Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 40

Thanksgiving day was a welcome relief from all the drama. With all of the five boys arriving the evening before, Neal and I were on duty to sleep with them in the boy's bunk. One of them was a local boy, Oscar Billings, a cheeky fellow, and the oldest at age ten. The four others came in the same convoy of cars that arrived around eight-thirty. After a quick snack of milk and cookies, they were already starting to fade and we had them snuggled in by nine-thirty.

Seamus and Kieran McClellan were two red-headed, "Irish twins", as their mother called them. They weren't actually twins, but they were eleven months apart and could easily have passed for identical twins. Seamus was the oldest of the pair, at eight, with Kieran being seven for all but one month of the year. This apparently caused Seamus some consternation when his brother "caught up" with him each year, then was soon relieved twenty-seven days later when he leaped forward once more.

The other two brothers, Mark and Bobby Lawrence, were four and six, respectively. They each had lustrous, oak-brown hair in bowl cuts. Both insisted on shucking their PJs to climb into their bunks as naked as they day they were born. This, naturally, caused some chuckling among the other boys, but nobody seemed shocked or put out by it. I doused the lights, and was almost ready to fall to sleep when a musical, little fart whistled from beneath the covers of one of the McClellan brothers. Peals of little-boy laughter rang out, because farts ARE the most amusing thing ever to a band of little boys. I confess to snorting a little into my pillow before admonishing them to go to sleep. I looked over to see Neal's eyes glittering in the spare moonlight, a big grin on his face.

Mom and Dad had Neal and I entertained the boys while the big meal was underway. Even as we were eating breakfast, the turkeys were already roasting in the big Vulcan ovens, along with various delicacies being prepared like pearl onions in a cream sauce, yams and marshmallows, green bean casserole, turnips and squash, a huge repast.

We took the boys down to the docks where we watched minnows dart around in the cold water. There were no frogs to be found, but one of the boys did manage to bang some dried up cattails together and shower himself with a flight of seeds. After that, it was a free for all, as they bashed the cattails, making clouds of seeds float off over the lake and into the sunshine. That was fun, but it made for an interesting time, trying to clean off the seeds that clung to our clothing. I snuck into my house and borrowed my Dad's lint brush and managed to get the boys mostly cleaned up before going inside to eat.

Even as we started up the path from the lake, we heard Dad ringing the big dinner bell, starting a mad dash from all of us. By the time we all reached the porch, we were all winded, I had a stitch in my side that bent me over a little bit as I sucked in air. Neal sounded more than a bit wheezy, making me sort of concerned for him, but he waved me off. Neal's mom walked out and pulled a puffer from her apron and discretely gave it to Neal. He shook the inhaler vigorously and took a deep lungful of the medication, which seemed to help a lot. Terry took the inhaler back, giving Neal a quick pat on the back, and disappeared back inside. We followed her in.

A huge fire roared in the fireplace, which made the room delightfully warm, especially after playing in the cold air. Neal, me, and all of the boys, sat on the hearth and warmed our backs as the adults started laying out the food on the tables. Of course, we were relegated to the "children's table", but we didn't mind. Parents came over and made sure the boys were seated properly, napkins in their laps (or stuffed into their collars like a bib), and warned to mind their manners. As we bowed our heads, one of the town elders stood and gave a long, rambling grace. Even though most of the turkeys had been already carved, my father sat at the head of the grown-up's table and ceremoniously carved the biggest bird of the batch as we all started passing plates and taking food.

"Hey, Oliver?" Neal asked as he spooned some stuffing onto a plate for one of the boys, "Where's Lizzie-B?"

"Her family goes to her grandmother's near Lake George," I answered, doling out some gravy to several of the kids. Neal nodded his understanding, as we made sure the boys were all served. Luckily for me, most of the boys turned their pert little noses up to many of the seasonal delights, sticking mostly with the turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes. That left plenty of pearl onions, yams, green bean casserole and turnips for me. Neal ventured to try them too, and did pretty well.

"Ugh, I don't like the turnips though," he grimaced comically, sticking out his tongue and shivering, making the other boys giggle and snort.

As if we weren't stuffed enough, after dinner was cleared, the women paraded around with a train of apple, pumpkin and pecan pies, and set them down on the table. A bowl of vanilla ice-cream was provided for those of us inclined to a la mode (and who wasn't?) to enjoy with our pie. By the time we were done, I was so full, I seriously hated myself. Neal looked to be in a similar state, his normally flat belly looked all pudgy and he moved a tad more slowly. Luckily, the prodigious meal had a similar sedative effect on the children, who all took up positions on cushions in front of the fire.

Oscar, who had no real interest in any of the other boys, threw himself across one of the bigger cushions, to read a superhero comic book. Seamus and Kieran contented themselves with selected volumes from the bookshelf full of tattered Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. Mark and Bobby found the box of wooden trains and tracks, setting up the figure-eight track and dragging the little, wooden engine around. Neal and I sat our bloated selves on a nearby sofa to watch the boys play. The warmth of the fire and the fullness of my belly, conspired to draw me into drowsiness.

"Hey," Neal was shaking my shoulder, "Oliver, you're drooling on me." I sat up, blinking.

"Oh, sorry," I said, sheepishly, looking at the wet spot on his shirt, near his collarbone. Neal smirked at me, and I couldn't help but smirk back. I looked over at the table where the adults were now set up in groups, laughing, smoking and playing cards. I noticed some of the adults had retired already, and as I scanned the boys, I saw that both Mark and Bobby had sort of just sprawled out on the ground to fall asleep among their little wooden village. I glanced over to Neal, who nodded in agreement.

Standing up, I walked over and picked up Mark and gently slung him over my shoulder. He sleepily hugged against me as I hoisted him my hands under his butt. Neal did the same with Bobby. Seamus and Kieran saw us taking the younger boys up, and decided to follow. Oscar looked over his shoulder at us, and went back to reading his comic book. The McClellans scampered up the stairs ahead of us as Neal and I slowly climbed with our dead-weight Lawrence brothers. Mark snuggle into my neck and hugged me closer, and I could feel that his little pecker was hard against me. I'm sure he wasn't aware of it, it was just one of those things.

Once in the room, the McClellans both stripped down to their undies and dived under the covers. I stood Mark on his feet and pulled his shirt off over his head. He put a sleepy hand on my shoulder as I helped him to step out of his shoes, and then out of his pants and briefs. As I did this, I leaned over, and felt his little engorged penis poke me in the cheek and brushing past my face. He seemed to give a little shiver when this happened, but the contact was brief as I lifted each leg in turn, out of the pants gathered around his ankles.

"Anybody need to go to the bathroom?" Neal asked. No surprise, it turned out they all needed to go. The McClellans both jumped from their bunks, and lead the way as both Neal and I took Mark and Bobby by the hand to the bathroom. Neither Mark nor Bobby were quite tall enough to use the urinals, so Neal and I took them each into a stall. I heard Bobby start to pee almost immediately in the next stall over, but Mark's little wiener was still pointing skyward. He just stood there in his near stupor, not doing anything.

"You gonna go Mark?"

"Can't" he said, slowly swaying, his little weenie bobbing in the chilly bathroom air. I had him lean over the bowl and rest his arms on the tank, which aimed his tumescent little peener toward the water, and flushed the toilet. The sound of the water trickling back into the tank seemed to do the trick, as a dribble of urine started flowing, shortly followed by a full force stream. When he was done, I dabbed him with a square of toilet tissue. Poor Mark was so tired, I picked him up and carried him back to bed.

Mark had to climb up into the bunk, but needed me to give him a boost. He was probably completely asleep by the time his head hit the pillow. I covered him up with his comforter and gave him a pat on the butt. Turning around, I saw Neal doing much the same with Bobby, who closed his eyes immediately and fell directly to sleep. Looking over to the McClellans, they were both looking back at us, their bright eyes sparkling in the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling.

"Alright you two," Neal admonished, "You can go to sleep now."

"But we ain't tired yet!" Seamus declared.

"Yeah!" young master Kieran agreed.

"Want me to read you a story?" I asked, then greeted with nods all around. I pulled out a bin from under my bunk that I kept stocked with some children's books, and picked out "Winnie the Pooh". As I read to them, Oscar meandered in and quietly shucked his clothes.

"Hey Os," Neal said to him, quietly.

"Ho," Oscar acknowledged amiably, standing there stark naked.

"Hitting the hay?"

"Yeah," he nodded, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. I looked up from my book as he did this, impressed at his hairless frame. For ten years old, Oscar was tall for his age. His shoulders hadn't broadened out much, but his narrow waist and legs showed the makings of an athlete. Oscar was a fixture in the local Little League as a good runner and outfield man, which seemed to be sculpting his body for him quite nicely. He climbed up into his bunk, giving everyone a view of his white butt before he scrambled under the comforter. I finished the story, mostly to the sound of gently snoring little boys.

Oscar was still awake when I turned off the lights. Neal, for his part, had climbed into his bunk during the story and was sound asleep himself. I wanted to kiss his forehead, but since Oscar was still awake and following me with his eyes, I elected to not. Instead, I walked over to Oscar, tousled his hair and bid him good night.

"Why didn't you give him a kiss, Oliver?" Oscar asked mischievously.

"Cuz I'm saving my kisses for your mother," I said, dryly. Oscar giggled and smiled.

"Ouch!" he grinned, "You got me on that one."

"Just kidding Os," I said, tweaking his nose.

"Me too," he smiled.

I gave his hair one last shake, smiled at him and got into my bed. I fell to sleep fairly quickly and it seemed like the night went quickly. I dreamed about Neal and I on the rock at the Indian Cave; I was laying on my back with my hands interlaced behind my head as Neal gently stroked my penis, making the head pop in and out of the foreskin. He smiled and touched me so lightly, it wasn't long before I was prepared to blow off a huge load. As often happened to me with such dreams, I started to wake up just as I reached my peak. I felt my semen burst from my dick, arch through the air and land on my chest in thick, gooey ropes. When I opened my eyes, I looked down my belly, glittering with drops of semen, to see Oscar standing next to my bed, with a huge grin on his face. It was his hand on my penis.