Scouts’ Honour

Heavy rain lashed across the lead-grey waters of Stillwater Cove, a persistent easterly gale whipping the usually placid water into a mass of foamy whitecaps. Sea spray blurred the windows at the back of Bruno Hirschkoff’s house, which was built just behind the sandhills overlooking the beach. It was a truly rotten day – one of those mid-Autumn squalls that hinted at the frozen months still to come. It was also a Saturday, and an unusual one at that – Bruno was alone in his house. His twin sons Dieter and Kristian, who at that stage were eleven years of age, were at a Scouts weekend retreat. 

Bruno had been apprehensive at first about his adopted twins attending anything to do with the Scouts, especially after some of the experiences he had with the organisation as a fawn nine-and-a-half years of age. But they had been insistent, and oh so excited, and after meeting the Scoutmaster for the Stillwater chapter, Bruno had finally agreed. The Scoutmaster was a heavyset Urssa man named Rahni Savek, and his outgoing, personable nature lent him an almost comical presence that the boys seemed to respond to exceptionally well. It didn’t matter a jot to Rahni that Dieter and Kristian had no history with the Scouts; it was one of those weekend ‘adventure’ retreats where anyone was welcome; all ages, all species and all genders. 

For the thousandth time, Bruno smirked to himself as he sat on the mezzanine lounge over his kitchen, cosy and warm, picturing his boys drinking hot cocoa in the Scouts hall, or learning to pitch a tent in the rain under the animated, snappy instruction of Rahni Savek. 

One thing was for certain; his sons’ experience of the Scouts was bound to be very different to his own, if for no other reason than the quarter-century that had passed in the interim.

The thirty-eight year old stag let his mind wander. His copy of Asimov’s Foundation anthology sat open and face-down on his left knee, halfway read for what must’ve been the tenth time, and he lifted a mug of earl grey to his lips. Earl grey was one of those scents which could evoke powerful memories for Bruno, and in the calm and tranquillity of his otherwise empty house, he let himself reflect. The eagerness and vigour of his youth had been somewhat eroded by the passage of time and years of hard work; he was still fit and healthy, but these Autumn rains had started to bring a persistent ache to his knees, and his eyesight wasn’t as perfect as it had been when he’d been a Scout. The odd grey hair had begun to infiltrate both his head and chest, too. He was yet to find a grey pube though, something that he occasionally proclaimed with a fatherly twinkle and a characteristically cocky smirk. 

Shit. Had it really been over thirty years already since he attended his first Scout camp? He’d been seven, as he recalled, and not yet old enough to puff out his chest and indignantly reply ‘seven and a half!’ when asked. The Scoutmaster back then had been a towering hulk of a moose, a giant in both his presence and his deeds. For the life of him, Bruno couldn’t remember his name – Scoutmaster or Sir was how he preferred to be known. Bruno remembered being terrified of him at first, as were most of the new recruits. He was a stoic, quietly charismatic character, but soon revealed himself to be a soft-hearted man with a penchant for making youthful tears evaporate, to be replaced with confidence and newfound curiosity. That was why he was the Scoutmaster, after all. 

And he always smelt of tobacco and earl grey. Bruno chuckled to himself, and took a sip of his brew. 

*

Spring, 1987.

*

It was the third year Bruno had been a Scout. For a fawn, that was an eternity, and he was so proud to have finally graduated from Junior to Cub Scouts. A whole new set of adventures awaited the brave and the loyal. He was all packed and ready for the annual Scouts Retreat a full week in advance, which caused his mother to tut and fuss, and his father to shake his head and roll his eyes. Bruno’s parents were traditional, old-fashioned and unbelievably dull, in young Bruno’s eyes. Evie and Ulrich Hirschkoff had scrabbled and fought their way to a position of relative comfort over the course of their lives, after emigrating from Scordomna to Rhocarn just before the outbreak of the Heladian War. Owning a refrigerator and a washing machine was exciting, to them. For years, Ulrich had resisted buying a car, stuck in his old mindset that they were an unnecessary luxury. Ulrich, who’d originally trained as a carpenter, found himself performing more of the administrative than manual tasks of his business. Also exciting. To a fawn born in the late 70s, though, ‘excitement’ had a whole different set of meanings, and usually revolved around obnoxious toys, loud noises and adventures. You know. Doing things, as opposed to reading reports of things other people had done for you.

Becoming a Scout seemed like a perfect way for Bruno to explore his adventurous side, make friends and learn skills he’d need later in life. 

“Who knows,” Ulrich would say, “when nuclear war will plunge the world into the Void? A boy needs to know how to survive on his wits, these days more than ever!”

Since Bruno was (thus far) their only child, the Scouts seemed all the more attractive as a way to socialise the young fawn. It was so much fun! Hard work too, but Bruno came home from each and every expedition bubbling over with new knowledge, new skills and new friends.

Scouts Retreat 1987 would be held in the depths of North Rhocarn National Park, high amongst the wooded hills and sparkling, snow-capped peaks. The posters and flyers had been floating around town for months, and Bruno had a copy of each of them pinned to his bedroom walls. He’d often pause and gaze at the stylised scenery of the posters, imagining how much of a fearless adventurer he’d be now that he was a Cub Scout! On the morning of the expedition, Bruno was awake, dressed, packed and ready to leave before dawn. The train left the station at 8.12, bound for the University of Rhocarn an hour or so inland from Stillwater Cove, and after meeting at the campus the Scouts would board buses and head north through the winding roads of the densely wooded hills towards the national park. 

But 8.12 was almost four hours away, yet. Bruno fidgeted, sitting on the edge of his bed and kicking his legs. 

The time passed torturously slowly for a fawn as excited as Bruno was, and after a whole ten minutes, he laid back on his bed, still fully dressed, and began reading a comic book. It was a cheaply printed comic out of a CubZone magazine, and featured an intrepid mountaineer overcoming all obstacles to be the first man to stand on the summit. Bruno sighed, and let the comic fall to the floor beside his bed. Two more hours until his dad would come and ‘wake’ him up. 

Being a boy of nine, there was at least one thing he could do alone in the semi-darkness to pass time. While Bruno did not yet have a functional level of sexual awareness, he did know that playing with it felt nice. The fawn unbuttoned his shorts, and pushed them down to mid-thigh. He ground the palm of his hand against the soft, squishy lump in his briefs, and felt it start to get bigger almost right away. Getting a stiffy was a wonderfully familiar sensation already, and Bruno enjoyed the tightening pressure, the gentle throb and the sight of his bulge rising, pitching a little tent in his briefs. His hips rose to meet his palm, and he gasped at the tingle of pleasure the friction brought him. He vigorously rubbed his palm along the little ridge of stiffness, and then pushed the tip roughly into his palm again, almost hard enough to hurt. That was when it felt the best! It pulsed and tingled, and Bruno sighed shakily. Pushing his briefs down to meet his shorts, he stared at the stiff little rod jutting out of his groin. He’d been circumcised as a fawn, almost without any input from his parents - it was just the done thing, in those days. He pushed his stiff penis down between his thighs with his thumb, rolled his hips and released it, making it flick rigidly back up again. He gripped it and squeezed it roughly, pushed it around and ground the tip into his palm again – all the little routines he knew would give him tingles. Bruno repeated these little routines, rubbing and squeezing and tugging and grinding, over and over right up until he heard his father’s heavy hoofsteps in the hallway, coming to wake him up. 

Hurriedly, Bruno pulled up his briefs and shorts. It was a little difficult to button them up over his stiffy, but he managed, and fumbled around with it to make it sit more comfortably. It ached a little, and itched as it softened, and Bruno squirmed.

“You’re up early!” came the rumbling baritone of Ulrich’s voice from the darkness of the hallway. 

“Uh huh! Can’t wait to go adventuring!” Bruno replied, bounding across to his father and shoving past him into the hallway. “C’mon!”

*

The station was only a ten minute walk away, and while Ulrich knew Bruno could get there on his own without any trouble, the old buck still insisted on accompanying him – to make sure he actually left, he jokingly told his son. As the train squealed to a halt at the Stillwater Cove terminus, Ulrich grabbed Bruno by the scruff of his neck and hugged the nine-year old fawn bodily. “You have a good time now, y’hear? We’ll see you in a week!”

“UGH! Da-ad…” Bruno protested, squirming. There were other scouts around on the platform, some of them younger than he was! It was unseemly to be hugged by your dad!

Ulrich was relentless, and squeezed his son again before letting him go. “Be safe now. And be good!”

“Yeah Dad! Seeya!”

Bruno bounded onto the train, his khaki Cub Scout uniform giving him a level of confidence to push his way through the crowd of Junior Scouts who’d boarded just ahead of him, and make his way to the back of the train, where he could sit and look out the rear window and see the station disappearing behind them. A whole week of freedom awaited him, and Bruno’s heart hammered with anticipation. 

The train ride to the University of Rhocarn only took an hour, but by the time the train came to a stop, Bruno had already made a friend. Tyler Dodd, his name was. He was a shy and slightly chubby Toros boy - a bull - and had been sitting at the back of the train all on his own when Bruno boarded. The conversation had been limited and awkward at first, but by the time the train came to a halt at the University, and the Scouts transferred onto several buses, Bruno and Tyler had already decided they were going to share a tent once they got to the national park. The buses were ancient; jet-age streamliners with pressed aluminium panels, trapezoidal windows and engines that, by the sound of them, wouldn’t have been out of place in farm equipment. The odour of diesel, sun-bleached vinyl and decades of passengers filled the cabin, and Bruno led Tyler about halfway down its length, as far as possible from any of the wheels, or the clattering engine. The young bull had opened up fairly quickly as the buses got underway in a ponderous, smoky convoy, enough so that the Cub Scout Leader took note, and walked back along the length of the bus to sit just in front of them. He was a Gozan ibex, a Caprin people from the high desert plateau between the sprawling city of Goza and the Sea of Bones. Enormous curved horns rose from his skull, ebony black and densely ridged, and a wispy beard hung from his chin.

“You lads seem to be getting along well,” he commented. His accent was faint, but exotic. “D’you know each other?”

Tyler shrank into his seat a little, but Bruno spoke up, shaking his head. “No sir, we just met on the train!”

The ibex cracked a wide, friendly smile, leaning an arm over the back of the seat in front of Bruno and Tyler. “Well now, that’s just grand! Just what I like to see. My name’s Lyndon Craddock, but most people call me Doc. Blasted if I know why. Easier to shout at me, I guess!”

“Lyndon Craddock?” Bruno responded. “That’s an odd name for... someone like you, isn’t it?”

“Like me? I was born here in Doregal just as you were. My grandparents came here from Goza after the great flood back in the ‘20s. Back then, a name like theirs would’ve made it hard to find work, so Grandfather took Craddock so he could fit in.”

“What was their name?” Bruno asked.

Lyndon paused for a moment, briefly assessing the young fawn’s reason for asking, perhaps, and nodded. “My grandparents were In’za and Yar’ah al-Ajrahi - you can see why they would’ve stood out in a place like Rhocarn,” the ibex chuckled. 

“Whoa. Inja and Yarra al...aljhahi?!”

“Yes, precisely,” Lyndon laughed. “But please, just call me Doc. What are your names?”

“I’m Bruno! Bruno Hirschkoff,” Bruno said, puffing out his chest a little and meeting Lyndon’s outstretched hand with his own in a firm and manly handshake. 

“Tyler D-Dodd,” the bull beside Bruno offered when Lyndon’s gaze transferred to him. His handshake was a degree less eager, but Lyndon seemed well equipped to respond to Scouts with a wide range of confidence levels.

“Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, Bruno Hirschkoff and Tyler D-Dodd!” Lyndon smirked. “Most of the cubs here are new to Scouts this year, but I recognise you from Juniors last year, Bruno. Don’t make any promises yet, wait and see, but I might need a little help once we get to the National Park. We’ll be hiking up to an entirely new campsite this year, you see, and I could use someone who already knows a little of the way Scouts conduct themselves to be my second-in-command. Have a think about it, Bruno, I’d appreciate it.”

Bruno’s jaw dropped, and he almost leapt out of his seat in excitement. Him?! A junior Leader? He fidgeted and all but frothed with anticipation, and Lyndon smirked, rising to his hooves again and using the overhead grab-straps to steady himself as he continued down the length of the bus, talking to the Cubs and getting to know some of them before they arrived at the campsite. Meanwhile, at the front of the bus, the great hulking mountain of moose that was the Scoutmaster had not moved so much as an inch, other than to flip the pages of his National Geographic magazine. Even when the Scouts grew raucous when the buses stopped at their designated halfway break-point, he seemed to entirely ignore their presence. A nimbus of silence surrounded him, it seemed to Bruno as he and Tyler filed past to step out of the bus into crisp, fresh air. Bruno and Tyler were the only Scouts to pass the Scoutmaster in silence, and Bruno’s spine straightened when their eyes met, briefly.

The roadhouse they’d stopped at was more or less the last outpost of civilisation before crossing into the Park itself, and consisted of little more than a wide gravel parking lot, a general store with a couple of fuel pumps out front and a nasty cinderblock public bathroom. The latter of those facilities got hammered by no fewer than sixty kids between seven and seventeen years of age over the half-hour stopover, and Bruno gave a smug little ‘told-you-so’ grin to Tyler, who’d initially protested Bruno’s insistence that they use the facilities as quickly as possible.

From there on, the trip to the Scouts Retreat got much slower as the roads deteriorated from smooth carriageways to potholed, dusty tracks. It seemed to Bruno that the wilderness was reaching out to embrace them, as the trees grew taller and denser and closer to the road, the sky became bluer and clearer, and the mountains ever taller, looming over them like great white-capped sentinels as the ancient convoy of buses crawled up into their foothills.

Somewhere up near the front of the bus, someone produced a cassette player, and the tinny sound of a pop-rock mixtape overlaid the general hubbub of conversation on the bus. 

*

It was early afternoon before the Scouts buses finally arrived at their alpine campsite. The Scouts Hall was a large log chalet set amongst towering redwoods, and surrounded on an artificial grassy plateau by a horseshoe arrangement of smaller chalets - the sleeping huts. The busses squealed and hissed to a stop, and before any of the Cub Scouts on Bruno and Tyler’s bus could stand, the Scoutmaster’s enormous bulk filled the aisle. 

“Silence!”

The effect was immediate. His voice was like thunder, and Bruno felt Tyler shrink into his seat beside him. He shot the bull a sidelong glance, and Tyler hugged his backpack in his lap with a shy smile. 

“Cub Scouts! You may call me Scoutmaster or Sir as you please. My job is to make sure each and every one of you goes home with the same number of limbs you currently have! You all have roughly four of them, yes?”

A titter of laughter rippled down the bus. 

“Good! Your safety is my responsibility - Now if you will all follow me in an orderly fashion, myself and the Scout Leaders shall welcome you to this place. Onward!”

The moose turned, and the bus rocked on its springs as he moved to the door and out into the crisp, fresh mountain air. Bruno hadn’t realised how stuffy and hot the bus had become until he stepped out, and he breathed in deeply. The air smelled of pine trees and moss, with a hint of campfire smoke. It smelt like adventure!

All of the Scouts, of all levels, assembled in the chalet, and one by one the Leaders introduced themselves. Lyndon Craddock was by far the most animated, most interesting of the group - and beside the hulking mass of the Scoutmaster, Bruno was sure it was going to be an exciting week. With the welcome completed and introductions made, the Scouts were split into their individual levels and the Leaders led them to their sleeping quarters to settle in before an afternoon meal. 

Bruno grabbed Tyler’s hand, and dragged the bull forward to shadow Lyndon Craddock as closely as he could, trying his hardest to show himself as Leader material!

“Alright Cubs, gather around! This is the Cubs Chalet here at Base Camp! It’s divided in half down the middle. For... obvious reasons, girls will be sleeping in one side of our chalet, and boys in the other,” Doc explained to the group of nine-year-olds, “Now... hmm...”

The ibex paused, doing another quick head count. He frowned, and Bruno turned to Tyler. There were more boys than girls in the Cubs group, and Doc’s eye fell on the two boys he’d first met on the bus hours before. Bruno beamed at him.

“Hmmm. Alright, everyone go and find yourselves a bunk and settle in - Bruno, Tyler, come with me!”

Bruno elbowed Tyler in the ribs, and the poor bull, just being dragged around by the fawn, snorted and followed shyly. 

“Lads, we have too many Cubs for the boys’ chalet,” Doc explained, “So we may have to be creative! Now, I shall be sleeping in between the girls’ and boys’ halves of the chalet, in here,” the ibex gestured to a small, cozy cabin nestled between the two larger dormitories. A glance into the boys’ side of the chalet confirmed to Bruno that it was crowded indeed, like a hostel - the bunks were three-high, and packed in to the absolute maximum. 

“Now... we could put you two in with the Juniors, as they have smaller numbers...” the ibex continued. The look on Bruno’s face was all he needed to see. “Or... if you two are well enough behaved, Scoutmaster may allow you to share my quarters. There are three bunks in there.”

“We’ll be good, promise!” Bruno said, giving the Scouts’ salute and puffing out his chest.

Doc chuckled, and inserted a key into the door of his quarters. It was tiny inside, compact and packed full of all the stuff associated with a Scout Leader - boxes of supplies, uniforms, badges, ration kits, papers and forms, and various books and magazines. But what really captured Bruno’s attention - and Tyler’s too, it must be said - was the bunk beds. 

Instead of the military-style tube steel affairs in the dorms, the bunks in the Leader’s hut were made of wood, with better mattresses and proper ladders. At ground level was a large bed - obviously Doc’s - that was almost a double. And above it, arranged in an L-shape, were two smaller, single-size bunks, with privacy curtains, reading lamps and even little cupboards!

“Whoa! That is radical!” Bruno breathed, ears flipping forward in awe. 

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” Tyler asked, quietly. There was hope in his voice though, and Doc leaned over to ruffle the calf’s hair.

“Of course not! I’m the Leader, what I say goes, right?”

“Right!”

“Right. Bottom bunk is mine, of course. You boys choose your bunks and get settled. I’m going to go check on the other Cubs. Do NOT - Bruno, listen. Do not touch anything you see in here without asking me first, alright? If it isn’t your property, leave it alone!”

“Yessir!”

“Good boys.”

With that, Lyndon Craddock turned, and stepped out of the tiny cabin they’d all be sharing for at least a few nights of the next week, and went to try and instil some sort of order into the boys’ dormitory.

*

“Alright Cubs!” Doc called, clapping his hands a couple of times to get the attention of the entire cohort of Cubs once they’d settled into their sleeping quarters. “Everyone is to assemble in the Scouts Hall for lunch, but please don’t eat too much! Afterwards we’ll all be heading down to the lake - so I hope you all brought your swimming costumes! You may change into them now if you wish, but be quick!”

Doc stepped out of the girls’ chalet and repeated the instruction in the boys’ side, to an excited chorus of happy voices. Bruno and Tyler were hovering in the doorway, and Bruno turned excitedly to Tyler - who was anything but. 

“What’s wrong?” The fawn asked. 

“I... I can’t swim. And I didn’t bring a costume.”

Bruno’s face fell, but he was Leader material! So he stood up straight, and put a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Don’t worry! Just wear your underwear! And I’ll teach you how to swim!”

“I don’t... can you... What if everyone laughs?”

Bruno tilted his head to look over his friend. “Why would they?”

“Cos I’m fat,” the bull muttered, grabbing his soft tummy in both hands. 

Bruno snorted. “You ain’t. You’re just... soft. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you! Scouts Honour.”

Tyler’s lips twitched into a smile, and Bruno stepped back into Doc’s cabin to put his Speedo on under his clothes, and fetch his towel. Tyler hovered uncertainly, and after a moment, Bruno cracked the door again and gestured the bull in. Tyler studiously averted his gaze, but his eyes widened at the sight of Bruno stripping out of his shorts and underwear. The stag was completely unashamed, even playfully flicking his undies at Tyler, who ducked out of the way just in time. The bull was trying his hardest not to stare, but when Bruno turned away and bent down to step into his speedo, he couldn’t resist. Bruno didn’t seem to notice. Once Bruno was dressed, he slung his towel over his shoulder. 

“Uh. D’you have a towel?” He asked. 

Tyler snapped out of his reverie and stammered that he did, and Bruno rolled his eyes. 

“Well? You better get it, I wanna get down to the lake quick!”

Lunch was a chaotic but simple affair, and the Cub Scouts in particular seemed particularly keen to finish so they could head to the lake. Doc did his best to rush through the safety briefings, and asked for the most confident swimmers to identify themselves, Bruno among them. That group was pulled aside and given extra briefing; told to look out for their less confident friends, and told about the lake and any dangers they might face. 

A short distance down a steep, wooded hillside from the Scouts Hall and chalets was the lake. It was idyllically beautiful; smooth-as-glass water reflected the trees and mountains, and it was teeming with birds and fish. Twenty-three Cubs - by far the largest cohort - rampaged down that hill towards a small wooden boat ramp built into the muddy bank. Racks of kayaks, floatation vests, ropes, play equipment and fishing gear surrounded the boat ramp in various tiny sheds and shelters. 

“Alright - this afternoon is unstructured time,” Doc explained, his voice carrying through the hubbub. “I shall be here on the shore, and I ask that everyone remain within my sight! You are free to swim or not as you wish. If anything goes wrong I shall blow on this whistle...” he demonstrated with a shrill blast, “If you hear that, everyone must get out of the water immediately! Is that clear?”

A chorus of affirmation followed. 

“Very good. Towels and clothes can be stacked up here on the grass - have fun!”

The explosion of clothing that followed was hilarious, and as Doc set up a folding chair on the boat ramp and put on a pair of Aviators, Bruno grabbed Tyler’s hand and dragged the bull off to the side, away from the main group. 

“C’mon! We should leave our stuff over here.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” Bruno shrugged, “Just seems a good idea!”

The fawn was already wrestling his way out of his shirt, exposing his lean torso, already with some muscle definition showing through. His back, shoulders, thighs and buttocks, though, were a mass of fawn-spots that seemed to be stubbornly staying in place. Nonetheless, Bruno wasn’t shy about them. His father told him they’d fade once he was a teenager. Tyler paused, wringing his hands shyly, and only when Bruno was standing there in nothing but his little blue-and-white striped Speedo did the bull find the confidence to strip down as well. Bruno’s suggestion to do so out of sight of most of the Cubs was a good one. 

“Pfff, you’re not fat,” Bruno exclaimed quietly, as Tyler finally stripped down to his tighty-whities. 

The bull was soft around the middle, and lacked the muscle that Bruno had, but he was a cute kid. 

“I am so! Look!” Tyler protested, grabbing his soft belly again and shaking it, making it jiggle and bounce. 

Bruno laughed, and couldn’t help a glance lower at the front of the bull’s underwear. He couldn’t see much more than a little bump, but a spark of curiosity floated through his mind anyway. He was sure he’d probably see it at some point this week. 

“Tyler? Bruno? Are you boys going to swim?” It was Doc. He hadn’t help his chair, but was craning his neck to see the two of them.

“Of course, Doc! We’re just... getting ready!” Bruno called back. The ibex grinned. 

“C’mon,” Bruno said to Tyler, grabbing the bull by the arm and dragging him towards the lake shore.

*

The water was cool, but not cold. Being as shallow as it was, the spring sun had been enough to take the chill off. Most of the Cubs were already in the lake by the time Bruno and Tyler arrived. Bruno took a short run-up and launched himself into the water with a huge splash, although when he surfaced Tyler was still standing on the boat ramp in his undies, wringing his hands nervously. 

“Dude, c’mon, it’s fine! Look, it’s only this deep!” Bruno said, standing up to show the water to only be chest-deep. “Just sit on the edge and slide in!”

He held up his arms to help Tyler, and with the stag’s guidance, the bull slid gracelessly into the water with a ‘bloop.’ He was tense and shaky, and held onto Bruno with a death-grip. 

“Okay, you’re doin fine! We can stay here, real close to the edge, alright?”

Tyler nodded dumbly. 

Doc was watching closely, sunglasses on the end of his muzzle, and Bruno gave him a thumbs-up.

“Okay, now try to float! Just lean back, alright! It’s okay, I gotcha!”

Tyler did so, and immediately panicked. His limbs flailed and he snorted and splashed, but Bruno had his hand firmly in the bull’s back, and pulled him onto his hooves again, wet and embarrassed. 

“Eheh, takes a bit of practice to get used to.”

“I dunno, Bruno...”

Bruno shrugged. “It’s fine! Jus’ do what you’re comfy doin!”

With that, the stag let go of Tyler, and demonstrated his own float, bobbing backward into the water with his arms behind his head. His hooves broke the water’s surface, and he sighed happily. All around them, other Cubs were playing, splashing each other and largely ignoring them. 

Over the next hour and a half, Bruno kept encouraging Tyler to take another step out into the lake. To try floating again, or at least to try paddling. Eventually something clicked for the bull, and he was swimming almost all on his own, a huge grin of sheer joy across his face. Bruno kept applauding him, encouraging him, although the fawn stayed nearby, with his hands on Tyler’s chest and tummy to steady him.

After a while, many of the other Cubs started climbing up out of the lake to dry off in the sun, spread out on the grass in their swimsuits. Tyler seemed quite interested in that. 

“Hmph. I have to pee, but the bathrooms are all the way up behind the Hall,” the bull complained, abruptly.

Bruno raised his eyebrows, and looked around. “Just go!”

“What?”

“Who cares? We’re in the water. I peed like half an hour ago!”

“What?!”

Bruno laughed, and took a step back from the bull, removing his hands from his body and causing him to flail. 

There was a long pause, and then a subtle expression of relief came across Tyler’s face, the bull bobbing in a half-squat with the water lapping around his chin. Bruno couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Better?”

“Yeah! I uh... ugh, let’s swim a bit more, I don’t wanna be covered in pee.”

“Good idea.”

A few more minutes passed, and the last of the Cubs clambered up out of the lake, leaving Bruno and Tyler on their own in the water. It was time to get out, clearly. 

Bruno accompanied Tyler to the edge of the boat ramp, to where a simple knotted rope hung into the water, making it easier to climb out. 

“You go first,” Bruno said. 

Tyler approached the rope, and with Bruno’s help, hauled himself up onto the wooden jetty. It wasn’t pretty. The bull’s tighty whities were stained with lake mud and clung transparently to his fur. He rolled onto his knees and glanced down, and hurriedly covered himself with his hands. 

Bruno, by that stage, was up on the jetty as well, and stood with his legs apart to vigorously shake the worst of the water out of his fur. 

“What’s wrong?”

“M-my undies are see-through!”

“So?”

Tyler spluttered, hunched over himself with his hands in his crotch. 

Doc came to the rescue. The Cub Leader had fetched Tyler’s towel as soon as he saw the bull come out of the water, and handed it to him with a knowing smirk. 

“Th-thanks Doc!”

“Any time. Nothin to be shy about, eh?”

“Easy for him to say,” Bruno muttered to Tyler, as the bull wrapped his towel around his waist and trotted after Bruno towards where the boys had left their clothes.

It was a slightly secluded place, at least - a large tree stood between them and most of the Cubs, and Bruno laid himself out in the sun on his towel to dry off. Tyler kept glancing at him, and Bruno pretended not to notice. His new friend seemed... very interested in him, to say the very least. Eventually, seeming to take his cues from Bruno, Tyler copied him, laying back on his towel to dry. He plucked and tweaked at his tighty-whities, anything to make them a little less clingy. 

It didn’t work. Bruno couldn’t help but look; the bull’s attempts to cover himself only drew attention to how revealing his wet undies were. Bruno could see it all. And Tyler had a stiffy. The fawn’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t look away! The bull was doing his best to tuck it under his waistband or press it down with his hand, but it kept bouncing back up again, jutting stubbornly up and making a little tent in his white undies, a blush of pink showing through the damp, clinging cotton. 

Bruno’s was as hard as diamond instantly, although the fawn’s dark, tight-fitting Speedo kept it contained and unnoticed.

Their eyes met more than once, and the brightness of Tyler’s blush told Bruno he knew precisely the predicament they shared. But far from being shy or embarrassed, Bruno was pleased that he and Tyler seemed to be sharing a private little moment together, just the two of them - a sort of bonding ritual between two boys. So when Tyler’s eyes dropped to the fawn’s speedo a little more obviously, Bruno boldly flipped out his waistband, flashing his stiff penis at his friend. 

Tyler sucked in a gasp, and his ears burned. But he didn’t look away. Bruno chuckled, wiggling it around for a moment, before tucking it away before anyone else could see. 

Bonding ritual... at least halfway complete.

*

Bruno couldn’t shake the image from his mind of Tyler in his soaked, clinging underwear at the lake. The poor bull’s stiffy had been a permanent fixture for the rest of the afternoon, even after they’d dressed and gone about the day’s activities. Every time they were alone, Tyler would flash his bits to his friend, with or without his undies in the way. Bruno would reciprocate, and the bonding ritual between them had grown with repetition.

In the darkness of the cabin much later that night, with Doc snoring quietly beneath them, Bruno lay on his back. His penis was stiff, and he could feel it moving against the inside of his pyjamas when he clenched his muscles. It felt nice, and he subtly pushed his waistband down beneath his balls, pushing the head of his stiffy gently along the silky polyester of his sleeping bag. A little huff passed his lips, and he slid his hand around his penis, squeezing and tugging on himself. He had to be even more silent than usual - Tyler was asleep only inches away, and Doc only a few feet below! It felt so naughty to be touching himself there, and he knew he shouldn’t... but he couldn’t help it. 

The sleeping bag made the tiniest little sounds, soft rustles and whooshing noises, with the movement of his arm and hand, and Bruno used his other hand to hold the fabric tight, hoping to minimise the noise. 

His fingers gripped and tugged the skin of his shaft, pushing up against the back of his head, and sliding the smooth, dry tip side to side, up and down along the silky polyester of his sleeping bag. That felt real nice. But it was a bit noisy. No one seemed to be awake though, so Bruno kept going. 

The fawn’s balls tingled with pleasure, and he arched his back a little beneath his sleeping bag - which was unzipped and laid across him like a duvet - and then pushed his hips upward, pulling down on his shaft skin at the same time, and wiggling the tip of his penis against the sleeping bag. Over and over he did that, varying between squeezing, tugging, flicking, rubbing, sliding and humping. 

“Hey...”

Bruno froze. His eyes flew open in the darkness, and his breath caught in his throat. It was Tyler. 

“Hey...” the bull repeated, in a breathy, silent whisper, just inches from his head. “Whatcha doin?”

Bruno pretended to be asleep. Pretended not to hear. 

“Are you playin with your dick?”

Oh shit...

More silence, but Bruno must’ve exhaled, or moved, or made some kind of noise that signalled ‘yes’ to Tyler. Because the next thing Bruno heard was a tiny giggle, and the sound of a blanket being moved... followed immediately by an unmistakably fleshy, rhythmic kind of clicking noise that continued for a few seconds, and then stopped with Tyler exhaling shakily. And then it happened again. 

Tyler was... playing with his, too?!

Bruno’s heart raced. Why did that make him feel so hot and tingly? His penis felt like it was gonna burst, it was so stiff, and the stag boldly wriggled his way out from under his sleeping bag, and craned his neck to try and see what Tyler was doing. All he could make out in the near-total darkness was movement, though - no detail. But the bull was definitely naked, definitely laying on top of his blanket, and his hand was definitely moving, an occasional frantic pulse of eager, rough strokes, and then a shaky breath. And again. And again.

Bruno couldn’t stop himself. He kept rubbing at himself then, out in the open now. If Doc woke up and turned on the light they’d be totally busted, and probably kicked out! But that only made the adventure all the better, for how naughty it was. Bruno pushed his penis down, and let it flick back up to slap him on the tummy, and Tyler giggled, and did the same. Then Tyler did the thing where he grabbed it and went up and down real fast for a few seconds. Bruno did the same. 

Oh.

Oh, that was different...

Bruno’s breath caught in his throat, and he did that again. Gripping his penis in his clenched fist and hammering up and down against his crotch. His penis throbbed, and something felt like it was on fire inside him, burning a path from deep inside him up along the (fairly small) length of his penis. The fiery sensation paused when it got to the tip, and then his whole body went bananas! Every muscle flinched and shook for a moment, and his penis went throb-throb-throb all on its own for a few seconds. It was the most intense feeling Bruno had ever felt, but when it stopped, it felt like someone had doused the fire with a bucket of water. 

How noisy had he been?

“Whoa...” came a startled whisper from beside him. “Are you ok?”

“Y-yeah... b-but I think we should stop now...”

The last thing Bruno noticed before he managed to slip off to sleep, was that he could no longer hear snoring from beneath him.

*