Author: Ellagon
Title: Summer Camp - The Journey
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: James Smith is a man haunted by the past and driven by a
promise to a dying man.
Keywords: MF
Revision: 1.0
Web Sites: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/www/
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ellagonthedragon/www/
FTP Sites: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ellagonthedragon/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/
*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO
NOT read any further.
All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse
any of the activities described in this story.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of Nick Scipio (nick_scipio@yahoo.com).
This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer
attached.
Summer Camp characters and universe copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick
Scipio. Story by Ellagon. All rights reserved.
*****************************************************************
The Journey
A "Summer Camp" Tale
by Ellagon
-----
July, 1976
I breathed in the fresh air of this place, felt the sun on my
face, and heard the wind through the trees on either side of the
sandy road as I walked down it.
_This is a nice place,_ I thought.
I was really hoping I would find what I was searching for. The
information I had gotten from a friend at the Pentagon said I
would.
Eight years.
Almost eight years ago I made a promise to a dying man. I had no
idea how long it was going to take to fulfill that promise.
-----
October, 1968
I was on my way back to my base after confirming the existence of
an NVA supply depot just over the border in Cambodia. I was a
week away from home, and alone. I had been doing this sort of
thing since coming to this accursed land. The Brains in Langley
had thought up the idea of sending guys like me on "Lurps"--
LRRPs, Long Range Recon Patrols. A good idea if you wanted to be
able to double-check your intel on enemy positions and movements.
It usually meant you were ten to fifty klicks _behind_ the enemy,
and sometimes you were also _alone_.
_Damn, I hate this place._
I heard the jet engines overhead, then the explosion. One of the
planes was hit. I saw the pilot eject and then I heard the plane
coming down.
On me.
I ran like the whole North Vietnamese army was on my tail and
dove into a hollow under a tree. Then I prayed that the falling
wreck wouldn't decide to park on top of me.
It didn't. But it came in with all the aerodynamics and grace God
gave the average rock. It was also one of ours; an A-4 Skyhawk, a
carrier-based attack plane. It exploded on impact, so I
hightailed it out of there. Through a break in the trees, I
looked up and located the pilot's chute. Since we were still five
klicks on the _wrong_ side of the border, I went to see if he was
still alive.
The people I worked for didn't like us getting involved with the
"regular" soldiers. I was what was called a "spook" or a "ghost".
Plausible deniability they called it. Basically it meant that if
I was ever caught, they could deny I existed. Nice people, my
bosses.
However, since I was where I wasn't, and this unlucky pilot had
dropped in, I knew there would be no rescue sent for him. In
essence, he wasn't here either, so I couldn't just leave him. The
NVA base was two hours away through the jungle. Someone would be
coming, and those people were not known for their manners.
I got to where the pilot came down. He actually made it most of
the way to the ground. In this jungle, he was lucky he wasn't
still seventy feet up. I silently crawled to within ten feet of
him, still hidden in dappled shadow. Then I looked up at a very
unconscious man.
-----
July, 1976
I walked up to a gate, if you could call it that. There was a
chain across the road connecting two brick pillars. One of the
pillars had a sign. I felt it: it stated that this was private
land and no trespassing was allowed. I took a deep breath. Well,
most people would simply ask me to leave before they called the
cops, so I hoped I would be able to find out if she was here. My
friend told me that the file indicated that this was her last
place of residence.
It had been a long search.
I prefer to walk wherever I go, unless I have to cross the
country. Then I fly. I stepped over the chain, reset my backpack,
and walked on. It was peaceful out here; the only sounds were
those of nature, no cars, and no people by the thousands, walking
and talking and living in each others' pockets. I hate cities--
too many people, too much noise, and the air always smells funny.
_Well, my friend,_ I thought, _I hope we're closer to gettin' you
home._
-----
October, 1968
After a minute or two, I approached him cautiously. If he were
unconscious, he wouldn't have seen me coming, but it didn't hurt
to be careful. Here, in this place anyone coming up to you would
probably be an enemy. His eyes snapped open and his hand came up
with a gun.
Instinct and training took over, and I automatically blocked his
hand. He cried out; his arm was broken. I doubt he could have
shot me anyway. Then I noticed the rest of his body. One leg was
also broken, and from the sound of his breathing, he wasn't doing
so well. I knew there was no way I could get him out.
His wild eyes focused, slowly, on me. Realization dawned in his
pain-dulled eyes.
"Thank God," he said. He wheezed, and then coughed. Blood
trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I was hoping..." He coughed
a couple more times. "Promise me..." _cough_ "in my pocket..." _cough
cough_ "get it to my wife...." He tried to draw a deep breath, but
all he got was more coughs and a gasp. "Tell her... tell her I love
her." His breathing faltered, then stopped completely. I stared
into his dying eyes and nodded. His head slowly sagged forward.
I'd seen enough death to know he was gone.
_Damn I hate this place._
I felt his pockets and found an envelope. I pulled it out, and
slowly opened it. Inside, there were a couple of letters, and
some pictures of a very beautiful woman and two little boys. I
took a deep breath and reached up to find his dog tags. With a
small jerk, they joined the pictures. I put the envelope in my
pack, and with a sigh, I turned. I had to leave him where he was.
I couldn't bury him. The enemy knew he was here, but they didn't
know I was.
_Damn I hate this place._
-----
July, 1976
The early afternoon sun was shining down and getting me pretty
warm. I pushed my sunglasses back up my nose and lifted my hat to
let some air under and cool my scalp. I'd let my hair grow out a
bit when I got back stateside, but I insisted on keeping in
shape, even when the doctors told me not to strain myself. Every
morning when I get up: fifty one-arm push-ups (each arm) and one
hundred sit-ups, then I run in place for thirty minutes. No
strain, just a warm up.
I could hear noises now, coming from up ahead, probably just over
this next rise. My walking stick was making soft noises on the
sand as I moved along. I had to nudge my sunglasses up my nose
again as I crested the hill and began moving down the road into
what sounded like the main area of the resort.
I could smell water in the air, and thought a cool dip in a lake
would be nice. Sweat ran down my nose, and my damn glasses
insisted on sliding down it. There was a largish building off to
my right, and beyond I could hear children playing. I heard a
young boy call out to someone that a stranger was here.
_That's odd,_ I thought, _how could they tell I was a stranger?_
As I turned to enter the building, I heard someone walking up to
me from behind. He was a big man, from the sound his bare feet
were making.
"Excuse me, can I help you?" His voice sounded strange, like he
was looking at me funny.
I turned and smiled. "I hope so, I'm looking for the owner of
this resort," I said.
From his pause, that was clearly not the reply he'd been
expecting. "Well, this is private property," he said. "I'm gonna
to have to ask you to wait inside."
"I'm sorry to intrude, my name is James. James Smith." I held out
my hand, the big man took my hand in a firm grasp and shook it.
"Name's Dwight," he said. "Let's go inside and I'll see if I can
help you."
"Pleased to meet you," I said, but I could tell by the tone of
his voice that he was still looking at me funny.
He led me inside; I set my pack on the floor and then sat on a
couch.
"I'll be back in a few minutes with someone who might help you,"
he said. "I'm sure you can tell the reason why this is a
_private_ resort, so please stay here."
He left so quickly that I didn't get to ask him what he meant.
I smiled and shrugged. "Thanks," I said quietly
-----
October, 1968
It had been a long week. I was almost back to base, only a couple
more klicks. I had come across enemy patrols a couple of times,
but managed to sneak around them and continued on.
But I could still see the eyes of that dead pilot; see the love
he had for the women and sons he would never see again. Lost in
those thoughts, I didn't notice the stillness of the jungle, no
birds chirping, the air itself had stopped. I was snapped out of
my reverie by a shout off to my left. I heard the sound of the
machine gun as it fired... felt the impacts of the bullets as they
tore through my flak jacket... felt myself flying backwards through
the air... felt myself crash into the jungle as the world seemed to
explode with intense white light.
As the whole world faded to blackness I thought to myself, _Damn,
I hate this place._
-----
July, 1976
As I sat there waiting for Dwight to return, I slowly began to
relax. There was something about this place that just made you
want to do that; the smell, the sounds, the _feel_ of the place.
Perhaps I could live near here when I finished this, but I doubt
_she_ would want me around. I would be a constant reminder of her
loss. I'd never really thought about what I would do when this
search was done.
I guess I'll just have to learn some things. I smiled to myself.
Yes, a person can learn a lot of things given enough time.
I waited.
I heard someone come in, gasp, and leave again. I was beginning
to wonder just what was going on. I heard a door open behind me.
Then Dwight and a smaller, lighter person walked up to me.
"Mr. Smith, this is Beth. Beth, this is James Smith. He says he's
lookin' 'for the owner.'"
"Perhaps I could help you," Beth said. "We don't often get...
visitors here."
"Ma'am, I assure you, I mean no harm to anyone, especially the
owner. Though what I have to say may sadden her. However, it's a
private matter," I said, still confused about what was going on
around here. Beth's voice had the same strange quality as
Dwight's had.
"Perhaps my husband should talk to you first. He's in town, but
will be back soon," she said. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Lemonade would be good, ma'am. Thank you. It's warm out today."
I sighed. I could tell she'd been about ready to send me on my
way. I was relieved she hadn't; I didn't know where else to go.
"Please, call me Beth," she said, turning. "Let's sit over at one
of the tables, and I'll get you a glass."
I stood and followed her. When we came to a table, I leaned my
stick against it and pulled out a chair. Dwight was still nearby,
and I could tell that he was unsure if he should leave or stay.
I turned back to him. "This sure is a wonderful place," I said.
"Very relaxing."
"We all come here every year to relax and unwind," he said. He
still had that strange tone to his voice, like he expected me to
do or say something. So had Beth. Maybe they just figured I
needed to be treated special. I often get that.
Beth returned to the table and set a glass of lemonade in front
of me, the ice clinked as she did. Dwight came over and sat with
us since Beth had brought him a glass too.
We chatted for a while about my travels and the country I had
passed through, but I soon heard a car pull up outside. Beth
excused herself to go speak with her husband. A woman entered the
building from another door and Dwight got up and went over to
her. They talked quietly, but didn't approach me.
-----
November, 1968
I awoke in a quiet hospital room. The smell of the place is
always the first thing you notice. I could feel the bandages
covering most of my chest, as well as a good portion of my upper
left leg. I could feel the painkillers washing through my body,
and I tried to sit up.
That was not one of my better ideas. As soon as I tried to lift
my torso, angry fire erupted in my stomach and right shoulder.
_Damn, that hurt._
A nurse at the end of the ward noticed and came quickly to my
side, her shoes clacking on the floor like gunshots. My head
ached as well. I felt like someone had dropped a building on me.
"So you're awake I see," she said. It sounded like she was
yelling.
I groaned.
"Shhhh. Don't try to talk yet. Yes, I know you're in a great deal
of pain; you were shot up pretty bad. I'd give you more of the
painkiller, but the doctor wanted to see you first. Hang on, I'll
go get him."
I was desperately trying to get her to shut up so I could ask her
a question. A very pressing question. Unfortunately, she walked
away before I could get my mouth open.
I heard her return with the doctor in tow. I tried to turn my
head but that hurt too.
"Well, back with us at last, Master Sergeant," the doctor said.
"You've been in a coma for three weeks. We were beginning to
wonder if you were going to come back or not."
I tried to ask for some water, but what I said sounded more like
"waaa." Despite the pain, I still needed to ask him my question.
I heard him pour something into a cup and then he held it to my
lips. "Just a sip or two," he said. "Too much too quick will make
you sick"
I finally got enough liquid in my mouth, and I managed to ask him
the question that had been burning in my mind since I awoke.
"Doc, why can't I see?"
-----
July, 1976
I heard the door open off to my left and two people walked toward
me. I stood.
"I'm David Hughes," a man said.
"Sir, my name is James Smith. Is there a place we can speak?
Privately?" I asked.
I picked up my pack and he led me to a building thirty or so
yards away. As we stepped inside, he said, "Paul, would you see
what Erin is up to? I need to speak to this gentleman alone for a
few minutes."
"Um... sure, Dad," the teenager said. Then the screen door slammed
and he was gone.
David led me over to a chair and asked me to sit.
"Mr. Smith?"
"Please, call me James," I said.
"James," he continued, "my wife tells me that you're looking for
the camp owner."
"Yes, sir. For Susan MacLean."
"Okay," he said. "But first, can I ask you something?"
I heard him wave his arm. People often do that. They think I
can't hear them when they do. "Yes, sir," I said.
"How long have you been blind?"
I smiled slightly. "A while," I said. "I've gotten so good at
compensating that a lot of people don't realize it. But that's
all part of the story on how I came to be here..."
For the next forty-five minutes, I told him my story. I finished
with the two years in the VA hospital and the five years learning
to be human again with another veteran. Truth be told, I would
have started my search earlier, but the military lost my
belongings, including the envelope.
When I was almost done, I reached into my pack and brought out
the battered envelope. The envelope was the reason I was here. I
opened it and withdrew a picture; I could tell by the feel that
it was the picture of the beautiful woman. As I passed it to
David, I finished my tale.
"So I came here," I said. "I know it seems hard to believe, but I
made him a promise. I've pretty much lost everything else, but I
still have my honor. I _will_ fulfill this promise."
"James," David said, "I'll take you to Susan. Although I don't
think it'd be a good idea to tell her how..." He couldn't finish.
"No, I hadn't planned on telling her that. Only what he told me.
And I need to give her this," I said, holding up the envelope.
"It's only across the camp, and you can leave your pack here if
you'd like," he said, his voice full of compassion. Then he
continued, "You've come a long way my friend; it's time to end
that journey."
"Thank you," I said.
As we stood, I heard someone open the room's door. From the
sound, it was Beth. David went to her. In a few quick, quiet
sentences, he explained the reason for my journey.
"If you don't mind my asking," David said, "how do you compensate
so well? I don't think Beth or Dwight realized you were blind."
I smiled. "Touch. And sound. I can hear when people walk, and I
follow them, as I did when we came up here. Do you mind if I ask
_you_ a question?"
"Go right ahead," he said.
"When I followed you here, I couldn't hear your clothes swishing.
At first, I thought you were just wearing a swimsuit. But you
don't make _any_ noise, and Beth doesn't either. Just your feet
on the floor."
"That, my friend," he said with a chuckle, "is why you've been
treated strangely. You're in the middle of a nudist camp."
"You mean....?" I stammered. "I had no idea. But you know, it does
explain a lot." I grinned stupidly, the thought of all those
naked ladies running around definitely had its effect on me; I
felt my dick twitch and begin to awaken.
"So," he continued, "I should ask you to take your clothes off.
It's up to you, though. But you can't stay long if you don't.
It's nothing personal, just the rules. Clothed people make
everyone else feel somewhat... exposed"
"You're serious? This isn't just some trick to pull on the blind
guy?"
"No," he said, laughing kindly.
The whole idea actually excited me. I really didn't mind taking
off my clothes--I had nothing to be ashamed about--but I knew how
my scars sometimes affected people.
"Here," Beth said, "let me show you." She took my hand, and
raised it to her shoulder. She guided it down her arm and then
onto her hip. The soft warm skin under my hand was testimony to
the beauty that she must be. I was also sure beyond a doubt that
she was nude.
"I don't mean to be rude," I said, turning to David again, "but
how do you keep from having a hard-on all the time with women as
beautiful as your wife running around naked?" I was very hard by
then, and somewhat embarrassed. I wouldn't normally touch another
man's wife. However, she was nude, and I _had_ touched her. It
was very arousing. I felt it was also rude, because I'm sure they
could tell--my shorts felt about two sizes too small.
"To tell you the truth," he said with a chuckle, "sometimes I
can't."
Beth slapped him lightly. "Don't tease him," she said. "Tell him
the truth." Then she turned to me. "The men simply get used to
it, James," she said
"She's right," David said. "We _are_ used to it, but for a new
person it can be a little rough. This lifestyle takes some
getting used to. However," he said, then paused. "Um... if you want
some privacy, to change, we can go wait in the clubhouse. You
can... um... take as long as you want."
I caught his meaning.
"Then we can go to Susan's," he continued. "It's not far."
"That's not a bad idea," I said, "but I don't think it'll be
needed." I closed my eyes and concentrated. One of the things I
learned a long time ago was how to control certain things. I felt
the pressure in my crotch begin to ease. Then I opened my shirt
to expose the scars on my chest. "I don't want to frighten
people, though. Will these bother anyone?"
I heard Beth gasp softly.
"No one will stare at you," David said, "but I think people might
be curious. But like I said, they'll get used to it."
"Well I'm used to being stared at, so I think I'll survive. To
tell you the truth, I only feel truly at ease when I am naked.
I'm usually alone when I am, though." I chuckled and then removed
the rest of my clothes.
Then I picked up the envelope, grasped my walking stick, and
followed them to a house a short distance away. I heard a knock,
and a moment later, the door opened.
"David, Beth," a woman said. Then her tone changed. She must have
seen the looks on their faces. "What's wrong? Is Paul okay?"
"Paul's just fine, the reason we are here is.... well... him," Beth
said. I heard her shift and point to me. "James Smith, meet Susan
MacLean."
As we entered the house, I left my stick leaning against the
outside wall, next to the door--I didn't want to break anything.
In my nervousness I'm sure I would have. I nervously clutched the
envelope in my right hand.
I began to notice the odors of the house, all pleasant. I knew we
were in a kitchen, because I could smell a roast in the oven, and
the light smell of fresh bread. I could also smell another odor,
a light, clean female odor. I immediately forced my thoughts to
the task at hand.
Before I moved much further, however, I stopped. I felt a soft,
feminine arm loop through my own arm, as if I were supposed to
lead her into the house!
"I think we should all sit down in the living room," Beth said.
Then I heard her turn to Susan. "James has something for you,"
she continued.
We sat down and then David spoke.
"James has been searching for you for a long time, Susan," he
said.
I'm sure he did it to let me know who was where.
I took a deep breath as the silence drew out. "Mrs. MacLean,
Susan, a long time ago I was in the jungle in... North Vietnam."
Then I told her an edited version of my story, of her _husband's_
story.
I couldn't tell her that I had to leave him there.
I couldn't tell her that his eyes had haunted me for years.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come to you," I continued.
"But the simple truth is that I just wasn't allowed out. I never
forgot my promise, though. I knew how much he loved you. I came
as soon as I could." When I finished, I handed her the envelope.
I felt empty. I felt relieved, too, but mostly, I felt..._empty_.
I heard her crying softly. As she stood, I stood too. I felt her
soft arms go around my neck, her warm breasts pressing into my
chest. I blushed. When I felt my arousal stirring, I was ashamed.
In spite of that, I put my arms around her as she laid her head
on my shoulder and cried.
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "Thank you for bringing this
to me." She kissed my cheek, and I let her pull away.
_You're safely home my friend,_ I thought. _Farewell._
Perhaps I might be a bit crazy to say goodbye to his memory, but
I'd been searching for so long. He was an old friend, though I
never really knew him. The memory of his eyes had driven me, the
love I'd seen there. I had to do this.
I felt a warmth in my heart. I wish I would have known such love.
In my mind, I thought I saw a slight smile on his face, but that
image was already starting to fade. Tears ran down my face.
I found the door. With a sigh, I opened it and then stepped
outside. I retrieved my walking stick from its place by the door,
took two or three more stumbling steps, then stopped. I had no
idea how to leave; all memory of the walk here was gone. I was
alone, I was empty inside, and I was lost.
I heard the door close behind me. Then I realized that David had
followed me out.
"Are you okay, James?" he asked.
I let the tears run freely down my face. I hadn't cried in years,
since before the war, and all the horror. I nodded slowly to him.
"Tell me, David," I asked, "what does a tired old soldier do when
his final duty is done?" I honestly had no idea what to do. I
never really thought about it. I couldn't stay here; I would be a
constant reminder to that beautiful woman of her loss. I felt
attached to her in a way. During the endless hours of walking
alone, I had wondered about her. In the picture, I had seen her
smile. I wondered what she looked like mad, or frustrated. I'm
ashamed to say that I even wondered about what that angelic face
looked like when she was lost in passion as an orgasm swept her
away. I wondered what her touch felt like, her kiss, her gift of
love. I resolutely pushed those thoughts away as David spoke
softly.
"We return to the people who need us," he said, "to the people
who gave us a reason to go on."
I nodded to him, suddenly feeling very tired. "If it's not too
much to ask, is there a place for me to sleep tonight? I won't
make it back to town before dark, and I'd like to be available,
in case she... I'll leave tomorrow." When I heard him hesitate for
a moment, I quickly added, "I can pay for a night's rent if
there's a room, preferably one with a shower."
Though he didn't actually chuckle, I could hear the smile warm
his voice. He'd seen that I misunderstood his hesitation.
"I think we can find a place for you," he said. "You're welcome
to stay as long as you like."
-----
Summer Camp characters and universe copyright (c) 2002-2005 Nick
Scipio. Story by Ellagon. All rights reserved.