(Author Note: This is the seventh episode in a series. The characters and situations were introduced in the story:
Camp Torowa Falls 1: Wet Sheets Lead to Sore Rumps.
Read that episode first! Then read episodes 2 through 6 before reading this one!) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That went reasonably well...considering," said Eric.

"Considering that the film only broke twice?" asked Corey.

"Yeah."

"It was a little weird that they cast Gregory Peck as a British officer," said Jerry.

"Maybe they couldn't get Olivier," said Eric.

"Who?" asked Corey.

"Laurence Olivier," said Eric. "He's the world's most famous British actor."

"Never heard of 'em," said Corey.

The three friends were walking back to the cabin after the Saturday night movie, Captain Horatio Hornblower. The film itself had been well received by the campers, although the two delays while Eric repaired the film had caused some commotion.

"I know you've heard of Olivier, Corey," said Eric. "He played Crassus in Spartacus."

"Oh, that guy!" said Corey. "He turns up in everything. I just figured he was some general purpose English actor."

"He does have a wide range," admitted Eric. "And what you say may be true in a technical sense. But I wouldn't put it that way to a Brit if I were you - unless you want another sock in the nose."

Yeah, right," said Corey. "What I want to know is, who was that guy supposed to be, who was waiting on Hornblower hand and foot?"

"His batman?" asked Eric.

"What?" said Corey. "Batman wasn't in that movie. Did you splice your brain or something?"

"No, his 'batman' is his valet," said Eric. Corey looked at him, still confused. Eric tried a different tack. "His butler?"

"His butler, like Alfred!" said Corey. "Wait, why would a naval officer need a butler?"

"Good question!" said Jerry. "If British officers need butlers to get around, no wonder we whipped their butts at Valley Forge."

Corey and Eric had stopped walking and were staring at Jerry like he had just sprouted two additional heads. "What?" he asked.

"Valley Forge wasn't a battlefield, Jerry," said Corey.

"It was!" Jerry said, indignantly. "I've been there."

"You may have been there Jerry," said Eric. "But it was never a battlefield. Washington's army just camped there over the winter of 1777-78."

"Now wait!" said Jerry. "I've seen the national cemetary there and everything. I even saw the spot where Lincoln gave his speech..."

Corey and Eric both groaned in frustration. "Gettysburg!" said Eric.

"What?" said Jerry.

"Lincoln gave the 'Gettysburg Address', Jerry," said Corey. "Not the 'Valley Forge Address'."

"It's not even the same war," said Eric.

"Ohhh..." said Jerry. Corey could practically see the light bulb turning on over his head.

"Some Marine you'll make," said Eric.

"Yeah, you can write them a new hymn," said Corey. He sang:

From the Halls of Montezuma,
to the shores of Valley Forge.
We will fight our country's battles,
if we can remember where they are...

As he sang, Corey took off running into the darkness with a furious future Marine in hot pursuit. Eric laughed to himself and kept on walking.

Later that night silent figures moved through the darkness of Fox Cabin. One by one, they surrounded a certain bed and regarded its sleeping occupant. One of the figures reached out and shook the arm of the sleeping boy.

Alan Dunson awoke with a start and sat up in bed. A shout of alarm died on his lips as he recognized the six underpants-clad figures surrounding his bed and lay back down. One of the figures placed his finger to his lips and Alan nodded. He would remain silent.

The figures nearest the head of his bed on each side reached out their arms, and Alan meekly extended his arms to them. They held his arms immobile.

The middle pair of figures reached out and pulled his covers down to the foot of his bed, exposing Alan's entire body, clad only in his white briefs. These figures then moved away from the bed and began quietly ransacking Alan's locker.

The final pair of figures lifted Alan's midsection off the bed and gently stripped the briefs from his body, leaving him completely nude. These figures then pulled the covers back over Alan, and the first figures released his arms. Alan watched the other boys - his cabinmates - move quietly back to their own beds.

Alan didn't move to replace his briefs - he no longer had any. All of Alan's shirts, underwear, shorts, and trousers had just been confiscated. They would only be returned to him after morning showers were complete.

It was after midnight on August 4th, Alan's twelfth birthday. By an old custom of Camp Torowa Falls, birthday boys had to spend the first hours of their "big day" in their birthday suits. Alan had been through this all last year. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

In the early dawn light, Corey was fussing with the tape. He had seen this done before, but never done it himself. Alan just stood there impatiently. "Will you get on with it, please. I gotta go!" said Alan, a slightly desperate tone in his voice.

"Okay, okay!" said Corey. A couple more adjustments, and...perfect! "Okay, let's go."

The two boys headed out the front door of Fox Cabin towards the bath house. Corey was clad in his white jockeys, and Alan was wearing only a yellow plastic ribbon-tape around his neck. The tape had "Happy Birthday" printed on each side in bright colors. It was arranged so that it dangled from his neck and could be clearly seen from both front and back. In Corey's estimation the effect was...ridiculous.

He guessed that was probably the whole point, to embarrass the birthday boy as much as possible. Corey was profoundly glad that his own birthday was in January.

Alan was walking quickly and urgently. Corey kept up, and watched Alan's unmarked, brilliant white hind cheeks - framed by tan lines left by his swim suit - moving as he walked. Unable to resist, Corey reached out and planted the first of what promised to be many spanks on the right cheek of that newly 12-year-old bottom.

"Hey!" protested Alan. He turned his head to glare at Corey as he continued walking. "There'll be plenty of time for that later on."

"I just wanted to be the first."

"Yeah, well quit it, or you'll make me pee."

"So?" said Corey. "You're naked, and we're in the forest. Who cares?"

"The Asscons and the counselors, you ninny! I'm gonna get smacked enough today. I don't need a paddling for peeing outdoors."

As they reached the bath house, Corey tried to run interference for Alan. But a few smacks did get through to his butt before he reached the trough-style urinal. Unfortunately some campers loved to smack birthday boys as they made they morning bath house visits. And Alan's birthday had been announced at assembly last evening.

Finally the desperate birthday boy got to the trough and was able to find blessed relief. Unfortunately this left Alan's hindquarters exposed to attack, and they received quite a few smacks as he emptied his nearly bursting bladder.

Corey relieved himself a few spaces along the trough. There was nothing he could really do for Alan. A birthday boy's nether cheeks were fair game for anyone to smack until his clothes were returned to him after morning showers. The next half hour would pass very slowly for Alan.

After they cleared the bath house area on the way back to the cabin, Corey checked out the initial damage to Alan's butt. Both cheeks were red already, but nothing compared to damage caused by Jeff's paddle, or Boss Lemmon's strap. "They don't look too bad," said Corey, hopefully.

"Great," said Alan, a bit sarcastically. "So, did I hear you telling Eric that your dad got a new car this year?"

Apparently Alan wanted to change the subject from his butt, and its immediate, painful future. Fair enough. "Yeah," said Corey. "He has a 1963 1/2 Ford Falcon Squire station wagon. With super deluxe interior and all the trimmings."

"What size engine?"

"A 260 cubic inch V-8, three on the tree."

"Is it fast?"

"It has some pickup," said Corey. "But it's no sports car, and my dad doesn't drive like that anyway."

"Your dad's in insurance, right?" asked Alan.

"Yep. He just got promoted to district office manager in the Allentown/Bethlehem office."

"Cool. That means more money, right?"

"Yes," said Corey. "But it also means he'll be on the road - away from home - a lot more."

"Bummer."

"Big bummer."

The other campers were up and moving around when they got back to the cabin. Alan chose to quickly move to his bed and sit down to await morning inspection. He acknowledged birthday greetings from the other campers, most of whom came over to inspect his tape. But he declined their requests to inspect his rump and remained seated until Jeff's door opened. Then Alan, along with the other campers, moved to the foot of their beds to await inspection.

When Jeff emerged from his room a minute later, he was carrying one of the side chairs from his "office". He placed the chair just outside his door to one side. Instead of beginning the inspection with the closest boy, Jeff marched straight up to Alan. "What have we here," Jeff asked.

He closely inspected the tape around Alan's neck. "It this tape accurate?"

Alan rolled his eyes slightly - so did Corey - everybody within 50 miles knew it was Alan's birthday and was itching to spank him, so why was Jeff being coy? "Yes, Jeff," was all Alan said.

"So...you're not actually out of uniform then." said Jeff.

"No, Jeff."

"Hmmm," said Jeff. He took a quick peak at the state of Alan's sheets - apparently there were no stains. Corey noticed Jeff's eyes wander briefly to Alan's already decorated backside, then he grabbed Alan by the ear and marched him up to where the chair was sitting.

"Kneel on the chair, Alan," said Jeff. Alan complied. "Hands behind your head." Again, Alan quickly complied. "Stay there until I say otherwise."

Jeff than proceeded to inspect the other nine campers in Fox Cabin. Alas, Phil Lundon had stained his briefs and sheets again - another one of "those dreams." Corey had been so preoccupied with Alan that he had failed to notice.

Phil was ordered to remove his briefs and bend over the foot of his bed. Jeff retrived his paddle and gave Phil five hearty, stinging swats on his bare bottom. Whaacckk! Whaacckk! Whaacckk! Whaacckk! Whaacckk! Phil remained silent throughout, but when he got up he was fighting to keep the tears from his eyes.

Then it was finally time to attend to the birthday boy. Jeff put his paddle away, then returned to the main room and announced the winner of the voting. "Corey Lane will assist Alan during his birthday spanking. Alan, you will take your orders from Corey until this is over."

"Yes, Jeff." said Alan.

Corey stepped forward, and had Alan get up off the chair. He had Alan carry the chair to the center of the aisle between the beds and set it down again. Then Corey sat on the chair, and guided Alan into draping himself over Corey's lap. He then placed his left hand firmly on Alan's back, and then looked up expectantly at Jeff.

"Alright, the rest of you, line up in front of Corey," said Jeff. "One swat on each cheek, then get back in front of your bed."

Paulie Jenkins marched up and planted a good open-handed swat on Alan's left cheek, then his right cheek. He was followed by Kyle, Lionel, Phil, Tony, Willie, Eric, and Jerry.

Corey looked down at the slightly twitching bottom that lay across his lap. It had just received eight swats per cheek, for a total of sixteen spanks. According to Camp Torowa Falls birthday custom, each of Alan's bottom cheeks had just turned twelve, and each required its very own set of twelve spanks. The rest was now up to Corey.

Corey liked Alan, and didn't want to be too mean to him. So he didn't spank him quite as hard as possible, but alternated solid spanks on the twin red orbs. Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Alan managed to remain silent, but he did involuntarily wriggle a bit towards the end.

"That's twelve each," announced Corey.

"Very good," said Jeff. "Don't forget one each 'to grow on'."

"Right," said Corey. Again his hand went up, Swacck! Swacck!

"Okay, Alan," said Jeff. "You don't have time to lie around all day, get up and hit the showers! And Happy Birthday!"

Alan hopped up off of Corey's lap, and rubbed his bottom ruefully for a few seconds. His eyes were moist, but he had kept the tears from flowing - so far. Corey got up and extended his hand to his friend. Alan stopped rubbing his warm red posterior and shook Corey's hand, smiling. Corey wished him "Happy birthday!" Then they hugged.

As Alan moved towards his bed, he shook the hands of all eight other campers, acknowledged their birthday greetings, and hugged them. Then as a group they grabbed their shower stuff and headed for the bath house, everybody smiling.

The ten campers from Fox Cabin moved together as a group on the path, in the bath house, and in the showers. They protected Alan's bright red butt from the spanking predations of campers from other cabins as much as possible. This was quite difficult in the showers, and Alan's butt took a few swats before he managed to get out of there.

Finally they arrived back in the cabin and Alan's clothing was returned to him. He gratefully took off the ribbon tape and covered his glowing red backside with briefs and then navy trousers. Alan got a sore rump every year on his birthday in camp, but he could usually look forward to a lot more presents than he got at home, too. He had told Corey last year that it seemed like a fair tradeoff.

Campers wore their uniforms six days a week. But on Sunday mornings they dressed formally for church services. Most of the boys from Fox Cabin wore some form of blue, black, or khaki trousers. Everyone wore a collared shirt with a tie. They also wore polished leather shoes instead of the standard sneakers.

Corey thought it was way too much bother to have all these fancy clothes along just to wear them about five hours a week. After Sunday lunch, campers could change into casual clothes of their choice. Most chose swim suits.

Corey put the finishing touches on the windsor knot in his tie, then looked at himself in the cabin's single full-length mirror. His solid navy blue tie was tied around the collar of his light blue shirt. He tugged at the legs of his khaki trousers to check the status of the navy blue socks that disappeared into shiny black leather shoes.

His mother always gushed about how handsome he looked dressed like this. Corey always rolled his eyes at that. Still, there was something about a shirt and tie. It was his father's work uniform. And if Corey followed his father through college and then into the business world, he would probably be dressed something like this most days for the rest of his life.

Corey smiled at his reflection, which agreeably smiled back. Corey couldn't tell whether his reflection wore a happy or sad smile at that thought. Finally he pushed at the mop of hair on his head and stepped away from the mirror to give the waiting Jerry a crack at inspecting himself. Corey knew that his hair was too long, at least as far as his father was concerned. He needed to get it cut before returning home. He'd take care of it when they returned from next week's camp out.

Sunday morning was "Community Time" at Camp Torowa Falls. Most of the local staff (the laundry matrons, the mess hall crew, and Todd Ritter) brought along their families, and they all ate and worshipped with the campers and counselors from flag raising until lunch time.

Flag raising was at 7:45 AM as usual. During the week an instrumental recording of "The Star-Bangled Banner" was played during the ceremony. But on Sundays the community gathered to sing all four verses of "The Star-Spangled Banner", not just the first verse that everybody sings at ball games.

Last summer Jerry had finally convinced Corey that the seldom heard fourth verse was actually the most beautiful of them all, particularly since it mentions the Maker by name.

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Corey glanced over at Jerry, who stood unashamedly with tears in his eyes. Corey knew that Jerry believed that the 150-year-old words of that final verse represented the finest things that his father had given his life defending. The community then sang "God Bless America" and it was Corey's turn to tear up a little. It wasn't quite the same as when Kate Smith sang it, but Corey was always moved by that song, nonetheless.

Sunday was the only day that pancakes were available for breakfast. Corey loved pancakes, so he had them every Sunday. Plus they would be eating camp rations outdoors for the next four days and three nights, so it was nice to eat properly cooked food while it was still available.

Sunday services were at 9 AM. Attendance was mandatory, of course. In fact is was the only time during the week everyone at the camp was in one place at one time. All the campers, counselors, and asscons were there, of course. But so were the laundry matrons, the mess hall crew, Todd Ritter, Doc Moseley, and their families.

Corey was certain that Boss Lemmon could have delivered a real fire and brimstone sermon, but he was a lay gentleman and would never think of it, provided that an ordained member of the clergy was available. Unfortunately, at least as far as Corey was concerned, the Reverend Arthur Belling was quite available.

The Reverend Belling was a Methodist minister who had retired - along with his wife - to a local mountain village, and now acted as the pastor for Camp Torowa Falls every summer. He seemed like a decent fellow, but his sermons were the most boring collections of words that Corey had heard in his life. Despite being well rested, he had enormous trouble staying awake for them, especially sitting there with a belly full of pancakes.

The Reverend Belling may have been boring, but he made up for it by being long winded. An hour of his babbling was considered a brief sermon - ninety minutes were far more likely. Corey had managed to stay awake through the first two such trials this summer, but it was a lot warmer this time, being August, which wasn't helping matters any.

The sole consolation was that the Reverend Belling was bringing with him this summer one thing well worth looking at - his granddaughter, Anna. Sitting down front next to her grandmother, Anna was the very picture of 13-year-old golden-haired perfection. As usual, both of the good Reverend's guests were sitting on "the bench", the same one that campers lay across while having their bottoms roasted by Boss Lemmon's strap.

Corey was intensely embarrassed by his reaction to that particular thought and was forced to place both hands strategically on his lap. This was a very confusing time in Corey's life. He was feeling things inside that he never felt before. He felt them even stronger every time his gaze fell on Anna Belling.

Time wore on and on and the sermon continued and continued. There was a drone in the warm summer morning air. Feeling a sudden nudge, Corey woke up and turned to his left to look at Jerry, who pointed past him. Corey turned his head and realized, with horror, that Eric was also asleep. Corey nudged his friend, who woke with a start, but fortunately managed to remain silent. Corey just prayed the Asscons hadn't seen them.

It was vitally important for all children at the service to behave themselves, which included remaining awake. Four Asscons kept the hall under constant surveillance during the service and wrote down the names of campers and staff family children who were seen to fall asleep, or to horse around.

Finally, mercifully, the Reverend Belling's sermon ground to a halt. The service finished with the congregation rising to its feet for a final hymn, "How Great Thou Art."

Boss Lemmon practically jumped up to congratulate the Reverend Belling on his "wonderful sermon." Then the two men moved down through the hall towards the main entrance doors so they could greet people as they left the hall. Corey and Eric looked at each other, shrugged, and prayed that nobody had seen them sleeping.

But as they filed out of the main door a few minutes later, Joe Brown, Corey's least favorite Asscon, said "Lane! Linsey! Get over here in line, and get a lesson in staying awake." Corey wanted to sock the smirking Asscon in the worst way, but couldn't afford to get his already bruised butt in more trouble than it already was.

Corey and Eric reluctantly joined a forlorn line of children, all arranged according to height. Corey ended up behind Eric and in front of Danny Myers, his friend from Wolf Cabin. Looking around, Corey realized that Phil Lundon, Willie Strand, and poor Alan Dunson were also in line. That was half the boys from Fox Cabin - possibly a new record.

Eventually twenty-three boys and one girl were lined up awaiting their fate. The question uppermost in the mind of each young offender was who was going to "see to them" this week? Corey stewed silently as the vultures gathered - many of the campers and local kids who weren't in trouble were eager to see the ones who were get punished.

An Asscon carried a stool over near the front of the line. Then they saw her, and a slight groan went through the ranks of the doomed. Miss Bertha, in all her Sunday finery, was making her way towards the stool of fate. She was looking through her purse, which to Corey looked larger than the suitcase his father used on business trips. Eventually she found what she was looking for - a large wooden-backed hairbrush. Corey gulped involuntarily at the sight.

Miss Bertha slowly deposited her bulk on the stool, which creaked a bit under the load. She set down her purse behind the stool, straighted out her skirts, and then turned towards the line of waiting children. "Come on, Trish, let's get started," Miss Bertha said.

Ten-year-old Tricia, the daughter of Miss Sally the laundry matron, was first in line. She was not the shortest child, but there was a strict custom of "ladies first". Tricia looked like she could have done without that honor just this once. As the little girl climbed up onto Miss Bertha's lap, she said "I'm sorry, Aunt Bertha!"

"I know, child," said Miss Bertha, as she flipped up the little girl's skirt, exposing the white panties with a floral print which encased her small bottom.

So Miss Sally and Miss Bertha must be sisters, thought Corey as Miss Bertha's hairbrush rose in the air. Corey didn't see girls "getting it" very often. His little sister was spanked in private in their parent's bedroom, and girls in his school were rarely spanked.

Craacck! "Oo!" Craacck! "Ooowww!" Tricia's little legs kicked. Craacck! "Ooowwwee!" Craacck! "Booohoo!" Tricia was sobbing as her aunt flipped her skirt back down and pushed the little girl off her lap. Tricia rubbed the back of her skirt, sniffling as she walked away.

"Next," said Miss Bertha. The first, and shortest boy was Curt Ritter, the 7-year-old son of Todd Ritter, the camp handy man and bus driver. As required by procedure Curt had unbuckled his belt, unfastened his trousers, and held them at his waist while Tricia was getting her spanking. As he stepped up to Miss Bertha and the stool he released his trousers so gravity could sweep them down to his ankles as he made the fateful climb into her lap.

Then while Miss Bertha was applying four vigorous swats of her hairbrush to the seat of Curt's briefs, a 9-year-old little'un, whom Corey recognized as Derek, the helper from last night, was the first camper to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his trousers.

Soon Curt was walking away red-faced, just holding up his trousers without making an effort to refasten them, rubbing a stray tear from his eye.

Then Derek make the unwilling climb onto Miss Bertha's lap. He received six swats of Miss Bertha's hairbrush to his briefs-clad bottom while Phillip Troy, the next boy in line prepared to drop his trousers.

So it went, like an assembly line. As each boy got to the front of the line he unbuckled, unfastened, and waited anxiously as he watched the hairbrush connect sharply six times with the white cotton-covered seat of his squirming predecessor. Four swats was the standard dose for girls, and for boys under the age of nine, whereas six swats were administered to those boys aged nine and over.

As Corey neared the front of the line he realized that Anna Belling was among the group watching the show. Disaster! The most perfect girl in the world was about to see him drop his trousers and get spanked on his underpants like a little'un. Corey felt his heart pounding and his cheeks flushing with shame. He was suddenly thankful that at least they didn't spank boys on their bare bottoms in front of the girls.

All too soon Alan Dunson was laying over Miss Bertha's lap, trying not to squirm as her hairbrush sizzled his slightly tender bottom right through the thin cotton "protecting" it. Eric was unfastening his trousers and getting ready to drop them. Corey was second in line, and Anna Belling was still watching the proceedings.

There went Alan, quickly pulling up his trousers and walking away. There went Eric, letting his trousers drop, unveiling his tight white Hanes briefs as he climbed up on Miss Bertha's lap. Corey stepped forward and began fumbling with the buckle of his belt. This seemed so easy to do most of the time.

Craacck! Craacck! Great, Corey's belt buckle finally submitted. Now to unsnap and unzip his trousers... Craacck! Craacck! Miss Bertha's hairbrush sure looks impressive at such close range. At least it isn't as big as the laundry brush she uses during her regular job. Craacck! Craacck!

Eric scrambled down from Miss Bertha's lap and walked away as he pulled up his trousers. Corey took that fateful step forward, releasing his waistband so he could make that climb. As he climbed on to the vast lap, he felt his trousers puddled at his ankles. Only his shoes kept them from falling off his legs completely. His white Jockey briefs were now on display to the world, and Anna Belling!

As he felt Miss Bertha's meaty hand press on his back to hold him still, Corey was thankful that at least he was too scared and humiliated to be aroused. Craacck! Craacck! Both his bottom cheeks exploded in flames. That hairbrush was even more impressive at this range! Craacck! Craacck! Wow! His bruises from Friday were making these swats hard to take. Just two more to go. Craacck! Craacck! Whew! Made it without tears!

Corey felt the big hand leave his back and give his shoulder a gentle shove. He immediately scrambled down off of the huge lap and pulled his trousers up quickly as he started to walk away. Corey deliberately avoided the gallery of watching children, including Anna, and headed for the bath house.

As Corey walked away, he could hear the echoing Craacck! of Miss Bertha's hairbrush teaching Danny Myers to behave in church. Corey realized that he needed to use the toilet so he headed for the bath house. An Asscon was on patrol in there, so Corey wasn't able to indulge his fantasies related to Anna Belling after finishing his business. So he simply washed his hands and went back to the cabin.

Halfway to the cabin Corey realized that he had no idea why he was headed that way. Well, he certainly wasn't going back to where Anna Belling was at this moment. He couldn't bear to face her after getting spanked on his underpants right in front of her. Ah, Anna. Perhaps, if nobody else was in the cabin...dare he risk it?

Drat! Corey heard raised voices coming from inside the cabin as he mounted the four stairs to the front porch. As he crossed the threshold, he could see that Eric, Alan, and Phil were in a heated discussion over the Fox Cabin Frisbee, which Eric was holding in his hand.

Corey listened intently, but could make no sense of the confused argument as the three boys interrupted each other and became more agitated. Somebody needed to put a stop to this before a fight broke out. Jerry wasn't around, so it looked like he was elected.

Corey stepped forward. "What's the problem here?" he demanded, in his best command voice. All three boys tried to talk at once. "One at a time," Corey insisted. "Eric, what the heck's going on here?"

"They want to take the Cabin Frisbee to the picnic," said Eric.

Corey knew that the community would be having lunch at the picnic ground by the lake (and falls) today. But he was confused... "Why is that problem?"

"Because," Eric said, using that intellectually superior tone that made Corey's teeth ache, "it is liable to be captured by another cabin. Worse yet, we're going camping next week, so we won't be around to try and get it back!"

For some reason that Corey never really understood, each cabin at Camp Torowa Falls had a Cabin Frisbee, which kind of acted as a symbol of the cabin. Fox Cabin's frisbee had a rather clever drawing of a fox - in black permanent marker on its white surface, the work of some unknown previous resident of the cabin.

Jeff had told them that the Cabin Frisbee concept was introduced around the time that he was a young camper - about 10 years ago. Back then the discs were called "Pluto Platters," and Boss Lemmon had initially been against their use at all, even as the simple flying toys they were. Corey suddenly wondered how long Boss Lemmon had been in charge of Camp Torowa Falls.

Sneaking into another cabin to capture their frisbee was strictly illegal. In fact it was forbidden for campers to enter a cabin that they did not live in without an explicit invitation from one of the campers or the counselor living in that cabin. The counselors, Asscons and staff were not bound by this rule, but none of them would ever stoop to getting involved in the "Frisbee Wars", as they were sometimes called, except to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

Frisbee capture could only occur when campers took their cabin's Frisbee out to play. Throwing a frisbee (ball, or almost any object) inside cabins was strictly prohibited, of course. Campers could avoid having their Cabin Frisbee captured by never playing with it, of course, but the boys of that cabin would be called "pansies" (or worse) by the other cabins.

So the residents of most cabins took their Cabin Frisbee out to play at least once or twice a week. If the resident of another cabin managed to snatch your Cabin Frisbee out of the air as you played with it, and if that camper managed to get back to his cabin before you could stop him, your Cabin Frisbee was captured. You were all considered disgraced until either you could recapture it, or a week had elapsed.

Corey had been in Coyote Cabin last year, and they had managed to capture Muskrat Cabin's Frisbee. A captured Cabin Frisbee had to be played with in public every day, in order to give the rightful owners a chance at recapturing it. Playing "keep away" with a frisbee was an interesting activity.

Younger cabins usually had their Frisbees captured by older cabins. Rare was the little'un who was feisty enough to attempt to capture the Frisbee of one of the senior cabins. Any little'un who did try it was usually run to ground and soundly thumped for his efforts. His cabin could also expect to have their Frisbee captured by that senior cabin at the earliest opportunity.

For the boys in a cabin whose Frisbee has been captured, more than just honor was at stake. Muskrat Cabin had failed to recover their Frisbee from Coyote Cabin last year. So after the week was up the ten little Muskrats found themselves in Coyote Cabin, each paired with one of the residents of that cabin. Corey had been paired with 10-year-old Tommy Adler, who was ironically enough a resident of Coyote Cabin this year. When their turn came, Corey sat on a chair in the middle of the cabin, put Tommy over his knee, and spanked him hard seven times on the seat of his khaki shorts. Once all ten Muskrats had been spanked, they were given their Frisbee back, and sent on their way - their counselor leading them back to their own cabin.

"Okay," Corey decided. "We can take the Frisbee out to play, but we just have to be darned careful with it."

"But what if..." Eric protested.

"If our Frisbee is captured," said Corey, "we'll still have three days to recapture it when we return from camping. Besides, do you want those big jerks from Bear Cabin calling us pussies?"

"It rather have the big jerks from Bear Cabin calling us pussies than putting us over their knees and spanking us!" said Eric.

"Show a little backbone, will ya!" said Phil.

"I have a bad feeling about this," said Eric.

"Come on, Eric!" said Alan. "It's my birthday, and I have the red ass to prove it. Let me have it a while."

Eric sighed, then handed the Fox Cabin Frisbee to Alan. Phil and Alan headed for the front door. "You guys coming?" asked Alan.

"Be there in a minute," said Corey. The other two left, leaving Eric and Corey alone in Fox Cabin. Eric's disappointment was apparent on his face. "Eric, you're brilliant. But you're way too timid sometimes. Not active enough...what's the word?"

"Passive."

"That's it! You're way too passive sometimes. Learn to live a little and enjoy life. It's way too short to spend it hiding in a closet."

"I just want to be careful!" said Eric.

"Careful is good...very good," said Corey. "Just don't overdo it."

"Okay, but what if I'm right and you're wrong - in this case?"

Corey chuckled. "If we do lose the Frisbee and get spanked, look at the bright side - our butts will have had plenty of time to heal up from Friday."

"Great," said Eric. "Just great!"

Corey laughed and said, "Come on!" Eric sighed again and followed Corey out of the cabin.

As they approached the lake Corey could smell the burning charcoal. The grills were fired up and lunch was being made - it would be ready within a half hour. On the grassy area at lakeside boys from several cabins were playing with their Frisbees.

The elder campers from Elk and Moose Cabins generally remained above the Frisbee Wars. They rarely sought to capture a junior cabin's Frisbee unless said cabin had offended them in some way. And their speed, strength and skill made it unlikely that any of the junior cabins could seriously threathen their Frisbees.

Wolf and Bear cabins had the next-oldest campers (mostly 13-14 year olds). The guys from Wolf Cabin (Danny Myers and his buddies) were mostly alright. But there were a lot of trouble makers in Bear Cabin this year. They were playing with their Frisbee, but were all too obviously looking for opportunities to capture the Frisbees of the junior cabins.

Corey and Eric joined their cabin mates playing with the Fox Cabin Frisbee. Most of them were at least okay, with the obvious exception of Willie Strand. Jerry and Corey stayed near Willie to keep him from losing their Frisbee to Steve Windom, the big Bear Cabin jerk who was quite obviously hovering nearby, waiting for Willie to goof up.

Suddenly there was a commotion across the field. Pete Carlisle, another big jerk from Bear Cabin, had managed to snag the Squirrel Cabin Frisbee, and was racing away from the swarm of 9 and 10-year old little'uns who were frantically chasing him. Corey realized that just about everybody on the field was watching this chase, which meant...

Sure enough, Willie was watching the chase, oblivious to both the Fox Cabin Frisbee heading his way, and Steve Windom, who was angling to run between Willie and Corey to intercept it. Corey jumped, slid, stuck out his right leg at the critical moment and - whoops! - tripped Steve, causing him to tumble to the ground. Corey then jumped back to his left to avoid the tumbling senior camper and snatched the Fox Cabin Frisbee out of the air. Deftly, he threw the Frisbee to Alan, who had also been paying attention to business the whole time. The two boys winked at each other.

Steve Windom was back on his feet, furious. "What the fuck, Lane!" he nearly screamed.

Corey shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and said "Oops?" in his most innocent voice. "Sorry Steve, didn't see you running there."

"Be more careful, you little shit!"

"Windom!" said Marty Herman. "Get over here!" Steve, still glaring at Corey, walked over to the Bear Cabin counselor. "What's the deal with that language, young man?" Marty grabbed Steve by the ear, and marched him away from the field.

"Smooth move, Exlax," said Jerry, smiling. Corey chuckled. They stopped to enjoy the sight of the big 14-year-old jerk being dragged away by the ear like a little boy. Corey was glad that Steve was going to eat soap and feel Marty's paddle for swearing. His only regret was that he wouldn't get to watch.

The rest of the frisbee session was completed without incident. Soon lunch was ready and everybody headed for the picnic area. After filling his plate, Corey joined Jerry, Eric, Alan, and Phil at a table. He lapped up their praise for his move that stopped Steve from getting their Frisbee. Corey was thinking about how out of control Bear Cabin was this year. Maybe they should be thinking of some way to...

"Anybody mind if I join you?" asked someone - a girl - from behind Corey.

Corey turned his head to see who it was...Anna Belling? "Not at all," said Jerry, sliding over to make room on the bench between himself and Corey.

"Thank you," said Anna. As she placed her plate of food on the table and sat down between Corey and Jerry, Corey's heart was in his throat. He had forgotten how to breathe. "I'm Anna," she said.

"Hi, Anna, I'm Jerry," Jerry said, smoothly. "And this is Eric, Alan, Phil, and the fellow on your right who looks like a guppy fish at feeding time is Corey. As the other three boys exchanged greetings with Anna, Corey realized that he had been staring at Anna in open- mouthed surprise. He tried to regain some semblance of control over his body.

Anna turned towards him, "Hi, Corey."

How do you talk, again? Oh, yeah... "Hi, Anna," Corey finally managed to gasp. She giggled, and started eating.

Corey cursed himself silently. Here he was, with the most beautiful girl on the planet sitting right next to him, and his wits had completely deserted him.

After a couple of half-hearted attempts at discussing the fine weather, and several minutes of nervous silence, Anna said, "So, Jerry, what kind of car does your father drive?"

Jerry gulped down his mouthful of food nervously. He said, "My father's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, you didn't know."

"Your mother?" asked Anna. Jerry looked at her steadily. "Oh, my!" she said, finally. "I'm so sorry!"

"I live with my aunt and uncle. My Uncle Owen drives a '58 Chrysler Imperial."

"What size engine?" she asked.

"A 392 hemi V-8."

Corey wondered why Anna was asking about cars. He also wondered what a car was....Snap out of it!

Eventually Anna had asked all the others about their family's cars, and Corey was able to coherently tell her about his father's new station wagon. Then she told them about her father's and grandfather's cars. Apparently she was really into cars, which wasn't all that common for a girl. Could she possibly get any better?

After another lull in the conversation, Anna turned to Corey and said, "I really liked the way you tripped that bully, Corey."

"Thanks," said Corey. He tried to fight down a blush - unsuccessfully. Anna reached out and touched his hand with hers - Corey started to feel faint.

Corey was saved from fainting by Reverend Belling, who arrived at that point to collect his granddaughter. The boys told him how much they liked his sermon. "Yes, I could tell that you were riveted." said Rev. Belling, grinning. Then he winked, and escorted Anna away.

After lunch the campers returned to the cabin to change out of their formal clothes. They changed into swim suits, and most of them headed back to the lake to go swimming. Corey badly needed to be alone for a while, but it just wasn't in the cards. He and Kyle had been selected to quietly stay behind and help Jeff prepare Alan's presents for the party tonight.

Corey felt a little weird walking into Jeff's private room. His last two visits hadn't been all that pleasant. The first time he had his mouth soaped for swearing, and yesterday Kyle had popped him in the nose for no apparent reason. He unconciously rubbed his nose, which was still just slightly sore - at least it wasn't broken.

"Sit down, you two." said Jeff. Corey and Kyle complied. "Before we get started with the presents, I want to get something straightened out. Would one of you like to tell me what's going on between you two?"

Corey was clueless, so he waited for Kyle to say something. He and Kyle stared at each other. "Kyle," said Jeff, "don't you at least have something you want to say to Corey?"

Kyle grimaced, then sighed slightly, then he stood up suddenly. Corey was surprised and sprang to his feet, ready to defend himself if Kyle attacked him again. Corey was surprised again when Kyle stuck out his hand and said, "I'm sorry, Corey."

Corey shook his hand, and said "I'm sorry too, Kyle. You know, I don't think we'll ever be friends, we're just too different." Kyle nodded and smiled wryly. "But that doesn't mean we have to be enemies, does it?"

Kyle half-shrugged and said, "I guess not."

"Truce?" said Corey, offering him his hand.

"Truce," said Kyle, shaking Corey's hand.

"That's more like it," said Jeff. "You're already nursing sore backsides from what you did to each other. I'd just as soon not have to paddle either one of you for the rest of the summer. That sound good to you?" Both boys nodded enthusiastically. "Good, now let's get Alan's presents ready."

The boys enjoyed an afternoon at the lake, swimming, inner tubing, and horsing around. As they headed back to the cabins to get changed for dinner, Corey and his friends were hassled by some of the chief troublemakers from Bear Cabin. "I'm gonna get you, Lane," said Steve Windom.

"Oh yeah," said Corey. "Well, I hope you enjoy your soap for dessert tonight." There were giggles from several campers at this jest.

"Why you...little." Steve was restrained by other campers from Bear Cabin, since at least two Asscons were walking nearby.

"And I hope you like your bed time story tonight," said Corey. "As told by Marty's paddle to your bare butt!" Several nearby campers laughed openly at this prospect. "It gets a little sad at the end... try not to cry."

Steve had to be literally wrestled to the ground by his fellows to keep him from rushing Corey. Life was good.

After they had left the Bears far behind Jerry said, "That sure was funny, Corey. But, wow!"

"Did you have to get those guys that mad at us?" said Eric.

"Come on Eric," said Corey, "Loosen up."

"This time I agree with him," said Jerry.

"So do I," said Alan.

"So do I," said Jeff. They all stopped and turned to look at their counselor, who had caught up to them.

"You agree with Eric?" said Corey.

"In this case, yes." said Jeff. "It sure was funny, but did you really have to say 'try not to cry'?"

They all laughed again. "Keep laughing," said Jeff. "But Corey is gonna need a National Guard escort until we head out for the boonies tomorrow."

It was again late at night, but no figures were moving silently through the darkness of Fox Cabin. All ten boys were nestled in their beds, but only nine of them were asleep. Corey always had trouble sleeping the night before he left for any kind of trip. It happened to him the night before he left for camp every year, and before any family vacation. Now with the camping trip coming up tomorrow it was happening again.

So Corey lay in bed and replayed the events of the day in his mind. It had started well enough, with helping to strip Alan last night and then giving him his birthday spanking in the morning.

Things had gotten a bit rough for a while in the late morning, when he fell asleep in church and then got spanked by Miss Bertha, with Anna Belling watching! Then he had to break up a near-fight in the cabin and give Eric a pep talk.

Things started looking up again when he tripped Steve and stopped Bear Cabin from capturing their Frisbee. Lunch was incredible, with Anna Belling sitting right next to Corey, talking to him, and even touching him! Ah, Anna.

Then he "buried the hatchet" with Kyle. Corey just hoped that Kyle didn't decide to bury it in his back the first time it was turned.

The afternoon at the lake was fun, and then he got to hit Steve Windom with the funniest taunt that anyone had heard around here in some time. Jerry had admitted that to Corey later, after he had calmed down a bit about the supposed danger of the situation.

Then there was dinner, followed by Alan's birthday party. The patient birthday boy finally got his reward for all the spankings and nonsense he had put up with all day. Alan told him he really liked the book, A Boy's Atlas To The Human Body, that Corey had given him. It was no secret that Alan hoped to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and become a physician some day.

One final, unofficial present was offered to Alan as his party was winding down. After discussing it among themselves for more than a day, Jerry, Eric, and Corey had offered to let Alan into their gang. Corey himself was all for it, since Alan was nearly as smart as Eric, and nearly as adventurous as Jerry. Alan had immediately accepted the invitation, so now the Three Musketeers were once again Four.

All in all, and despite it's flaws, it had been one of the best days in Corey's short life. As he finally drifted off to sleep, he had a smile on his face.