It was obvious to Corey that although Sandy had started to open up to his fellow campers, he still had a long way to go in the attitude department. Oh well, he still had nearly a month to loosen up. At least Sandy was making an effort. It was a start.

Over the first few days of the new camp session Corey noticed that several campers were missing that had been in camp the previous year. Phil Lundon, the mysterious kid who had been in Fox Cabin with Corey and friends in 1963 was not back. This really didn't surprise Corey too much. Nor was he terribly surprised that Tony Lansing, the traitorous little sneak from Fox Cabin last year, had chosen not to return.

Corey was actually surprised that Joey Graham was not back. Surprised and relieved. He mentioned this fact to Jerry, who turned out not to be the least bit surprised. "He broke your nose, dummy," said Jerry.

"They won't let him back because of that?" said Corey.

"Well yeah," said Jerry. "Don't you think that kind of thing should be discouraged? Joey was basically an animal."

"I guess you're right," said Corey, rubbing his nose.

"I could break your nose for you," said Jerry, smirking, "if it would make you feel more at home here."

"Ha!" said Corey derisively, "you could try, my friend. You could try."

The Reverend Arthur Belling was at Friday night dinner, which was a change from previous years. The good reverend was a Methodist minister who had retired with his wife to a nearby mountain village. As camp chaplain, he usually was only at camp on Sundays, and for the regular Thursday night prayer meetings. In the past year a Chaplain's Cottage had been built on the grounds near the Camp Director's Cabin. The rumor was that this had been planned for many years, but that some rich benefactor recently donated a big pile of money to the Camp Torowa Falls Building Fund.

In any event this change meant that the Reverend Belling would be spending more time at camp this summer. Corey wondered if this meant he'd be seeing more of Anna Belling, the chaplain's granddaughter. He could only hope.

At evening assembly on Friday night, the patrol leaders were announced for each cabin. Corey was delighted when Roland Bell was announced as the Wolf Cabin patrol leader. He had been hoping it would be either Roland or Mike Olson. Patrol leader was a largely ceremonial title here in camp, but it was still considered a real honor to be selected, and therefore a matter of some importance to the campers.

At the end of the assembly Boss Lemmon called three miscreants to the front of the hall to receive very public doses of his huge razor strop. Sandy Welles turned white as a sheet as the three boys, clad only in their white briefs, strode unwillingly to the front of the hall, and then were lead into a side store room.

Sandy asked what was happening in the side room. Tim Sheffield, who had been through this procedure as one of the "special guests" the previous summer, filled the new boy in on the procedure.

Sandy expressed disbelief at the idea that the three doomed boys were being stripped and made to relieve themselves in a chamber pot being held by Ben Ericson, the 11-year-old from Coyote cabin who had accompanied them into the store room. Corey, who had performed this support role for a stropping the previous year, assured Sandy that it was true.

Sandy was stunned when the three miscreants were paraded back out to stand at the front of the hall and face the entire assembly completely nude, with their hands laced behind their heads. Roland pointed out, in a whisper, that if Sandy hadn't accepted the paddling from Jeff the previous night, he would be standing up there in the line of naked boys awaiting their punishment. Sandy gulped in fear at that thought.

Boss Lemmon then lectured the assembled campers on the evils of smoking. It was one of his favorite topics - or least favorite topics, depending on how you looked at it. In any event the camp director was passionate in his goal of stamping out what he called "that disgusting habit" among the campers.

Eventually it was time for the talking to end and for the punishments of the smokers to begin. "Healy!" said Boss Lemmon, pointing to the end of "the bench" at the front of the hall. Fifteen-year-old George Healy reluctantly laid himself down across the towel-covered end of the bench and settled in for his whipping.

Healy didn't have long to wait. Boss Lemmon swung the huge razor strop back above his shoulder and slashed it down into the waiting rump of the naughty teen boy on the bench. Thwwaacckk!

As one Thwwaacckk! after another rained down on his clenching bottom, Healy started grunting, then groaning, and finally yelping in agony. As the final two Thwwaacckks hit home, George Healy howled, and Corey glanced over at Sandy Welles. He was amused by the fact that Sandy's eyes were wide as saucers, his mouth formed into a rigid "O" shape as he looked on in horror at the whipping in progress.

George Healy raised himself painfully from the bench after his whipping. Clearly the teen wanted to rub his throbbing backside, but instead he had to lace his fingers back behind his head and walk stiffly back to stand in line with his doomed colleagues. It was obvious that Healy had not been excited by the whipping he had just received. It was equally obvious that the two waiting miscreants had been excited.

"Wolfe!" said Boss Lemmon, pointing at the bench. The 15-year-old, whose first name Corey could not recall, was sporting a rigid erection as he strode forward to take his place over the bench. 13-year-old Jere Casey, the last doomed camper, was also sporting a small woody as he watched his partners in crime get thrashed.

Thwwaacckk! Corey didn't know Wolfe very well. Thwwaacckk! He had heard rumors that the kid who everyone just called "The Wolf" could get fellow campers just about anything they needed, for a price. Though he also had a reputation for being tough, by the time the twelfth and final Thwwaacckk! hit his burning bottom, "The Wolf" was definitely howling.

Though Jere Casey was still sporting quite a little erection as he walked unwillingly to the bench for his own dose of razor strop, the poor kid had a sick look on his face. Thwwaacckk!

The unfortunate Jere started howling almost immediately. Thwwaacckk! Corey glanced over at Sandy, who still was stunned rigid, but he was also starting to look a bit sick. Thwwaacckk! Corey hoped that Sandy wouldn't puke right there at the table. Thwwaacckk!

Eventually the last Thwwaacckk! was delivered to Jere's squirming seat, and the bawling youngster joined his comrades back in line. It was obvious that the whipping itself had not excited young Jere. His formerly stiff boyhood dangled limply between his legs. In fact only The Wolf was still erect after the thrashings were complete. At least he was the only boy on stage with an erection. Corey had pitched a tent in his pants during the whippings, as had Jerry. This was par for the course for both boys.

Boss Lemmon then ordered Ben Ericson to "hood" the offenders. This involved placing each boy's briefs over his head like a hood, the crotch placed over the front of the boy's face. Sandy shook his head slightly, apparently in disbelief at this final humiliation, but he said nothing about it. Finally the three offenders were ordered to face the back wall of the Mess Hall, leaving their soundly-thrashed bottoms on display for all to see.

Boss Lemmon delivered a final lecture on the evils of smoking, followed by a warning that an even worse stropping awaited any camper who was caught smoking hereafter. After the assembly was dismissed, Roland had an earnest, whispered conversation with the still-horrified Sandy. Eventually Sandy and Roland strolled to the front of the hall and joined Corey and his friends, who were having a close look at the well-whipped tails of the three offenders.

"You still don't think this is barbaric, Alan?" said Sandy. He was staring at the twitching tail of the still sobbing Jere Casey. Black and blue bruises were forming on the bright red cheeks of the youngster's sore backside.

"Nope," said Alan, confidently. "It is really strict, though."

"How can you put up with this?" said Sandy, still staring in disbelief at the damaged backsides on display.

"The good news is," said Eric, "this is as bad as it gets."

"Oh, well," said Sandy sarcastically, "that's a really big comfort!" The boy turned on his heel and stalked out of the Mess Hall into the twilight.

"Should somebody go with him?" said Corey.

"I don't think so," said Roland. "Sandy has to work out his feelings about our camp customs on his own. He knows where we are if he wants to talk to somebody."

It turned out Sandy didn't want to talk to anybody on Friday night. On Saturday morning he watched with a sickly expression on his face as Mike Olson received a three swat bare-bottomed paddling over the foot of his bed for "bedwetting". As the hardwood camp paddle blazed its message of chastity into the squirming buttocks of the gasping 14-year-old, Corey felt almost as sick about it as Sandy looked.

Corey was well aware that it was only a matter of time before he spent a hot morning getting his butt blasted for the same "offense". Why didn't Boss Lemmon listen to the counselors? Corey tented his briefs just watching Mike take his paddling - so did Jerry and Vince Palmer. Mike himself was sporting a solid woody as he rubbed his sore cheeks after Jeff finished the paddling and walked back to his office.

Corey hadn't masturbated since Tuesday morning. He had brought himself off in the bathroom of their room at the Caribbean Motel in Wildwood while the Eckerts and Jerry were still asleep. It had been four days now - a long time for a horny 13-year-old boy to go without an orgasm. If Corey didn't get a chance to "fire one off" by hand soon, he would wake up one morning humping his sheets again and go through another day with a sore ass. Of course jerking off in camp held the risk of a bare-assed public razor stropping should he get caught at it by a counselor or staff member. There were occasional moments - like this one - when Corey wondered if Sandy might be right about this place.

Eric got on the bus to Glens Falls on Saturday morning after breakfast. He had already run out of film and flashbulbs for his camera, much to Jerry's amusement. The other Wolf Cabin campers on the bus to town that morning were Eddie Gray, Vince Palmer and Sandy Welles.

"Do you think Sandy will try to make a break for it?" said Alan, as they walked back to Wolf Cabin.

Corey chuckled and said, "He could jump in a barrel and float all the way down the Hudson to home." Jerry, Alan and Roland shared a hearty laugh at that one.

Back at the cabin the friends all donned their swim suits. Sailing lessons were being offered at the lake that morning. Now that Corey and Jerry were 13, they were eligible to be certified to captain one of the camp sloops. By lunch time the two friends were duly authorized to take a sloop out on any Saturday, or on Sunday afternoons.

After lunch the small fleet of sloops sailed out onto Little Bear Lake. Corey was ecstatic, this being his first time in command of any kind of vessel. Hopefully this would be only the first time of many. Okay, it was only a 20 foot sailing sloop, and his "crew" consisted of Alan, Tommy Adler, the 12-year-old patrol leader of Fox Cabin, and two of Tommy's campers, Derek Trone and Ben Ericson, who were both 11-years-old. But it was Corey's ship to command, and he was bursting with pride.

It was a beautiful, breezy day in the Adirondack Mountains, and the sloop skimmed across the lake at a nice clip. Corey looked across the water to the sloop commanded by Jerry, whose "crew" consisted of his cousin Robby, along with Robby's patrol leader, Timmy Garlin. Jerry's third passenger was Timmy's older brother Kyle Garlin, who had been their cabinmate in Fox Cabin last year.

Corey called across the water, "Ahoy there, Jarhead!"

"Ahoy yourself, Squidling!" came Jerry's shouted answer, "Wanna race?"

Corey looked across at Jerry's sloop. Sure enough, the bows of their two sloops were about even. Leave it to Jerry to turn everything into a competition. What the hell, why not? "Sure!" yelled Corey. "Let's race to Keesog Island!"

"You're on!" yelled Jerry.

The two sloops flew across the surface of the lake. Well, "flew" may be a slight exaggeration. Corey figured they were doing 4 or 5 knots, or nautical miles per hour. That was still pretty fast for small craft - fast enough to sail the entire length of Little Bear Lake in less than 15 minutes.

Less than eight minutes later the race was over. Jerry edged them out for the win at the last minute. "That wasn't fair," complained Corey when they stopped at Keesog Island after the race. "You only had four guys on your boat, we had five!"

"Excuses, excuses!" said Jerry, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"We'll just see who gets back to the docks first," said Corey.

"No we won't!" said Jerry. "If we go racing back to the docks they'll skin us alive - you know it's against the rules."

"True," said Corey. "I'll get you next time, then."

"Maybe, Squidling, maybe."

Alan sent the other kids off to "reconnoiter" the uninhabited Keesog Island, since none of them had ever been there before. This gave the three friends a few minutes of privacy to engage in a little "personal pleasure". Corey managed to do it twice before the younger kids got back. He felt so incredibly good afterwards. And it might just keep him from "wetting" his bed for a week or so, by which time he hoped to get another safe opportunity to pleasure himself.

"Sandy should have come along with us," said Jerry after his second orgasm.

"Yeah," said Corey, "he won't get this kind of chance in town."

"I don't know," said Alan. "This might be too primitive a venue for him. Sandy might need a stall 'with a door and everything'." That comment earned him a few laughs from his friends.

They didn't officially "race" on the way back to camp late that afternoon, but Corey's sloop did get there first. All the way back Corey imagined himself in command of a US Navy man-of-war back in the classic age of sail, those days of "wooden ships and iron men". As they tacked back up the lake towards home, Corey imagined Jerry's sloop to be, among other things, a British naval man-of-war, or a pirate frigate that was trying to raid America's sea commerce. Captain Corey Lane's fighting sloop defeated all these opponents easily, of course.

In years to come, Corey would look back on this golden summer afternoon as one of the highlights of his adolescence.